#having a heat after a century of not having one???? more likely than you think g'raha

[sugume]

HELL BENT — RYOMEN SUKUNA

✧･ﾟ The Incubus King finally claims his intended.  

( TW ) f!reader, incubus king!Sukuna, major size difference (Sukuna’s 8ft tall!), harem, group sex, fingering, cunnilingus, biting, rough sex, bleeding, forked tongues, cervix fucking, mating bonds, reader goes in some type of ‘heat’, explicit content. 

word count - > 1.5k

author's note: PLS don’t take this seriously Idek what this is!! unedited + I'm trying a new writing style

Can’t stop thinking about Incubus king!Sukuna who finally finds his intended after centuries of looking. Who finds her in a place he never thought to check, the human realm. Who he kidnaps and brings down to his realm, telling you how you are to be his queen and rule his subjects alongside him. You have a mental breakdown your first week. The change of scenery, coming to terms that this is real, the differences between you and Sukuna’s species he calls Incubus. You’ve heard of them before, but you didn't think they were real—who did? They’re eight feet tall, winged creatures who liked to fuck 24/7. Half of them roam around naked and you can’t turn a hallway without catching two or more in sexual activities. So, hearing that you're some type of ‘mate’ to the king of the creatures? You think you’re dreaming. Sukuna brings you food every day and talks about how the mating bond has been activated now. How the several next week's you’re going to be restless until he ruts and claims you. 

You scream and cry how this is his fault. He leans over the buffet of food and smacks your thigh with a grumble. You refuse to speak to him for the rest of the night even when he undresses and washes you. Making crude comments like how he can’t wait to breed your human body full of his offsprings. Sukana who doesn’t have the time for your refusal to talk to him for he has a kingdom to run, so he drops you off to a group of naked, pierced women who he calls his harem. He gently pushes you into one of the tall women before telling her to take care of you or else.  

You can’t find it in your to be jealous of the women for being his ‘harem.’ You don’t even like Sukuna right now and the women, they’re so kind and mature that you would much rather spend your days lazing around with them than sitting on Sukuna’s lap while he laughs at his people who come to him with misfortunes.  His harem teaches you all about their lands, how sex isn’t taboo instead something they need just like oxygen is to humans. How when they fuck, they release some type of energy that’s built up in their body that causes their kind to go insane and terrorize the human realm.  

Sukuna’s harem who are utterly obsessed with how small you are compared to them. They used to spend their days lying around on rich cushions and blankets waiting for Sukuna but even they got bored of him—if it were up to them, they’d lock him in their room and never let him out. His harem who was supposed to be teaching you more about their king but instead chose to spend their days lazily eating you out with their long-forked tongues and fucking you dumb with their big fingers. They make you suckle their breasts and grind on their faces. They’re so gentle after, hissing at each other when one speaks too loudly after you had fallen asleep, washing your body clean, wrapping you in the softest blankets to carry you back over to your room with Sukuna. Some days they happen to catch Sukuna in his room, and they smirk and giggle when they see his jealous face. They take it as the highest compliment their queen has decided to lie with them before the king.  

Incubus king!Sukuna who feels the mating bond grow stronger with every second you're in his castle. He feels himself shifting. He unable to stay away for long periods of time. He forces you to bathe with him before making you sit on his throne with him while he talks to irrelevant people, his hard cock jumping every time you move. You want to get away, moaning and grumbling how his you want to go play with his harem, it’s uncomfortable sitting on muscular thighs for hours while listening to him talk in several languages you don’t understand to people you don’t know. Sukuna who hisses and grumbles at you before going back to his subjects who kneel at the bottom of his obsidian throne.  

 Throughout the week you can’t help but get hornier and hornier until your unable to walk without liquids dripping down your thighs and wetting your skirts. Despite Sukuna's harem playing with you can’t help but plead and cry for him. You barely know the man but your body aches for him, for his cock, his bond. Sukuna who finally comes to see you one day. Who picks you up to set you up top of the cushions so you can watch him fuck his harem. He does everything he could think to the women, he wants to see what makes you twitch and ache and cry. By the time he’s done—hours later—you’re in a puddle of slick panting and crying how you want him. He doesn’t take you though, he can smell that you aren’t ready for him just yet, and he can’t risk injuring his mate who he’s searched for centuries. He won’t allow himself to bring you any harm, so he just holds you in his lap and makes his harem play with you until you pass out. 

Sukuna whose balls deep in one of his women when he sniffs that air and smells the scent change in you. The women he’s fucking laughs when he yanks himself out of her and goes to you. He picks you up from the drenched cushion you're sitting on. You wrap your arms around his neck and sob and the feeling of his body. You try to wrap your legs around his huge frame but you’re too tired, so they just hang as he walks you back to your room, your thighs rubbing against his cock. Sukuna lays you down on the huge bed before ripping your silky dress and ding his head in between your legs. He brings you to several orgasm, but his mouth and forked tongue isn't what you want. You want his cock. You want him to fuck you pregnant while he bites you and claims you as his. You scream and kick and pull and at the pair of horns on top his head, but he just shushes you before going back to eating you out.  

Sukuna finally deems you ready to take his cock but before he kisses and drags his teeth all over your body. He suckles at your breast, commenting on how you’ll be feeding him with said breasts soon. You cry out when he finally turns you ass up. You don’t even think about how much bigger he is than you, how his cock might not fit inside. Sukuna pushes your head into the blankets, grabbing the base of his cock and rubbing it over your pussy. You scream at him, but he ignores you enjoying the sight of your pussy against his too big cock. When he finally pushes into you scream into the pillow. You scream for more, for him to slow down, for him to breed you, for him to fuck you harder, for him to stop and let you catch a break. He’s too out of it to listen. He never knew what it would feel like to claim a mate but this? If he had any doubt the little human underneath his wasn’t his, he didn’t now. He finally felt whole. He felt your essence flowing into him, making him stronger, more aware, if he concentrated hard enough, he could feel your emotions and hear your thoughts. He fucked your impossibly harder. 

Sukuna leans down and whispers for you to open, and let him in. You don’t understand what he's talking about until his cock shoots some warm liquids and you feel your cervix open. It hurts so good when he pushes deeper into you. You orgasm again before he releases his seed into you. The tension leaves your body at the feeling of his seed rushing to your womb. You’re about to succumb to the sleepiness before Sukuna jolts you awake saying this is just the beginning.  

[florencemtrash]

Take it Off - Azriel x Reader

Summary: You and Azriel have been friends for centuries... but what happens when he wakes up one day to find that things have changed? And how will he react when you start wearing Cassian's clothes?

Warnings: Angst. Jealous Azriel. Suggestiveness and then some (I don't know what warning to put, but it's spicier than my usual stuff is all I'll say). Cassian is an absolute menace... good for him

Author's note: Did I write this to procrastinate editing SSIB Ch 22 after watching Bridgerton S3?... yes

Is this a fucking game to you?

Cassian grinned over the lip of his cup, raising his brow in a poorly disguised expression of confusion. He’d been playing the innocent fool all throughout breakfast, seemingly oblivious to the daggers Azriel was throwing his direction every time he made you laugh.

Internally, he and Nesta were both cackling. He threw his arm over the back of his meta’s chair, plucking the cream puff she held out for him, and tossing it into his mouth with a shit-eating grin. 

I’ve not the faintest idea what you’re talking about, Azriel. Although it hurts me deeply to see you so upset.

Upset was an understatement. Azriel was holding onto his glass of orange juice so tightly cracks were beginning to form beneath his fingertips. 

You elbowed Azriel in the ribs, brows furrowed as you pointed your slice of toast towards his hand. “Are you ok?” You whispered low and just for his ears. 

The molten anger in his eyes melted away, hazel eyes softening as he took in your concerned expression. You were the first and only one of his family members to watch him so intensely. You could unravel the meaning in every twitch of his jaw, every rhythmic tap of his fingers against his thigh, every flicker of his shadows. You knew when he was upset, when he was happy, and when he wanted to laugh but had trouble expressing it. The only thing you weren’t aware of when it came to Azriel was how unbelievably in love with you he was. 

But that was his own fault. 

You’d watched him fawn over Mor for centuries, watched as he practically crawled on hand and knees for any kernel of affection she was willing to throw his way. Then, when you thought he’d finally gotten over his feelings for her, he’d chased after Elain’s heels like a dog in heat. You didn’t even want to begin thinking about Gwyn and the way she’d trampled over his hopes with the simple phrase, “I love you as a friend, Azriel. Nothing more.” 

No. It was entirely his fault that you’d learned to bury your own feelings for him so deep they’d become background noise — as inconsequential and ever present as the sound of your own breathing. 

Still… you couldn’t help but notice the secrets swimming in his eyes, the hurt and longing there that you could only guess the origin of. Who’d hurt him this time? You wondered. 

“I’m fine.” Azriel whispered, his hands ghosting over your thighs before deciding against touching you there. 

You hummed, clearly unconvinced. You held your toast in between your teeth, tasting the raspberry jam explode on your tongue as you reached over and carefully peeled Azriel’s fingers off his injured glass. 

His heart stuttered at the sight of your lips as they closed around your thumb, licking away crumbs and jam from your fingertips. But then his gaze dropped to your chest and his stomach soured. 

As Madja’s apprentice, you’d acquired a special interest in botany — an interest that had all but shoved you into Feyre’s studio so you could learn the skills necessary to depict all manner of flora and fauna in your field journal. When you’d complained about finding paint and charcoal stains over your clothes, Cassian had jumped on the opportunity to give you his old shirts to use as painting smocks. He had to congratulate himself for the stroke of genius. After all, he and Nesta had been discussing plans on how to get Azriel to admit his feelings for months now. 

Azriel did not respond well to outright suggestions or bullying. If he told Azriel to pull his head out of his ass and ask you on a proper date, the Shadowsinger would only hunker down on his preconceptions that he was unloveable, and that you were far too good for him. If he revealed to Azriel that you’d secretly loved him for decades that would only make him feel even more embarrassment and shame. 

No.

  Jealousy worked far better when it came to Azriel.

You looked comfortable and happy in Cassian’s clothes — a fact that escaped no one’s notice. You had the sleeves rolled up past your elbows, the rows of buttons at your back haphazardly done without wings to accommodate. You’d worn that particular shirt a half dozen times now and replaced any scent of Cassian with your own. 

Still, you were wearing another male’s shirt… and it was starting to drive Azriel insane.

“I was going to get rid of these and thought you might like them for… painting.” Azriel shifted on his feet, holding out the neatly stacked pile of clothes for you. 

You were laying on your stomach in bed, colored pencils and textbooks splayed out around you, but quickly righted yourself and sifted through the piles he handed you.

You held one up for a better look. 

“Azriel, you were just wearing this last week.” It still smelled like him — the scent of the Illyrian mountains at night woven through the soft, cotton material. “I can’t take this. Or this. Or this!” 

“I have more just like them.” 

You huffed, fists balanced on your hips. 

Azriel was a simple male with ample space in his wardrobe. When he wasn’t in his Illyrian leathers he wore the same three outfits on rotation, all of them nearly identical. If there was anyone who shouldn’t be giving away clothes, it was Azriel. 

“I really appreciate it, Az, but I’m ok. I don’t need these. Cassian already gave me enough hand-me-downs to last two decades at least.” 

A muscle in Azriel’s jaw jumped out. “Well I’m glad for that.” He was practically seething. You noticed, as you always did, but you couldn’t imagine that you were the cause of his frustrations. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, Az? You’ve been acting strangely the past few days.” 

“It’s nothing.”

“I doubt that.” 

There were various things on his mind, chief among them you. So he took hold of the olive branch you’d extended him and laid down beside you, talking about everything and nothing at all. But one thing he avoided talking about at all costs was how the gentle scraping of your nails through his hair as he rested his head in your lap made him want to lock the door and never come out. 

He wanted to bury his face beneath your sundress and then tear it to pieces. He wanted to dive under the covers and leave an assortment of marks on your skin. To hold you so close that you began to smell like one another. 

You lay down beside him, leaning your head against his shoulder so he caught whiffs of your elderberry and lemon shampoo. 

“You know you can tell me anything, right? That’s what friends are for.” 

Right… friends. He was starting to hate that word. 

“Yes… I know.” 

How long do you think he’ll last?

Nesta felt Cassian’s soft laugh blow over the back of her neck as they crouched just behind the door of Feyre's painting studio.

Azriel had been undeniably irritable the last two weeks, his patience fraying like a linen skirt with the hem torn off. Cassian was still sporting a bruise on his cheek from this morning’s sparring session after one of his teasing remarks had hit a little too close to home. 

Not much longer. Look at him, Nes. He’s practically vibrating.

Nesta slapped her hand over her mouth, stifling her laughter. 

Azriel was restless, his wings kept opening and closing with agitation and the curve of his ears had long since turned a bright shade of pink. He’d had his shadows knock over a cup of ink earlier, sending its contents splattering over your shirt and staining the fabric beyond repair. But you’d only shrugged and said, “It’s my painting shirt. It’s meant to get dirty,” before going back to your canvas with a soft smile. The moment you’d turned your back to him, he’d silently cursed the ceiling. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. He kicked himself, too focused on your continuing conversation to think that his meddling brother and sister-in-law might be watching. 

He hadn’t expected his emotions to take over so quickly, least of all with you. You’d been his best friend for over two hundred years. You were a staple in his life, more familiar to him than the childhood blanket he still had tucked away in his drawer. There was no reason why he should suddenly wake up one day and realize with a shock of surprise that he loved you and couldn’t imagine living in a world that didn’t have you in it. 

It had been such a silly moment as well. You’d been getting ready for Starfall, your hair done up and a flush of color spread over your cheeks and lips. He’d come to check in on you and lost his breath when he saw you sitting at the vanity, holding up earrings to your neck to see if they matched the satin of your deep blue gown. And then you’d politely asked him to lace up your dress and he’d nearly swallowed his tongue in surprise, forcing his hands to stop shaking as they brushed against your spine. Gods he’d wanted to throw himself off a balcony that night, if only because you’d be the one tasked with healing him. 

He wanted to throw himself off the balcony now. Let the ground swallow him whole so he wouldn’t have to make a fool of himself in front of you… again. 

I give it another week. Nesta declared.

Cassian smirked. I know my brother. He won’t last another three days.

In the end they were both wrong. 

It only took two days for Azriel to finally snap.

“Take it off.” 

You swiveled around in your chair, tongue pressing against your cheek as you wondered what gave Azriel the audacity to march into your private lesson with Feyre and make such an out-of-character demand. 

“What?” You asked, furrowing your brows. 

Azriel stood as still as an obsidian statue in the doorway. His wings loomed over his shoulders, talons reaching towards the ceiling tense and twitching. 

“Take. It. Off,” he repeated through gritted teeth. He clutched a neatly folded shirt in his hands, knuckles pale and bloodless from the tight grip. You’d been wearing Cassian’s clothes almost every day this past week and he couldn’t stand it anymore. He couldn’t stand sitting beside you at the dinner table or in the library, the laughter in his throat dying when he caught Cassian’s scent drifting off your skin. 

It was maddening the way you didn’t think anything of it. 

Yes, Cassian was practically a brother to you, and yes, he was a mated male but… fuck it bothered Azriel so much to think of anyone else laying claim to you. To think that one day you might actually walk around wearing another male’s clothes because you loved them. To think that that male wouldn’t be him. 

He’d tried to bring up the topic with you in his own round-about way, but you’d shrugged off all his suggestions of wearing something — anything — else. 

“If you want painting clothes, why don’t we go shopping this afternoon? I’m sure Feyre has recommendations. Or we could just walk around the Rainbow until something catches your eye.” 

“I’m not a full time artist, and it seems silly to spend money on clothes you intend to ruin.” 

“Why don’t you ask Feyre or Mor for hand-me-downs then? They’ll fit you better and the sleeves won’t drag so much.” 

“I like it when my clothes are loose.” 

Feyre glanced between the two of you, namely the flare of Azriel’s nostrils and the way he ground his teeth so intently you worried he’d crack a tooth. 

“I’m… going to leave now.”

“Wait—Feyre!” 

The High Lady kissed your cheek, a knowing look in her eyes, before scurrying out the door. 

Don’t scowl so much, Az, you’re making her nervous. She chirped to the Shadowsinger before slipping down the hallway and disappearing. 

She made it all of ten feet down the hall before crowing, “It’s happening!” to the others. 

It’s happening?! Mor leapt out from her bedroom, a robe hastily tied around her waist and soap suds clinging to her hair. “Fey—” she hissed.

Feyre pressed a finger up to her lips, cutting her off. They’re in the art studio now. 

I fucking KNEW IT! Mor squealed in delight, stomping her feet soundlessly into the floorboards as she allowed Feyre to grab her wrist and drag her forward. 

I won the bet, Nes.

You didn’t win, we both lost!

Semantics. 

Why you bas—

Feyre, Rhys, Mor, Cassian, and Nesta streamed into the foyer. There was an air vent here that led directly to the art studio two floors above them and painted over so expertly it may as well have been part of the molding. The sounds traveling through it were muffled by echos and distance, but nothing that fae hearing and magic couldn’t overcome. 

“That’s it!” The chair you’d been sitting in skittered back with a squeak. “What is your problem, Azriel? You’ve been agitated for weeks now. You won’t tell me, or any of the others, what’s wrong and every time Cassian so much as glances in your direction you look like you want to tear his throat out!” 

Azriel said nothing as you stomped forward and dragged him into the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Whiskey eyes flickered down to your hand — the hand you currently had closed around his wrist — and he shuddered. 

You didn’t even want to begin to unpack the hidden meaning of that response as you brought him to the center of the room and let go. 

He dropped the shirt on the nearby desk, hands lowering to the hem of your painting smock with a grimace. 

“I need you to take this off.” He repeated with a frown.

“What kind of person marches into a room and demands that their friend take off their shirt?” 

