#dismal atmosphere

[lunarharp]

played dragon age 2...just simple scribbles

[lewmagoo]

.

[nommedtail]

finished act 1 and diablo 4′s story is pretty good so far it’s way better than 3′s that’s for sure lol

[saintobio]

LUCIFER.

his fall was not from grace, yet in his descent, he found freedom—a kingdom of his own making, where he rules not with light, but with the shadows it casts. and you, unfortunate soul, are the sin that fuels his eternal reign.

♱ genre. gothic, dark romance, smut, angels/demons au, 18+

♱ pairings. sylus, fem!reader

♱ tags. 5.2k wc. this fic will contain dark and twisted themes. please heed the warnings and proceed with proper discretion. demon!sylus, sylus is ooc, not set in lads universe, profanity, heavy sacrilege/blasphemy, catcalling, sadistic undertones, noncon/dubcon, toxic relationships, corruption, sex in church, dacryphilia, mentions of obsession, allusions to stockholm syndrome, yandere, fingering, unprotected sex, explicit smut.

♱ notes. this is an old rewritten/reimagined fic of mine bcos i saw a theory abt sylus being a demon. and coincidentally, rewatching a season of lucifer only made my brain rot tenfold D; so if you've seen me post this fic before with another character, pretend you didn't >:D

Thunder grumbled as a flash of lighting struck through the dark blanket of twilight skies. The rumbling sound angrily resonated through the stretch of clouds as if the heavens were to wash away human sins that have long been plaguing this era of the 21st century. A shower of rain soon followed that started in huge droplets and later cascaded from the slate gray clouds like waterfall. 

Checking your old leather watch, it was only 6PM. It had been two hours since the power outage doomed the whole neighborhood because the utility poles were severely damaged after the hurricane ravaged the city yesterday. 

The thick soles of your boots landed heavily on the tessellated sidewalk with every step, holding your umbrella closer to seal you from the heavy rainfall. Your eyes followed the beads of rain that bounced off the cold cement as your mind wandered further than where your body could take you to. 

You had left Sylus sleeping in bed back in your shared apartment so you could walk around the city and drop by the church. It wasn’t like you sneaked out, but was only reluctant to let him know of your whereabouts because you didn’t want him to follow you around, especially to such a scared place like church. Before you left, however, you did ensure that his silver cross was still enclosed around his collar just for your sanity. 

It had been a while since you last visited the church. With the power out and nothing else to do, you decided it was the perfect time to visit the cathedral where you always made your most solemn prayers.

The streets were still in shambles, though. Road signages were sprawled on the sidewalk, branches were barely hanging off the trees—the city had vestiges of wreckage from the hurricane that emptied a usually busy metropolitan area today. Most people were still at the leisure of their homes as work and classes have been suspended until further notice, for everyone’s safety and to allow the government to clean the roads. 

You could already imagine Sylus shaking his head at your resistance to just stay indoors and simply be with him. The only reason you were confident to leave his side today was because it had been awhile since the last incident. You could live with the thought of coming back home to Sylus and his usual self. Sylus, who was always thoughtful and tenderhearted albeit his dominant exterior. Never did you think that you could land a man of such warmth—a year in two days—but how you met was a story made for another day. 

Amidst the already dismal atmosphere outside, stepping by the narthex inside the baroque church greeted you with an even more caliginous surrounding. Darkness enshrouded the interiors of your chosen place of worship with only as much as three paschal torches by the apse to light up the altar. Still, with God’s presence, your feet carried you in slow footsteps along the velvet red aisle as you made your way towards the nave. 

You were alone in the eerie cathedral, but fear did not consume as you were in attendance to the crucifix above the high altar. This was your favorite cathedral among all the others in the city simply because of its gothic Victorian architecture.

Fixed with the cathedral’s grandeur and bedight with ornate decorations, you became more comfortable at situating yourself by the pew—genuflecting on the elevated wood behind the stretch of oak benches as soon as you found your usual spot. 

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” you whispered in sotto voce, performing a sign of the cross with your eyes glued to the crucifix that represented Jesus Christ. You had your elbows propped atop the bench as you silently prayed. 

Loving and gracious God, with all love and mercy, we thank you for blessing us with another day and protecting us in times of natural disaster. 

You wanted to ignore the unusual cold air that slithered on your skin in horripilation. Your prayer resumed despite the Stygian gloom that darkened the cathedral’s interior or the sound of the harsh wind slamming through the towering doors by the vestibule. The storm is coming again, you mentally noted. 

With your grace and kindness, Lord, I pray that you will continue to guide us—

The manly fleer echoing through the vacantness of the church made you halt from your recital. “I knew my cute church girl would be here.” 

You knew that devilish voice all too well that it had you shutting your eyes, petrified. No wonder the air felt sinister. But if your gut-feeling about him was right, then there was no need to be frightened. “Sylus, I’m in the middle of a prayer,” you hushed, although before you could turn around to face his silhouette, he had already transported to your side with a wicked smile plastered on his pallid face. 

“I’m not him,” he spoke in an orotund voice, stepping closer and closer. His ash blond hair did not hide his incarnadine eyes. “Stop looking for that runt when you’re with me.” 

You stepped out of the pew with a rapid heartbeat, standing by the aisle as the tall man towered over you. “S-Sylus, where’s your—” you searched for his silver cross and found it still hanging around his neck, “did you break it?” 

He glowered at your accusation. “You know I would if I could, sweetie.” 

You exhaled a deep sigh. This was not Sylus, this was the malevolent demon inside of him. You ought to be cautious of yourself. “Okay, well... Leave me alone. I’m praying.”

“Ordering me around?” Each step that he took reverberated across the cathedral. He stretched his head from side-to-side in a manner that showed his ennui. “Don’t you miss me, kitten?” 

There was no stopping to the loud thumping of your heart as you stood along the aisle with Sylus backing you off further to the center. “Sylus, I said not now,” you begged, but he refused to listen and only wiped his lower lip with his thumb. 

“I hate it when you make me wait,” he muttered, stepping forward until your lower back hit the credence table at the altar. You found yourself trapped in a decreasing distance between yourself and the sadistic devil in front of you. “Don’t look so scared. We do this every time.” 

“I’m not scared, but...” Your voice was getting softer, yet filled with fret. You pressed a hand on his chest as he locked your body with both arms around the table. “Please, not here.”

You had to be firm, you just had to be but you couldn’t muster the courage to fight back in Sylus’s presence. He was the embodiment of power and you were the representation of weakness. 

He was a demon that thrived on sin, and he drew strength from indulging in the seven deadly sins. Vainglory, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath, sloth—all of those fueled his existence. Today, however, it was the third sin that consumed him, the one that ignited his darkest sexual desires. 

“I’ll be quick,” he bargained, undoing the upper buttons of your dress despite your failed attempts at pushing him away. Doing it at such a place! You sent him a glare but he only returned a sly smile. “How about we show your God what you’re really like underneath that maidenly exterior, hm? Show him how dirty you really are?”

God, help me. You desperately shook your head, now overthinking if someone could see what he was about to do to you in this holy sanctuary. Long before you could cover your chest, he already pinned your wrist on the side as he lowered the fabric to show your collar. “Sylus—!”

“Don’t be shy, kitten,” the whisper he sent through the shell of your ear caused shivers to your spine. With his heightened senses, he placed his mouth on your ear, “No one’s here to watch us except for your God. Be a good girl now.”

You tried to push him once more to no avail as he sucked on the flesh above your shoulder. There was no warning to prepare you from the sudden harsh suction. “I-It hurts!” 

Your nails dug into your palms to leave crescent marks on your flesh while you were squirming out of his strict hold. 

“It hurts? Good.” He continued to leave marks all over your flesh as he caged your waist around his arm. The feeling of his teeth pricking your skin had you whimpering in pain, and his eyes had grown rutilant when he momentarily pulled away to look at you. “You’ll hurt even more,” and then he erupted into a deep chuckle as if you were a meal that he was seasoning with a sprinkle of fear, “I should really just keep you for myself.” 

Your desire to breathe grew exponentially. “I’m not yours.” 

A low sneer and a dissatisfied ego had you pressed against the oak table in surprise. “Yes, you are,” he reiterated as though he was enforcing the idea in your head. “Your soul, your heart, your body—you are mine.” 

“I’m not! I wasn’t born in this world to be your property,” you protested, pulling away from his grip only to be slammed harsher on the table. You knew you should never anger a demon but his possessive nature irked you. Aside from your already shameful situation, you wanted nothing but to get away from him. “You’re evil.” 

“What makes you so brave? Your beliefs?” he gritted, reaching for an object near your head that turned out to be the Bible. “This?” he quickly opened the sacred handbook and ripped the pages in front of your very eyes with a distasteful smile. How easily he ripped it, how easily he also tossed it. “Whatever, then. There’s no God. You humans are complete idiots for worshiping a nonexistent being. Weren’t you the ones saying that I’d burn as soon as I stepped into a church?” 

“He is your father!” You sat back up, revolted by his blasphemy. He had no right to mock God like this. “Don’t taint my beliefs with yours. My faith in Him is stronger than you think.” 

“You should know what it’s like to be in hell before you say that shit,” he retorted, placing his lips back on your ear, “I’ll take you there with me.” 

This is not the time and place! What a shameful situation he was putting you through, so unbelievably shameful and obscene that you couldn’t look at him in the eyes. “Sylus, I swear. I’m going home if you’re gonna keep on—”

He huffed, showing boredom by dismissing you with a wave of his hand. “Ah, fine. You’re boring. Continue the prayer, then.”

For one of two things; first, Sylus would never let you off easily. Every act of defiance would garner you a punishment. Second, he was a time bomb. You never knew when his most cruel intentions would come to show. He was a malefic being that wouldn’t give two shits about where he was as long as he was having fun at torturing your soul. 

You should have known that when you chose to finish your prayer back at the pew. Sylus would simply not last long enough to just sit by your side in his apathy. 

“Holy Father, please forgive us for our sins—”

He snorted in ill-humor. “Pitiful.” 

And while you sat there looking up at the crucifix, Sylus’s hand was already sneaking its way under your skirt. His icy fingers traced your inner thighs until he reached your center, and that was when you finally grabbed his wrist to stop him with wide, scandalized eyes. Was anyone on the qui vive to see you right now? 

“Sylus, for heaven’s sake,” you hissed, pulling his wrist away but his slender fingers were already coordinating motions against your clothed core. You had to look around in panic lest there be any unknown audience peeking from the shadows. Despite your refusal to submit, the contact was eliciting suppressed moans out of your parted lips. “Y-You’re insane. This isn’t the place.” 

His smile was full of triumph and excitement, his right eye glowing ominously he spoke. “What makes it different?” he asked, raising your skirt and inserting his fingers inside your underwear. You had to press your lips together as soon as he started rubbing his fingers on your clit. “See, you enjoy the fuck out of it. I can see through your deepest desires, kitten. It’s telling me… ‘don’t stop’.” 

Your palm was pressed on his chest while his other hand tried to spread your legs open. The very position you were in—leaned on the wooden bench, legs spread apart, and being fingered in the presence of God—you were certainly going to hell. This was going against your belief, having your chastity corrupted in arrant disgrace by a man who was the devil himself. 

How exactly did you find yourself in this predicament? You came here to offer a quick prayer, not to be pressed on the bench by a man who was now unbuckling his belt in haste. You could only think of how Sylus, who was an angel beyond his demons, was perhaps trying to come out of being trapped in the dungeon where Satan had him caged.

“This is so wrong,” your lips quivered as you spoke, both of the curling of your toes and of the shameless sacrilegious act. You knew you couldn’t stop this no matter how hard you tried because Sylus would remain tenacious until he got what he wanted. 

With that, you fully submitted yourself to him and let the back of your head rest on the wooden surface while you stared at the stained glass that roofed the cathedral in different hues. 

Sylus was fast to display a smirk while positioning his hardened length on your entrance. The bands of your underwear were now resting mid-thigh as he pressed himself down on you with one knee supporting the angle of his hips. He was running his throbbing tip between your plump folds to lubricate himself with your slick. No screams could be released because you restrained your own whimpers, but your tears brimmed on the corner of your eyes from the initial penetration. 

“Ngh!” Your nails dug deep on his forearms. “S-Sylus!” 

“Are you crying?” His carmine eyes glinted of sadistic humor, running his gelid thumb across your lower lip only to sink it deep inside your mouth. “How does it feel knowing that the God you worship can’t save you?” 

A tear slid down from your eyes to your temple as Sylus started moving his hips in an achingly slow rhythm, each thrust going deeper than the last. You almost bit his thumb before he released your mouth by gripping your wrist. “Sylus—someone could see—!”

To your irony, the crucifix stared down at you and enkindled your conscience from this sinful act. Father, forgive me. You could only whisper those words in your head because your mouth was too occupied in crying out Sylus’s name.

“So warm.” It was hard not to think of how attracted he looked when he raked his fingers through his hair, later meeting your eyes with overpowering lust. He didn’t hold back at burying his cock into your cavern, allowing your walls to fit his girth like tight gloves—the feeling garnering his raspy grunt. “You’re mine, sweetie. All mine.” 

Sylus. You blinked your tears away as you closed your eyes. Sylus’s lips were now on your neck as he increased the pace of his member sliding in and out of your cunt with squelching noises that shamelessly echoed across the cathedral. “Sylus,” your lips were on his ear, “we’re in—aah—church.”

Unlike you, he was nonchalant about the sacredness of the house of God. He was mocking the supreme being that you held faith to as an act of engraving his existence into your mortal soul. While you restrained your moans as he slammed his pelvis against your hole, there was fulfillment rattling in his bones when he pressed your face to the side before diving in to suck on your sweet flesh.

“Cry more. Did you know your walls get warmer when you’re aroused?”

It was hard to describe the feeling. The median between pain and pleasure was the closest example you could liken it to. The grazing of his fangs added to the burning sensation that you had all over your body as if fire was ignited to light up all your nerves. 

Your hand latched onto his shirt before his body collapsed on top of you. With your legs spread wide, his head hung low on your neck—still and unmoving, strangely like he had fallen asleep. 

“Sylus.” You tapped his arm through the heavy rise and fall of your chest.

And before you could move away, he shot straight up and looked at you with those foxy incarnadine eyes that were now in the shade of deep crimson. Eyes that were wide and full of horror as he looked around the cathedral before he slowly realized what he had just done. 

“Y/N,” he said your name regretfully, pulling your dress down to cover your exposed parts, “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I did this—? I don’t—” 

Long dried were the tears on your cheek. As you two scrambled to fix your clothes, you pulled him into a hug while he murmured endless sorry’s to your ear. At least, for now he was back. That was the most important thing with all the sanity you had left. 

“Just get me out of here, Sy,” you said, back into the arms of your human lover. 

~~

You’ve always wondered why Sylus often slept during the day. Or why his normal heartbeat was at the pace of someone who was having a heart attack. Or why he could get serious wounds but managed to heal himself fast. Sometimes he would disappear from your sight and transport himself into another. Sometimes he would see and hear things a thousand times clearer than any other person could. 

For almost a year of dating, these questions only came up to you without much of an answer. You thought that you were simply theorizing over things that you shouldn’t. Why does Sylus always wear that cross around his neck? At the back of your head, you were always intrigued. 

You didn’t find out about the real reason until two months ago when you finally met ‘Lucifer’ out of nowhere. If Sylus was Jekyll, Lucifer was his Hyde. It was his way to allow you to form a dissociation between the two beings in one body. 

You never believed in devils until Sylus showed his demonic face to you one night while you were supposedly peacefully sleeping. You recalled the screams that you released when you found out that Sylus was the fallen angel all along. That the rosary around his neck was meant to seal his dark side, the side that you still didn’t know much of. Up until this day, he didn’t provide a concrete answer as to why he needed to seal himself. He was taciturn about the topic of his other self despite you bringing it up every now and then. 

But because you loved him, trusted him, and believed him when he said that he didn’t plan to hurt you—you stayed. You knew his human side better than the monster within him, so you told yourself that you could stay for him. You just needed to learn more about him. 

There were still moments where you felt cautious around him, but when you looked to see his softened expression, you were comfortable at seeing the Sylus that you knew. 

“Y/N,” he broke the silence that lingered between you two as you walked around the city, “I’m sorry.” 

You tugged at his hand in reassurance. “It’s okay, I just...” As flashbacks of the earlier events returned to your head, you felt ashamed at having done such dirty deeds at a holy place. “He always gets what he wants.” 

Because you let him. 

“I can’t do anything when I’m trapped,” Sylus mumbled, keeping up with your footsteps as you strode along the street. 

Your curiosity bubbled from his statement. “What happens when he’s taking over?” 

This time, Sylus didn’t shy away from giving an answer while he interlaced his hand with yours. “I can hear everything, but I can’t feel or see. It’s all black, like I’m in a dark void.” 

“Like comatose?” 

“You could say that.”

How could a rosary seal his other self? How come he had two versions of him? 

“He’s obsessed with you,” he admitted, frowning at the thought as you passed rows and rows of boutiques and restaurants. “Your soul, your scent, your body. That’s probably why he always has the urge to come out.” 

The thought of it permeated heat on your cheeks even when it shouldn’t. Sylus had always been sweet and loving with his intimacy with you, but his other side was rough and sadistic. He liked tormenting your innocence with his immorality. 

“You said the rosary was meant to seal him, but how come he keeps on—”

“It doesn’t work these days. Only my father can help, but I don’t wanna go that far just to tell him about this.” 

Father. It was the first time he had ever spoken about his father in your twelve months together. Or did he mean father as in God? “Where’s your father, Sylus? Or the rest of your family? Are the other archangels roaming on Earth, too?” 

You could see it in his saintly face that he was about to give an answer and you anticipated it, not until the nearby catcalling distracted you two. 

“Nice legs, gorgeous,” whistled the man who was leaning by the street railings with a cigarette in his hand. The man was probably in his mid-40’s with disheveled hair and unshaved face. You sent him a glare but a crude wink was returned. 

“It’s a bit rude to ogle at my woman in front of me, don’t you think?” was Sylus’s warning, the tendrils of his black-red mist extending to surround the man.

You could hear the man hooting again, unaware of what would become of him. “Ha ha! You punk. I’d spread those legs in a heartbeat.” 

While Sylus’s eyes were deepening into a darker hue, you knew you couldn’t risk seeing him release his demonic side again. It was a dangerous gamble. And the city could become a bloodbath. So, in your insistence, you told your lover to just leave it be.

“Sylus, let it go,” you gently asked, tugging at his arm softly. You wanted to avoid confrontation and just continue walking with you until you could reach your destination. “It’s okay.”

~~

“Happy anniversary to my favorite couple!” 

The clinking of glasses was followed by cheers on the booth where your boyfriend and your friends sat together. It was Avery’s idea to celebrate the special day two days prior as an excuse to hang out and drink. Luke and Kieran, being Sylus’s minions, were very much willing to join. 

“It’s not until Wednesday,” Sylus corrected with a smile, sipping on his pint before putting an arm around you. He gestured towards Avery and Luke with a knowing look. “Now you two should date each other.” 

You giggled at the thought. “Yeah, I totally support that.” 

Instead, the two of them reacted heavily against it—faking a gag, making a face, name it all. They were adamant on showing how disgusted they were at the thought of dating each other and it was quite a hilarious sight to watch. 

“Boss, come on,” Luke replied in outward distaste. 

Avery, on one hand, was rolling her eyes. “You wish I was interested. I’d rather do Kieran than you.” 

Kieran was Luke’s twin, the less obnoxious and more empathic one. But when those two were combined, their level of mischief wasn’t really any different from each other. 

“Picking Kieran is the most insulting thing you can say to me,” huffed Luke, earning yours and Avery’s chuckle. 

After an exchange of playful banter and teasing remarks, the conversation was redirected back to you and Sylus as Avery curiously brought up how you first met your boyfriend. It was only a year ago and the memory was still vivid in your head. 

“Oh my God. I remember how Y/N first saw you at this auction,” she gushed towards your boyfriend while you blushed, gripping his arm closer, “and she’s acting like she just saw her soulmate.” 

Kieran decided to chime in, “Boss was looking at her too, though. He may look tough, but he’s a hopeless romantic deep down—”

“Enough,” Sylus warned before sipping on his glass. 

You rested your head on his shoulder and relaxed against him. “Next thing you guys know, we’re living together.” 

Frankly, everything was normal until Sylus showed up. 

“What do you like most about her, Sylus?” Avery egged on with a grin spreading on her face. 

Your boyfriend didn’t even take a second to answer, “She’s cute like a cat,” he said, caressing your hand with his thumb from under the table, “and smart, and caring. Can get spicy, too. It won’t end.” 

Sylus was the same, if not better. You didn’t have much experience when it came to dating, but you were surely on top of the luck department for being blessed with a man like him. He was the most protective person you knew, the most affectionate, the most thoughtful. Sylus was the moon that illuminated your dark nights. You could even remember how he would wait outside of your workplace to pick you up in his motorcycle—those were the little things that lasted for a lifetime in someone’s memory. 

“She’s also a nun.” 

The sudden panic in your eyes came simultaneous to the fast beating of your heart. You swiftly whipped your head to look at Sylus who was now displaying a deriding smirk across his pale face. Oh, were you doomed. The ruby eyes and the stony face was clear confirmation that the demon had taken over him. Twice in the same day. 

