#he comes out of the fireplace and sits against the wall with him in his arms

[pixelatedraindrops]

It’s Vivia’s Birthday (veeva fiesta? Lol im funny)

So, have a Kokolight comfort snuggle~💜💚

Enjoy your soft warm pillow Vivia.

…oh wait, thats just a blanket wrapped Yuma x’D

…even better~ 👀

[pellucid-constellations]

Of Oblivious Minds

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: You're positive Azriel is in love with Elain. It seems so obvious. But Cassian is laughing at you and suddenly nothing makes quite so much sense anymore.

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Pining, yearning, idiots in love?? (an angsty moment as well)

a/n: What am I doing!! I don't know!! This is part one and there will be one or two more parts :) Thank you for reading ily ♡

Part 2

~~

You were having an epiphany—of that you were certain. 

Sitting in the main room of the townhouse, a glass of wine spinning in your hand, many things were beginning to make sense to you. It was ridiculous that you hadn’t come to this realization before. All of the hints were right in front of you. 

You leaned back in the armchair, a scrutinizing gaze pointed toward the corner of the room. You took a sip of your wine—a contemplative sip—and then ran through the facts in your head. Yes, it made perfect sense. 

You wanted to kick yourself for not noticing before. 

“Don’t hurt yourself thinking so hard.” Cassian’s voice startled you out of your thoughts. You blinked up at him as he took a seat on the arm of your chair. “Want to share why you’re staring a hole into the wall?” 

“I was just… noticing something,” you murmured over the rim of your glass, voice low. 

“And what’s that?” 

You paused, pursing your lips. It would sound silly if you were wrong. But Cassian looked at you expectantly, so you simply whispered, “I think Az is in love with Elain.” 

The sudden, rumbling laugh bouncing off the walls set your cheeks ablaze. The entire room halted their conversations to look at Cassian as he doubled over, holding his stomach with no signs of letting up. You stared up at him, mortified, and smacked his arm as his laughs lowered into senseless chuckles. 

“Cassian, quit it. It’s not that funny—stop it or I’ll hit you again.” 

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” he laughed, wiping a tear from his eye. “Sorry, that was just… that was a good one, y/n.” 

“What’d she say?” Rhys asked, perking up from the other side of the fireplace. 

“Nothing to warrant that reaction,” you grumbled, sinking lower into your seat. 

Fighting back the vibrations in his chest, Cassian took a deep breath. “Inside joke, Rhys. You wouldn’t get it.” 

Rhys huffed out an offended breath, quirking a brow at his antics. He looked to Mor and Feyre to garner some support, but they only giggled back at him. 

“Maybe we would.” 

Azriel’s gravelly tone only made you collapse further into the armchair. If you’d known there would be consequences to sharing your epiphany with Cassian, you would have kept your mouth shut. Cassian was usually wonderful at keeping secrets. 

“Oh, brother, you’d find it funny as well, surely,” Cassian shared, heaving up from the chair. “But, alas, I have to go. No inside jokes for the room.” 

“Well that’s not fair. You don’t get to cause a riot and then leave,” Mor whined, her cheeks rosy and her eyes glassy. Clearly, she had been having her own drinks throughout the night. 

“Lovely. Now you want to know? Where was that attitude while you were giggling with my mate?” Rhys accused. 

Feyre jumped in this time, pinching the high lord’s cheek and cooing, “Oh, you big Illyrian baby.” 

The focus was no longer on you and your apparently laughable realization. Cassian’s reaction did little to deter you from the thought, however, and you were still quite resolute in your observations. Looking over at the couple in question only solidified that. 

They were huddled close, Elain’s knees pressed against Azriel’s thigh as they spoke in low tones. Azriel would occasionally take a glance around the room, lingering on you as he went, but that was natural for the shadowsinger. His shadows were gone, where they went you had no idea, and his wings were held tightly behind his back. 

And he stared at her—intently—as she nodded her head and answered whatever it was he had asked. 

He had to be in love with her. 

You were usually quite good at reading these types of things. 

“I’m taking you home now,” Cassian spoke, holding out his hand. “We’ll walk.” 

“What if I don’t want to go home?” you asked, taking his hand and following him despite your words. 