He flinched at that word — friend.

“Az!” Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and his anger. “What is going on with you?!” 

“It’s nothing.” He growled out, but he tugged at the hem like its very existence was a personal offense.

“Clearly it’s not nothing.”

“Can you just take off your shirt and put this one on?”

You shoved him away. It wasn’t even like he was asking you to get naked, you both knew you were wearing something beneath this, but it was the way he was asking that grated on your nerves — like what he was requesting was perfectly normal and you were the ridiculous one for not listening.

“No.” You folded your arms over your chest with a huff. You were just being stubborn now, but you didn’t care. 

His eyes turned tortured and he clasped his hands together in front of you. “Please?” He begged.

“No! Not until you tell me what’s going on and why you’re acting this way!” 

“I don’t want to have this discussion while you’re standing there smelling like another male!”

That was… not what you were expecting.

You gaped at him, unsure whether to howl with laughter, or slap him across the face. 

“That’s what this is about? You’re upset because I’m wearing Cassian’s clothes?” You gagged at the mere thought of what Azriel was insinuating. 

“Well that was a little hurtful.” Cassian mumbled. 

Mor slapped the back of his head. “Shhhhh. I’m trying to listen.”

Azriel shifted on his feet, color beginning to spread high on his cheekbones. “It’s not about Cassian… not really…”

You tapped your foot on the ground, waiting for him to continue. Azriel felt naked. Stripped back like one of your insect specimens lit up beneath a microscope. Your eyes raked over his every movement. Even his shadows, usually so attention-seeking, cowered behind their master’s back whispering to one another about how Azriel might dig himself out of his own grave. 

“Well?” You snapped. 

Azriel shrank back, “I… I like you, Y/n.” 

You rolled your eyes, “I know, that’s why we’re friends. I like you too.”

“No. Not… not like that.” Azriel groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Oh I’m fucking this up so badly it’s not even funny anymore.” 

“I don’t even know what it is you’re fucking up. I—”

“I love you, ok?” He said in a burst of energy.  “I love you and not in the way that friends are meant to love one another and Cassian’s an idiot and I’m a jealous bastard and I… I…” 

You stared back dumbly. “You can’t mean that.” 

Azriel’s face fell. “And why not?”

“Because I have been here for decades, centuries,” you jabbed his chest with a finger, “And you never once looked at me that way. Never once considered me as anything more than a friend. You’re upset because I’ve been wearing Cassian’s clothes the last few weeks? Well guess what, Az, I’ve watched you walk in and out of those doors for years with your poorly concealed hickies and that lovesick look on your face, and I never made it your problem or anyone else’s.” 

“Well I want you to!” He shouted. It was the first and only time you could remember him raising his voice. “I want you to make it my problem, Y/n. I want you to tell me that you love me and I want you to shout at me for all the stupid decisions I’ve made because I’m yours. I’m yours to shout at. I’m yours to get angry with. I’m yours to love if you’ll still have me and…” Azriel gasped for breath, chest heaving as he came face to face with the fact that he’d just said those words out loud. Those words that he’d kept close to his chest with the rest of his secrets. Those words that proved just how completely at your mercy he was. 

Please say you’ll still have me. His eyes begged. 

When you didn’t move or say anything, he felt a piece of his heart wither away. He lowered his eyes, suddenly interested in a speckle of red paint that had smeared under his boot, “Forgive me. I’m… I’m sorry I didn’t… I shouldn’t have—” 

“You’re a fucking idiot, Azriel.” You muttered breathlessly. 

Then you flung yourself into his arms and crashed your lips into his. 

Kissing Azriel was better than you could have ever imagined. The fantasies you’d constructed late in the night when you were lonely blew apart like paper houses, crumbling in the face of reality. His mouth fumbled for purchase against your lips before slotting into place with a strangled moan. He lifted you in the air and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, tightening them until you could feel him harden between your legs. 

His tongue flitted over your lips tasting like oranges and magic. 

But his hands. 

His hands. 

You couldn’t get enough of them as they slid up and down your back, squeezing and pressing into your skin until he’d memorized the curve of your spine. You wove your fingers in his hair, tilting his head so you could stare into his hazel eyes before diving in for another taste. 

He walked you back to the desk, shadows flinging the tins of charcoal and pastel pencils off the furniture so you could perch there instead. Then he surged forward, pressing his hips into the space between your legs so he could feel the heat that gathered there. It sent shivers down his spine.

This… this was everything he’d ever wanted. You were everything he’d ever wanted. Not some unapproachable female he admired from afar but hardly knew, but someone who’d seen every inch of his soul and never flinched. Someone who’d nestled into the hidden corners of his heart and grown there like a willow tree. 

You moved your hands over the wide expanse of his back, digging your nails in to feel every twitch of muscle, every shudder, as he latched onto the side of your neck and slid his tongue over the sensitive skin there. 

He smelled like mountain rain. Like fresh wind and petrichor and sea salt. 

You smelled like lemons and safety. Like maple leaves and lavender and… Cassian.

Because you were still wearing his gods-damned shirt. 

Azriel felt his blood boil, and an instinctual rage took over as he growled low in his throat, bunched the fabric of Cassian’s shirt in his hands, and tore it in two.

You pulled away from him at the sound of ripping fabric, but kept your grip on his solid shoulders as air blew across your skin.

Azriel’s pupils were blown wide, his lips pink and raw as he leaned his forehead against yours in a daze. You continued to breathe each other’s air like you were drowning. He seemed just as in disbelief as you, if not more. 

“Azriel…” You whispered, chest heaving. 

He looked at you with half-lidded eyes full of heat. “... yes, Y/n?” He asked breathlessly.

“I think you ripped through my dress… and my bra as well…” 

“Oh…” He fingered the ruined fabric that fell loose around your shoulders and realized that your back was indeed on full display. The straps of your bra slipped down and the mangled buttons of your sundress clung to their loops by weak threads. “Oh…oh gods.” 

One hand flew up to your chest to keep the fabric in place while the other slapped over your mouth, suffocating the laughter that threatened to burst forth. 

Azriel’s ears and cheeks turned brighter than the sun as he slowly lowered you down to your feet, fumbling over apologies like he hadn’t been shoving his tongue down your throat mere seconds ago. 

“I’m so sorry—” 

“Azriel, it’s ok.” 

“No, I was being an ass and now I’ve ruined your dress and—” 

“You can buy me more.”

Azriel’s shoulder dropped. “I can?” “You can.” 

He shook his head very seriously. “Yes, yes you’re right, I—” Azriel had always been the beautiful one — the one that drew eyes when he walked into a room. The one that had females and males falling out of their seats for a proper look at his elegant features. But right now he looked so helpless, so flustered and unsure of himself that you finally lost it. 

Champagne bubble laughs slipped out of your mouth, light and airy, and sent a shock of warmth through Azriel’s chest. It was infectious the way the skin stretched over your cheeks. The light in your eyes couldn’t be contained no matter how hard you tried. 

He couldn’t help himself. 

He started laughing too. 

What began as one of his reserved chuckles grew into uncontrollable peals of laughter that echoed throughout the studio and had you clutching onto the desk for support. 

Azriel doubled over, one hand holding the stitch in his side together as you howled. 

“Oh gods. I can’t—” You hiccuped. “I-I-I can’t breathe.” 

Soon you were both kneeling on the ground, clutching each other’s arms for some semblance of stability. You gasped for breath, wiping away tears from the corners of your eyes. 

Azriel captured one of your hands, weaving his fingers through yours before bringing your wrist to his lips for a soft, reverent kiss. You thought you’d experienced enough emotions for today ranging from frustration to anger to a joy you couldn’t begin to put into words. But you were certain your heart could handle one more shift in the atmosphere. 

Wordlessly you tugged off Cassian’s shirt, dropping it to the side where shadows caught hold of the cursed fabric and quickly tossed it into the fireplace. The flames crackled with triumph, eating away at the shirt with a vengeance. 

“A little dramatic, don’t you think?” 

“We can agree to disagree.” Azriel murmured, his eyes growing dark and heavy. His gaze drifted down to the soft skin now exposed from your tattered dress, the thin straps clinging to your arms, the gentle swell of your breasts as you breathed heavily. 

His fingers danced over the straps in silent permission, eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation. But you were open and wanting and desperate for his touch. You crawled into his lap and a faint nod was all he needed before the pale blue fabric of your dress fell down and bunched about your waist. The bra followed, and then you were sitting there naked from the waist up, feeling the heat grow between your bodies as Azriel looked at you with pure adoration in his eyes. 

“Am I dreaming, Y/n?” He whispered, rubbing circles into your hip bones. 

You smiled softly, “Have you dreamed of me before?”

“Yes. Many times.” He kissed your chest, slowly dragging his hands down your ribs as you shivered and fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, and then his belt buckle. “But we never got this far.” 

“Hmmmm, I think we could go a little further.” 

“NOT IN MY STUDIO!” Feyre’s voice echoed oddly through the room, sounding muffled and far away. 

Azriel’s wings flared out, hiding you from view as you yelped and pressed your chest against his. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment about being found in such a compromising position. But the door was closed! And so were the windows!

His shadows finally found the culprit in the air vent.

“Godsdamnit—HAVE YOU BEEN LISTENING THE ENTIRE TIME?!” Azriel shouted. 

A moment passed before Feyre answered, “... No,” in a much softer tone. 

“We missed part of the beginning,” Cassian chimed in. 

Azriel groaned, dropping his forehead against your shoulder as you were stunned into silence. He muttered something beneath his breath that sounded oddly similar to, “I swear I’m going to kill him one day.”

Azriel helped you to your feet and finally, you put on his shirt. 

“Are you happy now?” You teased, arms dropping to your sides. 

The corner of his lip twitched upwards. You looked… very good in his clothes with the sleeves rolled up and a sliver of your dress (now skirt) peeking out from beneath. 

He looked towards the vent, then wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close so he could whisper, “I would be happier if I saw my shirt and that dress of yours on the floor of my bedroom.” 

His hand slid up your skirt, squeezing the back of your thighs in a way that had you stiffening. 

All at once he was second-guessing himself. Maybe he’d taken things too far. Maybe the lust-filled haze had cleared and you didn’t want him anymore. 

You swallowed and wrapped your hand around his wrist, gently guiding his fingers to your core. You let him know just how much you wanted this. 

A roar of blood sounded in the Shadowsinger’s ears. 

“I think that sounds like a very good plan.” You murmured in agreement and his eyes turned black as night.

He stole another long kiss before scooping you into his arms. 

“Az, where are we going?” You giggled into the curve of his throat as he flew down the hallway and stairs. “We just passed your bedroom.” 

“We’re not going to my bedroom.”

“Well we missed my bedroom too.” 

He didn’t respond.

Azriel skidded to a stop at the top of the staircase, already well aware that his family had gathered at the bottom and were waiting to bombard him with questions. 

Azriel smirked at you, leaned down, and kissed your cheek. “When I take you to bed properly, it won’t be with our nosey family members in the house.” He ran his tongue across the line of your jaw all the way to your earlobe and whispered, “I want any noises you make to be for me, and me alone.” 

“You are certainly a man of poetry, Az.”

He smiled. “Only for you.” 

“Well, well, well if it isn’t the two love—” Shadows flew into his mouth, muffling his words. “HEH! Azz! Whazthf—”

“I’ll see you in a week.” He said to no one in particular, his shadows opening the door of the River House. 

“Where are you going?” Mor asked, her eyes zeroing in on the bright red mark blossoming on your neck. What the fuck? She mouthed at you, giving you two thumbs up as Azriel crossed the doorway with you in his arms.

“None of your business. I’ll see you in a week.” Then he looked down at you, eyes growing soft. “We’ll see you in a week,” he corrected himself. 

Your stomach bottomed out, heat flowing through your body as you heard him make such a declaration in front of... well everyone. You couldn't wait to see where he would take you and where he would take you.

"Ready?" Azriel asked, a sultry smile growing on his face.

"Ready."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face in the hollow of his throat as he took off into the air. 

[dancingbirdie]

For your smut ideas- astarion leaving bite marks on your thighs👀 pretty vampy elf being all possessive👀

Hi, anon! I loved this request, but I have to warn you: I took it to a bit of a darker place than I usually go. Pay attention to the tags, y'all. I hope you enjoy!

Like my smut writing? Find more here.

Your Feral Love

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Pairing: Astarion x fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.1K

Warnings/Tags: Biting, descriptions of blood, possessive/obsessive Astarion, marking/claiming behavior, oral sex (fem!Reader receiving)

Summary: Astarion has an intense desire to claim you. This time, it's in places the others won't be able to see.

*****

“Maybe we need to take things slower,” you murmured in Astarion’s ear. You swallowed thickly as he dragged his fangs across the sensitive skin of your neck. 

“Whyever would we do that?” he whispered huskily, undeterred from continuing his sensual assault. You shivered as you felt his tongue slide up the column of your throat, unable to stop the little moan that escaped your lips.

“Some in our party are worried… about all the bite marks…” you managed to explain, despite the tantalizing option to just lose yourself in Astarion’s embrace. His cool touch was a balm to the inferno he was stoking within you. The creator of your lust; the only cure for it. 

But his lips withdrew from your neck at your response. Pulling back, he met your gaze with furrowed brows and a glare that could make even Lae’zel balk. 

“Who.” he demanded, his voice strained with barely-repressed anger. “Who had the audacity to murmur about us?” 

His fingers spasmed where they clutched your waist. As if he were bracing for the moment when someone would come and yank you away from him. 

He was possessive, your lover. Astarion hadn’t had anything to call his own for over two centuries. Not a thing. Not a soul. Now, after having lowered his guards and allowed you in, his possessive streak was as long and wide as the River Chianthar. He was never far from your side, even in battle. And on the rare occasions he was separated from you, you could feel the heat of his gaze tracking your every movement. Watching you. Making sure his one claim in this world was safe. Accounted for. 

The bite marks were a consequence of having not only a possessive lover but a vampiric one as well. You didn’t mind, of course. He always asked for your consent. 

Can I bite you here?

Your blood is singing to me, darling. Can I taste you here? 

What about here? Would you let me sate myself here? 

You flourished under the intensity of his love for you. The bite marks were a reminder of that, and so you cherished each one. Each was a memory of the way Astarion had taken, given and enjoyed you. Heat would sometimes color your cheeks and neck later on, when you caught sight of a pair of healing puncture marks, recalling just how they had come to be there, on that particular part of your body. 

But others in your party didn’t share your view of these markings. They, namely Wyll and Gale, were worried Astarion had started taking too much of your lifeblood too quickly. You could understand their concern, to some extent. They didn’t know, didn’t have reason to know, how little of your blood he actually took each night. Most times he would drink barely a mouthful before stopping. The urge to claim you in other ways would overtake his bloodlust, and you would climax again and again as he fucked you into oblivion. He kept his fangs punctured in your skin during times like these, claiming that your blood felt sweeter against them as you found your own release. Only when he had spilled himself in you would he remove them, and by then you were too lovestruck to care how long the markings would remain. 

“Tell me, darling.” 

Astarion’s voice brought you back to the present moment. You shook your head to dispel the thoughts distracting you. 

“...Mostly, Wyll. And Gale, to a lesser extent. I don’t know for certain about the others, although I certainly don’t think anyone comes to our defense…” you trailed off, swallowing thickly. 

You caught how Astarion clenched his jaw at your words. He was livid, that much was obvious. You also surmised his anxiety was likely surging within him, the paranoia suggesting that someone or something would cause you to be taken from him. Again, his fingers spasmed against your waist. 

“...So maybe we should… I don’t know, keep a lower profile about all this? If they say something to you directly, I know I’ll not be able to stop myself from fighting with them,” you explained, clutching his cheek desperately. 

“Tsk. Of course the ones who would have a problem with us would be the only other two who’ve been sniffing after you,” Astarion scoffed.

“What the hells are you talking about?” you asked, clearly confused. 

“Oh, darling. Surely you’ve seen the way they look at you? How they talk to you? I certainly have,” he huffed. 

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t pay them attention, Astarion,” you reassured him, nuzzling your nose against the curve of his jaw. “I only have eyes for you.” 

“And I, you,” he murmured, pressing his lips lovingly against your forehead. 

You hummed in delight at his affirmation. While you might not show it through bite marks like him, your possessiveness of Astarion was a fearsome thing, too. The emotion sometimes staggered you, even in the most mundane of moments, like when he donned his armor for the day, or when he cleaned his daggers in the firelight. He was yours. You were his. Anyone else was tertiary. 

The two of you remained in comfortable silence for some time, limbs intertwined as you lay halfway on top of him, your head resting against his chest. There was no beating heart within to listen to, but it hardly mattered. You knew that what was there, beating or not, belonged to you and only you. Astarion had said as much, amid previous bouts of lovemaking you had shared in this tent.

Your musings broke at the feeling and sound of his throaty chuckle beneath you. You lifted your head to meet his gaze, surprised. 

“What is it?” you pressed.

“I have an idea,” he smirked. 

“I usually like your ideas,” you quipped, heat flaring in your lower abdomen at the suggestive look in his eyes. 

“Then you’ll surely enjoy this,” he crooned, before flipping you both over all at once so that you were flat on your back, breathless beneath him. He fit perfectly between the cradle of your thighs, your legs parting almost instinctively to accommodate his presence. With one arm, he propped himself up above you, while his other hand clutched your leg to bare you open wider. The position alone had you growing wetter by the second, anticipation for what was to come driving your thoughts wild. 

“Much as I detest pandering to their concerns, I think we both know I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from fighting with them either, were they to say something directly to us,” Astarion admitted. 

“But,” he continued as his nose skimmed the length of your abdomen, heading further and further south. “I also can’t deny how much pleasure it gives me to mark you as I do… to see the evidence of where my fangs have punctured your lovely skin. Mine. No one else’s.”