Even Avery was surprised by his word of choice, but nonetheless found it amusing as it was rare for them to see Sylus acting bold. You were grateful for her obliviousness because you didn’t know how else you could explain the situation at hand.

“She’s a what, boss-man?” Luke jeered, chugging on his pint and looking at his boss in his newfound entertainment. He was among the very few people that knew Sylus’s true nature. Because the twins were demons like him.

“A nun,” Sylus answered, sending a look of mischief your way. You were deeply panicking that you had to squeeze his hand in hopes of stopping him from showing his true colors. “What? Don’t be shy, kitten. Didn’t we have fun in that church?”

You quickly shook your head and denied it in front of your friends. “We didn’t. Don’t believe him.”

Avery was unbelievably taken aback. “Wow,” she held back a chuckle, “I didn’t know Sylus has a vulgar mouth.” 

~~

The night carried on while the downpour engulfed the streets heavily. Your desperation to leave the dinner earlier than intended was solely because you weren’t comfortable at having Sylus around other people. The man was clearly enjoying the embarrassment that he was putting you through. And you, you were only being cautious. Who knew what things he could do to Avery while in his other form? 

You didn’t want things to end up where Sylus would be ostracized by the people who knew him just because they couldn’t understand that he was completely harmless in his benevolent self. 

It took a lot of effort to finally make an excuse of getting home early while the skies have temporarily calmed down. However, as you two strolled across the street, Sylus wouldn’t stop blabbering on and on about how you should have stayed more to talk about how prudish you were. 

“I’m not in the mood right now,” you spoke in a detached voice, moving away from him as you walked together. Because you ruined it, you wanted to add. The cold breeze kissed your face through the dark. 

Sylus only moved closer to you. “You shouldn’t be so uptight,” he countered, “Is that how kittens should act? Or do I punish you back at home?”

Punishments. You didn’t wish to go through another round of his ‘punishments’ because you weren’t certain at how creative he could be at delivering them. There was no doubt that a man who traversed the ages would have seen enough torture devices used during the earlier times. Perhaps he could get inspiration from those. 

“I just wanna go home,” you muttered, almost inaudibly had his heightened hearing senses not worked. 

“Good, then I can have fun with y—” Sylus halted from his words as his face froze at the sight in front of him. His body had completely gone stiff and his jaws were clenched. You would have thought that he was angry until that evil upturn of his lips came to show. 

“Sylus...”

Following his sight, he was all eyes on a man from a distance before he dashed towards the stranger, leaving you utterly stupefied from where you stood. What’s he on about? You rushed as your heels landed in lightweight steps across the sidewalk while you watched in terror how Sylus mercilessly throttled the man by the neck and dragged him into a dark alleyway. 

“Sylus, stop!” 

As you reached him with a panting breath, you realized that the man he was holding high up against the wall was the same person that catcalled you earlier. The man was wriggling away from Sylus’s tight grip, only to be asphyxiated harsher than before. 

“Wh-What’s your problem?” The man struggled to breathe due to the strangulation and you were pulling Sylus’s other arm to stop him. 

At the sight of Sylus’s crimson eyes and vicious stance, you knew there was nothing much you could do to prevent harm. He was determined to do what he wanted without paying attention to his surroundings. 

“You’re fantasizing her, huh?” Sylus taunted with a sinister undertone in his words. “You wanna spread ‘em open?” 

Recalling the very words he spoke, the man saw you with frantic eyes as his face was reddening from the lack of oxygen. With a rushed shake of the head and a face that was begging for sympathy, he tried to break free. “N-No, no. She’s—haaa! She’s all yours.” 

“Sylus, stop it.” You grabbed his arms and attempted your best to pull him away despite the trepidation that caused you goosebumps. “Please stop, you’re gonna kill him.” 

Every time you saw this demonic creature, you were learning new things about him and most of those things were of the worst kind. Not only was he possessive—he was diabolical, potentially obsessive, and a cutthroat sadist who wouldn’t even blink before ending someone’s life. This was the true nature of a demon, not some silly fantasy that today’s pop-culture portrayed them to be. 

He was a body without a soul.

Unfortunately, you should have thought twice before choosing to get involved with him. 

“That’s my plan, sweetie.” 

[tigercomplex]

mod pizza should not exist

[illyrianbitch]

An Education in Malice — Part Four

Pairing: Vanserra!Reader x Azriel

Summary: With the sharp tongue of your notorious family, you are Azriel's most tantalizing challenge yet. It only takes one small meeting before you both realize that the line between hate and desire is dangerously thin.

Warnings: 18+ heavy making out and wandering hands, lots of bickering, sexual tension, threats, name calling, torture and wound descriptions, abuse, two emotionally dysregulated cunts tbh

Word Count: 7.7k

←Part Three | Series Masterlist | Part Five

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

The air between you and Azriel had taken on a peculiar tension lately, some overwhelming, suffocating force that made you feel entirely too nervous for your comfort.  

Neither of you could ever pinpoint who made the first move— or rather, neither of you were willing to admit who did— but somehow, like clockwork, your dress was hiked up, his leathers were undone, and he was rutting into you from behind. It was always the same: a possessive grip on your waist, in your hair, or on your breasts, breath hot against your ear as he whispered words that only fueled the fire between you, responses to whatever comments you had made to rile him up.

It had become a distraction, this strange dynamic you created, that even Renard's interrogations had taken a backseat in lieu of it. It was proving increasingly difficult to get work done between fighting or fucking. 

The chamber was a dismal pit, darkness swallowing any hint of light that dared to enter. Moisture clung to the walls like a thick veil– the dirty, fetid atmosphere was tainted with the unmistakable stench of blood and other bodily fluids. You wrinkled your nose in disgust.

Azriel approached Renard, head cocking slightly to the side as his shadows danced around him— seemingly curious, excited almost. A twisted sense of satisfaction grew within you at the sight of Renard's pitiful state—starving, bloody, bruised, and desperate. 

Perhaps you should have felt some semblance of remorse or pity; even with how cruel Renard was, a compassionate soul should still feel a sense of guilt, a sense of sickness. But as you searched your body for it, as you attempted to muster it up, you came up empty handed. Instead, a rush of power surged through you. It felt like karma– well deserved karma.

You glanced at Azriel. There seemed to be a mirrored expression of satisfaction on his face, an unphased coolness to the situation before him. Even his shadows seemed at home, falling into familiar, rehearsed positions as he moved.  Deep down, something within you rested at the realization that he felt no remorse, either. 

“Is your plan to just stare at him until he confesses his secrets?”

Azriel could already anticipate the scowl on your face from the tone of your voice alone. He slowly turned his head to toss an unamused glare your way, hazel eyes momentarily scanning your figure. 

For the first time since this arrangement had begun, you were clad in something different, a departure from the usual dresses that adorned your form. The ensemble was a blend of regality and practicality, more akin to the attire of a warrior than a courtly lady— fitted pants and a tailored tunic, fabric adorned with subtle embellishments of autumn. It seemed as if Azriel wasn’t used to the sight yet— or he was entirely repulsed. You weren’t sure which, but you didn’t quite care, either. 

When his eyes met yours again, you gave him an impatient eyebrow raise, nodding towards Renard’s limp body. “Are you done checking me out yet?”

Azriel’s stare remained on you for a few more moments before he followed your line of sight back to the male before him. 

“Maybe if I didn’t have an incessant pest over my shoulder, I would be more successful.”

You stepped closer to him, a faint smell of night-chilled mist and cedar reaching your nose. “Maybe if you were actually good at anything besides harboring a grudge, you would’ve already been successful.”

Azriel didn’t move, didn’t so much as toss a glance your way as he responded, “Being a hypocrite isn’t a look fit for a lady.”

You let out an angry breath. 

Too much time had passed with Renard missing. Soon enough, your father was bound to get suspicious— and Eris was bound to get worried as well.  There wasn’t any doubt that Renard didn’t know much, not only because your father was a paranoid ruler, but because he failed to plan ahead more often than not. You didn’t need much information. All you needed was an idea of what Beron was planning, some inkling. Once you knew that, you could easily prevent it and ensure he didn’t gain any more power— ensure that Eris was set up to successfully overthrow him. 

But Azriel seemed to be taking his time, attempting to get other information about your court that could prove useful for the Night Court. 

“I think we’ve already established I’m past that title.”

Azriel looked at you. “Clearly.”

An all-too familiar simmering prickled at your skin and you clenched your jaw, matching the intensity of his glare with one of your own. 

Renard let out a weak chuckle, blood staining his teeth as he lifted his chin. 

“Listening to you two bicker is almost worse than the actual torture. You’re like a married couple. It’s pathetic.”

Azriel’s head snapped towards the male and a growl rumbled through the room. “Watch your mouth.”

But Renard only sneered, turning his bloodshot eyes to Azriel. “Big bad Shadowsinger, always lurking in the dark. Afraid to face your own inadequacies in the light, boy?”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed, tendrils of shadows now swirling around him, agitated, buzzing with a need to move. Renard offered a sickly, bloodied grin as he observed their movement. “No wonder you hide behind those shadows—they're the only things that can stand being around you.”

There was a pause as Azriel’s gaze grew predatory. And then a small, involuntary sound left your lips. 

It surprised you as much as it did Azriel, who turned to look at you with a furrowed brow and growing scowl. Your eyes widened a fraction at the sound, and within seconds, you let out a laugh.

The softness of it felt sinful, felt completely and utterly wrong— and something rippled throughout Azriel’s body at it, dug its way deep down into him until his wings felt slightly limp. From around his arms, his shadows slowed, coming to a curious, awe-filled stop. They began whispering, but he paid no attention. He pushed the foreign sensations away, his surroundings registering in his mind as he scowled.

“What the hell are you laughing at?”

You shook your head, another laugh escaping your lips at his face, contorted in frustration—  in an irritated confusion of being so caught off guard. His wings flared out, twitching slightly in response to the repeated sound.  “Nothing,” you said, “Your life just may be more pathetic than I thought if you’re getting psychoanalyzed by the male you’re torturing.”

Azriel’s irritation deepened as a grin grew on your face. “Shut up.”

A weak scoff drew your attention back to the bound male next to you. 

“You shouldn’t be laughing, princess.”  Renard’s eyes gleamed with malice as he shifted his gaze to you.  “Pretending to be tough, but the only reason you’re here is because you’re too weak to do anything on your own. Everyone knows Beron’s little girl is just a pathetic, needy bitch.”

The laughter died in your throat almost instantly, jaw clenching as your amusement quickly faded into a red haze of annoyance. A flame flickered at your fingertips. 

“Careful,” you warned. You moved to take a step towards Renard, but Azriel’s hand shot out instantly, stopping you with a firm grasp around your arm. 

You glanced down at where his hand met your body before pulling yourself away with a scowl. “Can you just do your job so we can kill him already?”

Your voice had a bitter, agitated edge to it now, a drawl that sounded more whiny than it did threatening. Azriel folded his arms, a gleam in his eyes as he responded with a mocking, “Why? Did he hit a nerve?”

You growled, watching as the edges of his lips turned up slightly— just enough for you to notice, just enough for that hint of an arrogant smirk to bother you. 

 “I think I preferred when you stayed quiet and sulked in your shadows.”

Azriel continued to stare at you, the ghost of a smirk still plastered on his face. A sense of annoyance prickled at your skin, mixed with something that tasted nauseatingly like embarrassment. Faintly, you felt the rush of heat threatening to spread to your cheeks. 

You clenched your jaw harder, gaze flickering from Azriel’s amused face to Renard’s bruised, snickering one. You landed back on Azriel with a sneer. 

“Wipe that stupid look off your face before I do it for you.”

Azriel watched in amusement as you stormed off, disappearing with another huff of annoyance and a vulgar gesture over your shoulder. 

Renard turned to him with a vile grin. “I have to ask. What’s she like, Shadowsinger? We’ve all wanted to fuck her. I bet she’s just as desperate in bed as she is—”

Azriel's expression darkened instantly, shadows swirling violently around him as he flared his wings out, poised and deadly. He held Renard by the throat, grip unyielding, siphons glowing angrily. His voice was deadly calm as he muttered, "I warned you to watch your mouth."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Only a couple hours had passed when Azriel found you again in the Spring Court, standing in the small house he’d grown strangely accustomed to. 

“You're here.”

You glanced over your shoulder, a sarcastic smile tugged at your lips. "Great detective skills on your part. Think you could use those with Renard?"

Unphased, Azriel rolled his eyes, the motion barely perceptible but unmistakable to someone who had spent as much time with him as you had. He moved with silent grace until he was standing right behind you, shadows hovering over his shoulders. 

"What's all this?"

His tone was flat as he took in the various items you had strewn across the table.

You shrugged, not bothering to turn around. "I brought some things so I wouldn’t need to keep going back and forth."

You could feel his presence behind you, the warmth of his body caressing over your skin as he leaned closer. Azriel's gaze landed on a leather-bound notebook among your belongings. 

"What's the notebook for?"

You stared at it for a moment, gingerly picking it up in your hands. There was a smirk on your lips as you turned to face him, face seemingly innocent and sweet. 

"All my private thoughts and hopes and dreams. At night, I sit with it and write in cursive letters, 'I hope the shadowsinger shuts the fuck up and stops being nosy.'"

Your voice started light, teasing, but as you finished the sentence, your expression hardened into a glare. Azriel seemed anything but amused, and a muscle feathered in his cheek. He gave no verbal response, opting to keep his gaze trained on you until you let out a huff of annoyance. 

He’d collected certain observations of you over the past few weeks. 

You rolled your eyes in almost every conversation he held with you. You smelled like a crackling fire and forest pine branch, something so similar to fresh fall air. He’d seen you sneer more than he’d ever seen you smile— which was once, today, as Renard commented on his shadows and apparent self-loathing. But most of all, you hated prolonged eye-contact. It made you angry, frustrated— flustered even. Azriel wouldn’t deny the satisfaction he felt every time he watched your jaw clench, watched the tinge of pink appear on the apple of your cheeks.

“What?” You snapped, glaring at him through your lashes. 

“Any particular reason you're more insufferable than usual?” 

An eye roll. “Bite me.”

“Hmm.” A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips. “Do you want me to?”

Your mouth parted for a fleeting second. And then you scowled, nose scrunching at the movement. “I brought this to keep track of everything I find out about my father and Koschei.” You shoved the journal into Azriel’s chest with a little more force than necessary.

Azriel frowned, catching it effortlessly. His shadows flowed to his fingers, gliding across the cover as he flipped it open. He glanced at you through his lashes, a single brow arching in question. “This is empty.”

“Point proven,” you shot back, “Go back to Renard and find something useful. We’re running out of time.”

He stood up straight, rolled his shoulders back, and narrowed his eyes at you. “I wasn’t aware we were on a deadline.” 

You chewed the inside of your cheek. Another sigh of annoyance left your lips. "Beron is bound to realize that Renard isn't on some drunken bender anymore. He's going to come looking. I don't want there to be anything for him to find."

Azriel's lips quirked in a small, humorless smile. "I think I'm capable of hiding a trail or two."

"Are you sure about that?" You narrowed your eyes. "Because you barely seem able to get Renard to do anything besides read you like a boring, sad, self-loathing book."

Azriel let out a scoff, glancing to the side as he threw the journal back onto the table behind you. You clenched your jaw at the movement, at the sound of the thud it created as it fell onto the wood. 

"Your insults are getting weaker, princess. Maybe you should take some lessons from him."

"Shut up," you snapped, the words coming out more petulant than you'd intended. 

He crossed his arms across his chest. Your eyes fell to his hands, to the siphons that beamed with color in front of you. His shadows followed the movement, gliding down his forearms and around his wrists.

“What would happen if Beron found out you were sneaking around? That you were holding Renard?”

His voice drew your attention back to his face, where his eyes were narrowed in on you in a deep, curious, almost unsure gaze. 

Your answer was swift, no hesitation. “He would kill me.”

Azriel wasn’t quite sure why his body reacted the way it did, why he felt himself flinch, why his wings seemed to twitch in discomfort. Whatever the reason, you noticed the reaction immediately, noting how his brows seemed to furrow ever-so-slightly—- a motion nearly minuscule for the normal eye, but you were talented at picking up these things. Years of blending in gave you such abilities— and weeks around Azriel made it easier to read his tells.

There was a feeling in your stomach that you couldn’t make out yet, but it was heavy and made you antsy. You broke eye contact, dropping your eyes to the ground as you absentmindedly kicked your shoe at some tracked-in dirt. 

“Don’t act so surprised,” you said nonchalantly, “My father has no ties to me beyond the unfortunate blood in my veins. I’m a bitch to be bred by the highest bidder.”

Something tightened in your chest as you paused for a moment. You blinked away the images that were flowing in through the corners of your mind. “I’m not worth any extra hassle.”

A silence followed. Your gaze was still on the ground, still on your black boots and the floor beneath you. A faint motion caught your eye and you watched as a tendril of Azriel’s shadow drifted to the ground— cascading down his ankle before it fell to the ground, stopping at your feet.

“I’d say,” Azriel murmured.

His words ran through you like a cold chill.

Azriel watched as something dark and fleeting passed through your eyes. You stood up straight, dropping your hands to grip the edges of the table as you leaned the small of your back against it. The faint smell of something burnt lingered in the air.

You tilted your head at him, gaze flickering between his eyes. And then a mocking, sly grin pulled at the edges of your lips. It felt unnatural. “Says the man who fucks me in the forest like a starved beast.”

Azriel’s hands slowly dropped from his chest. He took a step forward. A sense of tension crackled in the shared air, and you felt it within your stomach— a small flicker of fire.

“You let me.”

You shrugged. Heated pooled in your veins.  “A good fuck is a good fuck.”

Azriel’s lips curled into a smirk, and his hand reached out to trace up your arm. You tightened your grip on the edge of the table as the touch traveled through your skin. “It doesn’t bother you that it’s me?”

There was something inherently dangerous about the way he spoke, about the taunting, accusatory tone his words now dripped with. He traced the movement of his hand with his eyes, continuing a path up your arm. 

“I could ask you the same thing.”

His eyes flickered up to yours. You took a deep breath. 

“Truthfully?” He leaned in closer.  “I loathe it.”

His movements momentarily stilled, but you felt his shadows continue the path he’d started, felt as they slowly snaked up your arms. 

“Yet you keep coming back.”

His eyes darkened, and then he let out a soft, cool hum.  “A good fuck is a good fuck.”

By now, you were inches apart, the space between you a thin, taut with a suffocating tension that made it hard for you to breathe. His shadows slithered around you, caressing your skin so delicately you could’ve sworn it mimicked a lover's touch— their darkness wrapping around your neck, weaving themselves through strands of your hair.

You bit your lip, and Azriel's hand moved to your mouth, the pad of his thumb slowly pulling your bottom lip down. "You said you don’t care about Koschei,” he murmured, “That you just want to help your family.”

He released your lip, thumb resting on your skin as he held your chin in his hand.  He titled your head to his line of sight. “But Eris doesn’t know about Renard.”

"No, he does not.”

Your voice was quieter now, a low, soft tone that made Azriel almost groan in response. The feeling went straight through his body, coiling in his stomach and making his cock twitch. 

"Would he disagree with the methods?" 

Azriel’s lips were inches from yours, the space between you practically nonexistent. 

You frowned at the question, feeling your chest tighten as his mouth hovered near yours. Your knuckles turned white as your grip on the table turned iron, feeling the chipped wood beneath your fingertips. 

"He would disagree with me interfering so boldly with my father.”

"Because it would get you killed," Azriel stated.

"Yes.” 

His nose brushed against yours, and he met your gaze as his hand moved to wrap around the base of your neck. 

"You’re willing to continue this even if it risks your life?" 

You felt strangely exposed, naked in a way that you’d never felt before— not even when your clothes had been torn off and he was deep inside you, hands roaming your naked skin with a scorching touch and a ravenous mouth. This felt intimate. You didn’t like it. 

You traced the features of his face, his gaze still laser-focused on you, intense and wanting. He had a few freckles across his cheeks that you’d never noticed, and the flecks of green in his eyes were overshadowed by his dilated pupils. You took a deep breath, finding the courage to meet his heavy gaze once more. 

"Wouldn’t you do something similar?"

Azriel paused. A sense of conflict passed through his eyes as he pulled back slightly, just enough to scan your face entirely. 

"No," he finally said. He hesitated for a moment. "I’d do the exact same thing."

There was a beat of silence. You stared at one another, breaths turning heavy, ragged. Your heart thundered beneath your ribs. Before you could come to your senses, you closed the distance between you, wrapping your hands around his neck to pull him into you. Azriel responded eagerly, mouth slotting over yours with a natural, practiced ease. 

His hands fell from your neck, tracing down your waist until his palms gripped your hips, pulling your body further into his own. You let out a sound of pleasure at the feeling, at how his hands explored you, how the heat of his body seared against yours. You melted into his touch.

Azriel’s lips trailed along your jawline, and with a guttural groan, he  suddenly spun you around, pulling you back against him with a possessive force, his arousal pressing hard into your beck. 

The sudden change in position only fueled the haze in your mind and you placed your hands over his, following as he roamed over your curves. You threaded your fingers through his, roughly guiding his palm up your chest, moving to cup it over your breast. 

His lips nipped at your ear from behind.

"This change in wardrobe is interesting," he murmured, voice husky and rough with a delicious sense of desire.

You tilted your head slightly, reveling in the feeling of his breath against your skin. "Don't like it?" 