“After all that nonsense, I think it’s clear you need a good night’s rest. Plus, you and I are in the ring bright and early tomorrow morning.” 

You groaned, knocking your head back at the reminder of your obligations. It always sounded like such a good idea over breakfast. Cassian had clearly learned that you would only say yes to early morning trainings when you were half-asleep. 

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go, sweetheart.” 

You let him yank you to the door, your feet dragging behind you, when a warmth encased your shoulders. You recognized the material of your coat instantly and turned to see Azriel smoothing it down over your arms. 

“For your walk,” Azriel quietly explained. “You left it on the back of my chair.” 

“Oh!” you chirped, feeling the early licks of embarrassment barrage your chest. It’s not like he heard you talking about him, right? “Thanks, Az. I almost forgot.” 

He offered you one of his soft, rare smiles. “I know. I remembered.” 

He nodded over your head to Cassian after that, and you heard Cassian’s low, I got her, Az, only because you strained your ears. 

You ended up being extremely grateful for Azriel’s forethought to grab your jacket. It was freezing outside. You could have winnowed home instead, but Cassian hadn’t really given you the option and no one ever let you winnow after you’d had something to drink. 

You landed in Summer Court one time and suddenly everyone treated you like a hazard. 

Your shoes scuffed against dark cobblestone as you walked. It was really dark, now that you looked at it. Maybe it had rained? Or a merchant had dumped their excess water? 

Or maybe it was nighttime and you were a little drunk. 

It was then that you noticed the silence. When Cassian walked you home, especially when Cassian was tipsy and he walked you home, he never shut up. So this was unusual. You squinted as you looked up at him, but he gave nothing away, keeping his gaze forward and his steps in steady pace with your own. 

“Okay, out with it,” you accused, crossing your arms over your chest. “What was so funny earlier? And why are you walking me home all stoic?” 

“I’m always stoic. Adds to my charm.” 

“Liar.” 

Cassian smirked, shaking his head, and then schooled his expression into one that was a touch more serious. “You really think Az likes Elain?” 

You watched your breath puff out white. “Don’t you?” 

“No, I don’t.” 

You shot him a skeptical glance. “Well, then you’re wrong. I’m good at picking these things out. I knew Feyre was Rhys’s made before the rest of you figured it out, didn’t I?”

“It was pretty obvious, y/n,” Cassian scoffed. He took a fleeting glance down to the ground beneath your feet. “Honestly, I’d wager that you’re actually the worst at picking these things out.”  

You gaped at him, bringing your coat closer to your body in a ploy to protect your damaged pride. Cassian only shook his head—again—and then flung an arm over your shoulder. 

“Don’t take that the wrong way. Just…take a second look, maybe.” 

“A second look at what? She was practically sitting in his lap tonight.” 

“If you say so,” Cassian hummed. 

“Stop being cryptic and buy me a snack on the way.” 

~~

The following days were… strange to say the least. 

Everywhere you went, Elain of all people was sure to follow.

And she spoke of Azriel. A lot. 

Azriel did this and Az is so sweet isn’t he and oh, did I mention that…

Obviously, she was just as in love with Azriel as he was with her. 

You were so, so right. 

There was something off-putting about that truth, but you couldn’t put your finger on why. After a few days of hearing the younger girl rave about the shadowsinger, you chalked it up to the novelty of it all. You had known Azriel for over a century, and things were changing. Of course a serious love interest in his life would make you feel strange. 

Azriel had had lovers in the past, but—now that you thought about it—you hadn’t heard him talk about another woman in months, much less seen him with one. 

Well, other than Elain. 

Perhaps it wasn’t healthy, nor productive, to be so caught up in Azriel’s love life. He was plenty capable of managing it on his own, and it’s not like you had that much of an interest, anyway. 

You blinked, shaking your head and attempting to focus back in on the book you were reading. Elain had followed you into the library under the house, but thanks to the priestesses and their admonishing looks, she kept quiet. She flipped through her own book as you continued your research assignment from Rhys. It wasn’t very interesting, which was clearly the most plausible explanation for your mind drifting to Azriel. 

Boring texts were the leading cause of nosiness.