You bit your lip in a futile effort to stifle your moan as he began brushing the lightest of kisses against your inner thighs. He slid down lower, his face mere inches from your naked form. This close, you were certain he could smell your arousal. And no doubt find evidence of it as well. 

“So what is your idea?” you managed in a breathy whisper as your hips canted toward him, seemingly of their own volition. 

“How about I mark you here,” he cooed, his fangs sliding along a particularly visible vein that spanned the length of your leg, beginning at your groin. “Where only I can see. A place they can only dream of. A place only I have been.” 

You groaned, skin tingling, nearly electric, in every place his mouth touched. You reached down to card a hand through his carelessly flawless locks, tugging ever so gently on the curls. Astarion growled in response, sending a surge of heat through your lower abdomen. 

You were teasing a livewire at the moment, and you knew it. Just a little push, and you would ignite something truly mind blowing. You chose your next words carefully, readying yourself for the delicious consequences that would no doubt ensue.  

“I’m yours, Astarion,” you whispered, spreading your legs even further for him and clutching his face desperately. “You can lay claim to me however you wish.” 

Another growl ripped from his throat at your words and, in a blink, your lower body was pinned to the ground. His arms banded under and around your thighs to hold you in place, not that you had any desire to move. You whimpered as Astarion nipped and sucked his way across the expanse of skin, his nose grazing your soaked cunt from time to time, causing you to jerk with want. 

“Please,” you begged, desperate to have his mouth on your swollen, throbbing clit. He was so close to where you wanted – no, needed – him to be and yet still so far. 

“Oh no, not yet, darling,” he purred against the plush skin of your thigh. “I’m going to mark you until I’m satisfied first. Then I’ll give you what you crave, I promise.”

You whined, a pathetic little sound, but nodded your assent anyway. Any touch from him was better than nothing, even if it did cause your cunt to ache with a nearly unbearable need.

Then a sudden spike of iciness on your inner thigh had you gasping in surprise, morphing into a long, low moan as you realized Astarion had actually bitten you there. You could feel him sucking your lifeblood into his mouth, your sense of touch being so heightened in your aroused state. 

You lifted your head to watch him move from one place to another as he marked and sated himself. You cradled the side of his head lovingly as he fed from you, swiping your thumb rhythmically across his temple. You were utterly entranced, lost in the delicious feeling of him claiming you, as well as the way he beheld you as he sunk his fangs in again and again across your skin. 

He looked at you with the fervor of a madman. He clutched at your legs like some covetous creature. Drunk on the need to possess, to claim, to mark. It was dark, powerful, and heady. And you absolutely reveled in it, ravenous with want as you witnessed how his love for you manifested in such an incendiary way. 

With a moan of his own, he finally broke from his feasting. Lifting his head to meet your gaze, your cunt clenched at his expression, at his his bloody mouth, grinning widely with purely male satisfaction. 

“It should be a crime, you know,” he rasped, his chest heaving with uneven breaths. “How delicious you taste.” 

You whined at his words, desperate to have him taste you in another way.

“Shh, shh. I know, I know,” he crooned, squeezing your legs reassuringly. “I know how you want to be tasted now, darling. Don’t fret.”

Your back arched off the ground as, without another word, Astarion dipped his head to plunge his tongue inside your dripping core. Your mind short circuited as you felt his nose press against your clit with intent as his tongue continued to spear into you. It was almost too much to bear; your nerves already were nearly raw with desire. 

You couldn’t help the wail that burst from your lips as you felt his tongue lick up, up, up, until he was circling your clit with long, languid strokes. You fisted a blanket and bit down on the fabric, the last shred of your self-awareness working like mad to muffle your sounds.

You knew Astarion was too far gone to care if anyone heard you both, as evidenced by the obscene slurping and smacking sounds that emanated from his lips. That alone had you ratcheting up faster toward climax, relishing the way it felt and sounded to have Astarion feasting on you with such utter abandon.

A few more moments of floating in that delicious limbo and then you were crashing back down from the height of your orgasm. It felt like an almost spiritual experience, though no cleric could ever convince you that a god’s love would feel as good as this, as good as Astarion’s love for you.

Panting and shivering in the aftershock of your release, you clutched at him desperately, eager to embrace him with as much strength your jellied limbs could muster. He crawled up to lay haphazardly on top of you, head resting in the space between your breasts. You combed your fingers through his hair lovingly, content to remain in companionable silence.  

“I’m realizing now that I may have in fact gotten a little out of hand…” he murmured against your sternum after a while. 

“Perhaps,” you chuckled. “But I’ll take your feral love over anything else, my star.”

[brabblesblog]

A reason to beat again

A small, non-canon compliant drabble.

What if vampire hearts beat again when they fall in love?

Read on AO3.

Masterlist.

He first notices it in the underdark.

A soft fluttering in his breast, as he sits by the campfire. He’d been looking at you, but that was nothing new. Lately, that was all he’d been doing during quiet moments in your journey.

In that moment he’d been watching you laugh as Gale regaled you with yet another tale of his days in the academy. He gasps, a hand quietly coming up to his chest. Was he being poisoned? Cursed?

He immediately seeks the refuge of his tent, closing the flap as he goes inside. The feeling was odd, and it went as fast as it had come.

Days pass. And the fluttering happens with increasing frequency.

He hides whenever it happens. Sometimes, it’ll be in the heat of battle. He’d be watching you and see you almost get hit - and there it is, that fluttering in his breast where his heart used to beat.

Used to.

Right?

He shakes his head. It’s impossible. Vampires are undead. He is undead. He has been for two centuries.

But he feels it anyway. When you’re close. When he drinks from you. When you laugh. When your hand touches him.

He ignores that feeling as best as he could, just like how he tries to ignore that growing affection for you.

He caves in, eventually. He tells you of his feelings, of what he was initially trying to do. He expects you to be hurt, to lash out.

But you hug him.

Pressed against your body, he feels that flutter again. For a second, he assumes he’s feeling your heart. But no. There are two beats there. Not one.

You’re too focused on the hug to notice the change. His eyes widen at the realization of what has happened. What has been happening all this time. Slowly, he lets the feeling in. Lets you in.

It’s not a flutter anymore. It’s a beat. Slow, and very much unlike a living heart, but it still does beat.

Not long after, when you have developed a habit of sleeping over in his tent, you finally notice it.

You’re lying on his chest as he reads a book. Your eyes are half-closed, resting, when you finally hear a slow, constant thudding. You’re so used to hearing your own heart race when you’re with him, so missing a sound so subtle made sense.

“What was-“ you begin to say, trying to get up and ask him what on earth that was. You know for a fact when you slept together at the clearing that he had no heartbeat. You tap his chest questioningly.

He puts his book away, and looks down at you. He smiles. His hand finds your hair, stroking it lazily.

“I was wondering when you’d notice.”

You frown, trying to think of an explanation. “You’ve started feeding on my blood. Mine and our enemies’. Thinking creatures,” you say, more to yourself than anything. You’re enjoying this, teasing out the puzzle of his heart.

He laughs, a soft bark of sound in the silence of the evening.

“Don’t flatter yourself, darling. Your blood - or that of goblins and gnomes - isn’t that miraculous,” he drawls. “This.. doesn’t usually happen.”

Then again, vampires usually don’t fall in love, either.

“Then what?” You quirk an eyebrow at him, challenging him. “Because I’m pretty sure that wasn’t there before.”

He thinks it through for a moment, then lets his guard down. His eyes widen and he cups your cheek. It’s not often that he does this, but lately you’ve been seeing it more often in your quiet moments together.

“I think.. it just found a reason to beat again,” he murmurs. He looks away immediately, embarrassed at the raw vulnerability of the moment.

You know not to lean too much into this moment. Instead you offer him a retreat into the safety of banter.

“I’m actually stunned. I didn’t even think you had a heart, Astarion,” you say, a grin forming on your lips.

He takes your offer gratefully, slipping back into it without missing a beat.

“Darling,” he scoffs, playing up the offended expression on his face, “I’m hurt. Here I am, treating you so nicely, and you think I’m heartless?”

His hands move to pin you down and tickle you, and the conversation dies and becomes cursing and screaming, as you try to fight him off.

And deep inside his chest, his heart soars.

Taglist: @elora-the-slutty-songstress @tragedybunny @spacebarbarianweird

[xmalfoyweasleyx]

Jealousy, jealousy - Azriel x reader

Summary: The whole inner circle is tired of you and Azriel flirting with each other, without acting on it. So Rhys decided to help his sister and Azriel with that, by planning a special birthday party for her. Based on this request.

Warnings: Smut! 18+! Az is jealous (but it's fluff)

Azriel couldn’t stop watching you. Again.

You were sitting on the couch in front of him at the townhouse, silently watching your brother, Rhys, talk. Azriel loved watching you, your shy, yet clever eyes were always so observant. On top of that, you looked beautiful tonight. You wore a dress that looked like it was made of starlight and your pretty lips were painted in a color that made-

“You’re daydreaming again, Az,” Rhys interrupted his thoughts, making Az’s eyes quickly avert his gaze from y/n, to her brother sitting next to her.

“Probably dreaming about his undying love for Truth-Teller,” y/n smiled. The shy, yet flirty smile that always made Az go week in the knees.

Before he could even try to suppress it, a wave of warmth filled Az’s cheeks, exposing his adoration. You were the only person who could make him blush like that. It has been this way since the first day he’d met you, when you were teenagers, which is already centuries ago. Rhys only introduced his sister years after he’d met Azriel and Cassian. She was still young, but so was he. It wasn’t hard to fall in love with her. The way she was hiding behind her brother, shy, yet curious, peeking behind his shoulder at the two Illyrians standing in front of her. Suddenly a smile was on her curious face, and the first thing you’d said was: “Are those shadows yours? They’re very beautiful.”

Since that moment, Az was a goner. He never acted on it though. Too scared, too insecure and too worried he would ruin your friendship. It had been the same for years. The flirting, the teasing. But never more than that. 

Until a few months ago. When the bond snapped.

In that moment, Azriel couldn’t be any happier. It all made sense now. But then he realized, it didn’t snap for you. You didn’t seem to know. And it happened all over again, he was scared. What if you didn’t want him as your mate? What if it would freak you out? And what if Rhys would hate him for it?

“You’re still staring at me, Azzie” he heard y/n’s soft voice, yet again interrupting his thoughts. He looked confused for a moment, as if finally realizing where he was. “Oh yes, I'm sorry, you do look beautiful tonight y/n, you can’t blame me,” he smiled nonchalantly. It was always like this, the flirting and the compliments. It was normal.

“You look great too Az,” you returned the smile. Another wave of warmth heated his face. He quickly tried to hide the flushed cheeks, when fortunately, Cassian guided the attention to him. “So, what are we going to do for your birthday tomorrow y/n?” Cas asked. 

“Oh, I don’t know, I guess we could go out or something? Nothing special, just like we always do,” you answered.

Rhys clicked his tongue at that. “Nothing special? My dear sister, I think you don’t know me that well then. We have the perfect surprise for you.” That was something new. “Do we?” Az asked confused. “Well, now I’m curious,” Feyre smiled.

What Az didn’t know is that the whole inner circle knew about his “secret” feelings for you, only Az and y/n were oblivious. Honestly, his friends didn’t know how the observant shadowsinger didn’t notice how obvious it was. He always gets shy and smiled with y/n. It was a mystery how he didn’t realize the fact he had a lovesick look all over his face when he’s watching her. So Rhys, the good brother he is, decided to come up with a plan. The easy strategies didn’t work, so he decided to use the one thing Az couldn’t hide, jealousy.

*******

When it was finally the evening of your birthday, it turned out Rhys’ surprise, indeed, was special. Your brother had decided to take you all to some dance show’ but it wasn’t some normal dance show, you realized when you saw the poster hanging on the door of the club. It were only male dancers. Male dancers with not so many clothes, it seemed. “Now I’m really curious brother” you sighed. “You’ll love it.”

Your brother was right, it was so much fun. You ate and drank with the inner circle, watching the show from your shared table. They even got you a cake with fireworks. But that wasn’t the only surprise.

You were all cheering when one of the dancers came to you. He was muscled and had beautiful, curly blonde hair. Before you could process what was happening, he grabbed your hand and pulled you on the stage with him. The male put you on a chair in the middle of the stage and started moving around you, your face flushed immediately.

He smirked at you, showing off his impressive moves. You couldn’t help but smile at him. It was fun to let go for a moment and enjoy the silliness of it all. The whole inner circle was cheering for you.

Az on the other hand, didn’t like it that much. He balled his hands into fists, when he saw the way the male grabbed your hand and guided you to the stage. He gritted his teeth, the way you blushed, the way he was moving around you and even touched you… And then you smiled at that male.

Az had to muster every ounce of self-control. He did all he could to not just get up on that stage, and bring you back to their table. He wanted to be the one to touch you like that. He wanted to be the one to make you smile. 

Even after the show was over and you were brought back to your original spot, Az couldn’t shake off the jealous feeling. His whole body was still tense and he had a dark look on his face.

“Something the matter, Azriel?” Rhys smirked teasingly, grabbing his friend's shoulder, knowing damn well why he was acting like this. “No.” Azriel answered shortly, taking another big sip from his drink.

******

Y/n was so tired when she arrived at her bedroom. She sat on her bed, taking her shoes off with a relieved sigh, ready to go to sleep. But suddenly she heard someone knock on the door. It was Azriel.

“Hey Az, what are you doing here?” 

“Just wanted to say goodnight after such a… special… birthday evening,” he grinned.

“Yeah it was… something,” you giggle. You sat next to each other on the bed in silence for a moment.

“Did you think he was hot?” Az blurted out. “Who?” you asked confused. “That guy, the one who danced for you,” he grumbled. “Oh, I-I don’t know, he was fine,” you faltered. 

Az didn’t answer. “Are you okay Azzie? You seem tense.” You rubbed his shoulder gently, trying to comfort him.

“I didn’t like it” he stated. Y/n was confused. “W-were you… were you jealous?” Az only sighed, looking down.

“It was just, he was… he shouldn’t touch you like that” he tried to explain without making his jealousy too obvious. You were disappointed for a moment, he probably just didn’t like it because he saw you as his little sister, you thought. Because he wanted to protect you. “I’m sorry Az,” you silently said. “No, no, don’t apologize y/n, it’s my fault, I’m acting stupid.”

“I get that you feel like this, you see me as a... sister, you feel protective over me or something, I get it Az,” you sighed. Azriel looked up, his hazel eyes carefully watching you. He frowned, “Do you really think that’s how I feel about you?” It’s silent for a moment. “I was jealous y/n, very jealous” he finally confessed.

“Y-you were?” you stroked his cheek softly, fingertips tracing the freckles down his neck. Azriel nodded, you looked in each others eyes for a long moment. His pupils dilated, a hungry look on his face. Then the room suddenly filled with the smell of your arousal. “You want to… you want to show me what you look like without that shirt then?” you hesitated. “Yeah? You want that?” he smirked. “Yes” you answered breathlessly. 

Az slowly took his shirt off, your eyes tracing the lines of his muscles hungrily. “Much better than that male,” you sighed. “C’mere” he groaned, surprising you by grabbing your hips and lifting your body on top of him in one move. You were straddling him now, arms tightly wrapped around his neck.

And then his lips were on yours, hungrily moving against each other. He grabbed your ass, squeezing it gently. A gasp left your mouth, “Azzie, Az please.” You started moving against him, pressed so close to each other, yet it wasn’t enough. 

“What do you want, baby?” he whispered against your lips. “I want you.”

“And what exactly do you want from me? Tell me y/n,” he groaned.

“Your cock, I want to feel you in me, Azriel, please” you begged.

“So pretty when you beg like that, darling. But not so fast.” He wrapped his arms tightly around your back and turned you around. You’re back now against the bed, with Azriel’s body hovering above you. His wings were spread wide and his shadows were moving around you. Silently asking their master for permission to touch you too.

They helped him with getting you out of your birthday dress, the soft tendrils caressed your skin so deliciously. The shadows danced around your whole body, touching you almost everywhere. You felt a familiar heat growing in lower stomach.

The male above you spread your legs wider, placing soft kisses closer and closer to where you wanted him most.

You grabbed his dark locks in your hand, eagerly trying to guide him to your pussy. “Patience, baby, patience,” he calmly said.

His hands traveled up your body, gently grabbing your breasts, his palm stroking your nipple. “So pretty for me,” he cooed. 

And then he finally pressed his soft lips against your pussy, a load moan left your mouth. He started to lick like a starved male. His lips softly wrapping around your clit, sucking messily. He then wrapped your legs around his head, locking in his face in between them. He groaned into your cunt, “Azzie, yes, feels so good”.

Then you noticed that he was grinding against the mattress, trying to find some relief too. He was already so turned on, just from the taste of your pussy. “I want you to feel good too,” you whined. Azriel replaced his tongue with his fingers, the scarred skin softly rubbing your clit, “Oh I already feel amazing, baby, don't worry.”

You gasped when you felt his finger enter your pussy, stroking the soft walls. Your breathing grew louder. “Yeah, you like that?” He chuckled. 

It felt amazing, but you wanted him in you, you wanted him pussy drunk, feral for you. So you could only do one thing, touch his wings. 

You gently stroked the less sensitive part on the outside of his wing, testing the waters. He groaned, “Oh baby, you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

You decided to stroke a more sensitive part, making him grab your thighs harshly. Az sat up. “Come here, you dirty little girl,” he said huskily. “Do you want me to fuck you y/n? Is that what you want, huh?”

“Yes, please, yes” you whined.

“How could I deny that pretty face? My beautiful little girl,” he cooed, leaning in closer to press his lips against yours again. You helped him pull his pants down, his impressive length sprang free. You gulped. He was long.