He chuckled lowly, his hands cupping your breast roughly. “Don't particularly favor how difficult it seems to take off."

The sensation of his touch sent a rush of heat coursing through you. Every inch of you burned with need— an all-consuming, humiliating need. 

Your eyes fluttered shut and you leaned into his touch, head falling back onto his shoulders as his lips found the skin beneath your ear. 

You raised a hand to tangle your fingers into Azriel’s hair, your eyes opening once more as his touch grew hungrier, rougher. 

The view of the table slowly came into focus. Your gaze fell to the notebook, its empty pages seemed to mock you with their blankness, and you blinked as a sense of sanity washed through you like a cold tide. 

With a jolt, you pushed yourself away from Azriel, prying his hands off your body as you broke the heated embrace.

Azriel blinked, shadows rushing back to him as if startled by the sudden pull away. His hair was tousled, lips still tingling from the kiss.

"What is it?" he asked, breathing heavy. 

You took a moment to compose yourself, patting down your disheveled hair with quick hands. "I’m bored. This isn’t doing it for me," you lied. You swallowed as Azriel’s stared at you with a furrowed brow. "Just go work on Renard."

You left no room for him to respond. Within the blink of an eye, you had disappeared from Azriel’s sight. 

His hands ran through his hair, attempting to shake off the lingering effects of the moment with you. The air still felt suffocating, still smelled of you and the sweet, addicting scent of your arousal. He scowled to himself.

His shadows slowly moved down his frame, falling to the ground and gliding across the floors. His eyes fell down to their movement, watching as they wrapped around a foot of the table, as they made their way up to the tabletop. 

He squinted at where they landed, reaching a finger out to the area that they traced. There, etched into the wood, was a faint outline of a burnt handprint— a perfect replica of your palm. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Even with the familiar scene of pine and earth, returning home to the Forest House– to your court— never brought you a sense of comfort. But today, with the heat of your blush still spreading through your cheeks, you welcomed the quiet, empty halls. 

The soft patter of paws drew your attention as Laney approached with her head lowered. A small smile grew on your lips as she nudged you with her wet nose, but quickly the smile dropped as a small whine escaped her. 

Kneeling down, you gently ran your fingers across her coat. "What's wrong, girl?"

She only nudged your hand once more and turned, leading you deeper into the house.

A sense of foreboding settled over you as you followed her through the corridors. Your steps quickened when you spotted Flint lying outside Eris’s room. The dread in your chest grew heavier. Eris had a special connection to Flint. There were only a few situations in which he’d refuse the company.

Your face fell as you pushed the door to Eris’s room,  heart clenched at the sight before you. 

Eris sat on a small, velvet bench at the end of his bed, his head snapping back to the sound of his door opening. His expression quickly softened when he met your eyes, and you watched as his shoulders slumped.  “It’s just you.”

You gave him a small nod as he turned back around, your gaze falling to the blood-soaked shirt he wore, the crimson color spreading throughout the thin fabric. Flint and Laney pushed past you, paws pattering on the ground as they entered the room. A heavy feeling settled in your chest, something entirely dark and queasy. 

Eris grumbled as Flint neared him. “Shit. Y/N, close the godsdamn door.”

“I-” You snapped out of your daze, quickly closing the door before rushing over to him, gently pushing the hounds aside. “I’m sorry.”

You sat down next to him. “They just want to help you,” you said quietly. 

Eris sighed, a deep, weary sound. “I know. I just—”

Your eyes wandered to the hounds who had settled down nearby. Such regal, cunning, smart creatures. You’d never think them caring enough to sense such pain, yet here they were, eyes reflecting a deep understanding of the situation. Flint let out a small whimper, laying his head on his paws.

You looked back at Eris, slumped with his head in his hands, spine curved in a manner that made his wounds pour deeper into his shirt. A similar thought made its way through your mind. Your brother, regal and intelligent, a male who carried so much, who bore his father’s wrath time and time again– a male with a warm heart somewhere deep within the anger he radiated. The heavy feeling in your chest grew, began to fester into something fighting between fury, loathing, and suffocating sadness. 

“What happened?”

Eris didn’t lift his head, voice muffled by his hands. “He found me talking to my men. It wasn’t anything. Wasn’t about Koschei, wasn’t even about him.” 

There was an exhaustion in his voice that dripped with every word. 

“He was feeling particularly upset today,” Eris finished as he lifted his shirt, revealing the full extent of the damage. The lashes were deep, and you could see the dark, almost blackened edges where your father’s special concoction had seeped into the wounds. Eris bit back a groan, jaw clenched tightly.

That heavy feeling in your chest turned hot, burning— all consuming. So many things ran through your mind, overwhelming, crushing floods of emotions drowning your senses. 

You registered the anger first, the empty, crushing pressure of it, a feeling you’d grown too familiar with. Anger at your father, at the situation you were all trapped in, at the sheer unfairness of it all. 

And then it was guilt. Dark, suffocating, guilt. Renard missing had probably put your father on edge. Not only had you lied about it, kept it a secret, but you hadn’t been there when Eris needed you most. Instead, you’d been entangled with Azriel, a male who had no respect for you, for your family, who would so willingly watch your brother suffer. Selfish, selfish, selfish. 

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. There was nothing you could say, nothing that would make this situation okay, that would take away Eris’s pain– that would prevent it from happening all over again. You swallowed.

“Eris-” 

He lifted his head and turned to you a resigned expression, eyes slightly wide with desperation.  "I’m going to call it all off. We can’t meet with them now, not for a while.”

You didn’t need to ask for clarification, you already knew who he was talking about, what alliance he was referring to. You shook your head. “No, we need-”

"It’s too dangerous," he interrupted, voice urgent and pleading. "He’s watching everyone more closely now. If he finds out you're involved, I don't know what he'll do."

You shook your head faster, a hard sense of determination flaring in your chest. "We can’t, I can't. I need to figure something out. I need to help you."

Eris sat up straighter, grimacing at the motion as he reached out, his hand finding a firm but gentle on your wrist. "You need to stay safe, Y/N. Please. Nothing else matters."

You looked at him, brows furrowed and throat tight. Your strong, protective brother now reduced to pleading with you. You took a deep, ragged breath. “It all matters. I need to help you, okay? I need to make sure you have the upper hand."

Eris just shook his head, shook it so firmly and desperately that you could’ve sworn he was a teenager again, hand on yours as he scolded you for breaking something.

"Please," he repeated, his voice breaking. “Just listen to me."

A wave of helplessness washed over you, and now you felt small again, felt as if you’d shrunk in place. Your mind traveled back, throwing you into memories where you’d hide away from your father, fearing his disappointed hand, desperate for approval but receiving only pain. The same feeling bubbled in your chest.

You swallowed hard.  "I can't just stand by and do nothing."

Eris's eyes softened. "You want to help me? Stay safe.” 

You frowned, biting the inside of your cheek. The words you wanted to say caught in your throat. You couldn’t promise him that. You couldn’t lie. So instead, you turned your attention to his back, to the angry wounds that marred his skin. 

"Here, let me help you," you murmured. He gave you a long look, then nodded, slowly moving his body to expose more of his back to you. 

You moved your hand to his back. Heat surged through you, flickering at your fingertips. Your hands shook, trembled as you attempted to focus. You tried to channel it, to control that divine fire within you, but the energy was wild and unsteady. A self-loathing bite gnawed at you. 

"I can't—" you whispered, the words laced with frustration. 

Renard’s's taunting voice echoed in your mind. Too weak to do anything on your own.

Eris turned to look at you again, calm words breaking through the rising storm you felt inside your chest. "It's okay,” he said, “I can do it."

"I'm sorry.”

He shook his head at you, a small smile gracing his features. “There's nothing to be sorry for.”

There was something about the fact that he was able to smile, that he pulled such a gesture out for you, that made the bitter loathing inside of you spread even faster. 

"Just stay with me?” Eris asked. 

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Of course.”

With one hand, he held yours, and the other twisted over his back. You watched as his own hands began to heat up, glowing with a controlled, steady flame. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

All you felt was anger. All you saw was red.

Memories flashed in your mind, one after another. Eris’s bloodied wounds and the far-off look in his eyes, your mother hid away from the world and the echoes of her crying, being forced to clean the floors of your brother’s blood, your paralyzing inadequacies. It all twisted inside you, each image wrapping itself around your ribs, wounding itself tight enough to make you struggle to breathe.

You weren’t sure how you got here, but the smell of blood in the air tasted sweet on your tongue. Renard lay slumped in the metal chair. Despite his appearance, a mocking grin spread across his split lips as you entered.

“Come back for more, have you?” 

The sight of him, significantly more battered than the last time you’d seen him, brought a welcomed sense of satisfaction. At your sides, you clenched your fists until they were white. 

“I’m done playing,” you said, your voice a low, dangerous growl. “Tell me what you know.”

Renard’s grin widened, a cruel glint in his eyes. “I'm trembling in fear,” he mocked, “What's a dolled-up whore like you going to do?”

Something inside you snapped. 

With a snarl, you lunged forward, hands slamming down onto the metal chair. All the anger, all the pain, everything you’d been holding back, surged through you. The metal beneath your palms began to heat up, the sensation almost soothing in its intensity— cathartic, even. 

Renard’s eyes widened. “I already told you both, fuck, I already gave you all I know!” he shouted, painful groans leaving his mouth as the hot metal below him began to bite at his exposed skin. “We don’t know anything.”

“You’re a liar!” 

In the back of your mind, you grasped at your resolve, grasped at the strength you needed to keep your desperation hidden— all attempts proved futile. You grabbed Renard’s neck, fingers digging into his flesh as a simmering heat radiated down your arm. “Tell me what you know!” 

Renard’s screams filled the room, his body writhing in agony. “I don’t—” he choked out, voice hoarse with pain. You stared at your hand, stared at the flicker of flames that began had to grow, watched as they moved to Renard’s skin–

But before the flames could fully spread, black smoke enveloped your wrist, wrapping around it with a smothering, extinguishing touch. 

Not smoke—shadows. 

A hand grabbed you next, pulling you back with a rough hand. 

You pulled against the familiar grip. “Let me go, you foul-bred animal!” 

Azriel’s voice was a low growl in your ear. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

You struggled against him, but his hold was firm. 

Within a blink, you were winnowed to an open area in the forest, the sudden transition leaving your senses reeling. A cool breeze brushed against your skin, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. You blinked. And then you pushed Azriel off, staggering back with the force of the motion. Your heart pounded with residual fury, a trickling sense of adrenaline still coursing through your veins. 

“What do you not understand about 'let me go'?” you spat, “Is there something in those bat genetics of yours that makes you lose brain functioning at random intervals?”

Azriel’s didn’t budge. “Do not go back there.”

“You don’t tell me what to do, Shadowsinger. I think it’s time I handle this on my own.”

“Handle it?” he echoed, his shadows curled at his fists. “You were about to burn him alive, losing control like some child throwing a tantrum.”

The color drained from your face. “And you’re the expert voice on self-control?”  The taste of resentment lingered on your tongue, sour and sickly familiar. “Where was this energy when you slaughtered and tortured my brother’s men? When they were being controlled, when they knew nothing?”

Azriel’s wings twitched almost imperceptibly. Your voice fell slightly to a tone lower, more raw. 

“Was what I was doing truly that bad, or do you only care that it’s me doing it?”

There was a beat. Azriel looked away before finding your eyes again. He shook his head, a small scowl on his face. “What are you implying?”

Something inside you shifted as you stared at him, every detail seemingly magnified, as if your emotions had sharpened your perception at last. You’d noticed this intensity around him, wrote it off as the thrill of an adversary. But you realized now, as Azriel stood before you, that he was something else entirely: a stark embodiment of everything you loathed, everything you sought to avoid, and everything you secretly craved. 

He wielded cruelty with impunity, praised for his ruthlessness, while his family basked in the warmth of love and freedom, despite their own moral shortcomings. And now he stood before you, a bastard-born nobody who had stumbled into luck, blind to anything beyond his own skewed perceptions. 

There was a defiant, knowing glint in your eyes, as if something had been confirmed— as if that you'd found the answer to some question you’d asked for centuries. 

“You are so desperately searching for some confirmation that I am as horrible as you’ve made me out to be.”

Azriel's eyes narrowed slightly. His demeanor remained outwardly composed, a practiced facade of stoicism and indifference, but the glow of his siphons gave him away. 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

You raised an eyebrow, fists slowly unfurling at your sides. Your breath was more even now.

“I understand more than you think. You’ve been waiting for me to slip, to prove that I’m just like—” 

“Beron.”

You paused, slighting flinching at how much contempt was fit into one word.

Eris. You were going to say Eris. Not Beron. Not your father. 

A flash of hurt crossed your face and something in Azriel’s chest tightened. His shadows fell into a frozen wreath around his arms. 

“Right,” you scoffed, moving to brush past him. “Then I better do a good job and prove you right.”

Azriel stopped you with a casual sidestep, wings flaring out to block your path further.  “Do not go back there.”

“I will do whatever the hell I please,” you hissed, meeting his gaze defiantly. There was a burning hatred in your eyes that he’d never felt before, something more foul and rotten than what had been there before. 

Azriel’s jaw clenched even further as he let out an angry breath. The strength of your gaze alone triggered his hand to instinctively wander to the dagger on his hip, to the cool steel of Truth-Teller. His shadows curled around his fingers, threading through them as if calling him back to reality. He blinked, and then pulled his hand away, flexing it as he looked at you once more.

“Why?” 

Azriel's voice was probing, his gaze searching—  scanning your face with a scrutiny that made you itch. 

“Why what?”  you snapped back, your tone sharper than you intended, the itch spreading, making you want to pace or scream, anything to shake off his intense stare, to rid yourself of the tightening in your chest.

“You’re desperate. This wasn’t as thought out as you tend to be.”

You let out a dry, humorless laugh, feeling the sound scrape against your throat. "Because you know me so well?" The words felt like ash on your tongue, a bitter taste lingering in your mouth.

“Yes,” he stated simply, his eyes piercing into yours still. “We’re allies. Explain yourself.”

"I was just trying to pick up your slack and get information." The lie rolled off your tongue naturally.

But Azriel wasn’t buying it. "No, that’s not it," he countered, "We’re working for the same side. There is no reason for you to go off like this."

You gritted your teeth, the pressure making your jaw ache.  “We are not working for the same side.”

“We have an alliance.”

His calm demeanor only fueled your frustration. Your hands fell into a familiar position at your side, curled into tight fists, your nails biting into your palms.

“Your alliance with Eris is to support him when he takes over the throne. But when it comes to Koschei, there is no doubt in my mind you’re willing to undermine your allies to get rid of his threat. And in doing so, you’ll endanger me and my family.”

Your voice was rising, the words spilling out in a rush of pent-up emotion. “ I want to— I need to know everything before any moves are made. My brother needs an edge to stay ahead, and he sure as hell isn’t going to get it if he’s playing by the rules and having to defend his every move because of this stupid agreement.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening to near black. “Eris wouldn’t need to defend himself if he wasn’t a vile snake.”

Rage boiled through you, its fiery grip yanking onto your stomach and your chest.The intensity of it casted a hazy glow, distorting your vision with its searing heat.

“I am fed up with your little group thinking that we need to beg for your forgiveness. Tell me, does it get cold on all of that moral high ground? Does the high horse ever get uncomfortable?”

You stepped closer to him, pushing against his chest with your finger, the contact sending a jolt up your arm. Azriel's hand shot out, gripping your wrist tightly.

 "Perhaps Eris feels the need to beg for forgiveness because of the acts he’s committed.”

“And what has he done? Besides refusing to give in to every whim?” 

You tried to yank your hand free, but his grip held firm. Your pulse pounded in your temples, a steady, throbbing beat. You felt that familiar prickling feeling grow across your skin, a simmering fire creeping up your arm.

“He left Morrigan in those woods to die.”

He dropped your hand, the action almost dismissive, as if he couldn’t bear to touch you anymore. You pulled it back into you and took a step back, shaking your head. Of course. The thought echoed in your mind, bringing a bitter realization that settled like a stone in your stomach. 

“It always comes back to that, doesn’t it?” 

Azriel’s expression hardened, centuries of a grudge etched into every line of his face. His shadows danced around him, dark tendrils coiling and writhing like live fire across his body. You felt it radiating off him in waves— a palpable hatred that made your skin prickle. It was a feeling so intense you wondered how he had managed to lessen it before, how he could bear to be inside you, even with you turned away.

“My brother didn’t put that nail in her. He didn’t touch her at all.”

Azriel’s eyes were hard as steel. “He left her there. Naked, scared, and dying.”

“He gave Morrigan mercy in the only way he knew how.” 

“You call that mercy?” 

“Yes! Eris was just as much of a child as Morrigan was.”

Every word felt rancid now, burned like bile in your throat, fueled by a protectiveness born from years of standing by your brother's side. You stepped closer to Azriel, not bothering to hold back the flames that now licked at your skin. His shadows coiled around his arms, formed an almost protective barrier around his clenched fists. 

“Do you know what my father would have done had Eris touched her, helped her at all? He didn’t take lightly to the disrespect and humiliation she passed. He would have made a public show and slaughtered her. Just as he later did with Jesminda.”

Azriel stayed quiet, stayed eerily still as he watched you. You didn’t expect a response. A new emotion curled itself into your gut, something much heavier than anger, than rage. You thought about Eris, thought about the lashes on his back, thought about how he used to stay awake at night to wander the halls, listening outside of your parent’s chambers in case your mother needed help. You thought about how he’d helped you bury Jesminda, how he’d kept a figurine of Lucien’s to give to you. 

No matter what he did, or what you did for him, he would never be free— not truly. Not from his past and the assumptions people have made of him. He would always be cruel. And you, in association, would always be evil. Vile. It was in your family's nature. You felt foolish for thinking otherwise, for not learning how to take your rage and make it something useful, forge it into a weapon, train it like a beast to eat the remaining shreds of your empathy.

Eris deserved better. He was better than Rhysand. He was better than the male that stood before you. 

"But none of this matters to you," you continued, your voice tinged with bitterness and resignation. "Even if it's the truth.”

Azriel’s wings twitched. You didn’t need further confirmation that your words held true. He would never accept a version of that night besides his own, because a version that included the truth would force him to see Eris as something other than a wicked, evil male. As long as your brother was worse than Azriel, as long as there was someone worse than him, he’d never have to face the fact that he wasn’t as good of a male as he claimed to be.

"You make excuses for your brother, but where are yours?" Azriel finally spoke. "You've done cruel things. You've hurt people. Killed people." His gaze flickered to your fists wreathed in flames. "Burned them alive," he added.

The fire at your arms grew in response to his words.  You cocked your head. And then you ignored him. "You threatened my life. At that High Lord’s meeting—  you lost control, put my brother in a chokehold, and threatened my life."

Azriel's nostrils flared and his siphons began to shine with a dangerous, angry glow. 

"I dare you to live up to your word, Shadowsinger," you challenged, taking a slow step towards him. "I'm here. I've been here.” His eyes traced your every movement. 

“And yet, you've just fucked me."

There was a flicker of something in his eyes, a mix of anger and shame that he quickly masked behind a veil of indifference. But you saw it, felt it, reveled in it.

"You're weak, Azriel," you said, voice low and calm. "A slave to your anger, to your impulses, to your High Lord. You have always been weak."

He blinked at the sound of his name falling from your lips, a wave of uncertainty washing through his face. But his eyes stayed on you, still burning, still angry. They simmered hotter now, heavier with a new strain of contempt. 

Your breath escaped in a half-hearted chuckle. "It's a pity," you said, shaking your head slightly. Your flame dwindled to a faint firefly glow. "To see such a pretty face marred by blind devotion."

With one final glance, you turned on your heel and winnowed away. You didn’t see Azriel again for two more weeks. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

←Part Three

guys.... the next part is one of my favorites tehehehe cause its mainly just azriels perspective and where his mind is at. PLUS this is where those content warnings start to get lighter :DDDD

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: @rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen

azriel tag list: @thisiskaylin @serrendiipty

[joemama-2]

somethin' sweet

synopsis: you own a five-star renowned restaurant that is extremely hard to get into. business is great, the customers love it. everything is as perfect as can be. that is until a harsh food critic leaves you a bad review. you're stuck with a dilemma, let this one review overcome you. or.....fuck him so he can change it. tags: smut, sort of public sex, vaginal penetration, oral, gojo is kind of mean and annoying, praise, degradation, doggy, missionary, cunnilingus, dividers by @cafekitsune word count: 6370

The one time you’re not here, the one time you actually listen to everyone’s complaints about taking time to yourself because you overwork way too much. The one time you use your PTO to vacation to Bali for a week,

A distinguished critic visits your restaurant. 

You stare down at the screen in your hands, having not at all prepared for this news to be brought on you as soon as you enter. Its words stare back at you, taunting you almost. You’re half tempted to throw it across the kitchen, but that would be another expense added to your list of supplies you needed to buy for the upcoming month.

“What day did he come?” you ask as your pointer finger scrolls the screen, reading more of the nasty review that was left.

“A Saturday. None of us even knew he was coming.” Mayra, your head sous chef, replies. The rest of the staff stands around. Some in nervousness, anticipation, and even anger at the predicament. “We sat him on the top. Even made sure he had the whole floor to himself.”