“Do you have dinner plans?” Elain whispered after an hour of silence. 

You sent her a small smile, looking up from the archaic book. “No, are you inviting me out?” 

“Perhaps. I was thinking of asking Azriel.” 

A suffocating sort of pressure clawed at your skin. “Oh?” 

That was new. 

“Yes, but I would really appreciate it if you came,” Elain continued, eyes downcast. “It could be fun.” 

You bit into your bottom lip until the pain was uncomfortable. This was no different than her talking about Azriel all week. And you already figured that they liked each other—that they loved each other. You had relished in the discovery just a few nights ago. 

So why did it suddenly feel so different?

“I wouldn't want to intrude,” you whispered. “I think a dinner with just the two of you would be nice. Azriel would surely agree.” 

Elain shook her head. “I think he would be more inclined if he knew you were coming.” 

As a buffer. She was asking you to come to displace any awkwardness that would arise on a first date. You had done it before for Cassian. You’d done it plenty of times for Mor—even making it a double date with random men you never spoke to again. But you’d never done it for Azriel. 

Something about it felt… wrong. 

“I could come,” you found yourself saying anyway, words tumbling out before you could catch them. “But I really do think he would love a dinner alone. I might be a bit of an outlier.” 

Elain gave the closest thing to a smirk you’d seen on her face. “I somehow doubt that.” 

“What does that—” 

The ground was shaking. The faelights began violently flickering and the ground began shaking with even more vigor. You pressed down on the book in front of you and braced yourself as the air grew frenzied. The priestesses ran down the many stairs of the library as panic began setting into your bones. The last time something like this happened… 

You shuddered at the thought. 

This couldn't be an attack on Velaris. 

Elain called your name. You answered with wide eyes. 

“Get under the tables!”

You both dove beneath your table at the call, clutching at the legs with shaking hands. There was a commotion as books fell from shelves and lights popped, but there were no screams. No one was hurt. There was no attack. 

Realization coursed through you, but it did little to quell your fear as the shaking continued. 

“It’s an earthquake!” you shouted to Elain. “It’s okay, we’re going to be fine!” 

Velaris hadn’t been struck by an earthquake of this magnitude in many, many years. The last one was centuries ago, and it had led to many rebuilding efforts and a handful of injuries. You hoped this wasn’t on the same scale. Or at least that Rhys’ magic was enough to abate the worst of the damages. 

After another moment, the shaking ceased. You let the panic and adrenaline run its course as you caught your breath, Elain right beside you. It didn’t seem so bad now that it was over and the building had stayed intact. With a hand at your chest, you shook your head in disbelief. 

“By the cauldron, that was unexpected.” 

Elain let out a shaky laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt an earthquake before.” 

You offered your own breathy laugh as you both got to your feet. “Well, you have plenty of time to get The Mother scared out of you and experience another.” 

She opened her mouth to reply but was abruptly cut off as shadows materialized. Heavy footsteps rushed up stairs and it was only another beat before Azriel was upon you. Scarred hands cradled your face, turning it back and forth as hazel eyes took in every inch of your skin. Light became sparse as wings flared out behind him, shielding you from nothing.

“Are you hurt?” he demanded, voice still low despite the urgency. “Were you covered?” 

“Azriel? What are you—How did you know we were down here?” 

“Are you hurt?” 

You attempted to reconcile the chaotic present with the very calm, very expected past. Sitting in the library with a boring relic in front of you and a new reading partner compared to an earthquake and a frazzled shadowsinger clutching at your face. 

Gripping his wrists, you answered him with a slow and confused, “I’m fine.” 

He closed his eyes as he let out a long breath. “Good…. good.” 

When he released your face, he ran his hands along your hair. And then your shoulders and your arms. It wasn’t until he had touched most of you that he took a step back and ran a hand through his own hair. It was then that he seemed to remember Elain. 

“And are you alright?” he asked, far more composed than he had been a moment ago. 

“A bit overwhelmed, but I am fine as well,” she sighed out. 

Azriel didn’t touch her as he nodded in relief. 

“Was it as bad as the last one? Is everyone okay?” you cut in. 