"Don’t worry, if you want to stop we’ll stop” he murmured into the crook of your neck, kissing the skin gently. “No, no! I can handle it,” you claimed, your hand wrapping around him, eager to feel the soft skin in your hands. He groaned into your ear, “Shit, you have no idea how turned on I am right now.” You giggled, rubbing the tip of his cock against your clit, already soaking wet.

“Are you sure?” he whispered. “Yes, I’m sure Az, want to feel you” 

He slowly entered you, sucking your nipples as a distraction for the pain. But it was a good kind of pain, you wanted more. So you grabbed his ass, trying to push him deeper into you. "Don't... don't be scared, it feels good," you said in between heavy breaths.

“Needy little girl” he grinned. His rhythm picked up and his thrusts started to get harder. His hips slamming against yours

“You feel so good, this pussy is mine isn’t it? Only mine” he whimpered into your ear. “Yes, Az, my pussy is yours. I'm yours,” you moaned. Az started to fuck you harder, “Say it again” he demanded.

 “I’m yours, only yours Azriel” 

“That’s right, good girl,” he moaned, putting one of your legs over his shoulder. The new angle made you gasp. Your places your hands against his chest, your nails softly stroking down his abs.

Azriel was mesmerized, his eyes fixated on your swollen lips, the lips he couldn't believe he just kissed, and the way your tits bounced because of the force of his thrusts.

He looked so handsome like this. His messy hair falling over his face, his eyes half-lidded, the blush on his cheeks and the heavy breaths that left his mouth.

“I’m already so close Azzie,” you whined. "Already?” He teased. You nodded. “I want you to come with me,” you pleaded, one of your hands lifting up again to stroke the inside of his wing. Az moaned at the feeling, the arm that held him up collapsed beneath him, his body softly falling against yours.

His chest was now pressed against you, the position was so intimate. His thrusts started to get sloppy. “Baby, baby…” he whined softly in your ear. Both drunk on the feeling of each other.

His fingers circled your clit, making you moan his name like a prayer, over and over. The familiar feeling coiled in your lower belly, finally snapping when he nibbled on your earlobe. High-pitched moans filled the room, your orgasm washing over you like a big wave. Azriel moaned with you, his brows knitted together.

“Where do you want me? On your tits? On your pussy? In your pretty mouth?”

“In me, I want you in me Az, please,” you whined, craving to feel more of him, to be claimed by him. You wanted to be his the way no one ever was before. Az groaned in answer, heavy breaths tumbling out of his mouth. You felt him release inside your pussy, moaning your name against your cheek, riding out his high slowly. 

Azriel fell next to you with a loud sigh. His arms tightly wrapped around you. He placed a soft kiss against your neck and stroked your inner arm. “You don’t know how long I’ve been dreaming about this.” he confessed. “Me too” you answered. You should probably talk about this, but for now, you just wanted to sleep. Comfortably in Azriel’s warm arms.

********

The next morning, y/n was watching Azriel sleep next to her. Her hand stroked his naked chest while her other hand played with his soft dark hair. He looked like an angel, laying there, so peaceful. 

And suddenly, she felt a tug in her chest. A thread, a feeling like no other. Y/n gasped, making Az’s eyes open slowly. “Good morning” he whispered with a smile. Y/n only stared at him.

She couldn’t believe it. He was her mate. Her mate.

“Y-you’re my mate” she whispered. Az sat up immediately, grabbing her cheek gently. “It snapped? It finally snapped for you too?” He whispered, his eyes getting teary. “You knew?” 

“I’ve known for a few months now, but before last night, I didn’t think you’d want me” he murmured. “Oh Az, of course I want you, I’ve loved you since we were teenagers and met in Windhaven, I’ve loved you since I noticed the beautiful, smart and compassionate male hidden behind those shadows,” you smiled. “I love you” he smiled, kissing you softly.

An hour later you went downstairs together. The rest of the Inner Circle was already in the living room, doing each their own thing.

Rhys’ eyes immediately went to your intertwined hands, an unreadable look on his face. “Rhys, before you say something, I want you to know I would never hurt your sister and I am-“ Az quickly tried to explain. But Rhys interrupted him with a voluminous laugh.

“Finally!” He smiled, getting up to face you both. “I’ve been trying to get you together for the last year, but you both were so oblivious” he teasingly rolled his eyes and opened his arms, hugging you both. “Yeah honestly Az, it was about damn time” Cassian smirked.

[memeadonna]

Astarion never felt more comfortable than in your arms. It was strange to him, a foreign thing after his enslavement. For centuries he’d had nobody. Now he had you, and you wanted to share these quiet moments with him. You didn’t look at him as the façade he showed the world, grinning and beautiful and confident. You also didn’t look at him as some broken thing to be pitied. He couldn’t stand being pitied.

That was why it was easy, he supposed. You didn’t hold him like he was breakable, yet you held the shattered pieces of him together in those tight, warm hugs. You let him rest his head on your chest and listen to your heart beating, warm beneath his freezing body. His corpse.

It shouldn’t have been this easy to love you. He didn’t think he was capable of such a thing anymore. But you were infuriatingly easy to love. You were terrifyingly close to his heart. If he lost you…

You let him sleep in your arms every night. On top of you, really, with his head on your chest and your hands in his hair. The fact that you let your guard down around a predator baffled him. He’d almost killed you the first time he claimed your neck, and yet you let him so close to it every night, draping a blanket over your bodies so he didn’t freeze you to death. He imagined you sharing a warm bed sometimes, curled up together on a cold winter’s day under a heavy duvet, entwined like strangling vines. And then he’d imagine what it would be like if he was alive, if he were the one warming you rather than the one stealing your heat. Rather than crushing you with his corpse. Would you want that more?

And then he stops thinking about it.

“Darling,” your voice shatters the silence, heavy with sleep as you gently card your fingers through his hair. “Mmmm… did you get too warm?” “Warm?” he repeats the word before he realizes he’s rolled off of you, and only his head remains on your chest. He wants to say something suave to explain it away, but nothing comes to mind. Your hands keep moving through his hair, and he stops himself from nuzzling into them. It’s so hard to be suave, to put up his façade when you break through it so easily. “Just worried I was too heavy,” he offers. It’s a half-truth, he supposes.

You pull him back on top of your body and wrap your arms around him again. “I sleep better with you in my arms,” your voice is still heavy with sleep, honest as you slur your tired words. “Helps my anxieties. Like a weighted blanket.” Your fingers explore their way up to the tips of his ears, gently massaging. Soothing him.

His eyes are wide despite your ministrations as he relaxes once more against you as you sink back into sleep. He wraps his arms around you and plays with your hair as a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. Oh.

Maybe he was broken. Maybe you were too. But your broken pieces fit so perfectly together that they almost formed one whole.

And maybe that was enough.

[cheesecakethots]

Part 2 to this.

He had never been so caring for another, the guard noted. Lord Scaramouche was not the caring type, after all.

Despite that, the man had watched the lord express actual worry for you, the one huddled away in his tent as he barked orders at soldiers to find medicine, make warm soup, and heat up water. One of them had had his fingers broken for making the food too cold for the harbingers liking.

On the very few occasions the guard was permitted inside the tent, he had caught glimpses of the lord knelt beside your feverish figure in bed, the back of his hand softly resting on your forehead. If they had been any longer in finding you…

The few medics in camp were situated nearby, with any and all injuries not held by you being mostly ignored for the time being. You had barely been conscious for the past few days, slipping in and out, with some mumbled and confusing phrases leaving chapped lips.

The guard is brought out of his memories when Lord Scaramouche passes him, dramatically parting the tent covering and entering with a few quick strides. He immediately makes a beeline for your cold, limp body tucked away in bed.

Scaramouche places a hand to your cheek. His frown deepens, and you groan, glazed over eyes opening only a fraction.

“M…Mother?”

A sigh escapes him. His soulmate really is pitiful… and weak.

“… You’re safe now,” he mutters, surprised for a moment at the tinge of emotion in his own voice.

“Do… I have to help c…cook dinner?”

“No. You’ll never be doing that again.”

“Oh… okay…” A yawn leaves your throat.

“Go to sleep.”

“Can we have… chocolate later? I bought some… to share,” you murmur, trailing off until your breathing becomes light, and your eyes fully close.

The lord sighs. A shiver wracks through your body, despite the multiple animal hides you have on. He’s certain that his men have destroyed the surrounding ecosystem just to keep you warm, but, oh well.

He stands, hesitantly turning away from you. You need more blankets, maybe some more soup, anything to keep the fever from taking you away from-

Oh. His eyes widen, and he glances back to you, and then at the shaking hand pulling on his fingers.

“Don’t… leave me…”

You’re still asleep. It’s not as though you’re conscious and would know if he left, is it? It’s not as though your plea is anything more than some deluded fairytale in your mind, is it?

“I won’t.”

Curses.

Curse him, and curse you for awakening something he didn’t think he had, something in his chest that for centuries he was sure was simply an empty void of nothing.

He wants to scoff and leave you here, to tell you that he has no need for someone as weak as you in his life. He wishes he had left you tied to that tree and just kept moving, that he had never felt the touch of your skin against his own. That he had felt absolutely nothing, that he hadn’t felt a stab of fear for the first time in a long time when carrying your freezing cold body back to camp. It would’ve saved him a lot of trouble.

He doesn’t let go of your hand for a long, long while.

The next morning he leaves you alone for a short time, an hour at most. He regrets it when he comes back to you standing on two wobbly knees, the parts that make him up jolting at the sight.

“What are you doing?!”

You flinch, yelping when you abruptly turn to him and lose your balance. Hands, ones that send a feeling of static and electricity straight to your very core, are soon grasping onto you, holding you up before you can hit the ground.

“Are you daft?” The man spits out, visibly aggravated.

“Wh-What? What?”

“Get back in bed. I won’t ask you again.”

You don’t move, the sensation that comes with his touch only growing the longer the two of you stand.

“You’re… you’re…?” You whisper, eyes widening.

He pauses, the irritation in his expression dropping a little. After a beat, his lips part.

“… Yes.”

“We were in the woods, right? My village, they…”

Any softness on his face is wiped away the moment you mention your old home, and the people that resided in it. No longer waiting, he lightly pushes you back, leading you into the makeshift bed below. A blanket is soon wrapped around your quivering shoulders.

“Eat this,” he orders, pulling something out of his pocket and holding it close to your lips.

Chocolate.

“I’m not-“

“Eat.”

You tentatively take it from him, and the atmosphere grows awkward, at least for you, while he watches you chew on the rest of it.

“Thank you, it was delicious,” you tell him, truthfully. You haven’t had chocolate in a long time, as it was simply too expensive for your family to afford. Your mouth curves downwards into a frown.

“Rest.”

You don’t. You’re not sure if you can.

“My family, they let them take me. They didn’t… they didn’t stop them. They must…” A gasp is torn from you, and you meet his eyes once more. “How long has it been?”

“… Three days.”

You begin rise to your shaky feet, “I-I must go back, they’ll think that I’m-!”

He pushes you back down effortlessly.

“Are you a fucking fool?”

You can’t help but flinch at the absolute venom in his tone, but he isn’t done yet, towering over you.

“What do you think will happen if you go back, hm? That they’ll accept you with open arms, or they’ll send you right back to where I found you? Or, better yet, maybe they’ll set you alight there and then, rather than troubling themselves in having you freeze to death, they’ll instead watch you burn. Would you like to test if your family would spare you from that? Hm?”

You have never felt this small in your entire life.

“I-“

“Enough.” It appears the question was rhetorical, and your mouth closes, quickly feeling very dry.

His chest shudders with each deep breath he draws in, and he closes his eyes shut for a moment, seemingly trying to calm himself.

“Sleep. We have a long journey ahead of us. Don’t ask me anymore stupid questions,” he turns on his heel, most likely deciding that he has something better to do. However, before he fully departs, he pauses at the entrance to the tent, still not looking back at you.

“You deserve better than that village, than that family who threw you out as though you were nothing to them. Know that I do not plan on doing the same, and that you… aren’t nothing to me.”

The intimidation you feel from him dimishes when you catch sight of the pinkish tinge to the tips of his ears. He doesn’t wait for your response, swiftly departing. You miss the few words of parting he gives you, as you tuck yourself into bed.

“Besides, it’s not as though you have anything to go back to, anymore.”

[victoria-grimesss]

2 ideas!

One, I loved your soap w secretary girlfriend! What about something similar for ghost and konig?

Two, what about a COD fic where the lights go out and you are stuck in the dark together? 😘 any character you want!

masterlist

->Paring: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader & König x Fem!Reader

->Words: 0.8k

->A/N: MDNI! These are so fun to write!!! Also adding that wonderful 'idea of the stuck in the dark' fic to the list ;)

Sure, Ghost and König are both big strong military men. They're intimidating and stoic. Tall and broad but they both love their secretary girlfriend differently.

Ghost:

He's a brute. Large and broad and dark. How you became accustomed to him was more comical than anything. One complaint report landed on your desk for him to pick up, which he never did. His training methods were.. less than desirable.. which you can imagine just looking at him and how he just stands and stares, barking commands.

34 total complaint reports from the newest training group landed on your desk, making a rather annoying pile. None of the complaints would ever be resolved, Ghost's training method is foolproof. So, you walked down the hallway, papers in hand and a scowl on your face straight to that man. You slam the door open to the training yard your heels sounding extra loud. Your stocking covered legs and short skirt is the view of the century out here.

"Lieutenant Riley, your complaint papers have occupied an annoyingly large space on my desk. Please be better about picking them up from now on." You shoved the papers into his chest and storm away. Simon was putty in your hand from then on.

--

He would stand arms crossed in your doorway as you helped the others. Waiting patiently, his stare dark and unwavering.

He loves to watch you work. Your soft hands filing the papers expertly you know every little place where everything goes. He sees how the guy you're helping out checks out your ass as you stand. He shoulder checks him on his way out and then he stands at the front and center of your desk, and you look up through your lashes at him.

"Can I help you Simon?" You ask him in a sultry voice as you reapply your lipstick.

"Yea. I can think of a couple things."

--

Your panties are around one ankle, your heels barely hanging on to your feet as your legs are wrapped around his hips and he's ruthless with his thrusts. You're on lunch and he took you to the file room, you're on a dusty old desk that's only used for storage. All the contents thrown to the ground as Simon couldn't wait any longer to be inside you.

"Fuck, you love this yea? Fuckin you right here panties round your ankle you can hardly focus on me."

He's right your head has been long spinning and your eyes struggle to stay focused. He drives himself into your wet heat so hard and rough your hair has become a half up half down mess in the process.

"Grippin me so fuckin tight love, maybe I start coming down every day, feed you my cock on your break. Would you like that, look at me when I'm talking to you."

Simon frequently rips your stockings when he's gripping your thighs, especially when he cums.

"Fuckin hell love you're a fucking mess dripping on me like this, going to cum deep inside you then you'll go back and sit all pretty at your desk with me dripping out of you. You want that love? Yea you do."

Simon is a ruthless lover, he can be sweet too. When he's not confined by a 30-minute lunch break window of course.

--

König:

König is top dog, the big guy on the ground. So you see him often. You'll keep track of his appointments and meetings, bring him food and coffee when he works late nights and eventually, he invites you to share a meal with him. After that he keeps calling you back to his office.

König is an older guy and his knees aren't all that good honey so be a doll and help him out. You'll get down on yours and wrap those pretty lipstick coated lips around him and his mouth is watering just watching you take as much as you can.

He's found that he has a certain fixation for the lipstick you wear and sometimes requests you wear certain colors for him when you go down on him. He loves the way it leaves rings around his cock and he'll stroke your hair as he speaks to you.

"Taking me so well mein liebling, you see that last ring of lipstick you left on me? Let's try to get even lower this time, you're a good girl I believe in you."

You'll take as much as you can, and when he finally trains his little secretary to take all of him he cums as soon as your lips meet the base of him leaving red lip marks on his skin.

And when he's feeling especially needy he'll call you into his office and have you straddle him. He'll kiss your neck as he takes off your heels, he knows how expensive they are, I mean he did buy them for you, so he undoes the little straps with care and sets them on the floor.

He'll caress you with his big hands and have you ride his thigh hiking your skirt up your hips so he can rest his hands behind his head and watch you moan and sob on top of him.

"You look so beautiful like this mein liebling, you're leaving quite the wet spot on me this time. How many times should I make you cum like this before I let you ride me."

He's cruel when he wants to be but it's all in good fun. He's spoil you afterwards.

[vrystalius]

Hello! May I request the hashira reaction to a child reader (6-7year) who's basically a yoriichi reincarnation? Like the hashira were struggling against an uppermoon, but reader interferred at a crucial moment and cut them down effortlessly with the hashira's own sword :] here comes the dilemma of how to proceed with a clearly abandoned child who's not a demon slayer yet easily managed to do what no hashira was able to do in centuries , not to mention their extremely young age. Thanks!

❕The hashira’s reaction to you as Yorichii’s reincarnation

You saving the hashira’s asses (with their own weapons!) as Yorichii’s child reincarnation.

Here’s my masterlist for the hashira.

Here’s my masterlist for the demons.

Note: Thank you for sending in a request! I hope I wrote it just the way you imagined and expected it. I think I struggled a little bit, but I you like it anyway, anon! <3 I’m thinking of making a part.2 with Giyu, Obanai, Mitsuri and Shinobu, but let’s see how this picks up first.

Pairing: Sanemi, Gyomei, Kyojuro, Tengen x gn!child!reader

💚 Sanemi Shinazugawa 💚

Sanemi was more impressed that he managed to fuck up this bad that he needed help from a frail child. He feels embarrassed. Embarrassment turn into humiliation, and that into rage. So, Sanemi did what he doest best. Yell and throw around insults.

“What the fuck were you thinking, kid? You could’ve fucking died! How can you even lift my katana?? Your arm is thinner than my damn finger!!”