The top floor, strictly reserved for distinguished guests who waited on your month long reservation list, or for those who would simply buy it out for the night. Your top floor is constantly raved about in the media, sometimes for its lavishness and other times in jealousy. Long story short, the top floor is for the best of the best.

And they gave him that.

But it seems he didn’t care for that at all.

“If you’re in the mood for a culinary adventure that feels more like a misadventure, look no further than Lovely Haven, the so-called “fusion” restaurant that blends American comfort food with Italian classics. Unfortunately, the only thing they seem to have fused successfully is disappointment and confusion. The result is a dismal failure that feels like a cruel joke on the palate, this is what happens when culinary confusion collides with utter mediocrity.

Let’s start with the decor—an odd mix of rustic Italian charm and the kind of neon signs you'd find in a questionable diner. It’s as if someone couldn’t decide whether to create a romantic trattoria or a roadside burger joint. The atmosphere is confusing, much like the menu.”

You scoff as you read this part to yourself. The decor? The decor was one of the things almost every customer raved about. Its bright lights mixed with sleek and stainless furniture was the epitome of success. Going as far as bugging your interior designer for days, even weeks on end, to get it down to the T. 

Secondly, mediocre? How dare he? You’ve been in the culinary arts for over two decades now, and so has your staff. You were very nitpicky and quite a perfectionist when assembling your employees for your place of solace. Your 5-star Michelin restaurant, yes, 5-star. It only took two years to achieve that goal, which placed you as the quickest growing restaurant in your area. And he’s treating it like you’re nothing but a simple Applebee’s or Chili’s. 

The balls on this man.

“Now, onto the menu—a dizzying array of choices that reads like a desperate attempt at creativity gone horribly awry. The lasagna burger is a prime example of this misguided ambition. It arrives as a soggy monstrosity, with layers of pasta and a sad, overcooked beef patty that would make even the most forgiving diner weep. It’s a culinary abomination, devoid of flavor and entirely forgettable.

Then there are the “famous” Alfredo fries, which manage to be both an insult to fries and Alfredo sauce. The dish is an affront to all things Italian and American, featuring limp, greasy fries drowning in a thick, tasteless goo that resembles some sort of industrial paste. It’s a disgrace, and I genuinely questioned whether anyone in the kitchen had ever tasted actual food before.”

By this point, your grip has tightened on the Ipad, jaw clenching and brows furrowing. This man, he really, really was an asshole. Disrespecting your hard-working kitchen staff was a low blow that you took personally. “How long did it take to get his food out to him?”

“Twenty minutes, Y/N.” Luke, one of the managers, replies. “I timed it and made sure it was prepared before the other guests who were dining.”

So not only was he being treated like a princess, but the other customers, who probably got there before him, received their food after he was served. All for the sake of him not reviewing your restaurant’s “unkempt timeliness”.

You continue to read the last few paragraphs while your stomach twists and turns.

“Service, predictably, matched the culinary catastrophe. Our server was inattentive and seemed more interested in their phone than in providing any semblance of hospitality. Drinks took an eternity to arrive—warm, naturally, because why would you expect cold beverages at a restaurant?

Dessert? Oh, you mean the “Tiramisu Sundae”? It’s a ghastly creation that defies logic, featuring layers of sad, mushy sponge cake drowned in what could only be described as a failed attempt at chocolate syrup. The entire dish is an insult to the beloved Italian classic, tasting more like a punishment than a treat.

In conclusion, Lovely Haven is not just a failure; it’s a disgrace to the culinary arts. If you value your taste buds and your sanity, steer clear of this pitiful excuse for a restaurant. Save your money and your appetite for a place that actually understands food. You deserve better.”

The silence that follows is harsh, awaiting a potential outburst from you. You lift your head and swivel around to glare at the group around you. “Who served him?”

Hesitance replies back, some of your staff looking down as though the ground seems more interesting than your death glare. It isn’t until you ask the question again, in a firmer tone, does Mayra respond. “Susan.”

Jesus christ. 

As if things couldn’t be worse, who’s bright idea was it to decide that the slacking employee serves your distinguished guest. The one person who has been trying your presence since she was hired. “Where is—”

You’re disrupted by the kitchen door opening, the problem herself walking through with earbuds in and of course, scrolling on her phone. As she looks up and sees the numerous amount of eyes on her, her steps falter. Confusion sparks through her expression, but as soon as you step forward, it begins to click.

“You’re thirty minutes late, I put you on opening because you said you couldn’t close anymore.” You don’t even have it in you to lighten your tone, eyes narrowed and voice clipped in annoyance, frustration. “Your performance has been lacking for months now, do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Ever the brat she is, her arms cross. “I’m a busy college student, I have other priorities and things on my mind unlike the rest of you.”

“And I understand that,” you snap back.”But there is a difference between having other priorities and simply not caring. You don’t listen, you show up late, and you’re using your phone while you’re on the floor. Do you understand how extremely disrespectful that is?”

A moment of silence passes as she seems to formulate what to say in her mind. “I jus—”

“You’re fired.” you cut her off. “Your last check will be deposited within 24 hours, do not come back and if you do, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.”

Luke and Mayra, along with your other manager, Ren, sit next to you in your office. Computer screen displayed in front of you four while your fingers type away. Mayra glances at your focused expression before back at the screen. “Do you really think he’ll reply back? Critics don’t usually come to review a place for a second time, especially one they strongly advised against.”

“I don’t care,” you murmur, eyes not straying from the email you’re drafting out. “Out of the seven years we’ve been operating, we haven’t had a single bad review. And now, this entitled ass thinks just because he gets paid to eat and critic, he can ruin our reputation.”

Ren sighs, hand lifted to his forehead. “Y/N, it’s okay. One bad review doesn’t and won’t define us.”

“Besides, he’s known for being harsh, he does this to everyone,” Luke adds on.

“Even more of a reason for me to do this. I will not allow him to openly disrespect our hard work and dedication like this.”

The three around you give one another a knowing look, right before you click send on the email.

“Hello, Mr. Gojo. 

My name is Y/N L/N, I’m the owner of Lovely Haven, a place you recently reviewed. After reading your honest review, I am extremely upset and apologetic for the food and service you received that day. That is not at all what we strive for, and again, I sincerely apologize. 

If you would accept, I would like to set up a second visit for you. We are closed on this coming Friday, due to the holiday, but I’d love to personally serve you myself and answer any and all questions you may have regarding Lovely Haven and its history.

Please respond back as soon as you have a moment. Thank you again.

Kindly,

Y/N L/N”

“Hello, Ms. LN,

I appreciate you reaching out to me. I’ll come around 8am on Friday. Thank you.

Sincerely, 

Gojo Satoru”

You;ve spent the better half of the past two hours setting up and making sure everything is perfect. You’ll be damned if you have a rerun of last time, especially on your watch. Your staff insisted you don’t handle this alone, urging for at least two cooks to be present. But you refused.

Lovely Haven is your business and creation, your heart. So in a way, you feel as if it’s your job as the owner to make this all right. If anyone can serve this man, it’s you. 

You’re dressed formally, hair up (in case he tries to complain about hair in his food). Wearing a simple black dress, modest enough as it reaches your knees. It’s tight, but not too tight. You’re wearing small black heels to match, gold jewelry complimenting the attire. 

The clock inches towards 8 and you, for some reason, find yourself feeling oddly nervous. Maybe it’s the anticipation or anxiousness for a second try. Your stomach curls, almost like you’re a lovestruck high schooler seeing her crush in the hallways. Sweaty handles fiddle together in front of you while your eyes dart from the watch on your wrist and the glass front doors.

Either this man had a penchant for being late, or you somehow mixed your days up and he’s not coming today. Dramatically, you check your phone and let out a sigh of relief when you see it’s Friday. Okay, good. Then he’s really just late.

Well, not exactly late. But he said he’d get here at 8, it’s 7:57. Usually people don’t get to places at the time they said, because if he came at 8 exactly, that is late. You should always show up at least five minutes before your estimated arrival time, at least that’s how you thought.

No, that’s how most normal, responsible adults thought.

Maybe he’s not normal. Can’t be if he gave you a one star and brutal review. He’s probably just trying to be different from the rest. And you hate people like that. Shitting on something that is actually good, whether it be a show or movie, simply because everyone else says it's good. And the fact that he’s known for his low reviews is even more infuriating. 

There’s no way every place he visits is below three stars. It has to be his taste buds, they’re probably—

“Good morning.”

You snap your head up, completely lost in thought that you didn’t even notice, let alone hear the dreadful man walk in. Already not off to a good start. A smile finds its way on your face, hand held out, to which he shakes. “Good morning, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Gojo. I’m Y/N.”

He nods, a small smile reciprocated back. “I figured.”

Is it just you or did he tone sound almost condescending? And that smile on his face seems like he’s the type to think he knows it all. 

Nope, don’t do that. 

Pulling your hand away after what seems like a longer than usual handshake, you step aside and motion towards the array of tables. “Well, why don’t I show you to your table?”

“Yeah, why don’t you?” he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his slacks, raising a thin, white eyebrow as if to silently urge you to start walking. You hold back an eye twitch, turning around and walking to the area you set up specifically for him.

He’s following behind you as you walk, the heels of your shoes softy clanking against the ceramic tile. As you glance back, you could’ve sworn you saw his eyes quickly raise up to meet yours. Like he was—

“I apologize for not being around last time, I was on vacation.” you say, cutting off your own train of thought that you won’t entertain.

“Ah, no worries. Where did you go?” His pace matches your own now, walking side by side as his arm barely brushes against your bare skin. “Somewhere nice?”

You chuckle lightly and nod. “Yes, I went to Bali. It was quite lovely. The people were very welcoming and the food was absolutely delicious.”

A hum. “Better than this place, I hope.”

That comment. God, that comment. And the fact that he’s hiding it behind his sickeningly sweet smile, a tilt to his voice like he’s joking but not actually joking. You’ll pray for the former. “I can assure you, Mr. Gojo, both residences of food are exquisite.”

You two get to the square table prepared for him. A crisp, white linen tablecloth across the surface, that creates a clean and elegant contrast that elevated the rustic charm. At the center, a simple yet striking centerpiece emerged—a small terracotta pot filled with fresh basil and rosemary, their vibrant green leaves offering a delightful aroma that whispered of Italian kitchens.

Polished silverware gleamed in the soft light, laid out neatly on either side, ready for the culinary delights to come. An elegant, crystal wine glass on the side. Cloth napkins, folded into intricate designs, rested atop his plate. The dual flickering candles in small glass holders cast a warm glow over the table, creating an intimate atmosphere that you hoped would help catch his eye.

Finally, a menu card that displayed the special dishes you had prepared just for him. You took the time out of your day to make this specifically for today, crafting your menu for a man who probably didn’t think twice about it was not on your 2024 bingo card.

He takes his seat as you stand in front of him, placing the menu closer to his reach. “Here we have a variety of our best sellers and limited editions. Just for you, Mr. Gojo.” Your smile gets a little harder to keep up as he lazily sits back in his seat, scanning the menu with his sharp, blue eyes.

“Interesting,” he observes, even flipping it over. He glances back up at you. “The stuffed arancini, is that good?”

“Delicious, sir.”

“Okay,” he looks back down at the menu. “Then I’ll get the Buffalo Cauliflower Bites for an appetizer, plus the Bruschetta Trio. Oh, and to drink, I want one of your craft mocktails.”

So he asks for your opinion, and doesn’t even order it. “Of course, Mr. Gojo.” You don’t write it down, having already committed his order to memory, due to years in the food industry. “I’ll get started on that right now.”

With one more smile, you turn around and head to the kitchen. As soon as the doors close, your face hardens with irritation. Walking around to grab the appropriate ingredients, grumbling to yourself curses. Sure you’ll make his food and smile at him, doesn't mean you won’t be a brat about it behind closed doors. 

The minutes Gojo spends alone, he’s meticulously counting them down. Eyebrow raised as he eyes the kitchen doors and the arms of the small clock. Leg crossed over the other with his arm resting on top of the back of his chair that he;s currently tipping back and forth with the stability of his foot. 

After about three minutes, you greet him with his mocktail, setting it down. “Here you go, sir.”

“Finally, I almost died of thirst, you know?” He huffs a small chuckle and he sips from the straw. You want to grimace as he swishes the liquid around his mouth, head tilting in dramatics. He’s acting like it’s mouthwash or something. As he swallows, you do your best not to focus on the bobbing of his Adam’s apple.

What do you think you’re doing? Checking him out right now, seriously?

“How is it?” Your voice raises a tad, either in nervousness or a way to calm your suddenly rapid beating heart. 

“Not too bad, a little sour for me.” He comments, tongue coming out to lick across his bottom lip. “What’s in it?”

“Basil lemonade and berry spritz, Mr. Gojo.” 

“Satoru,” he corrects you, eyes rolling while his hand waves around dismissively. “Stop calling me ‘sir’ and all that, makes me feel old. Besides, this is supposed to feel comfortable isn’t it? Don’t force yourself with the formalities.” 

Well, that’s a small breath of relief. You simply nod. “Of course, Satoru. Then you may call me Y/N.”

“Was already gonna do that.”

“Right.” 

A small pause follows, hands awkwardly fiddling behind his back. You didn’t even realize it before, but the way he stares feels really invading. Especially with how bright his eyes are, you’re starting to feel naked under his gaze. Like he can sense it, he grins boyishly. “The appetizers?”

You nod again, quicker this time, clearing your throat. “Yes, coming right up.”

And once more, you leave him be while you finish up his food. The bruschetta trio, a classic tomato and basil, roasted red pepper and feta, with wild mushroom and truffle oil topping, served on toasted artisan bread. This dish is loved among your regulars.

And the buffalo cauliflower bites which are spicy, crispy cauliflower tossed in buffalo sauce, served with a side of creamy blue cheese dressing. Perfect for customers with a higher spice tolerance, craving that explosive taste in their mouths.

Holding the two white, glass plates with ease, the doors push open by your back as you walk back over to him. “Bruschetta and the cauliflower, Satoru.”

He doesn’t waste time in taking small, careful bites of each platter. Humming in thought as he does this. It takes a couple minutes before he speaks, using the cloth to wipe at the corner of his mouth. “The mushroom is quite bland, the bread is too hard. And the blue cheese doesn’t go well with the bites.”

Each word is like a punch to your gut. He’s really just finding every little thing to pick at, isn’t he? Lips pursing, your eyebrows raise in faux consideration. “I see, I can remove the dressing for you, and I’ll serve you a softer piece of bread.”

Your hands reach out to take them away, just as his moves into frame. Your fingertips brush against the back of his hand. “No need to take them away, just stating facts.” His smile never seems to leave and each growing second, you feel more and more tempted to wipe it off his face. He gently pushes your hands away, interlacing his fingers together. “Do you expect replacements to suddenly wipe my memory clean? Why should I have to rely on you giving me a replica of what I ordered, when the original piece should’ve met my expectations?”

A little caught off guard by his sudden questioning, you gulp and clear your throat. “Well, if something is not up to par for my guests, it is my duty to replace that with something that is.”

“Sure, but I’m asking why it wasn’t perfect the first time.” He leisurely sips from his mocktail. 

A small, but forced laugh leaves your lips. “We do try our best every single time, Satoru. Being perfect has proved hard when everyone has different tastes.”

“So you just give out generic food and hope for the best?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused.”

Your brows begin to furrow at his nonchalance, lip barely quirking down into a frown. “I’m sorry, but our food is not generic. We serve with love and dedication.”

“Love,” he repeats in a mocking tone, picking at the bites with his fork. “This was made with love?”

He’s really getting on your nerves now. “Yes, it was. If you do not like it then I can remake—”

“I’ll take the balsamic glazed chicken,” he cuts you off. “With the alfredo fries. You’re talking about remakes, right? Then make those fries good this time. Thanks.” 

You can’t help but stare down at him, the nerve he has is beyond rude. His demanding nature contrasts with your helping one. But, you stay resolute in your politeness, mumbling a small ‘of course’ before disappearing back into the kitchen. 

It’s a disaster, truly.

A hard, long, infuriatingly annoying disaster. 

Every platter crafted with delicacy and carefulness, he sets aside with calmness. Claiming how the littlest of little things was wrong or how it tasted bad. He even makes a couple snide comments about where you learned to cook from and they should be ashamed.

No matter what, however, he conceals his comments with those stupid laughs you’ve started to despise. 

Like it’s funny to him how much you’re failing to please him. 

Sweat threatens to trickle down your forehead, using a spare towel to dab at your face. Your hair has started to become a tad unkempt, having to constantly push stray pieces of hair out your face and even grabbing at your hair in frustration. This is probably your own fault for setting this all up, but never did you imagine it would turn out like this.

His table is filled with a variety of plates and dishes stacked unceremoniously on top of each other to make room for the next one.  

Throughout it all, he watches your struggle in silent amusement. Everytime you turn around to stomp back into the kitchen, he gets a clear, nice view of the way the fabric of your dress tugs around your ass, legs sleek with whatever lotion you decided to put on.

Your perfume fills his nostrils as you come back to him, to which he feels more and more motivated to bring you down and just stuff his face into the crook of your neck. Or the middle of your plump thighs that have just been calling out to him like a siren.

Satoru would like to think he’s a man of self control, but you’re really pushing him, and you’re not even trying. 

He’s being purposeful with his actions just to keep this entire visit long. Just so he can keep checking you out and biting his lip as he inhales your scent. Just so he can have the ample amount of time to force down the boner he has from under the table.

And well, because he’s really, really looking forward to dessert.

You breathe out a heavy breath, one of exhaustion as you present him with yet another platter. He laughs to himself as he takes a bite.

“Meh, too soggy.”

That’s it. “I’ve given you everything on the menu.”

“Oh, have you?” His head tilts innocently. 

Your teeth grit. “Yes, I have.”

“Well, that’s a bummer. You really shouldn’t have had such a limited variation.”

“It’s not lim–”

“Dessert, right? That usually comes after the main course.”

“......yes. What would you like?” You’re forcing your words out by now, hands twitching as they threaten to grip his pretty throat. 

Wait, pretty?

Jesus christ, can you stop thinking that right now?

“Hmmmm, let’s see here.” As his eyes scan over the desserts listed on the menu, a frown, or a pout, makes way onto his lips. You close your eyes for a second, counting from one to ten and back. “Is this it?”

“Yes.” 

“I have to say,” he lowly whistles. “none of this looks very….appealing.” As he looks back up at you, there’s a small glint in his expression. One that almost causes you to shiver, for some reason. 

Is he playing with you now?

“Nothing?” You ask, arms crossing over your chest. “All of that is what guests order the most.”

“Well, I’m not some regular schmegular guest, now am I?” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he’s standing, one hand stuffed into his pocket while the other meekly points to you. “So, what do you say? You gonna give me something I actually want?”

A small huff escapes from your lips, now longer having the strength to hold back your irritation. “I’m sorry?”

“Oh cmon, don’t give me that.”

“Give you what?”

“That.” He juts his chin in the direction of your scowl. “Do you usually frown at your customers?”

“I frown at men who take my kindness for granted,” is your response, eyes narrowing. “Also, you have been nitpicking every single thing I’ve given you. You’ve been extremely rude about it.”

“Rude? Is honesty rude now? I thought you wanted my honesty.”

“There’s a stark difference between the two.”

“Really?” He leans closer, face teetering on the line of too close as his point finger just barely skims across your forearm. “Mind enlightening me?”

Your breath almost hitches, skin feeling all too warm. You peek down at his finger before back to his face, heart beating faster than normal. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What’s it look like?” He counters. 

“Like you’re trying to flirt with me.”

He barks out a laugh. “Trying? No honey, I am. Why, do you like it?”

“No, I don’t like being flirted with by rude and random men.” You reply, tilting your chin up. “Especially you, sir.”

His grin widens. “Cute. But you know what I don’t like?” As he steps closer, you’re forced to step back. “No dessert.”

His finger travels up your arm, your shoulder, then stops at your jawline, head tilting as his breath fans your cheek. “So, what else can I eat?”

This is stupid. So stupid. Dangerous. Idiotic. Out of character. Anything that means bad. 

Is this really all for a good review by some asshat who takes joy out of making people's lives harder? Or are you  actually enjoying it? 

You feel disgusted at the situation, angered and infuriated that you’ve fallen into his trap. You want to curse out to whatever gods that may be watching and demand why you couldn’t hold back. 

Either way, you’re not the only one who couldn’t hold back. 

Your breath hitches, a broken string of whines leaving you as the flat of his tongue runs through your slippery folds. His hands on your thighs keep you grounded in place atop the table, because your hips keep twitching up in need of more friction. 

You can’t even see his face as it’s so far buried into your wet pussy, practically stuffing his face with it. But god do you feel him. The tips of his hair tickle your inner thighs. His low moan reverberates through you, making you shiver and tingle with excitement. 

“A—ahh….!” Your hand finds a place on his hair, pulling as your head tilts back with another moan. “F—fuck…”

His lips smile against your skin, pulling away for a second to look up at your blissed out expression. His face is coated in your juices and you haven’t even came yet. “Pretty good, might be the best thing I’ve had today.”

As he goes back to ravishing you, his tongue slips into your aching hole. Which causes your back to arch up, a higher pitched whine leaving you. “Tad salty, very sweet.”

His comments feel degrading almost. But with the way your thighs threaten to close around his head, pushing his face closer to your cunt, he has a feeling you like it. 