Azriel, who had gone back to unnecessarily looking you over, furrowed his brows. “What?” 

You mirrored his expression. “The earthquake. Do you remember the last one? Was this one that bad?” 

“Oh. No. Not as bad.” 

“And how is everyone else?” 

“I’m not sure.” 

Azriel was typically short with his answers, but right now he was being particularly short. And he was never one to not have information. Ever. 

“Are you okay?” you asked instead. 

“I am now.”

You left the library wondering why Azriel had run to you and not Elain—why that moment felt so monumental in the face of all others. 

Maybe being right wasn’t what you wanted anymore. 

But maybe that wasn’t your decision to make. 

[azrielhours]

Tight Enough

Azriel x Reader

Word count: 1.6k

Synopsis: Reader needs help tightening her corset and no one's around to help but Azriel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Shit,” you breathed, pulling at the laces awkwardly around your waist, trying and failing to tighten your corset. You shifted them around your shoulders, hoping it’d provide sufficient pulleying. You bowed forward, yanking.

Still not enough.

You huffed. You’d been at this for upwards of twenty minutes, hauling and tugging in all kinds of positions til your hands shook.

For all the gentlemanliness and compassion in Rhys and Cassian, you entirely refused to ask mated men to assist you.

Tying the laces onto the doorknob, you tried letting your body fall in the opposite direction. Your feet slid against the tile as you pivoted, nearly tripping. “Shit.” 

This was so fucked.

A gentle knock on the door startled you. “Y/N?”

Azriel.

Fuck.

You scrambled to untie the laces from the doorknob. “Yes?”

“Cass and Rhys stepped out for a bit. Are you alright?”

Fuck.

You scrubbed at your face. This was the outcome you’d been avoiding above all. Worse than the mated men. Mated my ass. You should’ve bit your tongue and asked Cass for help.

“Y/N?” he asked again at your silence.

“Sorry,” you breathed, heart racing.

You cracked open the bathroom door, peering up at him. He searched your eyes patiently as you searched for your courage. “I can’t get my corset on,” you admitted quietly.

A muscle ticked in his jaw, eyes marginally widening.

You shook your head. “It’s fine,” you said quickly, voice tight. “I’ll just—I’ll try—”

“I can help,” he offered softly.

You looked up at him again, eyes pleading. Turn him down. “I—” you swallowed. Turn him down. A glance at the wall behind him with a clock revealed you were even later than you thought. Turn him down. You bit your lip and steeled your spine. Fuck. You were really doing this. “Okay,” you whispered, like you could hide the admission from even yourself.

He gave a slight nod of encouragement, stepping aside to let you come out.

“I—let me—one second,” you stammered, closing the door.

You were still undressed.

Right.

Another huff of indignation as you yanked on a slip to cover your bare legs. This was fine, right? It was just help he was offering. Necessary help.

You took a steadying breath and walked out of the bathroom.

Azriel had moved to stand near the fireplace, watching it with his back to you, like it would offer you privacy. He could surely see your panicked mortification.

You padded to him, placing a hand softly on his elbow to let him know you were ready.

He turned, face carefully neutral as he took in the sight of you.

Where corsets were typically worn over shifts, this one was fashioned to sit directly upon your skin. So you stood before Azriel, flushed cheeks and fidgeting fingers in just your corset and a skirt.

Azriel focused his gaze strictly on your face, didn’t dare let it fall to where the flesh of your breasts generously spilled over the delicate lace trim adorning the hem. Didn’t allow a glance at the thin shift mercifully—barely—covering your legs.

He’d never seen you so undressed.

You shifted your weight between feet beneath his hefty gaze. “Usually, Nuala or Ceridwen or Mor help me,” your voice was still tight. “I’ve never had to do it by myself.”

Azriel nodded. Your skin had a slight sheen to it in the light of the fire. A few pieces of hair had fallen out of your intricate upswept style, curling at the nape of your neck. Azriel might have bitten back a laugh at the endearing sight, at the physical evidence of your struggle—had you not struck him dumb with how beautiful you looked.

How you allowed him to bear witness to your exposed skin, to this intimacy.