But deep down, he’s kind of impressed. How did you even manage to do that? You look starved and dirty, as if homeless or neglected. Your yukata was stained and old, and seemingly the only article of clothing you have, obvious by the lack of shoes and socks. Geez, you’ll get sick like that, Sanemi thinks.

But as Sanemi inspected you further (and snatching his katana out of your hands) he noticed some kind of mark on your forehead. Is this the demon slayer mark Muichiro and Mitsuri were talking about back then? That would explain where your energy and skill to kill a former Lower Moon came from. Sanemi also saw how dirty and filthy your hair was, but he could see the deep maroon colour and the red tips peeling through. If someone were to wash your hair, it would look beautiful. Maybe Sanemi could even braid it?

But this was something to think about later. You look like you’re gonna fall over and just die of dehydration or starvation at any moment, or just freeze to death on the spot. If he wants to or not, Sanemi has to take you in for the moment. He can bring you back to the estate and hand you over to Shinobu or something later.

Sanemi would pick you up, into his arms, and wrap his cropped haori around your fragile body to warm you up a little.

“Let’s grab something for you to eat and maybe some clean clothes m’kay? I’ll bring you somewhere safe. Here, I got some ohagi. Eat up, you’ll need the strength to walk. I won’t carry your ass forever.”

🤎 Gyomei Himejima 🤎

Gyomei likes being around children. They are innocent, fragile, weak and need to be protected. They lie, too, but Gyomei doesn’t take it to heart when they do. He never did. Children are children after all.

But when he met you, right after you simply beheaded Upper Moon Five while he struggled, Gyomei knew that you are not an ordinary child. You do not need protection, you are strong enough to take care of yourself, and he can sense the powerful aura you had. He never felt this strong of an aura before, ever. It was almost overwhelming to his heightened senses.

“You seem very strong for a child. Where did you learn all this skill?”

In the ranks of the hashira, no one besides Gyomei can wield his morningstar. It’s too unique and western-style of a weapon to be used by an ordinary slayer, if you ignore the heavy weight all together. It takes a lot of training to wield something like that.

With that being said, Gyomei was surprised to say the least when he heard how you swung his weapon with ease. He felt the heat it was radiating after you beheaded the demon. What kind of breathing were you using?

“You seem tired. How about I carry you back to my estate? It’s safe , and you can rest there. On our way there, we can talk about how you got this strong. Shall I carry you on my shoulders?”

❤️‍🔥 Kyojuro Rengoku ❤️‍🔥

(Let’s just imagine he never fought Akaza during the Muegen Train Arc)

Kyojuro was walking beside what’s left of the Lower Moon’s Muegen train, checking for any more survivors and passengers. Tanjiro, Nezuko, Zenitsu and Inouske were heading into the opposite direction to check the other half of the train, while Kyojuro inspected the head of the train (in hopes of finding his katana as well, wich he somehow lost).

That’s where he found you, buried underneath the rubble and remains of the train, luckily unscathed. Kyojuro was ecstatic to have found such a frail child like you in such a terrible situation.

“I’m glad I found you in time! Are you hurt? Hungry? Thirsty?”

But as Kyojuro inspected you, he recognised the yukata you were wearing. He could’ve swore that he saw someone similar flashing before his eyes, beheading the train with some kind of fiery technique. It wasn’t flame breathing, he would’ve recognised it immediately. It was more powerful, more bright. It resembled the power of the sun.

That’s when it hit him. Yes, it was indeed you who beheaded the Lower Moon! Your small stature, your aura. Kyojuro laughed loudly when he realised. You, a child, managed to defeat a Lower Moon! With his own sword as well! Even if you did snatch his katana when you had the chance to kill said demon, he forgave you. You saved them all after all.

He made a mental note to look through all the corps’ records, including the flame hashira archives his father Shinjuro keeps back in their home. Perhaps Kyojuro can find what kind of breathing technique you were using, in case you don’t know yourself.

Kyojuro took his haori off his uniform and wrapped you in it, lifting you off the ground and holding you close to his naturally heated body. You looked surprisingly neglected and starved, as if no one took care of you back home. If you even had a home.

“You did great defeating such a powerful Lower Moon! You should be proud of yourself! How about we share some bento boxes when we head back?”

(You ended up being forced to eat multiple bento boxes because Kyojuro was worried you might starve to death on him.)

🩷 Tengen Uzui 🩷

He is incredibly embarrassed. First, Tengen didn’t notice how Daki was not the real Upper Moon right away. Second, his hand gets sliced off clean. Third, he let his nichirin-blades get snatched by a child. And fourth, that said child managed to behead Gyutaro while that blonde kid and boar boy beheaded Daki. Tengen basically didn’t even do anything! He just let himself get poisoned and lost a hand, then just laid in dirt the rest of the fight. How unflashy and boring!

But he did notice the technique you used to behead the Gyutaro. It was fiery and bright, similar to his friend’s Kyojuro’s flire breathing, just that yours is much more powerful or something. Tengen made a mental note to ask his friend about the fire breathing techniques later.

“Hey kid, lend me a hand will ya?”

What a poor choice of words. He could tell that by your unimpressed expression, but you understood what he meant by that anyway. After giving him his blades back and lifting him off the ground, you helped him walk out of the rubble that was once the entertainment district. Tengen is surprised by your strength and that you’re even able to make him walk upright, but that surprise quickly turned into curiosity.

He noticed the red, flamey mark on your forehead and your dark, maroon hair. You looked very flashy, but neglected. You’re kinda dirty, too. Tengen thinks a little bit of make-up and a nice bath can make you look all flamboyant again! Oh, and yeah, he guesses you’re pretty strong too. But that’s beside the point for now.

Then, finally, Tengen was met with the lovely view of his wives.

“Lord Tengen!! You’re okay! We were so worried!! Waaahh!!”

“Be quiet, Suma! Can’t you see Tengen needs to rest?

“Who’s this little thing here? She looks so thin.”

“My new, flashy and flamboyant apprentice, Hina!”

💠

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Thank you again for requesting, I hope I wrote about what you had in mind. I just got a request for Genya, so I’ll be working on that soon as well.

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!

Take care of yourselves. <3

[titania-sleeps]

i thought it'd be a better idea to explain some of the ideas i put on the poll since there aren't enough words i can fit onto the poll to show nuance and plot, so here's a bit more! here's the poll if you still want to vote, i think i'll keep it up for the rest of the week while i try to draft some of them out a bit more: poll

pls vote :D i do intend to publish all of them eventually but i understand some of them might be a bit lacking :') so it helps to know which one people are most interested in

as a note, i mostly write sub yanderes so they'll all be sub in some way,,, some more than others ofc but they're either switches or subs

male omega yandere x alpha reader (but you're mean to him)

your omega yandere is desperate for you to finally bite him and claim you. the two of you have been fuck buddies for years (mostly so the two of you can get through your ruts and heats). he's annoyed by how good you are at controlling yourself. through all possible means of seduction, he will get you! so please, please bite him and claim him already!

yandere you pick up bc you want to feel better about yourself (savior complex)

your yandere is an F-Rank healer that can only cast Light Heal. he was kicked out of his former party and out of nowhere, you come into his life like a storm and take him into your party. the party consists of just you and him, and he wonders at first why you took him in. he loves you deeply for it but eventually finds out it's just cause you wanted to feel better about yourself as a person by saving him. he still loves you and will try his hardest to get you to love him back!

human yandere x vampire reader (he wants to be your blood bag)

your human yandere has been gifted to you from the Elder Ancestors as a means to satiate your blood hunger pangs. you chose him from the selection of humans on a whim but he believes that he is your destined. he gets jealous if you try other humans' blood; he insists that he was bred and born just to be your blood bag. he really REALLY likes it when you bite hard. he eats fruit just so he tastes sweeter.

pretend bf yandere x sad reader (you're widowed)

your pretend bf yandere is a replacement for your dead husband. he seems similar, but only in appearance. although you love him dearly, you can't see anyone but your husband in him. your yandere tries his hardest for you to see only him, but you are hesitant. please love him for him and only him, he can't bear to be just a replacement for much longer!

lil silly rich yandere x painter reader (he really wants to be your model) your rich yandere is a self-made noble; the so-called nouveau rich in the 18th century. he comes across you one day and he falls in love with your art. you are a painter that goes under the pseudonym of Apollo in fear of those in opposition to you. he purchases all your finest works and is granted an audience with you, and he falls deeply in love with you, the person behind his favorite works. sadly, you spend a lot of time painting the newest actor from a local troupe... he thinks that you should ONLY paint him. after all, he knows you the best, so he would be the perfect model for you!

flea familiar yandere x witch reader (he's a flea but has human form don't worry)

your flea familiar yandere is your familiar summoned on the day that you gain your powers. he was terribly excited for it, especially since he didn't think that he would get summoned so quickly after graduating from his prestigious familiar academy. however, after you summoned him, you couldn't help but express your disappointment that you summoned a... flea. a small, silly flea. he loves you oh so dearly, but why won't you acknowledge him? he tries his best to accompany you on trips and help you during spells, but why do you want another familiar so badly? he loves you, so please only use him and only him!

betrothed yandere x uninterested reader (you hate political marriages !11!!1!)

your betrothed yandere is terribly in love with you. and he has been for years upon years. the two of you were first introduced at the tender age of seven. at that time, you cared not for romance. he, however, grew to love your personality. growing up with you was the greatest blessing to him, but why do you only treat him like a friend? he chases away all your potential suitors, so you should only look at him, right? why don't you love him the most?

house husband yandere x INDEPENDENT STRONG reader

your house husband yandere is frustrated that you seem to lose more and more passion for him every night. the two of you may have only been married for a year, but he's sure that he's done everything right! he cooks you a delicious dinner every night. he prepares your bath diligently. he even offers himself to you every night; you can use him to relieve all of that stress! but why do you seem so focused on your work? you should pay more attention to him, or else he might do something that you won't like...

INADEQUATE house husband yandere x LOVING reader (not like above)

your inadequate house husband yandere is a mess. he's clumsy and really bad at doing chores. he gets too jealous and possessive in front of your friends, because he only wants to keep you to himself. he believes that you hate him and will divorce him soon, but that couldn't be further off from the truth. you love him dearly and you find him so cute. it's okay if he breaks all your dishes, you can just buy new ones! he's your cute little yandere and you would not have it any other way.

soulmate yandere x reader who doesn't believe him at all

your soulmate yandere is a great cosmic being from times of yore, but you clearly don't believe him. instead, you are obsessed with another student from your magic academy. that's so silly of you; you are tied to him and he has been waiting for your existence for eons. just say the word and he can grant you anything. he's willing to give his entire soul and being to you, so you should too right? he can give you immortality and infinite wealth, so please love him and only him. well... you will eventually. it's your preordained fate.

wannabe knight yandere x reader that really wants one (just not him... for now)

your wannabe knight yandere is your childhood friend. at a young age, both you and he would play pretend princess and pretend knight. you were always so insistent on finding your perfect knight; a pretty boy that would carry you away on his golden unicorn or whatever. well, he can be that knight for you. so he spends years of his life training away at becoming a knight while you try to find a way to become a lady. you eventually become a lady of nobility when your father is granted the title of baron from the king for his scientific discoveries. at the same time, he completes his knight training and passes the knight test. surely you'll accept him as your knight, right? if not... he may have to cut every other knight down...

-> masterlist

[azrielslittleslut]

"The Lost Queen"- Chapter 7

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: A magical incident causes Azriel to unexpectedly tumble through a portal into modern-day Earth. Confused and injured, he is discovered by a compassionate human woman with a hidden past. She takes care of him and helps him discover the complexities of the modern world, completely unaware of who she truly is. Meanwhile, Azriel struggles with his conflicting desires: his duty to the Night Court and his growing love for the woman who saved him.

Their journey unfolds amidst ancient prophecies and the looming threat in Prythian. As they uncover the truth about forces conspiring against them, they must confront their deepest fears and make choices that will change their lives and the world forever.

Warnings: language, very slight suggestiveness, angst

Word Count: 5.3k

series masterlist

a/n: buckle up. It's gonna be a wild ride...

Enjoy!

Azriel could count on one hand how many times he had been blindsided in his five and a half centuries of living. He was a shadowsinger and the spymaster of the Night Court, so he wasn’t an easy male to catch off guard.

Now, it had happened twice in the span of three days. The first time had been by your parents, and the second time had been by this strange woman.

But both times, it had happened because he had been so caught up in you- your voice, your eyes, your hands on his back, and your lips on his neck.

Azriel reflected on this unsettling pattern, his mind racing as he considered the implications. If mere personal distractions would breach his defenses so easily, what did that say about his current state of mind? Yet, more pressingly, what did that say about how strong his feelings were for you?

He had asked you to come back with him to Prythian, and he had meant every word. It wasn’t a question borne out of fleeting desire or a moment of emotional confusion. Instead, it came from a clear, deep-seated realization: he could not imagine leaving you behind. The thought of returning to his world without you, to a life devoid of your laughter and sharp-witted sarcasm, was unthinkable.

Azriel, who had always measured his words and actions with the utmost care, found his existence inexplicably brighter and more vivid with you in it. The prospect of a future that didn’t include your presence seemed gray and uninspired. His life in Prythian, filled with responsibilities and dangers, would undoubtedly continue, but without you, it would lack the color and light you brought into it effortlessly.

But wouldn’t he be putting you in danger, especially with the dark cloud currently surrounding his world? There were many risks, and the stakes were high, and the thought of exposing you to that weighed heavily on him.

Azriel forced himself to focus before his mind ran away from him. He turned around to face you, his voice soft as he asked, “Are you alright?” He didn’t care that Mama Laveau had seen him in such… passionate affairs, but he couldn’t stomach you being uncomfortable.

You offered him a smile, your hand moving to grasp his. “I’m fine, Azzy,” you whispered, your eyes bright. You nodded your head to the mistress, who was still waiting patiently by the door. “We need to follow her. She can help.”

Az took a deep breath and took a step forward, pulling you after him. He focused on trying to calm himself, easing his heated skin that still tingled from your soft touches. He very much wanted to go back to what the two of you had been doing before being rudely interrupted, but now was not the time to think about that.

Besides, if you did go back with him, he would have more than enough time to finish what was started. Maybe next time it would be in his bed instead of against a brick wall.

“Lead the way,” he said to Mama Laveau, his voice steady as he forcibly smoothed his expression back to its usual guarded demeanor. “We would like to hear what you have to say.” His tone was measured and calm, deliberately stripped of emotion. Despite the storm of feeling provoked by the evening’s events, he was determined to regain control of himself, to anchor himself in the role that had defined him for centuries.

Mama Laveau nodded her head once before turning around to lead them back through the glass door. The ball was still in full swing, with dancers gliding gracefully across the floor, their movements fluid and synchronized. The music had shifted back to its original soothing tones, and the lights had returned to their warm, inviting yellow glow.

From the corner of his eye, Azriel spotted a man dressed in a gray suit standing next to one of the refreshment tables. He wore a full-face mask that was covered in black gemstones. The man had brown hair, smoothed back with what looked like way too much gel. He met Azriel’s eyes from across the room, and Az found himself reaching down to touch the siphons in his pocket.

Even though he had no use for them now, he was unable to bring himself to leave your house without them. He had carefully placed them in the pocket of his pants, where they were concealed by the length of his jacket.

The familiar stones under his fingers eased the tightness in his chest, and he turned his attention back to where Mama Laveau was going. She glided across the ballroom, her dress flowing around her, ignoring the lingering glances of the guests as they spotted her.

She stopped at a black velvet curtain hanging along the far wall. She reached up and moved it to the side, revealing a plain black door. “This way,” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the music.

Azriel felt your hand squeeze his, and he offered a gentle squeeze in return. “Are you alright?” he asked again, his eyes searching yours, trying to read your emotions. “You can go enjoy the ball. I can handle this.” He wanted to protect you, to ensure that your night wasn’t overshadowed by his own burdens.

Your lips curled up at the corners as you opened your mouth to speak, a reassuring smile beginning to form, but you were abruptly interrupted by Mama Laveau’s commanding voice.

“She needs to hear what I have to say,” she stated firmly, her tone laced with impatience and authority.

“I’m alright, Azzy,” you whispered, reaching up to run a hand along his arm. “We’re doing this. Together.”

For a moment, Azriel felt his heart squeeze at the kindness in your words. You were so selfless and compassionate, and he was deeply moved by how intently you were focused on helping him.

Mama Laveau opened the door, revealing a long, dark hallway. It was narrow and dimly lit, with only the faint glow of antique sconces placed intermittently along the walls, casting shadows that danced across the ornate wallpaper. The wallpaper itself was a deep burgundy, patterned with subtle black designs that seemed to shift and move in the low light. The floor creaked under their footsteps, the old wooden planks worn smooth by age.

 The air was thick with the scent of a strange incense- hints of sandalwood and patchouli- that grew stronger as they made their way down the hallway. Azriel’s senses tingled with a feeling of unknown power. It wasn’t strong, and he didn’t feel that it was necessarily evil. It was just… different.

The hallway eventually ended at another black door. Mama Laveau pushed it open, revealing what looked like an office. The room was better lit than the hallway, with a large crystal chandelier hanging overhead, its light reflecting off several strategically placed mirrors, creating a bright yet soft illumination that filled the space. It was spacious and lavishly decorated, with a large mahogany desk in the center of the room. The desk was cluttered with papers, vials, and strangle-looking instruments. Behind the desk, tall bookshelves filled with ancient tomes and curious artifacts climb the walls, their contents shadowed and mysterious.

The décor was eclectic but modern, with luxurious velvet curtains draping over the windows, while plush, dark green carpets covered the floor. A small seating area with richly upholstered chairs and a low table sat in the corner of the room.  

“Have a seat,” Mama Laveau said, gesturing to the chairs. She walked over to a bar cart and poured herself a glass of what looked like whiskey. She turned her head slightly as she asked, “Can I get you two anything?”