It’s electrifying and confusing at the same time. You’ve never been one with hookup culture, you’re not a virgin either but this is on a totally different level. Here you are, letting him tongue fuck you in the middle of the empty restaurant in which you were supposed to be serving him. 

Technically you are still serving him.

He urges your hips closer to the edge of the table, spitting harshly against you as he delves back into giving you the best eat of your life. 

His tongue alternates between your hole and clit, giving both equal attention while his fingers knead the plush skin of your smooth thighs. Your toes curl in your heels and you feel so close. 

You can practically taste it on your tongue, not even mindful anymore of the noises that you’re making. Too engrossed in the utter bliss of the way his mouth sucks and licks at your folds. 

You don’t even know you’ve finished until he’s come back up, licking away your release that’s plastered to his pale skin. Left panting and staring up at the dangling lights that feel blinding. 

What brings you back down to Earth is the soft clanking of metal. Your head whips down just as he’s unbuckling his pants, eyes blown wide. “W-what are you doing?”

He simply looks at you, shrugging with nonchalance as his belt comes undone, button and zipper next. “Gonna fuck your pussy, what else?”

You scramble to sit up, but he’s faster. Holding your legs open, leaning his face closer. “What? Don’t wanna?”

“I—I shouldn’t. I mean, we shouldn’t.”

“Pfft, why not?”

“Because this wasn’t supposed to happen!”

“But it has,” he tugs his slacks down, giving you full view of the raging boner nestled under his black boxers. His hand reaches to give himself a few strokes. “Haven’t been this hard in a long time.”

You feel your release ooze down onto the tablecloth, hole feeling empty as it clenches around air. All you can do is watch him jerk himself, gulping as you lick your lips. “This is….really wrong.”

Yet it feels so right. 

His lips touch the side of your neck, kissing and sucking a small mark into your skin. You tilt your head for him, arm coming up to hold around his neck. Chest heaving up and down. “I’ll fuck you good, I promise.”

Your eyes are instantly drawn down to his leaking cock as he pulls it out. Long and thin veins decorating the length with pre-cum leaking out the head. Trimmed with a small white bush of pubic hair at his base. It looks pretty. 

He huffs out a breathy laugh, titling your face up to him, lips meeting. His lips are soft and plush, melting into it. He keeps his hand on your nape so he can deepen the kiss, tongue invading your mouth like a snake. 

Spit dribbles down the corners of your mouths. All the while he’s teasing your entrance with his cock. 

“Ngh!” You pull away, face scrunching and mouth agape. 

“Mm, like that?” His tip runs up and down your slit, smearing his pre into your folds and around them. The sight is lewd. “So wet, just from my tongue too. How many guys make you finish from just eating you out?”

Out of all the times he tries for a conversation, does right now have to be one? “N-none…”

He hums. “So I’m the only one? I like that.”

He finds your hole, just barely pushing in. Your nails claw at his shoulders, whimpering into his ear. “S-shit, just wait a second…”

“For what?” His voice is husky, brows pinched together. The warmth from your cunt practically enveloping him whole. 

You croak out something unintelligible. For a few seconds, you two stay frozen like this. But that’s cut short as he slowly begins to slide deeper. “Shit, stop squeezin’ me.” He grunts.

All you can offer is a weak “I’m not” before being cut off by a breathy moan, one he replicates with you. He moves in deeper and deeper, until he’s finally buried to the hilt in your warm pussy. It’s big, bigger than you’ve ever taken. You’re not sure if that’s a good thing or not.

His fingers dig into your hips while your nails into his shoulders. 

Practically feeling his cock twitch within you, you have to hold back squeezing around him even more. But it just feels too good not to. It makes you feel full. 

As he begins to move, he’s whispering dirty praises into your ear.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.”

“Who knew you had such good pussy.”

“Look at you, sucking me in like a good little whore, huh?”

“Best fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever had.”

Each word he emphasizes with a quicker thrust. The silverware clanks around you, some even falling to the ground. The table creaks and the cloth crumples up. “W-wait….slow…ngh!” 

“No slow,’ he patronizingly laughs, his gaze darkened as he looks at you. “Going fast, you’re gonna take it too. ‘Cause you’re a desperate little thing, aren't you?”

You whine out, biting down hard on your lip you’re surprised you’re not drawing blood yet. He takes this as an invitation to devour your mouth once more. The kiss is harder this time, more sloppy. Seems sloppy is his thing.

Before you know it, he manhandles you to flip over, ass high in the air while his hand forces your back down into an arch. “Just like that. Stay still and I’ll let you cum again.”

With this new position, he’s able to hit spots you didn’t even know were there. All you have to hold on is the cloth of the table, balling them into your fists while he mercilessly pounds into your pussy from the back. His balls hit your clit in a repetitive motion that damn near causes you to see stars. 

Noises and mumble words fall out your mouth like water, the side of your face being pushed down into the hard surface. His hand twirls and tangles in your hair before giving it a hard tug back. 

“Mngh!”

With one hand on your hip and the other in your hair, it gives him all the reigns to perfectly fuck your squelching hole, pace unforgiving. And what’s he doing the whole time? Laughing. That asshole is laughing.

Either at your state or the fact that you fit so perfectly snug around his cock like a ring.

It’s like he’s moving on autopilot, just one thing on his mind. Fucking you like your his fleshlight he keeps in his room. “Maybe I should’ve come here sooner—fuck—could’ve had this pussy all to myself even sooner.”

He groans, head tilting back as a familiar sensation bubbles in his stomach. “Ah, god…fuck.”

“D-dont cum!” You half-heartedly shout, body trembling in preparation for your second release of the day.

“Hah?” he huffs out. “You tell a guy who’s fucking a pretty pussy he can’t come? You’re crazy.”

“Ah….hah…!” You mewl out, squeezing around him.

He curses under his breath, hips stuttering. A warm feeling erupts deep within your cunt, causing you to whine. It makes your whole body feel as if it’s on fire, thighs shaking. Your cum mixes with his own, dripping down the backs of your thighs in a disgusting manner. You’re left panting for air

He spends a good time watching it all happen, and as he pulls out, seeing your hole twitch and tremor around air almost starts to make him hard again. He leans over, hot air hitting the shell of your ear, his voice low and husky. “Up for more?”

Monday, 9am.

Incoming message from 

Mayra: 

Check your email, forwarded you something.

You groan tiredly, fingers fiddling with the bright screen of your phone. Clicking on the wrong app a couple times before opening your Gmail. You press on the email from Mayra, an attached link.

The link leads you to a familiar site, embarrassment painting your features as you read.

“After a rather lackluster first experience at 'Lovely Haven,' I was pleasantly surprised by my second visit. Walking into the restaurant felt like stepping into a cozy embrace, with the ambiance perfectly set to spark a little magic. The soft music and intimate lighting created an atmosphere that made everything feel just a little more exciting.

Let’s talk about the food. I started with the savory starter, which was a perfect balance of flavors. Each bite was a tantalizing tease that had me eagerly anticipating what was to come. Then came the main course, which was cooked to perfection and bursting with flavor. It had just the right amount of kick, leaving me wanting more and more.

 I decided to try their special dessert this time, and let me tell you, it was absolutely divine. Each bite was a burst of flavors, rich and decadent, just how I like it. The way it melted on my tongue was nothing short of a culinary revelation. I might have lingered a little too long over that dish—can you blame me? It was like savoring a sweet secret that just kept getting better.

But let’s not forget about the service. The owner was not only charming but also incredibly attentive. There was a delightful chemistry between us that made the evening even more enjoyable. She made sure I was well taken care of, adding that special touch that turned a simple meal into something unforgettable.

If you’re looking for a place that offers more than just food—something that tantalizes the senses and leaves you feeling revitalized—I highly recommend giving 'Lovely Haven' a try. Just be prepared for some delicious surprises that might have you coming back for seconds (or thirds!). I certainly will!"

a/n: first smut piece kind of. if there's typos, pls overlook them, i was very tired and in heat. sorry if it's not very slow burn :( but i hope you all enjoyed. thank you smmm <3

[azzayofchaos]

@embers--and--ashes

Here's that Convex lore you were curious about...

Thanks to @queseresere again for some bits a pieces!

So.. The Vex Problem?

While rumors of the mysterious Convex are floating around, and Skizz has become quite suspicious of what exactly this mysterious group entails-- he'll soon learn it's not quite as strange or occult as he first thought!

The Convex is essentially one of those super secret Gentlemen's clubs that rich people like... they play golf on the weekends.

Vex are demonic, but they're vermin, easily summonable nuisances and unfortunately their clubhouse has an infestation. Not all that surprising considering how much of a bother Scar tends to be to the PET Demons.

Scar Goodfellow:

The captain of Hermiton's police force, and an all around shady guy.

He tends to come off as a bit incompetent, even a buffoon, but he's much sharper than most people give him credit for. He catches onto the nature of the disappearances and advises Cleo to lend a occult-knowledged hand in the ensuing investigation.

Grian is under a debt to Scar for the duration of Scar's human lifespan since 'the incident' and Scar can pretty much summon him at will --Scar mostly makes him prank people-- though Grian technically works under Cub at the Permit Office as Cub is just about the only person Grian listens to.

"Cub":

Manager of the Permit Office

He probably used shady means to help put Scar in a position of Power

knows a thing or two about the occult but he is genuinely just a guy...

or like, maybe 0.1% primordial, either way he terrorizes Grian a bit.

He and Scar have that weird Bromance...

More Permit Office stuff:

Cub is the only person who doesn’t seem to mind Grian, Grian definitely minds Cub. 

Grian only willingly  listens to, and is mortally terrified of Cub. He swears Cub is not human, but something else. 

The permit office is Grian’s domain, and has thusly become infused with backrooms vibes. It has that uncanny atmosphere.

Cub refuses to acknowledge that anything is wrong with the office or his one(1) employee. “Others have passed through, and I’m happy to hire, but they never end up staying for long. I mean, I get it man. The work is dismally  boring and the pay isn’t great. Might be nice to get a change of pace, though" "It’s alright though, not like there’s much more work than what Grian and I can handle. We make do”. 

(Everyone in town will tell you just to straight email the permit office higher ups rather than bother with the office at all… honestly, just skip the permit, this is a lawless town…)

The permit office is definitely maybe a front for something, Cub knows what though. (It's illegal fireworks 0_0).

[uluthrek]

inheritance cycle modern au in which all of the dragons are horses which makes eragon the underdog horse girl, saphira the underdog girl horse and brom the disgruntled and disillusioned horse trainer who doesn’t believe in the validity of this sport until he sees the ✨bond✨ eragon has with his horse saphira who is still as blue as she is in canon (don’t ask that‘s just how it works, if you question this, i‘ll track your ip).

and galbatorix is the aggressively eastern european horse girl dad who had some sort of hip injury that brought his eventing career to an abrupt end and now he must vicariously live through his protégé, murtagh, lest he kills himself. and thorn is the very expensive horse galbatorix bought for wish fulfillment purposes and murtagh and thorn are so horribly traumatized by all the stress and pressure of defeating little kids at the pony finals that they ✨bond✨.

oromis and glaedr are their direct opponents and galbatorix nancy kerrigan‘s them (oromis dies like he does canonically because honestly, hunters be like that) so murtagh can get his ribbon. and then there‘s the big final competition and eragon, underdog wonder magic horse girl, goes toe to toe with murtagh, tortured champion to be, and they have this epic horse battle (an 80cm clear round but the atmosphere is very intense) and eragon loses. but then brom delivers this epic speech about idk man like success and passion and whatnot and then he dies which gives eragon the final push to defeat murtagh but OH NO, thorn is HURT from being OVERWORKED and murtagh has an epic horse peril breakdown and tearfully tells galbatorix he‘ll withdraw.

so galbatorix goes „fuck the kid“ and gets shruikan (the very bad very big black warmblood stallion that shows up in every horse girl movie) to best eragon HIMSELF (but not before locking nasuada, the animal rights activist that murtagh has struck up a tentative romance with, in a porta-potty). and then him and eragon compete and it‘s INTENSE (meanwhile, roran and katrina have a sub plot about capturing a flock of runaway ducks that is constantly being cut to during that climactic scene) and shit is looking DISMAL for poor eragon until a vision of brom and also his dead mother, because this is a proper horse girl movie and not some bibi und tina bullshit, and that gives him the strength to defeat galbatorix.

and then he wins and thorn doesn’t die and someone frees nasuada from the porta-potty and she gets to punch galbatorix in the face. and fírnen (who is a horse but also still green) emerges during the post credit scene and meets arya and sets up a cash grabby amazon prime spinoff series and roran and katrina successfully capture the ducks and everyone is happy and there is no more horse peril.

the whole thing takes place in exactly one horse show afternoon. it makes such perfect sense actually you can fit everyone in. nar garzvog‘s at the grill and makes hot dogs. islanzadi does nothing but drink cheap wine and bitch from the sidelines. angela mans the beverage stall and tells everyone who wants to listen (or doesn’t) that toads don’t exist. solembum is the raccoon on her shoulder who violates all fda guidelines by simply existing. orrin is nasuada‘s bitter ex boyfriend who pretended to be vegan for years so she‘d like him only to be dumped for murtagh and his emo swagger in a heartbeat. orik is a shetland pony.

[lexirosewrites]

Slick sunday!! How I've missed u! I haven't had a lot of inspiration for slick sunday recently bc I moved & have been getting adjusted

Anyway here goes nothing

Omega Steve is who writes a high fantasy book series tht is vaguely popular w a specific crowd of ppl, except it isn't abt the nobles who run the politics of the lands or the heroes tht travel the world he's built, no the main character of his books is the proprietor of a little known inn & tavern located along a little used road who has down on their luck travelers pay for food & bed w tales of their lives no matter how mundane

Alpha Eddie is the author of an extremely popular series of high fantasy books all about a group of adventurers & their efforts to save the world from the clutches of a greedy wizard seeking knowledge beyond mortal ken, its full of political intrigue & battles & magical beasts, his books r even made into an ambitious TV series

Well not everyone is thrilled by the show & it's dismal colors & even more dismal world tht constantly teeters on the brink of collapse & chaos, so then ppl discover Steve's books with its high fantasy setting tht promises just as much magic but with the low stakes of a humble innkeeper asking for stories instead of coin for payment & suddenly Steve's writing is skyrocketing in popularity as ppl grow tired of the gritty world of Eddie's books tht only serves to remind them of the gritty world around them, ppl want to escape their reality for awhile & Steve's books provide a cozy atmosphere w all the joys of fantasy wrapped up in a domestic ribbon

Eddie at first doesn't get it, who would want to read a book series all abt some innkeeper who never leaves their inn for the wider world of adventure? It goes against everything he learned of the heroes journey & what makes a compelling story. Then betrayal of all betrayals!! His best friend Felix (unnamed freak) begins reading the series & even recommended tht Eddie give it a chance. So he begrudgingly begins the first book... and finishes it within three days because he's so reluctant to put it down. He's able to admit tht the writing is good, the world around the innkeeper is detailed & rich in characters, the magic system is unique, & the main character often breaks the fourth wall in a way tht hints at there being more to them then the humble status as an innkeeper.

So when Eddie is invited to speak on a panel at a con abt world building & writing fantasy he instantly advocates for Steve to b invited to speak as well since the convention is happening within the city tht Steve's author bio says is near his home, well Steve is reluctant but eventually agrees when his little red headed sister Max insists he go & bring her along so she can meet the author of her favorite character in her second favorite book series (her favorite is Steve's & she's always proudly telling her friends abt her big brothers books)

Well the panel begins & Steve is dismissed by the gross nerdy fans who barely understand how to shower regularly while they praise Eddie's books for being gritty & full of violence well tht sets Eddie off & he has an 8 minute long monologue abt how Steve's books r amazing & full of richly developed characters & a detailed world & Steve falls a little bit in love w him bc of this

Then the panel continues & the gross nerds r cowed & Steve's fans feel comfortable coming forward w their questions after Eddie's words & they ask all of these questions tht highlight the diverse stories tht Steve has built & one fan asks Steve if he'd ever consider a romance plot for the innkeeper bc there r multiple love stories throughout the series & the fan even cites a few quotes tht shows the main character is partial to love stories & happy to help fleeing lovers or runaway brides/grooms: to which Steve just gives a cryptic answer abt the innkeepers past involving a tragedy

Well the panel ends & Steve thanks Eddie for what he said & Eddie had fallen a little love w Steve too at this point so he asks Steve to dinner & Steve says yes as long as it was OK his kid sister came along as he is her legal guardian as well as brother & she's also a fan of Eddie's books especially the character Bejora who is a fierce spy & skilled mage

Well dinner goes amazing & they exchange numbers & go their separate ways but text almost non stop

Here's a secret no one knew abt Eddie, he'd been dealing with writers block ever since the latest book in his series had come out, lost about where to take the plot now tht his plans to wrap up the series were approaching, he knew how he wanted it to end but he found himself unsure abt how to get there, when one day he just finds himself writing a new character into the story: an unassuming scribe who has been traveling the land collecting oral knowledge of all kinds & writing it down for the first time, who teaches the common classes how to read, & has unwittingly collected a sacred item capable of locating a powerful artifact tht would b decisive of the outcome of the final battle against the evil wizard

Blah blah blah Eddie is obviously inspired by Steve & he begins courting him & this inspires Steve to write a new character into his books who is a weary hero tht is tired of the trials of adventure & wishes to find a new life's mission by working at the tavern by tending to the stable & garden so the hero & innkeeper slowly begin to fall in love culminating in a shy kiss under the stars at the end of the book

Eddie & Steve r mated by the time the same convention they met at asks them to return for a panel just 2 years later, this time abt the fantasy book they co-authored together & what it's like to world build w your spouse & it's at this panel tht they announce Steve is pregnant to loud applause & hearty congratulations from fans

something, something… omega steve showing eddie the beauty of the world and how it’s not all dark and dreary, which ends up affecting his world view and what he writes🥺💕

[cas-kingdom]

The Art of Parenting

A/N: This took a lot of time and motivation to finish, so it isn’t my best, but honestly I’m just glad to have it up and posted at this point, haha. Hopefully you enjoy it all the same.

In my OC’s (reader’s) world, our fave seven are no longer together by the time she officially becomes a member of the BAU. But let’s imagine for the sake of this fic that they are. <3

As usual, reader is Spencer’s sister and this fic is entirely platonic.

Title: The Art of Parenting

Summary: On the jet home, you find Hotch in need of some reassurance. And a blanket.

Words: 2634

As unexpected as it was to see the youngest of the unit walk sluggishly down the jet’s aisle, wrapped from head to way behind your toes in a heavy duvet and clutching two pillows to your chest, nobody could say with certainty that it was surprising.

And, frankly, as sudden laughter and teasing remarks shattered the previously dismal atmosphere of the jet typical after a case, nobody could say it wasn’t appreciated.

Between Rossi’s almost disgruntled “Why’d I never think of that?” and Emily and J.J.’s pleas to toss them both a pillow each, Derek pushed his headphones back and breathed a short burst of laughter.

“Oh, Princess, you did not.”

“It’s an eight-hour flight home,” you stated matter-of-factly, “you can bet your ass I did.”

You sat between him and Spencer, the latter absorbed in a book about insects, and crossed your legs beneath you. With little reluctance, as though you’d been expecting as much, you threw the pillows in the direction of Emily and J.J.. A stream of thanks and praises came your way immediately. Sleeping on a long plane ride home was bad enough, but sleeping after five days of running, shooting, yelling, punching, and powered by nothing but caffeine was rough. A pillow was capable of making that sleep the best damn sleep they’d ever had.

“Y/N—” J.J.’s voice was muffled by the pillow she’d stuck her face in—“you’re my lifesaver right now, and I love you.”

Emily pushed herself up on an elbow. “Do you happen to have a sleep mask back there?”

Derek waved her off and sat forward as you made yourself comfortable, spreading your duvet out around you. “Forget about that,” he said, “tell me you brought enough for all of us.”

A general hush encompassed the jet. Rossi leant forward expectantly, one brow quirked, and even Hotch, thus far silent in his own corner as he bent over a pile of paperwork, paused for a moment, his head tilted to await your answer. J.J. was utterly gone, it seemed, though Emily was still waiting for confirmation of a sleep mask.

You gave Derek a look. Derek clucked his tongue and shook his head, sitting back against his seat. You, because you were you, immediately unwrapped yourself from your blanket burrito and handed him a corner so he could pull it across him. Derek’s teasing look of misery dropped in an instant, and he accepted the corner with a kiss to your forehead. “Thank you, sweetheart.” With that, he pulled his headphones over his ears and shut his eyes, sinking down the couch enough that the duvet touched his chin.

“Sooo…that’s a no on the sleep mask?”

“Sorry, Em.”

The jet settled again after a sigh and a wave of the hand from Emily. Soft snores were just about audible from underneath J.J.’s pillow, Rossi had made himself comfortable in his seat, head in the palm of his hand, and Hotch’s momentary distraction had not thwarted his determination to finish his work before you landed. You watched him for a moment, noting the trademark crease in his brow as he hunched over documents.

And the man wondered why he got so many headaches.

“Did you know that a ladybug will prepare for a food shortage by laying infertile eggs for her young to eat once they hatch?”

Spencer hadn’t taken his eyes from his page, completely immersed, and wouldn’t have noticed if his sudden statement didn’t even gain a response. Still, instinctively, you turned away from Hotch and towards your brother, peering in total interest down at what he was reading. “Creepy,” you said.