You took a seat in the chair, smoothing your dress down your legs. “Water, please. If you have it.” You cocked your head to the side as you took her in. “Are you related to Marie Laveau? The Voodoo Queen of New Orleans?”

Mama Laveau chuckled softly. “I am her descendant, yes. I believe I am her great-great-great-great granddaughter if the history books are correct.”

“That’s so cool,” you responded softly.

Azriel sat down, settling himself amongst the cushions. He had no idea who this Marie Laveau was, and he didn’t care. “I’ll take water as well,” he muttered.

Mama Laveau smiled faintly as she poured water into two glasses. As she moved away from the cart, Azriel’s attention was drawn to the bottle of liquor she had poured herself. It was shimmery black, with a red top. He narrowed his eyes at the bottle, leaning forward to get a better look.

The bottle said Firewine, and Az let out a soft gasp as he read the familiar name. He and his brothers had spent many nights drinking that same whiskey when they had been in the Illyrian camps. It was spicy and warm, and too much of it had you regretting all of your life choices the next day.

How in the hell does this woman have a bottle of liquor from Prythian?

Azriel looked back at Mama Laveau as she set the glasses on the table. There was something about the way she moved that was oddly familiar to him, but he couldn’t place it. She took the seat opposite of them, leaning back and crossing her legs. She raised the glass of Firewine to her lips and took a sip.

“How do you have that?” he asked, pointing to the glass in her hand. “That liquor is from my world.”

Mama Laveau smiled softly. “I guess we should skip the warm introductions and get down to business.” Her voice held no trace of the strange accent that Azriel had heard from most of the people who lived here, which was strange considering she apparently descended from a woman who was the “queen of voodoo.”

“Please,” you said warmly, leaning forward in your chair. Your hair had fallen out of its beautiful updo, and it now cascaded down your shoulders. Azriel found himself wanting to run his hands through it. “We need your help. Any insight would be much appreciated.”

Mama Laveau sighed, a sound of the long-suffering. She looked at Azriel, her gaze soft, and his breath hitched as that familiar stare looked at him. “Have you heard of the World Walkers, Azriel?”

Azriel froze for a few moments, his mind racing as he sifted through centuries of memories and information, searching for any mention of that name. Nothing rang a bell, and surely something so significant would have lodged itself firmly in his mind. “No. I’ve never heard of anything like that,” he said finally.

Mama Laveau nodded slightly as if that was the answer she had been expecting. “Though the World Walkers find their origins in Prythian, they have been nearly extinct for thousands of years. Centuries of crossbreeding and intermingling with others have diluted the bloodlines.”

 “How do you know about them?” you asked, your voice tinged with suspicion and curiosity. Through the slits in your mask, Az could see your eyes taking in the woman warily, scanning her face for any hint of deception.

You would make a good spy, Azriel thought to himself. Maybe I could train you when we get to Prythian.

“I come from a long, long line of witches and warlocks. Not the kind you see in the movies, but those who wield true magic and power,” she explained, her voice resonating with a deep sense of pride. She gestured toward the expansive bookshelf behind her desk. “There have been legends and tales passed down through my family about other worlds and realms. Each of those books,” she continued, her hand sweeping across the collection, “are from different worlds, tomes and volumes collected by my ancestors who had come into contact with World Walkers.”

Azriel’s curiosity took over, and he found himself rising from the chair and walking over to the shelf. He studied the various books, his fingers running along the spine of the ancient texts. Each one had a different name, and he read them to himself silently.

The Secrets of the Cauldron, Veils of the Underworld: A Study, The Compendium of Crescent City, Lore of the Valg: Origins and Oaths, Archives of the Fae: The Unseen Histories

He looked at each one with a mixture of fear, awe, and respect. He had read countless books in his lifetime, and he had heard of none of these. Some of them were so ancient that even his magical translator was unable to decipher the names.

“This is… incredible,” he muttered as he turned around to face Mama Laveau again. She was looking at him with an amused expression. “I’m assuming you got Firewine from one of these World Walkers.”

She nodded her head once, the lights catching on the silver charms in her hair. “Yes. I’ve had this bottle for years, but I was waiting on a special occasion to open it,” she said with a shrug.

Azriel shook his head, his mind whirling. He continued, “I still don’t understand how any of  this ties into me coming here. I am not a World Walker.”

At least, he didn’t think he was.

“No, you are not,” Mama Laveau responded as she raised her glass to take another sip. “You are only a shadowsinger, which is a rare magic in and of itself. And I must admit,” she said, raising her glass to him, “I have been dying to meet one of your kind for years.”

Azriel clenched his jaw. How much did this woman know about him and his world? Something about her told him that she knew way more than she was letting on, but he didn’t press, afraid that he would piss her off. “The pleasure is all mine,” he forced out.

“What does this have to do with Azriel coming here?” you asked in a small voice. You had been unusually quiet during this whole exchange, and Azriel wondered what was going on in that pretty head of yours.

“I don’t know exactly how you came here, but I think I might have an idea of why,” Mama Laveau said. She pointed a finger at you, the rings on her fingers glinting in the dim light. “I think she is the reason you are here.”

“Me?” you asked, placing a hand on your chest. “What does this have to do with me?”

Azriel’s mind went quiet. He walked around the desk on numb legs, stopping once he got to the chair he had been sitting in. He didn’t sit down, though; he just placed his hands on the back, knowing he probably needed something to lean against to endure the remainder of this conversation.

“You heard a prophecy when you fell through the portal,” Mama Laveau said with a knowing smile.

Azriel nodded slowly. “Yes,” he whispered, and he repeated the words to her, the ones he had committed to memory after reading the paper from Serena a few times.

Mama Laveau hummed. “I have heard of that prophecy, but I didn’t think there was anything true to it. Oh well, I guess fate has its own way of working things out.” She chuckled and took another sip of Firewine.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this… prophecy?” you asked, your voice so low it snapped Azriel out of his mental haze. His eyes met yours, and his chest tightened at the anger in your gaze.

“I didn’t think it was important,” he said with a shrug. Truth be told, he really didn’t think that it was important, and that prophecy had been the last thing he had been worried about the last few days.

You scoffed and turned back to Mama Laveau. “I don’t think that prophecy has anything to do with me. You must be mistaken.”

“Oh, I think it does, Y/N. Serena also told me about her dreams and the paintings,” Mama Laveau said. “About seeing you in them. She said she told Azriel, and I can’t imagine that all of this is a coincidence.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. Azriel swore his heart stopped beating for a few seconds as you looked at him. Your eyes were full of hurt and rage, and he knew he had royally fucked up.

He looked over to Mama Laveau, silently pleading with her to help him diffuse this situation, but she just shook her head, her eyes full of something like disappointment.

You stood from the chair, your face reddening with anger. “You knew about that?” you asked, your voice cracking with impending tears, “and you didn’t tell me? What? Was that not important, either?”

“Y/N,” he breathed, moving around the chair to take you in his arms, but you stepped away from him. “Please, let me explain.”

“Too late,” you snapped, frustration and anger sharpening your words as Azriel felt a painful tightness grip his chest. “What more do you know?” you demanded, turning back to Mama Laveau. “Don’t bullshit me. It seems that you’re the only one who is willing to tell me the truth.”

Mama Laveau quickly glanced between you and Azriel before looking up at the chandelier. “I know that you are not from this world, Y/N. Though you were raised here, this is not where you were born.”

You took a step back, shaking your head. “That’s impossible. My parents are from here. I have pictures of me in the hospital when I was born.”

Mama Laveau’s voice was quiet as she said, “They are not your birth parents.”

The room went utterly silent at her words, and Azriel watched as your face fell. You stumbled back, tripping on the train of your gown. He rushed over, catching you just before you collapsed onto the floor. He hauled you up against him, cradling your trembling body close to his.

“Let. Me. Go,” you ordered, your voice full of steel as you pushed away from him.

Azriel obliged you, but he did not attempt to mask the hurt that washed over his face.

Mama Laveau set her glass down on the table. “If you don’t believe me, ask your parents. They will probably know more about that than I do.”

“I’m done,” you whispered, your voice broken and small. You turned around and sprinted for the door, holding up your dress as you ran. “I’m done, I’m done, I’m done.”

Azriel could hear the tears in your words as you opened the door and disappeared into the hallway. He longed to run after you, to hold you in his arms and do whatever he could to earn your forgiveness.

“Why didn’t you tell her, Azriel?” Mama Laveau asked. The familiarity in the way she said in name shook him from his pain.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, turning his head to face the woman. She was looking at him with a piercing gaze, but there was something soft in her eyes, almost like understanding. “I have tried, but…”

“You’re in love with her,” she stated matter-of-factly. “You wanted to protect her from the truth, but instead, you have hurt her in the process.”

“I wish I could go back and fix this,” he admitted softly, his words heavy with the burden of his mistakes. “Do you think she will forgive me?”

Mama Laveau sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of her own hidden truths. “I am also keeping secrets from someone I love. For the same reason, of course. To protect them.” She paused, her gaze drifting off as if seeing through the walls of her own past decisions. “And every day I hope that, when the time comes for those secrets to surface, they will understand why I did it. That they will see it was all done out of love, and perhaps find it in their heart to forgive me.”

She looked back at Azriel, her eyes locking with his in a shared understanding of their burdens. “Forgiveness is a powerful thing, Azriel. It can heal wounds we never thought would close. Give her time and give her the truth. Those are the seeds of forgiveness. Whether they grow depends on the soil of her heart, but at least you will have planted them honestly.”

Azriel let out a low laugh. “I have been alive for a long time, and I have found that it can be difficult to forgive someone, especially when they have hurt you badly.” He ran his hands through his hair, his mind racing as he thought back to all of those who had hurt him. None of them had earned his forgiveness, and they never would. “But why are you telling me all of this?” He didn’t give a damn about this woman’s secrets.

“Because you have made me realize the consequences of keeping the truth hidden,” she explained, her eyes scanning along his face. “Perhaps I will tell them the truth, when I see the one I love again.”

“Maybe you should,” Azriel mumbled, his voice low and distracted as he made for the door to chase after you. His mind was already moving ahead, envisioning the conversation he needed to have with you, the apologies and truths he needed to express. He had just reached to doorway, his hand on the frame, when Mama Laveau’s voice floated over to him.

“I suggest you make peace with her, shadowsinger. Do whatever it takes. She is the key to getting you back to Prythian.”

Azriel didn’t stop as he entered the dark hallway. With a heavy heart, he pressed forward, each step echoing along the walls. His mind raced with thoughts of you- of all the things he wanted to say and do to get you to smile at him again. As he stepped into the darkness, the soft click of the closing door behind him sounded more like a final echo of his resolve, leaving him enveloped in a chilling solitude that mirrored the cold dread settling in his soul.

---

Azriel burst through the front door of the manor, ignoring the wary glance of the doorman. The storm had finally rolled in, and the rain was so heavy that even the bright streetlamps struggled to maintain their glow.

He took a deep breath and darted onto the cobblestone pathway, hissing as the rain soaked his suit and drenched his hair. “Y/N!” he called out, his eyes scanning along the dark street. “Y/N, where are you, love?”

Az looked over to your car, which was still parked next to the sidewalk. His breath hitched as he saw you leaning over the hood, your dress soaked and clinging to your body.

He broke into a sprint, pushing through groups of people standing along the pavement. “Y/N,” he mumbled when he got over to you. He saw you shivering, and it took all of his self-control to keep himself from wrapping you in his arms. “Please, fyrvor. Look at me.”

You snapped your head to him, and his heart lurched at the sight. Your hair was plastered to your face, the strands darkened and tangled with the rivulets makeup that had started to run down your cheeks. You had taken off your mask, and he could now see the tears that filled your eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

He stood there for a moment, drenched by both the rain and the gravity of the situation. Azriel ran his hands through his hair, his fingers struggling against the knots the rain had woven into his dark locks.  “Please. Let me explain this.”

You pushed off the hood, turning to face him fully. “You had so much time to tell me this, Azriel. You could have told me at any point over the last two days, but you were too caught up in trying to push me away from you.”

Azriel stayed silent because you were right. He should have told you as soon as Serena disclosed that information, but he had been too caught up in himself. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice almost drowned out by thunder rumbling in the distance.

You let out a cold laugh. “Congratulations, Azriel. You got what you wanted,” you said, stepping back toward the driver’s side of the car. “You pushed me away.”

He took a step forward, but he stopped when you held your hand out to him. “I was going to say yes, you know. I was going to come back with you to Prythian.” You pulled on the handle to open the door. “But I cannot imagine going to a different world with someone I can’t trust.”

What was left of Azriel’s cold heart shattered in his chest. He couldn’t think of a way out of this, so he silently made his way over to the passenger side. He reached for the door handle, his body numb under the weight of how badly he had fucked up.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you drawled from the other side of the car.

Azriel blinked rainwater out of his eyes as he looked at you. “Getting in the car. To go home.” The word surprised him as soon as it left his lips. When had he started thinking of your house as home?

You laughed darkly. “Find your own way home. I don’t want to be next to you right now.”

He stood on the sidewalk, completely lost and confused, as he watched you get in your car and speed off. He glanced around the street, trying to remember the way back to your house.

It had taken almost thirty minutes to get here, and Az hadn’t been paying much attention on the drive over because he had been too focused on trying to not look at you.

Congratulations. You got what you wanted.

With a heavy sigh, he turned and started to walk down the sidewalk, his footsteps slow and aimless as he navigated through the strange streets. He didn’t know where he was going, his mind too clouded with confusion and distress to form a coherent plan. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if the weight on his shoulders was physically dragging him down.

The heavy rain and thunder muffled the sounds of the city, as if the world was holding its breath along with him. His mind replayed the last moments with you over and over, each memory a sharp jab to his already aching heart. He felt lost, not just in the unfamiliar streets but within himself, grappling with the realization of how deeply he had come to love you, how vital you had become to his existence.

The cold air nipped at his skin, but the chill inside him ran deeper, a gnawing sense of regret that he might not find his way back to you, that he might have already lost more than just his direction. His pace quickened, driven by a growing sense of panic, his eyes searching the shadows for something recognizable, something that would lead him back to you.

It was evident that Azriel had been cursed with the ability to ruin everything good that came to him. Each fleeting moment of happiness that he had felt in his life was proof of that. Despite his intentions, despite the depth of his feelings, it seemed he was doomed to watch the light fade from the best parts of his life, driven away by the shadows that clung so persistently to his soul.

Sometimes, he wondered if he should have just stayed in his father’s dungeon, locked away and forgotten. In the cold, dark isolation of those walls, at least he couldn’t spread the shadows that seemed to follow him, harming those he dared to care about. The solitude of a cell, a grim but familiar pain, sometimes felt less cruel than the torture of repeatedly witnessing the unintended consequences of his presence in the lives of others. Every smile he caused seemed eventually to turn into a frown, every connection a potential heartbreak, not just for him but for those he inadvertently pulled into his worthless existence.

Azriel turned the corner into a dark alley. The rain had flooded most of it, but he didn’t care. He waded through the ankle-deep water as he reached up to rip the mask from his face, desperate to remove any disguise that kept his true self hidden. He threw the mask onto the ground, where it landed with a sodden thud, quickly becoming just another piece of debris in the flowing water.

He paused for a moment, raising his head to let the rain pour down his face. Please, he silently pleaded. Just wash it all away. Wash me away.

Azriel was so caught up in his own broken heart that he didn’t hear the faint splashing behind him. His senses were so numb, they didn’t alert him to the dark presence that crept up on him.

He didn’t even have time to react at all before something hard hit him on the head and the world went dark.

---

You paced around your living room, your soaked dress dripping water onto the carpet. You hadn’t bothered to take it off when you had gotten home, unable to find the strength to complete the task.

Your house was… quiet. More quiet than usual. You had grown accustomed to hearing Azriel’s deep voice resonating through the house, a comforting and familiar sound that had become a part of your daily life. His laughter, the soft murmur of his words during late-night conversations, and even the silent presence that filled the spaces with a palpable warmth were now conspicuously absent.

Your mind replayed everything that had happened tonight. The dancing, the kissing… his strong hands running along your body. Azriel had made you feel alive in a way that you had never experienced before, igniting a fire within you that you hadn’t known you could feel. But now, that same intensity that had brought you to life seemed to sear you with pain.

You thought back on the conversation with Mama Laveau, your heart clenching in your chest. He had known about the paintings, and he hadn’t told you. The realization stung, a sharp betrayal that cut deeper because it came from Azriel, someone you had started to trust implicitly.

And now… you had learned you weren’t from this world, and you weren’t your parents’ daughter. The revelation hit you like a tidal wave, upending everything you believed about yourself. The roots you thought you had, the identity you had crafted over the years- everything was suddenly in question.

You glanced up to the clock on the wall, your mind racing. It was two o’clock in the morning, and it had been almost two hours since you had left Azriel stranded at the manor.

What the hell had you been thinking? Yes, you were mad at him, but that didn’t mean that you could just leave him there. He wasn’t from here, and you doubted he knew the way back to your house. Guilt began to gnaw at you as the anger slowly ebbed away, replaced by a concern for his well-being.

You needed to talk to him. You had always believed that communication was key to any relationship, and you had let your anger get in the way of that. You could hear him out, at least. Even though he had hurt you beyond repair, he deserved a chance to explain himself.

“You’re so fucking stupid,” you muttered to yourself, reaching for your car keys. You had to find him and bring him back, even if that meant driving along every street in New Orleans.

Your phone dinged, and you raised it up, your eyes squinting as they adjusted to the bright light. It was a text message from your mother, or whoever she was to you now.

Hey, honey. I don’t know what happened tonight, but Azriel just showed up at our front door. He looks lost and upset. I won’t pry, but I think you should come get him.

You read the message three times before lowering the phone to your side.

How the hell had Azriel found his way to your parent’s house?

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[syoddeye]

the lift

gaz x f!reader | 1.4k words cw: alcohol a/n: received a powerlifter x kyle prompt from an anon. i don't normally take requests, but i've been itching to write something sweet for him. influenced by a recent thing i wrote up about gaz flubbing a flirt. i'm a normie/casual weightlifter. apologies to actual powerlifters. 🏋️

“Fuck me running.”

“Sounds difficult.”

“Get a load of her.”

“Pick your jaw off the floor, and stop staring, lech.”

“You’d be no better if you just looked.”

Gaz rolls his eyes at Soap’s stupefied expression, watching him miss his mouth with his pint glass. Foam spills over onto his shirt, causing the Scot to jerk in his seat and stare at his own appendage in offense.

View must be good for Soap to make himself more of a fool than usual. Kyle adjusts his cap, turns his head to the side in a feigned stretch, and immediately clocks the distraction in question.

A woman in a backless top sits alone at the bar with something fruity in hand. No bra band in sight, no tan lines either. That’s not what glues his eyes to her, though. It’s the rippling muscle the cut of fabric shows off, defined and apparent as she lifts her glass to drink. It continues south, too, her thick thighs spilling over the narrow stool. She looks like she’d give Ghost a run for his money. Like she’d rip him in half like a phone book.

He needs to talk to her.

Kyle turns back to Soap, dabbing at himself with a fistful of napkins. He downs the rest of his beer and then stands.

“I’ll get us fresh drinks.”

Before the lout can breathe a word, he beelines to the bar. Only. When he gets there, it occurs to him he doesn’t know what to say. Any other pretty face, he’d toss out one of his corny but winning lines. Send over a drink. With her, her muscles more impressive up close and wholly focused on a women’s football match, he’s tongue-tied. And that doesn’t happen often. Must be the moon’s position or something.

He bides his time, staring through the screen like he’s watching, thinking of what to say. Avoids the bartender’s curious gaze.

Then, an elbow knocks his arm very gently.

“Fishlock’s a beast, right?”

Kyle’s head swivels, eyebrows to his hairline. The target of his ill-planned op glances between him and the television.

“Yeah,” he sputters out a second too late. “She’s…feisty.” He could break his glass over his head. Feisty? What was he, eighty years old?

To his delight, she laughs, and a rush of heat flares in his stomach at the sound.

“Understatement of the century.”

He chuckles in disbelief at his luck. She gives him another smile. Fuck, he is done for. 

“You want to join me? Had a friend cancel, and I hate watching alone.”

“I’d love to,” he says, dropping into the empty stool probably too quickly. Their knees touch, but she doesn’t pull away. He fixes his eyes on the screen after placing an order. He watches the Welsh battle the Ukrainians, absorbing as many names and numbers as possible. His phone burns a hole in his pocket, and he can’t help but wonder how soon he can excuse himself to the toilet to read ten articles on women’s football for a refresher.

When she chimes in with a comment or a jeer, he does his best to reciprocate. Using talents he’s cultivated for infiltration and interrogation to string along a conversation in which he has no business participating.

It goes swimmingly until—

“There y’are, thought I’d have to find a bloodhound.”

Soap.

Kyle shifts in his seat, leveling a stare he hopes both contain whatever bullshit Soap’s preparing to spew—heaps, judging by his awful smirk—and communicates an unsubtle do not fuck this up for me. 

“Who’s this?”

Kyle opens his mouth, apparently in preparation to insert his own foot. He hasn’t gotten around to the name bit yet. Too busy learning about women’s football in real time. He looks sidelong at his would-be companion, another soft smile coming to his rescue.

She introduces herself, and he tries not to tack on a silent Garrick at the end of it, just to feel how it sounds. Christ, beyond done for.

“Pleasure to meet you.” She says.

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine, I’m sure. Name’s John, and this is–”

“Kyle. Like he said. Pleasure’s mine.” He offers a hand without hesitation, grinning when she takes it. Nearly groans at the calluses on her palms and fingers. Didn’t know he was into that. He smirks inwardly. Hm. Learning several new things today, Gaz.

“Are you…also here to watch the match?” She asks, gaze flitting between them.

He stares hard at Soap again and witnesses the devil himself whispering into the Scot’s ear. It’s truly an act of divine intervention when the other man shakes his head.

“‘Fraid not. I’ve got to run along, but Garrick’s all yours tonight.” He winks unctuously, waggling a brow to really sell it. “If you don’t mind watchin’ him.”

She smirks and pats his knee. “I’m sure I can handle him.”

Soap looks downright rakish. “Oh, I bet you can. See you in the morn, Kyle.”

He’s torn in two: she’s touched his leg and Soap’s cheek about tomorrow. The idiot lives a door down. They’re both on for PT at 0500. Dickhead.

“He’s friendly.” She muses as they return to the match.

“Too friendly. Like a failed police dog.” He mutters.

“Hmm. Does that make him a bad soldier?”

It takes effort not to choke. Their career, generally speaking, isn’t a secret, only their activities. Still. “Smart guess.”

“Despite his creative haircut, you’re both decently cut and we’re, what, twenty minutes from a base? Plus,” she shrugs. “His tattoo. Giveaway. I would’ve said ‘reenactor wannabe’, but your reaction confirms it.”

Kyle’s tongue swipes behind his teeth. She gets better by the minute. “Yeah? And, uh, what do you do for work?” Something physical, he bets silently. Something that necessitates her kind of build or creates it. 

“I’m a tailor.”

Or…not at all.

He can’t stop himself from blurting out. “So the muscles are—“ He abruptly stops, fingers gripping his drink tightly. Sweet Freddie Mercury. Forget smashing a glass over his scalp, he’ll vault through the front door headfirst.

“Powerlifting,” she proudly shares, setting her cocktail down to flex. Her muscles jump beneath her skin, straining into a mesmerizing landscape of strength and power. “My main hobby. If I could make money off it, believe me, I would,” she swings her frame forward and twists, showing off her traps. “But I learned how to sew and alter clothes when I, uh, outgrew conventional sizes.” Disdain paints the word. “Everything I’m wearing I customized to fit me, and me specifically.”

“Genius.” he says simply, mind half-blank when she turns forward again, flexing her biceps and forearms toward her lap. So she’s good with her hands.

A fist uncurls, and a finger crooks up. His face lifts to a smug smile.

“Impressed?”

“Thoroughly.” He swallows.

Her eyes drag over him, slowly and methodically. Picking him apart like a piece of meat. He suppresses a shudder. Yet another thing he didn’t know he liked. 

“How much do you weigh?”

A simple enough question. One he’s asked every so often, especially in medical, in between formal physicals. Coming from her, however, it’s an invitation.

And it is.

Straight into her arms.

Half the pub’s watching when she hoists him parallel to the ground, overhead, and squats. For a brief moment, arms crossed over his chest and back rigid, he swears he hears The Time of My Life. When she returns him to solid ground, to the cheers and toasts from the small crowd, he might as well still be in the air. Heavenbound. Preparing to meet Peter.

Eventually, the atmosphere calms, and he finds himself thigh-to-thigh with his strongwoman. They watch the remainder of the match, chatting—mostly about sports and work, but a bit about the little things—he’s not too thick when she offhandedly mentions knowing the neighborhood well. That her place is a few streets over.

He needs to be back on base before sunrise. He tells her as much outside the bar after the Welsh suffer defeat in penalties. He can relate to the feeling, knowing Soap’s gonna give him hell and Price will ream him out if he’s hungover. 

“Kyle, you’re cute, but we’re not at the sleepover stage yet,” she teases, picking invisible dust off his shirt. “I can give you a lift when you’re ready to leave.”

Strong. Witty. Confident. Can absolutely rip him in half. There is nothing he doesn’t like about her. So, so fucked. 

He grins stupidly when she beckons with a finger, beginning to walk toward her place.

“Premium?” He jokes, following. “I don’t settle for anything less than top-tier car service.”

“Not that kind of lift,” She answers, looking over a sculpted shoulder. “Fireman or princess?”

Kyle almost stumbles.

“Yes.”

[sciencebecameouraddiction]

title: Weakness is For Fools (PT 3)

author: sciencebecameouraddiction

fandom: hazbin hotel

rating: PG

genre: Angst with a happy end

pairing: Alastor x Reader (Use of Y/N)

warnings: Alastor is not with it on this, unhinged, confused and a bit of back story sprinkled in. Rosie is also not having any of Alastor’s shit. Alastor may be OOC

summary: Alastor had never felt this before, and he swore he would never have a weakness.

← PART 2

╔═*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*═╗

“Alastor standing there in an apron is scary.” Angel murmured watching as the Radio Demon set plates down on a table.

“The only reason I’m standing here is because Rosie told me she made sure the food was edible.” Charlie added on watching from the bar.

“I still have a bad feeling about this…” Vaggie murmured. Husk grunted in agreement.

“C’mon Vaggie, we have to give him a chance, even if it is scary.” Charlie said, walking over.

“Do you want some help setting up or anything?” Charlie asked Alastor. He started to respond when Rosie peaked her head out from the corner.

“Nope! He’s got it all covered, don’t you Alastor?” Rosie asked, feeling like a mother of a century old being.

“I-I have this, my dear. Go back and relax. It’s the-“ He looks physically ill as he says “It’s the least I can… do. After everything.” Charlie nodded and left.

“Okay, did Alastor get replaced? This is like 180 for him.” Angel commented, taking a sip of his drink.

“I think more than his soul is gone now. Maybe like his frontal lobe?” Husk asked.

“Oh! A lobotomy! I had one of those alive.” Nifty pipes up manically chuckling as everyone looks down at her. Angel just pats her head as she scurries off.

“I’m really not sure. Maybe he feels bad?” Charlie added.

“Not gonna bring back Y/N though.” Husk mentioned. “It would be a miracle-“ Just then Husk was cut off and the door opened as you walked in. You smiled as you saw your friends and they all called your name.

Rosie came and stood off to the side and when you saw her you ran up to her and hugged her. “Rosie, oh my gosh, I’ve missed you!”

“I’ve missed you too ya little sweetheart. Glad you could make it to dinner.” Rosie smiled.

“Oh I wouldn’t miss it for the-“ You stop and stare seeing Alastor come around the corner holding what looked to be a pie. “World.” You finished softly, your hand gripping Rosie’s shirt tighter. Alastor looks up, wondering why it was quiet and immediately sees you. His damn heart flutters at the sight of you and grimaces at the feeling. He takes a step forward, not knowing what else to do, but stops when you take a step back from him. His eyes widen and he holds up his hands in mock surrender and leaves around the corner. Rosie sighs and then looks at you.

“Don’t you worry about him.” She says and brings you over to the table. “This is an apology dinner but it’s also so you and your friends can talk.” You nod and sit, everyone coming to the table as Rosie goes into the back kitchen where all the food was. That’s when she hears quick breathing and when she sees Alastor in the middle of a panic attack.

“Alastor?” Rosie asks gently.

“I-I can’t do this. Why can’t I do this? I’m the Radio Demon for fucks sake.” He growls, hands pulling at his hair.

“Because you’re scared.” Rosie gently says, pulling his hands away from his hair and smoothing it out. “You’re scared that they won’t accept your apology, even though you need them to, you’re not sure you want them to, because you feel you don’t deserve it.”

Alastor looks up shocked. “How?”

“Because I know you, honey. You’re my best friend.” Rosie says plainly. “Even if you are a little daft sometimes.” She sighs and grabs the last few bits. “They consider you a friend whether you like it or not Alastor, figure out if you consider them friends, and then apologize.” She says and walks out. Alastor grabs the drinks and carries them out, the conversation not dying down when he entered this time. Somehow, the only seat open was next to you, and you were engaged in a fully heated discussion with Husk and Angel on who the best housewife was from a show you all three watched. He sat down next to you, and just watched, looking to Rosie who smiled at him. A part of him, the small part he thought he buried, turns out he didn’t, wanted to leave. He had never felt more alienated and alone.

A glass clinging tore him from his thoughts as he looked up to Charlie. She thanked him and Rosie for the food and the preparations tonight and then handed the floor off to Alastor. He cleared his throat.

“I-“ He sighed and looked at Rosie again. She nodded in encouragement. “I am sorry.” The collective gasps were distracting but not as much as Angel pulling out his phone trying to film. “Angel, I do not wish to be recorded by your device, put it away before I snap it and then eat it.”

Angel’s eyes widened and he quickly put it away. “I am sorry.” Alastor repeated, as he did, he felt the old Alastor fall away, almost like a shed of skin from a snake. In its place stood something raw and something new. Something he had no idea how to navigate. To this version of himself, his… friends were important.

“I was wrong to be as horrible as I was a few weeks ago to all of you. It was inexcusable.” There was silence so Alastor took that as a sign to continue. “I… value… each one of you. And Y/N?” He asked you specifically. Your head whipped up. “I am especially… sorry… to you.”

You look at Alastor and the whole table seems to be waiting on your reaction. You get up and walk over to him, his eyes widen and he steps back a bit, but you follow until you are right in front of him. Your eyes searching his, when you suddenly wrap him in a hug. He freezes and slowly wraps his arms around you, relaxing in your arms.

“You’re an idiot.” You murmur to him.

“That’s the third time this week I’ve been called that.” Alastor murmured.

“It fits.” You quipped back. Alastor sighs and looks at you.

“I am truly sorry.” He says.

“I know. I know you are.” You say, nodding your head.

“Does this mean you’ll move back to the hotel?” Charlie’s asks, sliding up to you both. You look between her and Alastor, his ears perking up a bit.

“Yeah, as long as my room is still available.” You say, joking.

“Oh, you don’t have ta worry about that, toots. Smiles here made sure no one but him even went near your room.” Angel laughed and you looked at Alastor. He glared at Angel.

“Had to make sure it was ready for your return.” He whispered.

“You just assumed I was coming back?” You asked, gently bumping his shoulder with yours. He looked bewildered for a second and then shook his head.

“No. No. But I… Hoped.”

╚═*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*═╝

← PART 2

[firegirl888101]

Insatiable Madness (8)

|Sagau Yandere Fatui Harbingers x Reader|

Bedroom arrangements... You have to sort them out soon.

Reader is Gender Neutral!

"Would you stop staring at me? It's borderline creepy." You turned behind you, seeing Dottore and Sandrone peering from the doorway.

They had been doing this since you allowed the Harbingers to get comfortable. Some of them in your opinion had been too comfortable considering the current circumstances... But other than that, everything had been going shockingly smoothly.

Well, until you realised none of them could cook using modern technology.

So here you are now, cooking for 12 people with food you definitely couldn't afford everyday.

"You won't let me delve into machines of this century, like 'The Television'. Therefore, you will allow me to study what you're doing..."

"I'm cooking, you fucking weirdo."

"I do not see anywhere that could possibly let out heat, surely a fire is required to cook food?" Dottore argued.

"Just because electricity isn't hot, doesn't mean other materials can't change the temperature."

"I see... So you have an infinite source of electricity which is cooking your food. Then conducting that electricity with a material, perhaps a type of conductive ore, to warm up that pot you placed on that flat slab. To be able to do that... You truly must be powerful and knowledgeable."

"...It's just science and mechanics bro-- and it's not a 'flat slab'! It's a hob."

"Heeeeey, when will the food be ready? I'm starving over here!" Childe whined, entering the kitchen and walking past the two peepers.

Oh my god. This is the fifth time he's said that.

"Ask me that one more time and I'll pour this boiling water over your head."

"How long do you expect us to wait?" Pantalone walked up to you.

"Taking your time as usual, mortals truly are slow." Scaramouche rolled his eyes.

...Maybe it was too early to say things had been going smoothly earlier.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Getting everyone to sit at the table together proved to be a challenge.

The few who did so without complaint soon got up and left when you came back with more willing people, and some refusing to cooperate even when you got Pierro to help you out.

And then you had fuckers like Capitano insisting he 'guards the house' as if it's a fucking castle or private expensive estate.

"I do not see the point in sitting to eat if there could be danger lurking around every corner."

"This is my house. There won't be any danger unless it sneaks in from outside." You tried to convince him, truly you did.

You were so close to getting everyone to sit down. He's the last harbinger you needed... and the dinner is still warm too!

"Your argument is weak and insulting. I have offered to protect your home, and protect your honour. Yet, you force me to move away?" He questions you, his voice showing unfiltered offense.

Well, if he puts it that way.... I suppose he's doing me a favour, he thinks he is in his mind at the very least. If I challenge him I think he'll grow hostile and refuse further...

"Please," You said after a short while of thinking. "Please join us at the table. I promise the moment you finish eating you can return to your duties, Lord Capitano."

If I remember correctly, most if not all Fatui soldiers respected him due to his loyalty towards his soldiers, no matter what age or gender. He would spend his time for them after a battle, and would make sure everyone was healthy and ready for the next day.

Of course, this couldn't possibly be the full truth, he's a Fatui Harbinger! I doubt he got the first rank by just handing cakes to people.

Besides, this was all from memory. If things turned for the worst, you could always google some theories and knowledge. Or...! Or, you could wait for the game to update! Surely more would be revealed there?

"Even if I... joined you for dinner... I wouldn't dare eat." He sighed after thinking about your words.

"Why? Ohhhhh! It's because of your mask, right?" You suddenly realised.

You were just being insensitive all along! How did it take you this long to come to the conclusion he doesn't take it off?

"Could you please still join? I won't pressure you to eat, I promise." You smiled at him.

You heard a deep sigh, then he slowly nodded.

"When the first person finishes eating, I'll return here."

Wooohoo! Finally, that took way longer than you would have liked. You did lie a bit though, you were going to lock the front door so he couldn't just stand in the middle of it anymore.

It was beginning to get a bit cold in the house, and you didn't feel like hearing extra complaints from a certain banker...

You led him towards the dining room, and when you finally arrived, every single harbinger was looking at the two of you with boredom present on their faces.

"Took you long enough." Scaramouche scoffed with his arms crossed. "Why did you even make us sit together anyway?"