“Resourceful,” Spencer corrected.

“You’re telling me you’d procreate and go through nine months of pregnancy and hours of painful labour only to give the baby away to be eaten by your other kids once it’s born?”

Spencer looked up. A puckered brow temporarily marred his features. “Actually,” he said, “the time taken by ladybugs to lay eggs after mating varies and can sometimes be as little as seven days or as long as two to three months. Once the eggs are laid they can take between three and ten days to hatch.” There were a couple beats of silence, both of you staring at the other, before Spencer sniffed and turned back to his book. “And I can’t get pregnant.”

Years ago, before and at the beginning of his career, sarcasm had been alien to Spencer. Since then, you were proud to say he’d become one with a few more human traits. Teasing being one of them, as was proven when he glanced at you from the corner of his eye and let a playful smile slip onto his face. You breathed a quiet laugh and leant your head against his shoulder when he snuck an arm around you.

“Your pillows have been taken hostage,” he reminded you. His eyes were still following the words in front of him, but he’d slowed his pace. Still an exceptionally abnormal pace, but normal enough that he could read while talking. He lowered his voice a bit, well aware the rest of the plane, save from Hotch, was deep in sleep. “Do we plan a rescue attempt?”

You hummed. “You’re comfy enough.”

Spencer smiled and glanced at his watch. “How about utilising my comfiness and getting some sleep?”

You rose an eyebrow at his subtlety. “You know I stopped being twelve over ten years ago?”

“One of the parenting books I read when you were little said that parenting is a lifetime job and does not stop when a child grows up.”

You looked critically up at him. “What about you?”

“Uh, I think I’ll stay up for a bit and read.”

Needless to say, you knew when you next woke he’d be beaten by sleep. You shuffled down the length of the couch so you could put your head in your brother’s lap and curled your legs beneath you so that you didn’t accidentally kick Derek.

An as yet undetermined amount of time later, you woke to Spencer deeper in sleep than even you had been. His book still in his hand, so close to the end, the genius was slumped against the side of the couch, head lolling uncomfortably back. He had his free hand on your shoulder, an instinctual thing, and as you blinked away the residual drowsiness you squinted at the watch on his wrist. 2:30 am. You hadn’t been sleeping long.

You sat up, careful not to jostle your brother. Derek was still tucked beneath his end of the blanket, his headphones halfway to falling off. You reached across to gently tug them from him before he ended with an ear cushion in his eye.

Emily and J.J. hadn’t moved from beneath their pillows, and Rossi seemed to have stretched himself out across the opposite couch while you’d been asleep.

The gentle hum of the plane’s engine would have caused you to doze off again if it weren’t for the sight of Hotch, still in his corner and hunched over his work. The man was unbelievable.

After a hefty amount of blinking and rubbing, you let loose another yawn before standing to your feet. You noticed Hotch glance up at the movement, and he offered a tired smile as you walked down the plane’s aisle towards him. You had intended on slipping into the seat opposite him but at a sudden remembrance slowed halfway. Hotch frowned lightly and you pointed a finger at him to wait before walking past him and towards where you’d all stored your bags before flying.

When you reappeared with a second duvet even thicker than the one now spread evenly across Spencer and Derek, even Hotch couldn’t refrain from chuckling. He still held his pen in his hand but let his eyes move from his papers for a moment as he sat back.

“What’s this?” he asked.

You smiled as you passed him the duvet, feeling some sense of victory when he didn’t hesitate before taking it. Sitting opposite him, you watched him settle it around himself. It was some solace to see him visibly relax beneath it.

“I knew someone would need it,” you said. Then, after fleeting reluctance, “How much do you wanna bet I knew that someone would be you?”

Hotch, because he truly was not as harsh as those on the outside would consider the permanent lines in his forehead and coarse glint in his eye to mean, chuckled softly. “Nothing, thank you,” he said, resigned.

You breathed a laugh. “How much longer do we have?” You turned in your seat and stretched your legs out across the length of it, leaning back against the wall. The shutter had been pulled down over the window, but you reached over with a finger to crack it open slightly. No light flooded onto Hotch’s workspace, so you imagined there was still a while to go. It didn’t bother you, of course. You knew there was always the possibility that a new case would land in your faces the moment you stepped off the plane. Any slither of solitude in the confinements of the jet was precious.

“Four hours, give or take.” Hotch was silent for a moment, but you had a sense you were suddenly being scrutinised as you continued to peer aimlessly out of the crack in the window. Keeping your head in place, you flicked your eyes to the side, gaining uneasy confirmation when you noticed his gaze on you.

Hotch rose an eyebrow. “What is it?” he asked.

Your eyes involuntarily widened. “Huh?” Hotch let his lips twitch knowingly upwards, and you decided after a moment to reciprocate it. With confidence built up over almost fifteen years in his company, you leant forward and clasped your hands on the table in front of you. “I was going to ask you the same thing,” you said.

He sat back. “I know.”

“I know you know.”

Hotch put his pen down. He absently glanced around the jet, as though assuring himself everyone was still asleep. Then, sighing, he returned his gaze to you. “Jack asked about his mother on the phone this morning.”

You frowned. “I’ve heard Jack talk about Haley before.”

“He has. Really, I encourage it. I wouldn’t want him to forget her. But he…” Hotch hesitated, the words so obviously clinging to the end of his tongue. For as much as he encouraged his team to talk to someone when they were struggling, he certainly didn’t act upon his own advice. Still, the rarity of it and the love you held for him made you the most patient you’d been.

“This morning,” Hotch continued quietly, “he asked specifically about her death.” Another pause, though only so he could take an encouraging breath. “He asked if Haley was shot in the head or the heart. Said he couldn’t remember which.”

You couldn’t say you weren’t taken aback, and Hotch noticed it immediately. He sat up straighter, apprehension entering his posture. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said, “I shouldn’t be saying this to you. You don’t need this.”

“Hey.” You shook your head to make sure he knew he’d gotten the wrong idea. “Neither do you. Share the load a bit. It’s okay.”

His gratitude was obvious as he relaxed a bit, sitting back against his seat and staring out the crack in the window. It was still dark, but the light from the moon highlighted the clouds as you passed. He found it easy to focus on them as he arranged his thoughts.

“He’s growing up,” he concluded eventually, “and he’s becoming more curious about his mom…it’s natural, I know, but it’s…”

“Terrifying?”

Hotch shrugged in defeat, yet a smile still pulled at his lips. “I’m not sure how Spencer did it with you,” he admitted.

You lifted yourself slightly to peer over the back of the seat. Your brother was still deep in sleep, utter innocence on his face. You found yourself smiling still when you sat back down to look at him. “You did it too, you know,” you said. At Hotch’s silence, you continued. “It wasn’t just Spence raising me. Of course, he did the majority of it, but I was nine when I met the rest of the team. You all raised me, you all had to let go of the fact I wasn’t a kid anymore at some point. If you can do it with me, you can do it again with Jack, I promise you.”

Hotch hadn’t thought about it like that, but your presence in the team always brought about new angles. It was true that Spencer’s addition to the team had included his younger sister, and it was also true that, whether prepared for it or not, they had all been surrogate parents to you in at least some way throughout your life. They had watched you grow up, imparted their own life lessons, and, yes, at some point, they had had to accept the fact that you didn’t need them quite so much anymore. He seemed to remember his own awakening had been when you’d come into his office at eighteen with a mug of coffee after claiming for years the taste was too bitter. Somehow, seeing you sat opposite him with one leg crossed over the other and occasionally sipping at your latte, realisation had snuck up on him that you absolutely was no longer the nine-year-old he’d used to have to clean chocolate from.

In more ways than one, the reminder soothed his soul, the parts of it aching for his little boy to remain little for just a while longer. He had always been afraid of the process, perhaps because each year Jack grew older marked another year without Haley.

With a hum of acknowledgement, Hotch ran a hand through his hair and nodded. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “Really. That’s helped.”

“Sometimes you just need a reminder,” you said. “You’ve done it before. Sure, this time will be a little different, but you’ve got the tools to make it work.”

Hotch frowned playfully. “Haven’t I said those exact words to you before?”

“No comment.”

He laughed then, with not much regard to the others sleeping on the plane, before stretching an arm out in obvious invitation. You felt a warmth immediately settle within you as you got up to sit beside him, settling in between him and his arm and accepting the bit of the duvet he passed along to you. You were a creature of habit, and since a child you had always found your comfort in the arms of one of the BAU team members, whoever happened to be closest. Such a comfort had naturally been less sought after as you’d grown older, especially from Hotch, but it only meant each offer from him was appreciated more.

“And don’t worry about Jack’s questions,” you whispered, shutting your eyes. “I remember having the same curiosities about my parents when I was growing up. I just wanted to know more about them, about myself.”

“I have a feeling I’ll be getting more.”

“Hmm.”

“Thanks again, Y/N.”

You yawned, the lull of the plane catching up to you once again. You leaned further into Hotch’s side and absently pat his hand sitting at your shoulder. Already half asleep, you murmured an “It’ll be okay”, not even reacting when Hotch pressed a small kiss to the crown of your head and pushed the documents he’d been working on to the other side of the table. He closed his own eyes, feeling somewhat at peace, with, really, the first of both his kids in his arms.

And if the team’s next go bags were mostly stuffed with pillows, blankets, and sleep masks…none of the jet’s staff ever mentioned it.

Criminal Minds Masterpost

[yesbutmakeitgay]

The Anesthetic Never Set In

GIF by femaledaily

Carol Danvers x Reader

We’ve Loved A Thousand Lives

Same beginning, different story every time.

Part 5

Angst with a happy ending, Injuries, Exes. Beta'd by @cordeliasdarling 💜

Word count: 1.6k

Masterlist | This collection | AO3

Captain Marvel walks back into her ship after another successful mission wanting for nothing more than to relax and rest until she senses someone else’s presence in her space home.

She walks slowly, pointing one of her lit up fists in a general forward direction, "I know you’re in here, who are you? Who sent you?" she warns the intruder.

She turns the lights on to find you, supporting all your weight on the kitchen counter. Her brows furrow in confusion, "You?" Her tone is displeased, but not quite angry.

"I didn't know where else to go," you mumble back, she feels a little embarrassed she felt threatened by her ex, "trust me, I would rather die than ask for help," you say through gritted teeth, trying to keep the pain from taking over you.

She remains standing by the doorway as she takes in your state, your whole body is scattered with bruises and cuts, and you are clearly bleeding out of somewhere, "So you came to me?"

"Thought I'd let you kill me instead, I know you've been waiting a long time to do that," you joke.

"That's a lot of blood." She quickly walks over to help you.

"I was thinking the same thing, but then, I wasn't sure if it's mine," you slur in your loopy state, suddenly feeling lightheaded, and letting your body fall onto Carol.

"It is definitely yours, come on," she assures as she takes you to the small medical room Fury forced her to set up if she ever wanted to have Kamala on board again.

She lays you down on the bed and begins patching you up, "What happened to you?"

"Nothing, I’m fine," you quickly bite back.

 "Wanna try that again?" she coaxes as she wraps up a deep cut in your forearm.

"I don't wanna talk about it."

"Later, then." The atmosphere isn't awkward or bitter, she's just trying to help you like she would any of her teammates.

She finally lifts your shirt to address the source of your heavy bleeding, after disinfecting it, she realizes you're gonna need stitches, "I don't have any anesthesia, sorry." She does the job as fast and careful as she can to minimize your discomfort, but maybe she enjoys inflicting pain on you a little, if only because it's necessary.

She finishes cleaning up the rest of your wounds and lets you rest for the night, though you find it difficult to sleep in the dismal room.

The next morning, she comes to you at 6:30, and you're already awake, "Missed me?" you snark, feeling slightly better.

Carol gives you an eye roll, it seems her kind energy was all spent the day before and she has no more left, "I need to know where to drop you off."

To be honest, you hadn't thought this far ahead, "I don't know, where are you going?"

"On my way to New Asgard."

"I'll come with," you respond without even considering it.

She crosses her arms, "Aren't you banned from entering?"

You had forgotten about that small detail, "That's none of your business." Turns out if you ghost a King, they don't like it when you try to visit their land again, you learned that the hard way.

She puts her arms up in fake surrender, "Fine, we land in 10 hours, you'd better be able to walk by then." This isn't how she imagined reuniting with you would be, but alas, she begins to leave.

"Hey," you blurt out making her turn on her feet, there's a sparkle in her eyes that you're too drowsy to notice, "do you have, like, food?"

She sighs, "Sure, I'll bring something down for you."

After a few minutes she brings your favorite, you don't know if it was on purpose, or if she even remembers, but it makes you all fuzzy inside.

Hours later you hear the ship's voice announce the prompt arrival to New Asgard, so you make your way to the entrance, groaning and limping with every step. Carol is already there, all suited up and ready to go.

She gives you a once over, you're bleeding through your bandages, and her dubious stitch work is showing under your shirt, "You don't have to come, I can take you to the Avengers compound later, I’m sure Fury will let you back in," she hesitates, feeling somewhat responsible for you now.

"I would rather die twice than go to the Avengers," you groan.

"Yeah, well, Valkyrie is not gonna let you set foot in New Asgard, and I’m not letting you die on my ship, so just wait a few hours, then you can be Fury's problem." You deflate slightly, accepting defeat, "There’s more food in the fridge if you can make it to the kitchen," she snarks.

"Thanks." It's not just about the food, she's gone out of her way to help you, to care for you, you didn't expect even a fraction of what she's doing when you first arrived.

You watch Carol exit and wait for the door to close before dropping on the couch, succumbing to the pain, eventually drifting off to sleep.

You wake up to Carol cursing from the control panel, "Keep it down," you mumble instinctively.

She comes out to stand in front of you, "The engine isn't starting, we're stranded."

"We're not stranded, this is basically your second home."

"You're right, I’m not stranded, you are," she asserts with a cocky smirk, you look up at her with exhausted eyes.

She takes some pity on you, knowing you aren't in a position to be of use. She goes back down to get help, and re enters with The King of New Asgard following her closely while you remain rotting on the couch.

Valkyrie glances at you from the corner of her eye, and her features immediately turn to disgust as she tries her best to ignore you. She tails Carol down to the engine to see what the problem is.

The next time you wake up, you're cruising somewhere in space, it looks like they fixed the ship, and you didn't have to piss Valkyrie off by existing near her any longer.

Your body feels different, so you try to figure out why. All of your bandages are a lot cleaner than you remember, seems Carol took advantage of your nap to change them.

Upon noticing you're awake, The Captain brings breakfast to the couch, she sets a tray on the coffee table as you fight for your life to sit up.

"Didn't you also date Valkyrie?" you ask, breaking the silence.

Carol chuckles, "I wouldn't call what you did 'dating,' but yes, briefly."

"Twinsiesss," you exclaim out of nowhere, making Carol scrunch up her nose.

"Don't use that word, only Kamala can speak to me like that."

"When did you become such a hard ass?"

"That's not it, I just don't like young people lingo."

"How old do you think I am?"

"I know how old you are!" The playful banter helps you both feel a lot more at ease with each other.

"What happened to us? We were so good together," you muse in a more serious tone.

"We were terrible together," she counters, still with a smile on her face.

"That is not true, we had fun!" you bargain.

"Not everything is about fun."

You take a sip of your coffee, "Come on, you never miss me?"

"Nope."

"Never ever?"

She bites her lip, "Maybe sometimes it gets lonely up here."

"Would you say you get bored?"

She scoffs, "My job is way too interesting,"

"Your job of punching bad guys?"

"My job of saving galaxies!"

You side eye her with a grin, "Is that on your resume?"

"Perhaps." She returns your cocky look.

"Right next to 'great strap game'?" you tease, she playfully elbows you right on your stitches, "Ow, what the hell!" you scream in real pain.

She covers her gasp with her hand, "I’m so sorry!"

"Are you trying to make it look like an accident?" you snark through the discomfort.

"It's your fault, don't make sex jokes."

"What a prude, it's not even a joke, I could ask Valkyrie, and we could take a vote."

"Oh, please, you'd be toast before you even set both feet on the ground," Carol changes the subject, "what did you do to her, anyway?"

"Nothing!"

"She can't even bare the sight of you because you did 'nothing'?"

Suddenly, you shrink, "She wanted things to get serious and I didn't," you clear your throat, Carol raises her eyebrows prompting you to continue, "so I stopped picking up her calls," you slur.

"Why on Earth would you do that?" she scolds you.

"Because I couldn't get over you." It comes out as a whisper.

After a moment, Carol gets up to put the dirty dishes on the sink. You slowly follow to help her, you're more than struggling, but you feel like you must give back in some way.

"I really didn't want to come to you, there's just something comforting about your ship. I mean, I'd rather not be bleeding out of multiple parts of my body, but if I have to, this is a nice place to do it."

"I’m sure your blood is scattered on every surface of this place," Carol smiles, reminiscing about all your past missions together.

"Sorry."

"Don't be." She knows it’s not your fault being human.

"I was reckless, but I’m not anymore," you assure her.

"So, what exactly happened to you?"

You suck on your teeth, avoiding eye contact, "I was reckless." She decides not to push the subject further.

"Did you?" she pries, turning around after she finishes doing the dishes, "Get over me?"

"I—no," you admit bashfully.

"I don't want to kill you, you know?" she hesitates, "I don’t blame you for what happened to us."

"That's nice to hear." You hope deep in your heart that she means it.

She gently holds your hand, "It just wasn't the right time, but maybe it is now."

[tinietaehyun]

Pretty Boy !¡

[Fae!Beomgyu x Researcher!Reader] [Mystic Trail Series] [One-shot]

Pairing: Fae!Beomgyu x Researcher!reader

Contains: profanity, suggestive/mature themes, thriller elements, mentions of injury, manipulation, asphyxiation.

Genres: Romance, fluff, fantasy, slight enemies to lovers-esque, dark fantasy.

Links: MYSTIC TRAIL || MASTERLIST

Summary: Stepping up the rocky terrain you grunt clearly unimpressed with how you weren’t alone. “Come on, won’t you tell me your name, pretty please?” Deadpanning, you scoff, “Surely you don’t think I’m that stupid?”

The ethereal man pouts innocently but you knew there was true mischief behind it. His eyes glimmer stepping forward, “What’s in a name? I’ll tell you mine. Consider it an honour to know my name.”

Glaring you mutter, “No thanks, I’ll pass. I’m here to study the elves anyway, not you.” His eyes narrow, “Sorry, what?” His sweet tone changes making you snort.

—————————•••••••••••••————————

“Fucking hell,” you grunt pushing through the thick foliage to a clearing. You were already exhausted and overworked. Theses, paper work, on-site work, preparation, just so much shit was piled onto you, just because you were the least experienced of the entire crew. It made you feel like a lackey. How miserable!

Stressed was an understatement and you hated how incredibly pretentious and obnoxious these scholars and researchers were. It was draining to be around. The utter condescending nature of their speech just because you were younger and less experienced. You scoff to yourself.

“Hey! Are you ignoring me? You marched right through a thorny bush, I told you not go that way. But, no! You decided to follow that little compass and map of yours.” A low toned yet playful voice slices through your whirring mind. Oh yeah. You were almost beginning to forget about his presence for a moment with how deep in thought you were- almost as if your legs were running on auto-pilot mode.

You sigh, “Why are you following me?” He releases a chuckle as his steps behind you accompanied with a mischievous bounce into the leaf litter, “Why not?”

You grunt grumpily and he teases, “Oh my flower, don’t be so pouty. That makes me want to just eat you all up with how endearing you look!”

This fae had been persistent in following you for the last five minutes. You had to be wary and keep your wits about you. After all, the fae were a tricky supernatural folk and incredibly dangerous with their verbal traps, contracts and deals. He tried offering his hand to you after you tripped over a tree root and you knew better than to accept it.

This nuisance suddenly appeared after you had tripped over a tree root stupidly which made you suspect that he had been secretly trailing you. As if your life wasn’t as hectic, miserable and dire as it was already, you now had a pest following you, looking like a puppy without a leash.

Honestly, you were tired of life, the facility you worked with was dismal but the access and resources they had connections to were too good to pass up. Thus, you gritted your teeth and put up with the terrible workplace dynamics and condescending atmosphere. All you wanted (and which you haven’t experienced in a long time), was to relax, wind down, succumb and let your head become empty for awhile. Perhaps even a massage too.

But no, life had other plans and here you were struggling to reach the assigned campsite after one of your superiors told you to stay behind because there wasn’t enough room on the damn truck. Selfish fuckers. So here you were making your way manually through the foliage. Thankfully the campsite wasn’t too far into the forest. Deep Grove forest was still a place you needed to be careful. You have heard numerous researchers going missing or ending up injured or even dead. Of course, your plan was not to set foot into the heart of the forest rather stay on the outskirts.

You notice the terrain change to a more rocky terrain. You peer over your shoulder and you see the fae smile brightly at you, “Still here, human. Why, afraid I was gonna leave you alone?” You groan exasperated; you had to keep your patience resilient. Fae would not take too kindly to being the subject of profanity or rudeness.

Stepping up the rocky terrain you grunt clearly unimpressed with how you weren’t alone. “Come on, won’t you tell me your name, pretty please?” Deadpanning, you scoff, “Surely, you don’t think I’m that stupid?”

Oh yeah, he’d been pestering you for your name. What a dumb move, you have to refrain from laughing. You were a scholar, a researcher, albeit, specialising in elves and griffins, not so much fae. But you damn well know to never give your name to a fae.

The ethereal man pouts innocently but you knew there was true mischief behind it. His eyes glimmer stepping forward, “What’s in a name? I’ll tell you mine. Consider it an honour to know my name.”

Glaring you mutter, “No thanks, I’ll pass. I’m here to study the elves anyway, not you.” His eyes narrow, “Sorry, what?” His sweet tone changes making you snort.

His eyes flicker for a moment before he paints a bright expression back on his face, “The elves? They’re rather boring, no? The Fae are far superior, way more interesting.”

You mutter, “Keep telling yourself that.” He feigns shock, “What? You don’t think so? Oh, pretty flower, I’m so hurt. Why study the elves, when you can study the fae?” He steps closer leaning in behind you so that his mouth is beside your right ear, “Why not study me?” A shiver runs down your spine at his husky voice. His voice was unfortunately very pleasant and not to mention is ever so pretty face.

Fuck how attractive he was! The way his green top slung off one shoulder revealing his collar bone and toned shoulder; was making your knees weak. His sharp nose and his ever so slightly pointy ears decorated with various piercings making him look perfect. Too perfect to be human. The epitome of supernatural beauty; how unfair. His luscious lips that seem to pout at your reluctance towards him made your heart race alongside his piercing gaze that held numerous emotions. Human men seemed to have a lot of catching up to do.

“Hm? Flower, why have you gone all quiet?” He hums and you speed up your pace putting some distance between you and peering down at your map to recollect where you were for a moment. The fae observes you intently all while having a mischievous smirk on his face. “I-“ You cut in, “Shush, I’m focusing.” He scoffs with a laugh, “Rude.”

Ignoring your request, he hums walking up to you and peering over your shoulder. He rests his chin atop your right shoulder making you quiver at his close proximity. Shit! Don’t get distracted! “Mm? My, you humans have mapped out pretty much all of this forest, huh? That’s cute.” Your brows furrow, “Cute?” He chuckles, “You’ve only mapped out the parts you can see. Don’t even get me started on the Elven Realm or the Fae Realm. Good work though.” You pale and you feel as though you’re on the verge of an existential crisis of sorts. Great, that was information you didn’t need to hear.

You continue walking now having recollected your thoughts and he continues to walk beside you. “Hm, I’ll tell you my name, since you’re so reluctant on telling me yours. He stops walking and turns to face you with an outstretched hand, “My name is Beom.” You raise a brow peering at the pretty boy with narrow eyes. You also knew Fae would never give away their names so easily without a reason. You smirk taking his hand shaking it and he takes you off guard as he takes your hand moving it upwards towards his face. He presses a delicate kiss to the back of your hand sending your heart rate into over drive. A shaky breath escapes your lips.

“Hm, why don’t you test out my name on those pretty lips of yours, little flower?” He cooes peering at you still holding your hand. You remove your hand feeling flustered as you compose yourself, “Mm, I wouldn’t say that was your name, no?” He raises a brow feigning innocence, “Oh? Whatever do you mean?” You murmur, “Fae never give away their names easily. Is it a nickname?”

His eyes sparkle and a loud cackle escapes his mouth startling you. He grins running a hand through his brown floppy locks of hair, “Oh my, flower you have quite the knowledge arsenal on you. How enticing that is…” You scoff, “I am a scholar.” He hums, “Oh yes, of course, of course. This makes things so much more fun, I do love a good challenge, you know? But to make this more fun. My name is Beomgyu. Not a lie this time.” You deadpan, “Well, really.” A giggle escapes his lips.

You sigh stepping over a log. Your legs were beginning to ache from the various terrains you were walking on. You were purely exhausted too. “Hey, Beomgyu, I guess I’ll call you that. Listen, I’m genuinely so, so tired. I don’t even know if I have the energy to put up with your verbal tests of intelligence and witty remarks. I do not plan to be Fae food today. Respectfully, I really want to just be left alone. I already have a lot to deal with. I really have to get to my site.”

Beomgyu pouts, “Oh my poor flower, so overworked, fatigued and drained. All you humans are so uptight and demanding; it’s so pitiful to see. Always working, never taking time be entertained, to relax. There’s so many ways to relax you know, all beneficial for the mind and body. We Fae love relaxation and in particular, watching entertainment. It’s important to know when to relax, hm? Perhaps I could help you.”

Well probably because they had nothing better to do (but you weren’t going to risk that by saying your opinion out loud). You grunt, “Right, well. Life would be peachy if I could just drop everything and live in a forest with no sense of knowledge, responsibility or obligations.” His eyes glimmer and twinkle, and you immediately follow it up with, “Not literally.” His shoulders slump as he frowns, “Aw, and here I thought I could make that wish come true.”

“No need, Beomgyu,” you utter. You stop walking for a moment and realise you haven’t checked your map in awhile as you were too busy chattering with Beomgyu. Shit! You mutter, “Fuck.” You had lost where you were on the map. Perhaps you had made a wrong turn or lost track of where you were walking as you were taking! This was that damn Fae’s fault! He probably wanted this to happen in fact. Anger and fury rises up within you as you spot him innocently peering at you with a smile. “What is it? You aren’t lost are you, flower?”

You snap as anger envelops you, “Well, it appears I am, all thanks to you! I told you to leave me alone and yet you kept talking on and on, rambling.” Beomgyu frowns at your outburst and he mumbles, “But I just thought you’d like the company. You don’t even have any human colleagues with you. It’s okay, I can help you get to where you need. You mentioned a camp site earlier when we first met, no?”

His eyes twinkle as if he looks guilty and you almost begin to believe he’s remorseful or that he had good intentions. You snap lowly, “No, no. I appreciate the offer but I can manage myself. You can help me out by leaving me be. As is. I’ll be fine.” His umber eyes darken slightly and he sighs, “You humans are so persistent and lack such awareness.” You grit your teeth trying to contain your wrath, “Beomgyu, I’d appreciate not getting insulted.”

You glare at him clearly enraged by this setback as a whole. He folds his arms and scoffs turning his head, “Well, since this is apparently all my fault, that the little human couldn’t keep track of directions, I’ll be on my merry way then. Have fun on your own, little flower. Don’t wilt on the way to your camp,” he spews with a hurt expression. Like a kid throwing a tantrum, he marches and stomps away through the thick bushes and shrubbery.

With that, you were left to your senses.

A pang of guilt hits your heart. He hadn’t done anything to harm you yet and he even was fine with you not giving your name to him. It genuinely seemed like he wanted to get to know you, or was curious. After all, he was a Fae and you were a human, he was bound to be curious. A frown graces your lips, perhaps were you too harsh on him? Were you too rude even? You knew Fae placed a lot of importance on etiquette and politeness. Clearly you threw that out of the window when you snapped.

Sighing, you peer at your map and try to gather your thoughts about your new off-trail location. After minutes, you begin walking in a direction you think is right. You pass by a log. You move on forward. You pass by another log, and another one. Another log again-no, it’s the same log. A whimper escapes your lips; minutes felt like hours. You now felt disoriented and completely on the brink of utter exhaustion. You could faint if you didn’t stop walking. You needed a moment to settle yourself, drink some water and realise that you were quite literally walking in a loop. How long had you been walking?

How the fuck was this happening? Then again, Deep Grove Forest’s illusory properties were intense- but they were unheard of in the outskirts of the forest. What the fuck was even going on anymore? You sit yourself on the log allowing your aching leg muscles to relax and you grab some water to drink viciously to satiate your thirst. You still had food at least. You’d eat when you felt hungry. You were at a loss. Your mind was running at an insane speed trying to figure a way out of this mess.

Before you know it, you feel a wetness on your cheeks. You were crying. Tears drip down your face pathetically and whimpers and sniffles escape you. How pitiful you looked right now. Were you stuck in some sort of illusory loop? Were you terrible at directions? Why did you let Beomgyu leave you? You feel like you were going insane. It was going to become dark soon and here you were like a sitting duck ready to be devoured yet you were too scared to proceed forward in the fear that you’d be heading deeper into the forest.

You continue to cry feeling all the stress of your work life and this situation amalgamate into an emotional breakdown. Your body trembles as your emotions overwhelm you. Realising, you can’t sit here forever, you begin gathering some wood to try and set alight. You needed a fire if you were going to stay warm and cook anything. Tearfully, you begin collecting firewood.

A sudden crunch; as though a twig snapping alerts you. You freeze in fear. More rustling comes from the various foliage around you making you feel terrified. What supernatural beast was going to devour you? You drop all the firewood beside you keeping a sharp eye out.

“HEY!” A boisterous voice bellows out from your right side and you release a petrified screech stumbling backwards. More tears fall down your face and you peer at the source who guffaws, “Oh sweet flower, did I scare you? I thought you were braver than that.” You glare and proceed to burst into more tears. His eyes widen and he rushes over, “Oh my dear flower, you’re hurt. I’m sorry? It appears you’ve been crying.”

You sniffle feeling genuinely dreadful. Your hands were all scraped up from you stumbling back. You were lost, injured and exhausted. Beomgyu frowns sitting beside you and he helps you up to which you don’t resist back to sitting on the log. He sits beside you peering at your hands and taking them into his. “I’m sorry, human. I didn’t realise you were in…such a pitiful state. I thought you’d have long made it to your camp. You seemed mighty resilient.” You sniffle, “Well, I didn’t okay.”

Beomgyu runs his thumbs over the back of your hands softly and you feel a tingling sensation. His skin shimmers ethereally under the spots of light filtering through the canopy above. “I really am sorry, human.” You frown, “It’s…whatever. It’s fine.” His expression is remorseful.

He murmurs peering around, “You didn’t get very far did you?” You whimper, “I can see that.” Beomgyu chuckles, “It’s okay. This forest is very hard for humans to traverse through at times. Even the outskirts.” You huff.

You get ahold of your emotions and begin to calm down. He continues to hold your hands gently as you settle yourself and grasp your situation. Beomgyu delicately cups your cheek and wipes away your tears and tear-stains. He murmurs soothing words and peers warmly into yours eyes. You feel safe with him, secure. He had an aura of welcoming and kindness. You sigh; you didn’t know. You didn’t know what to believe anymore. You just wanted to be home right now.

“I’m…I’m fine now, Beomgyu,” you shakily murmur as you stand up. He murmurs, “So brave, good job, sweet flower.” You mumble, “Do you have to call me that?” Beomgyu mischievously hums, “Or your nam-“ “No. Never mind, forget I said anything,” you deadpan.

Instead of the usual smug, scoff and grin, his gaze darkens for a moment and he huffs, rolling his eyes, “Of course…” His expression brightens once more and he hums standing beside you as begin to pace around in thought. “What’s your plan? You need to get to your campsite. The sun is about to set,“ he states. You frown; you actually weren’t sure.

Beomgyu speaks tentatively with a concerned expression, “Flower, I really do feel bad for you. I’m up for good tricks and mischief, but this, you need to get to safety. How about you let me help you?” Beomgyu walks in front of you with a sympathetic expression and genuineness in tone. “I want to help you, sweet flower. It does pain me to see you so helpless. I may be a fae but I’m not cruel,” he murmurs frowning and says, “Consider this as me making it up for scaring you earlier. I distracted you in the first place, so let me guide you. So just give me your map and I’ll figure out roughly where we are and take-“

Your mind whirrs. You’re so desperately tempted to lean on him for support. Allow him to guide you. For once you didn’t want to be the person who was relied on, on which all the tension piled up on. You peer at his endearing visage laced with concern. Was it too good to be true? There was one rule you learnt back during your degree.

Never accept the help of the Fae.

You were already in deep enough shit. You shakily murmur, “Beomgyu…I-“ He raises a brow, “What? I can help you, I know this forest like the back of my hand-“ You shake your head, “I really appreciate the offer Beomgyu, but I- I can manage.” He goes quiet gobsmacked by your answer before yelping, “But you need help? You can’t do something like this by yourself; you have no idea. Don’t be so irrational, flower!”

You stand your ground and murmur, “I’ll figure it out-“ He snaps, “How? How then?” You snark, “I-I don’t know, but I will!”

Beomgyu’s gaze darkens as he steps forward, “Don’t be foolish, you know nothing of these woods! You’ll be walking in circles till you die or get killed beforehand. Why are you so stubborn? Just let me help you,” he snarls lowly. You shake your head firmly, “Beomgyu, I already said no! Why do you care so damn much?”

Another step forward. You take another step back. He steps forward once more and you step back.

“Beomgyu,” you warn. Beomgyu’s expression changes completely into something that sends chills down your spine. It’s incredibly malevolent as if he’s on the brink of losing his temper with you. “You’re testing my patience, flower,” he grits out, jaw tightening. You say nothing as your body freezes up in fear.

Beomgyu clicks his tongue in anger before he steps forward, arm outstretched and he wraps his fingers around your neck, in record speed. He shoves you against the nearby tree. Beomgyu’s slender fingers wrap around your neck and begin squeezing, as his face is just a few centimetres from yours comes into your view. He’s incredibly pissed, enraged even.

“How insolent,” his tone husky and deeper than usual. He continues squeezing his fingers, “I was willing to be patient yet you were the most persistent one I’ve seen as of yet. Not falling into any of my traps. Not a single thank you, or please. How infuriating it is!” His dark eyes gleam, “Though I do love a challenge, I am beginning to get frustrated. More so, you seem to keep your wits about you. You’re rightfully cautious, unfortunately for me.” He leans closer squeezing your neck even tighter, “Not to mention, you have a face that I find ever so alluring, so endearing too. Intellect and beauty, what a deadly combination, flower,” he cooes with a manic grin.

Your lips part and you gasp. He hums, “Oh? Finding it hard to breathe. Sorry, I tend to squeeze a little hard when I’m frustrated.” Your cheeks feel warm at his proximity and he hums, “Hm? Or maybe you like it? I remember one researcher I came across, had quite the affinity for my hand on her neck.” Your eyes widen. A sadistic twinkle appears in his eye, “Are you the same?” His thumb caresses the side of your neck, “Shall I squeeze harder, flower?”

Fuck, what was wrong with you? The warmth that shoot through your senses was terrifying.

He cooes, “You were so infuriating. I thought even at your lowest, after manipulating your surroundings, you still refused my help.” His hand slides up your neck to cup your jaw, “Aw,” he chuckles, “You look so adorable, terrified like this. Like a deer that’s just gotten shot with a single arrow.” Your knees shake and Beomgyu notices, a dark smile graces his sinfully tempting lips.

He leans closer as he slots his knee coyly between your legs and slips his other arm behind you to curl around your waist whilst keeping the other securely cupping your jaw. A shiver goes through your body, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Beomgyu. A snarky smirk appears as he whispers lowly into your ear, “Are you afraid? Or are you enjoying this? Hm? Are you so touch-starved, my dear flower, that this has you trembling?”

You whimper, “No- I-“ Beomgyu hums, “Push me away, then, flower.” He cooes, “I’ll even loosen my grip on you, go ahead.” The warmth of his body; the humidity in the air, the way his body is pressed into yours; it was all so much. On the one hand you felt scared but on the other he was so alluring it had you feeling weak to his seductive gaze. The way his fingers traced patterns along your waist through your shirt had your mind melting already.

You hadn’t had this attention in a long time, you hadn’t relaxed in a long time. His ministrations and motions were making you feel like putty in his hands. Something that you were not entirely opposed to. Beomgyu hums, “Why so quiet now, hm?” You peer into his glitteringly haunting eyes. Your gazes lock and he hums, “What a pretty face you have,” he slides his thumb across your bottom lip, tugging it down, “Oh and these lips, these lips that held so much fervour and anger to them,”

He leans ever so closely, “These lips that now quiver at my touch. These lips that don’t fall for my pretty lies and traps.”

Beomgyu cooes with a dark smile as he peers at your lips, “Poor flower, so distraught! Unable to know what to do, and where to go. That pretty little head of yours is working over time, isn’t it?” You attempt to glare at his condescending tone and he merely chuckles, “I can fix that. I can make it all better, flower. You know that right? You can hand over all your worries to me. I’ll take care of them. I’ll take care of you. You deserve to be cherished, my delicate flower.” His words pierce into your soul; your eyes drift to his lips as he talks and your heart races. You feel warm and breathless.

Beomgyu whispers beside your face; his breath fanning your cheek, “What will your colleagues do anyway? They’ll make you make tea, carry their stuff, see you as nothing more than an inexperienced researcher, a burden. But I can see you’re so much more than that. So much more to you. They don’t realise the intelligence behind that face.” A shiver runs down your body at his praise.

“You seem rather comfortable in my arms, you like this don’t you?” He murmurs suddenly dipping his head into the curve of your neck. He brushes the bridge of his nose along the curve of your neck and you whimper. You feel him smirk against your skin and tighten his hold on you. “Mm…I think I have a few ways I can help you to relax. De-stress for awhile…��

You breathlessly murmur, “Beomgyu, this is wrong. I-“ he murmurs leaning forward, “Shush, less talking and more relaxing. Be content, hm? I know you’re worried about your little team and all but for now focus on yourself; aren’t you tired of living for other people?” The question strikes you deeply. His lips brush against your own, “Let me take off the burden if not only for a moment.” Beomgyu peers at you with a glance and hums pleasantly as you make no move to turn your head away. Would giving into temptation be so bad? If not only for a while?

Your eyes peer into his gorgeous ones. His ethereal face awaiting your response. Your body jitters with nervousness and excitement. His intimate hold on you, his seductive gaze, the sly smile on his beautiful lips. Goodness…

You breathlessly murmur, “Kiss me.”

Beomgyu obliges with a devious smirk. You willingly close your eyes as his lips press against yours. They move softly yet passionately against yours; he was good. Very good. He nips at your lower lip sending a jolt of pleasure through you and he hums playfully into the kiss as he deepens it pressing you further against the bark of the tree. His tongue brushes against your lower lip making you groan. He slides his hand back down to your neck. All your thoughts of stress, your current situation, the future, any thoughts at all, fly out of your brain instantly.

His touch was magical; his lips were sorcery. After a minute or so, you both part for air. You shiver and he hums, “Your lips taste as sweet as the honey found in the realm of the fae.” You murmur, “That’s quite the compliment.” He chuckles brushing his nose against yours and leaning his forehead against yours, “Mm, indeed it is. The sound of you breathless, has my mind racing.”

Your cheeks feel warm and you mumble, “I…whatever.” Your head feels fuzzy and you feel genuinely content. Beomgyu suddenly pulls you in against his body, “Flower, my sweet flower, you look so dazed? Were my lips too much for you?” He place a peck on your neck. You shake your head writhing out of his grasp, “No, I- as nice as this is, I’ve got to…focus. I need to get back to the camp.”

Beomgyu sighs, a look of frustration crossing his features. You yelp as he places his hands on your shoulders firmly. “What are you-“ He twists you around so that you’re facing away from him. Before you can say anything, he covers your eyes with his hands. You feel his lips against your ear, “Since you’re still so persistent, allow me to show you the truth of the matter.”

In a few seconds, he pries his hands off your eyes and you stumble forward. Where were you? The environment changed? He pushes you forward lightly through some shrubbery. Your eyes widen seeing bright orange trail tape - the campsite! What the fuck?

You rush forward peering around. Your shoulders slouch seeing the holes of where the tent pegs should have been. You see the old burnt firewood. You spot some litter here and there alongside some tarps and broken crates. Pieces of paper lie torn and destroyed, here and there. The fuck was this?

You scream at him, “Where are they? My team?” Beomgyu simply gives you a chilling smile as he sees you breakdown. “Do you wonder, flower, for how long you were walking in circles before? Seeing the same trees, the same log. You didn’t even feel that hungry did you? Do you even know how much time has passed? How long you’ve spent with me?”

Your knees buckle as you screech, “No, no. Don’t fuck with me, Beomgyu!” You peer around manically, “No, they can’t have left. They wouldn’t leave me behind. He grins, “Oh? Perhaps they went to look for you? Sent out what do you humans call it again?”

Your eyes widen, “…a search party. Surely, why…why..” your brain scrambles to find some sort of logical explanation for this.

Beomgyu walks over and crouches beside you, “Ah, ah, there you go thinking too hard again. Flower dearest, logic and rationality don’t apply here. Don’t you understand? What I want, I’ll get. What you want, you won’t,” he hums sinisterly.

“This place, is my domain. A place I can shape to my will, make you see what I want you to see and remove what I don’t. Alas, it’s the realm of the fae that you had been walking in the entire time; just after I had initially met you of course.”

Your mind whirrs as you piece everything together. He had made you lose track of your trail, your course. That’s most likely when you slipped into the realm of the fae; after you met him! He purposely made you lose direction. Your teammates probably gave up their search, because you weren’t in the human realm. You murmur lowly in horrible realisation, “Time works differently in the fae r-realm..”

Beomgyu places a hand gently atop your head caressing down, “Very good, flower.” No wonder there’s nothing left here! They probably thought you were dead-

Beomgyu grins sliding his slender hand to cup your face, “Poor thing, I know it must be hard right to process everything. But you see, you weren’t falling for anything, like the others of your pitiful kind do. That’s why I like you! I had to pull out all my tricks today.”

Your body trembles and he hums playfully, “Anyway, it’s not often, you get to meet with a Fae. You should be honoured I even chose to waste my time on you, instead of killing you off at your reluctance. I get bored rather quickly.“ His fingers glisten and sparkle as he rubs them together. The sparkles fall with a magical chime being emitted. Fairy dust.