"When you go hungry, don't expect me to make you food then."

"They're kidding right? I don't have to eat to survive, unlike some of these mortals." He rolled his eyes.

"It's still polite, show some etiquette." Pantalone lightly scoffed in his direction, a smile present on his face.

"This all looks rather lovely." He complimented you, watching you sit down at the head of the table, opposite of Pierro.

"Thank you, but please don't compliment my cooking. This is the first time I've actually cooked a proper meal."

You didn't actually cook this. You just took all the noodles you had left in your personal cupboard and combined them into one boiling pot.

You were surprised Dottore and Sandrone didn't notice, especially since they were focusing so intently on you.

"Seriously? You're one talented chef! The noodles you made are perfect, just as good as the ones I've tried in Liyue!" Childe praised you, taking the fork on the side of his plate and dragging the noodles up to eye level.

"Wait a minute... Why has everyone else got chopsticks besides me!?" He suddenly realised.

"Because I need to get rid of them, I'm sick of my cupboards piling up with these shit ones. Plus, I'm aware you still can't use them."

Speaking of your personal and reusable chopsticks, you left them in the kitchen.

"I'm excusing myself from the table to get my own chopsticks since I forgot to grab my personal pair. If I come back and see any of you out of your chairs, I'm kicking you out of my house.

"You're not in any position to say--"

"STAY IN YOUR FUCKING CHAIR."

"Alright, alright! Psh, they can't take a joke."

"If you don't want to use the chopsticks I've provided, you may use the forks I placed in the middle of the table." You added in, almost forgetting that part.

Some harbingers let out a sigh of relief.

...I'll not question that.

You stood up and pushed your chair in, walking to the kitchen and grabbing your chopsticks with a special pattern.

Now is the time to take a deep breath, relax, prepare a couple questions you want to ask and get these Harbingers out of your house.

You've gotten too fearful. They killed your family, your neighbours, your friends. You should never forget that fact, you can't fight them or resist in fear of being killed. But, you can learn how to survive with them.

Take another deep breath. Hide your fear as best you can.

"I'm back!" You announced, a smile present on your face as you sat down where you left off.

You watched each Harbinger eat the food you prepared respectfully, some with small smiles and others looking as bored as earlier.

"So...." You started, nervously stirring your noodles.

"You want to ask questions, correct?" Pierro interrupted your collected thoughts, a sigh erupting from his lips.

"It's obvious that's why you grouped us up together, it's downright clear you know some of us can't eat or don't like to."

"Well, now that you've told me it was obvious, I won't beat around the bush."

"Beat around the... excuse me?" Arlecchino raised an eyebrow after eating another.

"Figure of speech."

"Ah, understood. Continue."

"Actually, before you get down to business I'd like to ask a question of my own." Signora raised her hand.

"And... what would that be? Don't you think I've earned the right to ask my questions first?" You turned your attention to her.

Now that you think about it, she hasn't spoken much at all. This is the first time she's directly addressed you since you first got captured.

...Apart from calling you a child of course, you could never forget that of all things.

"The noodles are a little plain, too plain for my liking. Do you have anything extra to add to it? Perchance some condiments? Your bowl looks... different to our own bowl's. What did you add to it?"

"I forgot you don't know how pot noo- I mean noodles work in this world! Sorry, I keep forgetting how you came from another place entirely different to this planet." You gasped, running to the kitchen and returning with different coloured packets.

"What... are they?" Sandrone pointed at the plastic packs.

"They look like poisons my clone's deliver for me to test out." Dottore thought outloud.

"Not at the table, please." Pantalone cringed.

"These, Harbingers, are a miracle in the making." You began, catching the attention of all of them.

'They look like puppies... It's cute.' Is what you would think if you forgot these are bloodthirsty monsters.

"Allow me to introduce you to the world of Sauce Packets. Each colour and size represents a flavour in the packet, and what garnish you'd like on top of your noodles!" You explained, placing all the packets you could find next to the pile of forks which had been unused.

"Amazing! You just get to pick like that?"

"Yup!"

"And... There's nothing else to it? No storing the packets in a cool area so they don't go off?"

"Nope!"

"Incredible... How does the food not become moldly or uneatable?" Dottore muttered.

"They're sealed really well. No air can get in or out until you rip the packet open."

"I want these two." Scaramouche rolled his eyes, grabbing two packs from the pile and holding them above his bowl.

"Be careful not to grab them too tight or they'll--!" You tried to speak as loud and quick as you could. But, unfortunately... "Burst..."

"What the actual shi--!?"

"There's a lot of sauce in those packets... Luckily for you, you held them above your bowl so the majority went in it! Thanks for not wasting any." You struggled to hold your laughter, grabbing a couple tissues from your pocket.

"Did any get on you?" You let a small giggle pass you lips.

He stared at you for a moment, his eyes burning through yours. After a couple moments, he came to reality and noticed all the harbingers laughing, giggling and chuckling at his previous actions.

"...No." He snatched the tissues from your open hand.

"How amusing and childish Scaramouche." Dottore commented, covering his mouth which hid his grin.

"I don't want to hear that kind of comment from you of all people." The puppet shook his head with a snarl, wiping his lap with the tissues.

"Alright, I only have these two flavours left, the red packet on your left being a really spicy flavour. The orange packet on your right being chicken. Oh, and, the smaller packets I have contain either basil and garlic, as well as coriander here."

The Harbingers, after hearing your explanation, picked which packets they wanted and put them in their bowls of noodles. Except Capitano, he hadn't touched anything since he sat down at the table.

Once demonstrating how to mix the noodles with the cutlery, the Harbingers began to eat once more with happier smiles than before and light chatter.

"So, you wanted to ask some questions?" Pierro coughed into his hand, his expression soon turning stern and distant.

"Yes! Thank god we're back to this topic." You shook your head, a wry smile on your face.

"...What exactly are you planning to do next?" You asked the first question.

"What do you mean by that?" Columbina smiled eagerly at you.

"You're stuck in my world, thanks to Dottore's compass breaking... which looked oddly close to an illegal chest compass - but I won't judge the design."

"Yes, thank you for adding the 'DOTTORE'S COMPASS' breaking in your reasoning." Sandrone nodded with a satisfactory smile.

"Anyway, what do you plan to do next? You can't just hideout in my house until Dottore somehow creates a new machine, with materials he won't ever get his hands on since you're all no longer in Teyvat."

"You mean you don't have the same minerals here as in Teyvat?" He questioned you, tapping the table to form a little tune.

"Did you really think an ore called 'Magical Ore Chunk' would exist here?"

"...We didn't name it."

"I suppose the one thing you could say exists would be Iron. But I have no idea whether they work the same, they could very well have different effects when mined due to different adaptations to their environment."

"Do you use Iron to craft weapons?" Capitano spoke for the first time since entering the dining room. Too bad he sounds so excited, the answer won't please him too much.

"We do... or, we did. In the past hundred years, we've developed new weapons using different minerals and... chemicals." You grimaced.

"Oooh, this is getting interesting!" Columbina laughed, finishing her noodles with a pleasant sigh. "Sooo good."

"Glad you like them." You nodded at her, before returning your attention back to Dottore.

"Don't ask me about the chemical part. It's illegal for those to know how the dangerous substances are made, unless they're working for the goverment or a specially trained company."

"How dangerous could they really be...?"

"Again," You sighed. "Don't question it."

"I'm still traumatised when you put on that surgery channel earlier this afternoon."

"Back to my question?" You asked them again, tone sounding hopeful for a proper answer.

"Truthfully, we don't know what's going to happen. Haven't had a meeting to discuss it yet." Tartaglia shrugged, finishing also and putting his fork in the bowl.

"Tartaglia." Capitano scolded.

"Yes, Captain!" Childe saluted. Capitano and Pulcinella just shook their heads as a reply.

"Tartaglia is right, we don't know what to do."

"By chance, did your parents happen to know anything revolving machinery and world travelling?"

This is unwelcome territory now.

"Maybe. However, we wouldn't be able to ask them anyway." You shook your head, resisting the urge to lash out.

"Why? Are they out of town? Or perhaps they're at work someplace else?"

"You killed them."

Silence then took hold of the Harbinger's, not one person touched the food in front of them nor moved a centimetre.

"What?" Childe broke the silence, his voice as quiet as a mouse.

"You murdered my family in cold blood, butchered their bodies when you found they had no use to you and then dumped them to the side."

They all continued to stay silent, some closing their eyes, while some's faces showing an ounce of guilt.

Like you believed that guilt though.

"Fuck this." Scaramouche rudely announced, pushing his chair out and walking out of the room.

"I wanted to ask a few more questions, but you know what, I'm not in the mood anymore. Enjoy what's left of dinner, I know I won't. With my bruised body, I'm surprised I've lasted this long without collapsing in pain."

And with that, you left the table for the final time that evening. Carrying your bowl with you, you ascended up the stairs to your bedroom with tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

A bit sad, isn't it? Well, they've got more coming to them so I wouldn't get sad just yet. You wouldn't believe what I've got planned lol

Please don't expect too many happy, nice and generally fluffy scenes.

This is Yandere, a genre which should never, under any circumstance be considered normal. It's abusive, unhealthy and leads to a lot of victims facing awful conditions which they never should or ever have to endure no matter who they are.

This is fiction that I'm writing, meaning it's all taken light-heartedly IN A FICTIONAL SENSE.

If anyone, by chance, is currently in conditions where a loved-one or yourself has suddenly become distant and/or being hurt when away from eyes please get help. Talk to them, or if it's you, talk to someone you know you can trust.

If you can't talk to anyone, find authorities who can help you. Call 999, as it is in the U.K, or your local emergency service. They will always help you, and will never deny your rights or freedom.

Thanks for reading this, I hope all who's reading knows this information already, but I thought I'd include it since who knows when it comes to where you are in the world and whether your education programs taught critical information like this.

On to more happy stuff!:

Thank you all so much for the support, I hope you'll stick with me for the rest of the parts in this series until I get to the finish line. :)

Back to the fluffy stuff convo... I'm really trying to squeeze them in, because if Y/N isn't showing kindness or anything nice to any of them, none of them will begin to grow feelings for them. It may seem out of place, but Y/N is coping right now. It's not like they can leave the house to run for help.

They saw what the Harbingers can do without thinking of other's lives being a consequence.

✨Elusive✨ Taglist!:

@valeriele3 @pale-value @pix-stuff @yumi-genshin-writer @yuii-v @itz-luna @annoying-mary @etherisy @khalhaimdad @haikyuusboringassmanager @magica-ren @sweatyexpertdeputyduck @booksandteaplusart @9140 @whatamidoing89 @raesleepyhead @nasidibakar @shikanosn @purpleamethystsblog @chihawari @esthelily @stuffyfrenchflowers @conspicuous-mayonnaise @sielt @katsumikumo @greyhoundwires707 @carminerin @raidendeeznuts123 @angelofdarkness2 @conspicuous-mayonnaise @ginnxy-galaxy @clara-maddenlin @bk-4-trash-fire @uniqaal @tnsophiaonly @vianitry @dottoreandcolumbinaslovechild

Quick Reminder Here! If you no longer want to be on the taglist that's completely fine; I take no offence whatsoever so please don't hesitate to tell me. ^^

[leighsartworks216]

Small Hands

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Title based on the song "Small Hands" by Radical Face (definitely listen to it, it fits this so well)

Note: This has (vague) spoilers for Act 3, but also I have not seen the scene with Cazador in question (I started to, but then my heart just hurt too much to keep watching)

Warnings: references to violence, swearing, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 718

Main Masterlist

Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

It's been several hours since... since Astarion earned his freedom. He could still feel the rage and despair and fear just below the surface, bubbling like acid. He can feel the angry words he spat at you burning his tongue, even now.

And despite it all, you were right. Ascending would not have brought him the safety he desired. It would have consumed him, as it had consumed Cazador, and his master before. A never ending cycle.

Now that he's had time to think about it, to think clearly away from that wretched place, all he wanted was to be held. Safe. But not because he wields the power to crush everyone beneath him - because he would be protected. Cared for, unconditionally. Loved. And, of course, the one little detail that had him pacing for the last hour, he had no idea how to ask for something like a cuddle from the person he screamed at for refusing to help him ascend.

He couldn't bear the awful feeling that swelled in his gut, or the way his skin crawled with discomfort. He couldn't go the whole night like this. So, before he could think about it much longer, he left his tent and sought you out.

As usual, you lay under the stars in your bedroll. The fire was burned to embers. He wanted to crawl into a hole and stay there until the next century passed. His nails dug into his palms as he crossed the space to reach you.

You shifted as he neared, until you were blearily looking up at him though heavy-lidded eyes. You didn't scowl or turn over to ignore him, you just stared. He tried again and again to speak, to explain what he wanted and apologize and just - anything. But instead he just stood there like a fish gasping for water in a desert.

When you moved in your bedroll, he fully expected you to curl up and ignore him. What he didn't expect was for you to open up the blankets keeping you warm, and what’s more he didn't expect you to open your arms as though preparing a hug. He was stunned speechless - as if he weren't already. He was shocked back into his body when he noticed a shiver run through you.

Carefully, as though you'd rescind the offer with one wrong move, he slipped in beside you. You'd cuddled before, more times than he can admit without becoming embarrassed, but it felt like the first time. He didn't know where to put his arms or legs or head; an uncomfortable gap full of cold air separated you both, but he dared not fill it.

You closed the blankets around him, absent-mindedly tucking him in. And, he couldn't tell if it was purely subconscious or if you were somehow awake enough to notice his reluctance, you wrapped your arms around him and scooted closer. You tangled your legs with his, drew his head to your chest with your arms around his shoulders, and pet his hair.

He ignored the burning behind his eyes as he relaxed into the gentle caresses and heat you provided. He wrapped his arms around your middle and pressed further into your chest, turning his head until his ear was right over your heart, beating steadily behind your ribcage. Beating for him, despite it all.

You sleepily tangled your fingers in his curls, running through them and feeling the way they stubbornly bounced back. Your movements were so very slow, and really quite uncoordinated, but it was the best feeling in the world to him right now. He released a shaky breath and felt you squeeze him around the shoulders in response.

With time - no more than ten minutes - your loving ministrations slowed to a stop as your breath evened out. Fast asleep once more. And still holding him. Even after everything. Even after he cursed you for stealing a life in the sun from him. You were so, so good to him, even when he didn't deserve it.

What little sleep he finds is accompanied not with visceral images of stabbing his master to death, or of the innocents he lured for the ritual, or even those 200 years of pure shit. No - he dreams of laying in your arms like this. Forever.

---

Tag List:

@hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @lynnlovesloki @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @httyd-chocolate @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @katharynmarie @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog

[heartfullofleeches]

Remy I miss you I love you also. Titus. I love him and miss him. And also Nightlight reader. Babies. Beloved.

[I had am old blurbo with Nightlight and Titus I scrapped. Here's one for him and Remmy too]

Remmy finding Nightlight Reader at a thrift store while looking for more dolls to add to his collection of antiques. They're the most beautiful "doll" he's never seen- (anything that has a humanoid form and is made of plastic, wood, cotton is a doll to Remmy- even androids). He takes the android home - planning to clean them up and give them a comfortable spot in his room. When Remmy touches the heart on their chest-

"Powering on.......backup battery at 12% percent....Accessing memory...No memories found... error...error...err-"

"Ah!.. That was scary. Hm, where did I end up now? Oh! Hello, tiny person - are you my new owner?"

Remmy instantly falls in love seeing this robot pick up on the dolls on his bed and speaking to it as a normal person. "Um, actually..I think that's me."

"Whoa! Where did you come from? My apologies, owner - what should I call you?

Remmy falls more in love with Nightlight by the second. They're so caring, and warm, and they love to play with his dolls as much as he does. They would follow his every command as part of their programming, but Remmy hardly feels the need to order them around because he knows they'll never leave him and for that he'd do anything from them. Stays awake all night until nightlight carries him to bed making new clothes for them. Buys all the books he needs to repair any minor damages they might have - and completely erase any trace of their memories of the past.

All Remmy needs is Nightlight. All Nightlight needs is Remmy.

-

Titus is given Nightlight Reader as a present from his guards after finding the android in a landfill on earth and repairing them to working order- The emperor has been more irritable than usual- if he dislikes this bot, his guards pray that smashing them to bits will be enough to quell his anger at least for a time. The guards present the android to their king and wait-

"What have you brought to bore me with now?'

"We believe it is an earth made machine designed to relieve stress for humans-"

The emperor chuckles. "Is that so?~ I have been rather pent up recently, and it isn't a complete eyesore, but you are aware of our difference in size, yes? Are you certain it won't break on first use?"

"Er, not in that exact way, your highness. You see, they-"

Titus huffs. "Then what good is it?"

"Just....allow me to turn them on. Please place your finger on their heart, your highness."

"This is ridiculous...."

The emperor does as instructed

"Powering on....Battery at 100%...System rebooting."

"Mm....Huh? What a strange place... Are you my new own..er? Oh, owner- your stress levels are dangerously high - they're increasing by the second! Why won't I sing you a lullaby while you relax with your favorite drink? I know lots, but I can always make up new ones - maybe one about your pretty eyes."

"That..... actually sounds wonderful. I haven't had a decent night of rest in ages. It's humorous to me how you were able to figure that out in seconds when these fools have been with me for centuries. I think I'm going to enjoy your company more than I thought."

Titus cannot go or sleep anywhere which his little nightlight. Feeling their heated, smaller form is all thats needed to knock him out like a light. Nightlight Reader is restricted from joining Titus in meetings for that sole reason. This whole ass tyrant sits in his chair pouting like a child until he can reunite with his little love. Decorates them like the doll they are with jewelry and adorable outfits. Whenever Titus is in one of his rages, guards quickly run off to retrieve nightlight from wherever they're exploring in the palace