“Beautiful isn’t it, flower?” You say nothing feeling numb inside watching it pour down from his other hand in front of your face. “Oh? Don’t tell me you’re hurt by my little illusory trick? It’s all in good fun.” A tear slips down your cheek. Beomgyu release a sadistic giggle at the sight, “Oh no, oh dear. My poor flower is hurt?” He pulls you into a tight hug caressing the back of your head. He cooes, “I’m sorry. It was the only way.”

You murmur, “You get nothing of me being stranded here.” He hums coldly, “Well, I don’t plan to leave you out in the real world. The Fae realm is so much better.” Your heart races in your ribcage. He continues holding you tightly against him. “As I said, Fae enjoy their entertainment. By that I meant, humans.”

Beomgyu tilts your head upwards to meet his sadistic gaze, “Many of my kind, keep your kind as pets, servants and whatnot.” You icily grit out, “Your other victims?”

He grins, “Oh? Them? You need not concern yourself. They were fun whilst they lasted.” Beomgyu pouts, “As I said, I like a challenge; I don’t like when they start getting too broken, or submissive. It takes all the fun out of it.”

You’re mortified at his words. Your blood runs cold despite his warm arms wrapped around you. He hums placing a delicate kiss to your forehead, “Don’t look so scared, flower! You intrigue me more so than anyone else I’ve had the pleasure of meeting. I assure you, we’ll have so much fun together,” he releases a dark chuckle.

Beomgyu hums condescendingly, “If you’re lucky, maybe one day you’ll even win my heart over? How exciting, hm?” You lowly snap, “Go to hell.”

Beomgyu’s lips twist into a grin as he tightens, “Hm? You weren’t so hostile when you asked me to kiss you? I obliged in fact. You could owe me for that, yet I didn’t ask for anything. Perhaps in your deepest, darkest dreams your wish will occur. Until then, I’ll be making sure my name is the only thing your wonderful lips can utter.”

Perhaps, it was a misconception that Fae could only hurt you if you gave out your name or accepted their help. Though it appears some Fae, overall didn’t keep that etiquette.

How unfortunate for you, that you stumbled upon such a fae, a truly sadistic trickster indeed.

Perhaps it was best to just leave the supernatural creatures to themselves. Somethings are better left unknown after all, hm? Who knows how many researchers fell under their traps?

[masuchu]

“𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖” [ZHONGLI]

the day is dismal and monotonous, but inside with zhongli, you find he makes it so very much brighter. ‧₊˚

genre. fluff, very very intimate <3

character. zhongli

love, masu. literally just wrote this entire thing in an hour. the brainrot was so ginormous . love writing for my husband cause it gives me an excuse to write in chinese :b i hope you like it <3

It was a particularly cold day in Liyue. Perhaps, not so much cold, but dreary, drizzly and engulfed by a sky of dull grey. When once, your mood would have been dragged down as though by an invisible anchor at the horrible atmosphere, you found yourself pleased at the chance to stay inside and rest your soul.

But, you suppose, you never had Zhongli before.

Your palms found themselves warmed as you lifted the teacup to your lips. Misty garden. An acquired taste, but easily recognisable and a flavour you have grown fond of. It reminded you of him, and that was enough. You gulped down the liquid and found yourself staring at the man— the him—seated on the other side of the table. His lips pursed in focus, slender fingers tracing over his page, the way his honey eyes went from right to left, then up towards you— Oh.

“Can I help you, dearest one?”

That dreaded nickname. It worked wonders on your heart. It left the threads of his love wrapped around you pulling tighter, your blood flowing faster.

“No, sorry. I didn’t realise I was staring. Please don’t let me distract you, love.”

“I was growing uninterested anyways, you have not distracted me. What is on your mind, dearest?”

A sigh of several unidentifiable emotions left your lips— content, love, adoration, melancholy, inextinguishable bliss. All mixed up together, dissolved like the finest tea. You couldn’t dream of diluting the blend, not when it is the most tender intimacy that has ever overcame you.

“Nothing I have the ability to put into words. I am simply very, very happy right now.” Zhongli smiled faintly at your words, and you couldn’t dream of holding back the one that graced your lips at the sight. He was contagious, a disease of ancient origin, an incurable illness that had taken such unshakable control over your body. You hoped he knew.

He put down his book gently, saving the page with a bookmark. Now free and unoccupied, his fingers lifted into a ‘come hither’ motion. You moved, of course you moved. Stood before him in benign embarrassment, he pulled your waist firmly so you needn’t do it yourself.

Newly perched on his lap, his hand traced over your features. It was one of his favourite things to do, you noticed. To memorise you, understand you. He relished in the twitch of your nose when ran his knuckles down the bridge, the gentle furrow in your brows when he halted to hold your cheek. You always indulged him and his curiosity.

However, this time, he stopped early. Your confused look amused him, and he chuckled quietly yet deeply as his face came closer to yours. His lips began pressing fleeting kisses all over your face: your cheek, your temple, your eyelids, your nose… No place on the map of your visage was left unexplored by Zhongli. No place except your lips.

“I am very, very happy too. Though the weather is sombre, you shine through it, 亲爱的.”

“Oh, please kiss me.”

He chuckled again, ever the tease. “How can I refuse when you ask so favourably?”

It wasn’t sudden, he prolonged it maliciously. His tender knuckles grazed your cheek, his arm pressed you tighter against him. Honey glazed eyes met with yours for one final moment. And then it happened. Misty garden flourished on your taste buds once again, this time in away you could never begin to get bored of. You would kiss him forever, if he would let you. If forever was an option. Your hands went to either side of his face, holding on in fear that he was going to fade to ash beneath you. He never did. You wouldn’t let him. The kiss lingered for a moment as you both kept your lips perfectly close, eyes firmly locked, before he pushed your face into the crook of his neck and uttered words you would lock away in your heart for eternity.

“你是我最珍贵的宝石. 请留下来陪我.”

𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒:

亲爱的 : dearest/beloved/honey

你是我最珍贵的宝石. 请留下来陪我 : you are my most precious gem, please stay with me

2024 © masuchu , do not repost, reword, plagiarise, take inspiration, translate or share my work anywhere!

[prettycottonmouthlamia]

My re-reading project has gone reasonably well, my ADHD is still untreated so I often have a lot of trouble actually starting (Who is Real consistently created this roadblock in my mind for whatever reason), but it was re-reading Under Tides that has had me sitting down and digesting it for some time.

Under Tides has a dramatically different tone from pretty much every single other event that I've read so far. It's a very moody work, dramatically more so than previous events (and, definitely in comparison to Stultifera Navis), both in story direction and in art direction. The residents of Sal Viento are drawn in a way I find really compelling for the nature of the story: they look like they've had the life and energy sucked out of them, and share the same muted palettes with the Inquisitors. It really makes the Abyssal Hunters standout in comparison to the rest of the world, in Skadi's vivid reds, Gladiia's blues, and Specter's monochrome colors.

This piece, on top of just being absolutely breathtaking honestly, is a really good example. Sal Viento sits, tilted in ruins into the sea, but at this angle it feels impossible to tell where the land begins and where the ocean meets the city. It makes Sal Viento feel very isolated from the world, and it is in many ways, and I in particular like the way the support structures at the right, now broken and falling apart, make Sal Viento feel skeletal. How much has been destroyed, taken by the sea? It's great.

But Skadi is the only splash of color. Skadi's red stand out amongst the very muted blues, the blues that feel barely distinguishable from the dismal grays of rain clouds and brackish water, and the sterile colors of Sal Viento. Skadi and the Hunters are the only splash of life in this landscape; even the Inquisitors cannot be said to do this, because much if not all of what the Inquisitors leave in their wake is death.

But it's also a much darker story than usually, and that's a bit surprising considering how much fare Arknights up to this point has had with the ideas of corporate corruption, discrimination, and cleansing. It's a lot to do with how the characters are positioned to each other: the people of Sal Viento are almost zombie-like, being slowly eaten away from ingestion of Seaborn flesh, and are intensely paranoid and disapproving of outsiders. Only Anita stands out amongst them, a beacon of innocence and curiosity that hasn't been stamped out yet by the constant erosion of the tides. Skadi and Gladiia are both oppositional to each other and oppositional to everyone else in the story. There's no real sense of cooperation or camaraderie between any of the characters outside of Anita, which creates a really rather oppressive atmosphere. The dark parts of Talulah's story in Chapter 8 stand in contrast to the warmer parts of her relationship to Alina, Frostnova, and Patriot, and it stands in contrast with Amiya and Ch'en. Maria Nearl's attempted assassination at the hands of the KGCC stands stark against Marcus and Zofia's support of her and her naive ideals.

There's no contrast in Under Tides, it's a constant gloomy, dark feeling, it's being in a cave that's constantly damp, dripping, and moist. That works really well for the type of story it wants to be, especially for its climax moment, where the first time character's connect with each other, it is portrayed in the form of a mental breakdown.

"She is a monster. She murders her own kind. She for her own kind murders her own kind. She by her own kind murders her own kind. The eyes of the people in the streets are filled with warmth. They don't know anything. The eyes from the research institutes and in the tents are filled with ice. When the hunters sleep, there are patrollers guarding. No. Those aren't guards. That night patrol doesn't serve the hunters. The patrollers are waiting for the hunters to become monsters."

Aside from her, anyone and everyone probably knew. Sea monster. And–she has already committed the gravest sin...

I killed it. I killed her. I killed Him.

There's some questionable writing decisions made in this chapter, especially with the way that Anita and Irene have a habit of narrating action scenes in dialogue, but this will not be what I criticize. This is the climax of the story: where the truth of the matter, where Skadi understanding the bizarre idiosyncrasies of her biology and what they mean, causes her identity to collapse, leaving Skadi to try and grab at anything she can.

And she grabs onto being a monster.

Becoming a Seaborn is in some ways both an invasion and a form of acceptance. Your biology changes, but the outcome is not a guarantee. Skadi only avoids her fate here because Gladiia deliberately took a massive injury as a trap. If that hadn't been intentional, if Gladiia truly took a mortal wound, Skadi would have fallen right there.

"Your neural cells are rapidly metabolizing. Remember, you are a hunter. They can't do anything to you."

It's truth and its untruth. The extent to which Skadi's condition can be directly tied to her biology is questionable: we've already seen this questioned in Skadi's own monologue. But as long as Skadi remembers that she is a hunter, that she has a purpose and can resist, she'll be fine.

It's good, it's a fantastic climax that leads to the rather nice and cathartic reunion amongst the Abyssal Hunters. Really liked this event.

[darkcranefiction]

Injected Nightmares

FOR: JONATHAN CRANE X RAEDER INSERT

PART: ONE

WARNING: MENTAL DISORDERS, NON-CONSENTIAL SMUT, TWISTED STUFF, MEDICAL PLAY

NOTE: DON'T LIKE IT, DON'T READ IT. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

The journey to Akram Asylum felt like a descent into darkness, as if the heavy clouds above threatened to envelop you entirely. In the dimming light, the trees surrounding the asylum loomed menacingly, their branches twisting together like the tendrils of some ancient creature. Your car slowly navigated the narrow road, its wheels crunching over the gravel that lined the way.

As you approached the asylum, the oppressive atmosphere seemed to become even more palpable.

The large iron gates creaked open before you, revealing the stark, ominous facade of the building itself. The windows were barred, the bricks were discolored and weathered, as though they had witnessed countless horrors over the years. The cold, unforgiving wind gusted through the courtyard, carrying with it the faint cries of the patients trapped within the walls.

The sound of your knock on the door reverberated through the silent hallways, leaving you feeling uneasy.

Dr. Jonathan Crane emerged from the shadows, his gaze assessing you up and down, seemingly taking note of every small detail about you. With a firm nod, he led you towards the dimly lit room where your intake examination would take place. You followed him hesitantly, wondering what secrets lay hidden behind his piercing eyes.

Inside the room, you took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. The only source of light came from a single lamp near the examination table, casting eerie shadows across the chamber.

The room smelled musty, as though dampness had permeated the very fabric of the space. As Dr. Crane began his examination, he instructed you to undress completely, a chill running down your spine at the thought of revealing yourself in such a dark and dismal setting.

With trembling hands, you removed your clothes, stepping onto the cold metal surface of the examination table. His eyes roamed over your body, and a sinister smile formed on his lips.

He first began to talk about your thoughts, your dreams and everything surrounding your mental state which, to you, seemed odd, considering that you were naked.

His eyes seemed to sparkle with mischief as he asked questions that made you feel both exposed and vulnerable.

"What do you think of when you close your eyes at night?" he asked, leaning closer to you.

Your heart raced, and your cheeks burned with embarrassment. "I... I don't know," you stammered, looking away. "Please, Doctor, just get on with the examination."

He merely chuckled, a low rumble in his throat that sent shivers down your spine.

"Isn't it strange how our minds can wander so far when we're left alone with our thoughts? It's fascinating, really."

You shifted uncomfortably on the table, unable to find a response. It was almost as if his eyes could see right through you, as if he knew exactly what thoughts lurked beneath the surface.

"Any thoughts of self-harm?" he probed further, his tone almost conspiratorial. "And please, be honest now. It's safe here."

You shook your head, your heart racing in your chest.

"No, nothing like that." He nodded, scribbling something down on his clipboard. 

"Any thoughts of harming others?" Dr. Crane continued, his question causing your brow to furrow.

"No, not intentionally," you replied, attempting to maintain eye contact. "But why do you ask?"

He smiled cryptically, reaching for a fresh sheet of paper. "It's standard procedure, my dear. We must understand all aspects of your mind before we can help you fully."

You swallowed hard, still unsure of whether to trust him or not. "So, no harmful thoughts or urges to hurt anyone else?" he pressed, his voice lowering slightly.

"It's crucial for us to explore these aspects, especially in a facility like this one."

You shifted nervously on the table, your heart pounding against your ribcage. "I guess..."

"Don't worry, my dear," he reassured you with a warm, comforting smile. "It's just a part of the process."

The room fell silent once again, the only sounds being the ticking of the clock on the wall and the soft rustling of papers as Dr. Crane jotted down notes on his clipboard.

"We will have to explore this further, to ensure your safety and the safety of others here. But fear not, my dear, it's simply for understanding your psyche better."

A knot formed in your stomach, but you couldn't bring yourself to argue with him. Instead, you took a deep breath and tried to remain composed, listening intently as he continued speaking.

"Now, let's move on to the physical examination."

Dr. Crane's voice broke the silence, drawing your attention back to him. His eyes held a predatory gleam, and his lips curved into a wicked grin.

"Any pains anywhere?" he then asked as he began to turn your neck, left to right, while you responded with an anxious "no".

"Good, now open your mouth for me. Open wide" he instructed and, after you complied with his request, he inspected your teeth, your tongue, and your ears, observing everything with an intensity that seemed almost predatory.

He then moved on to your breasts, placing a cold stethoscope against your chest to listen to your heartbeat before removing it again and taking some notes.

"I will examine your breasts next," he announced, his voice resonating with authority.

You couldn't help but shiver slightly, your eyes growing wide as you looked at him.

"There's no need to be frightened, my dear," he assured you kindly. "This is just another part of the examination process."

Swallowing hard, you nodded slowly, forcing yourself to relax as he proceeded with the examination.

The cool fingers of Dr. Crane caressed your skin, moving delicately over your body. As he reached your breasts, his touch became more deliberate and forceful. 

"This hurts, doctor." You cried out, feeling a sudden surge of pain as his fingertips dug deeper into your flesh.

"Just bear with it," he replied, his voice cold and distant. "I need to examine you thoroughly."

You bit your lip, tears forming in the corners of your eyes as he expertly maneuvered his fingers around your most sensitive areas. It felt like he was searching for something hidden beneath your skin, and you had no choice but to endure the pain.

His relentless exploration left you trembling with anxiety, and you found yourself yearning for the moment when he would finally release you from his grasp.

"All seems well" he eventually acknowledged before retrieving some rubber gloves from the box next to the examination table. His movements were calculated, precise, each action serving a purpose.

"So lets carry on, shall we?" he then said before walking over to the drawer beside the examination table, rummaging through it until he found what he was searching for. Pulling out a jar of lubricant, he carefully placed it on the table in front of you. 

You swallowed, feeling a mixture of confusion and dread as you glanced between him and the jar.

"Dr. Crane, may I ask what this is for?" Your voice wavered, betraying your unease.

He smiled slyly, his eyes alight with mischief. "Oh, my dear, don't worry. It's merely to facilitate a thorough examination." He proceeded to open the jar, revealing a silky gel inside. "This will make things much more comfortable for you during your vaginal and rectal examinations," he explained, his eyes holding a mischievous glint.

"Please place your feet on the footrests now and allow your knees to fall open," he instructed.

Your heart thumped erratically in your chest as you complied, feeling vulnerable and exposed under his watchful gaze.

As you obeyed his orders, he positioned himself between your legs and used a lamp to shine some light towards your intimate region.

He then proceeded to coat his latex covered fingers generously with the slippery gel. The cool substance slid effortlessly over his fingers, giving them a wet, shiny sheen.

"Relax, my dear," he cooed, leaning in closer, his breath brushing against your ear. "This will only take a moment."

Despite his words, you felt anything but relaxed. In fact, your muscles tensed involuntarily, as if anticipating the worst.

As his fingers dipped inside you, penetrating your virgin core, your face contorted in pain. "That hurts, doctor!" you gasped, struggling to contain your tears.

Dr. Crane continued his inspection, his expression unchanged, his voice cold and detached. "I assure you, it's perfectly normal. Many women experience discomfort during their first pelvic examination," Dr. Crane reassured you, his voice calm and steady. "It's only natural, considering the sensitivity of the area."

You forced yourself to breathe deeply, attempting to control the tears streaming down your cheeks. "Doctor, please, it hurts so much," you whimpered, your voice breaking with emotion.

Dr. Crane continued to work diligently, unphased by your pleas. "Just try to relax, my dear. It'll go quicker if you don't fight it," Dr. Crane coaxed, his fingers expertly exploring your inner depths.

You bit your lip, trying desperately to follow his advice despite the intense pain and humiliation. Your eyes filled with tears, but you remained steadfast, determined not to give in to your agony.

As he finally withdrew his finger from you, you noticed some blood on its tip.

"Have you ever had intercourse?" he then asked as he cleaned his hands, seemingly unaffected by the discomfort he had caused you.

"No," you replied, your voice strained from the pain. "I haven't had sex with anyone."

Dr. Crane regarded you with a keen interest, his eyes assessing you like a prize specimen. "Very well, I will not use a speculum in your vagina then. Your hymen still appears to be intact, hence the bleeding," he observed before, without warning, he pulled off his gloves and reached for a new set. As he donned them, you found yourself growing increasingly anxious, fearing what was to come next.

Without hesitation, he picked up a rectal speculum from the nearby tray and prepared it for use. "Please lie down on your side now, facing away from me," he instructed, his voice devoid of empathy.

You did as he said, your legs bent at the knees and your bottom raised toward the sky. Your heart raced as you awaited his next move, terrified of what might come next.

"Please, Dr. Crane, don't do this to me," you pleaded, your voice laced with desperation.

Dr. Crane regarded you with a smirk, his eyes full of amusement. "Don't worry, my dear," he reassured you. "It will only hurt momentarily," he told you before reaching for the cold jelly again.

This time, however, instead of applying it to his own gloved fingers, he carefully massaged it onto your anus.

You felt your body tensing up even more, instinctively fighting against the invasion of his fingers. The unfamiliar sensation was excruciating, yet you remained stoic, refusing to cry out or show weakness.

"Relax, my dear," he repeated, his voice remaining as unemotional as ever. "I assure you, this won't last long."

Despite his attempts to soothe you, you could feel your insides clenching tightly as he placed the speculum at the entrance to your rectum.

Tears welled up in your eyes once more, threatening to spill over as he carefully inserted the device into your tight anus. You closed your eyes, gritting your teeth, willing yourself to maintain composure. With a firm push, the metal device disappeared inside you.

"I will now adjust the width of the speculum so that I can examine your rectum," Dr. Crane informed you coolly.

Gripping the handles, he started to widen the device, his movements smooth and precise.

A wave of panic coursed through you as you struggled to remain composed. This was nothing short of torture, and you prayed that it would soon be over.

Sweat formed on your brow, beading and dripping down your temple.

Your heart raced as you felt the invasive device stretching your rectum, the unbearable pressure making you want to scream out in pain.

Dr Crane then used his finger to glide inside your anus, testing its reaction to his touch.

As he continued his examination, the burning sensation intensified, leaving you feeling utterly violated and helpless.

Every fiber of your being ached, begging for relief, but you maintained your composure, unwilling to let him see how deeply his actions affected you.

Finally, Dr. Crane removed the speculum, leaving you feeling utterly exposed and defeated.

Your eyes darted towards him, searching for any hint of remorse or regret on his face.

"All done, my dear," Dr. Crane finally announced, pulling off his gloves and tossing them into the trash bin. "Thank you for your cooperation."

You rose slowly from the examination table, feeling exhausted and drained. Your face flushed with shame and embarrassment; you could barely muster enough strength to leave the room.

Dr. Crane followed closely behind, leading you to the exit. "Please return tomorrow morning for further tests," he commanded, his tone implying that you had no choice in the matter.