He was no stranger to corsets—hell, he’d taken women wearing lingerie that made your attire look like a priestess’s robe, and yet—

He shook his head. This was just help. No matter how lovely you were.

He cleared his throat. He needed you to turn. “Would you—” He twisted a finger in the air, unsure how to ask.

“Oh,” you breathed, still donning that pretty blush on your cheeks. You took another step toward him, turning at last.

With the absence of your imploring gaze—one he’d scarcely forget—Azriel exhaled, allowed himself an assessing glimpse down your form presented before him. He bit back a curse. The laces across the length of the corset were haphazardly pulled. He wondered how Rhys overlooked something like this that clearly required assistance. The spaces between the undone laces revealed your bare back, curving all the way down to the slip resting on your backside.

He didn’t know how to begin touching you.

“Az?” you asked, voice still thin, your nervousness anything but subtle. But you’d been comfortable enough to ask him for help, and that made his heart soar.

“Sorry,” he cleared his throat again. Raised his hands hesitantly; a silent deep breath, and he began.

He carefully pulled at the laces starting from the top of your corset, loosening them to correctly adjust their security. Azriel keenly tried his best to pick up each lace without touching your skin. Tried not to consider how creamy it felt when he did graze skin, how warm and perfect. When he’d finished working his way down, he began tugging at the string to tighten it properly.

At the first firm tug, you gasped, stumbling backwards into him. “Oh,” you stepped away hastily. You’d landed directly onto his abdomen, trapping his hands between your bodies. Your own hands had landed on his thighs, bracing yourself. “I’m sorry, Azriel.”

“It’s alright.” Azriel tried not to think about how your softness felt. “It’s my fault.” He couldn’t recall the last time he’d helped a female with her corset.

You looked at him over your shoulder, doing funny things to his heart again with your eyes. “We need a bedpost.” There was sheepish mirth lighting your eyes, displacing the anxiety from before. He managed a reassuring smile back and nodded.

You walked to Cassian’s bed in the inn room you were sharing, gripping the post for stability. Azriel dutifully returned to your back, and you tried not to think about how the warmth from his body radiated so easily into yours from your proximity. How careful he was being with his hands, doing everything to make you more comfortable.

He yanked gently in warning. When you remained sturdily in your spot, his pulling grew stronger, working his way down. When he neared the base of your spine, he began tying the lace. Your hands moved to your waist, feeling snug but not quite as tight-laced as you’d wanted.

You turned to peer at him over your shoulder again. He met your eye in question. “Um, I was hoping to wear it a little tighter,” you admitted.

“Tighter than this?” His brows rose.

You nodded.

He undid the knot, pulling the laces tighter as per your request, waiting for approval.

Once again, you caressed your waist, pushing the corset to feel its give.

“Is it tight enough?” he asked, voice gravely.

“Can I have one more inch?” you asked, and he internally composed himself.

“I don’t know if it would work,” he said.

“Here,” you released your waist, reaching behind, wiggling your fingers for his hands. Azriel extended his hands to hover on either side of your waist, allowing you to guide them on your waist. You pushed onto his hands, making him squeeze your waist. “Can you hold it there?” you asked.

Azriel swallowed, holding your waist tightly, pressing the corset tighter to your body as you reached behind, pulling the untied lace. He tracked your every move, every careful twist of your fingers, how your arms brushed against his hands. Your hands worked dangerously close to his body as you worked to secure the ties at last.

When you finished, he regretfully released you, allowing you to turn, standing between him and the bedpost. He braced himself for the onslaught of your stare, the way he knew you’d look up at him.

Where there’d previously been jittery nervousness, there was something in your eyes now that set his nervousness off. A sense of open depth that swallowed him whole as you took him in. “Thank you,” you breathed. A small smile tugged your lips up.

He wanted to admit something stupidly vulnerable, like thank you for trusting me. So instead, he took a step back, ducked his head, and said, “You’re welcome.”

That pretty, trustful look returned to your eyes, a look he’d do anything to keep others from seeing. “Maybe you can help me zip up my dress too?” Your playful glint had him smiling back.

“Of course.”

You hurried to the bathroom and rustled for a bit before returning to him with the top half of a floor-length, black evening gown hanging off your torso. You stood before him, more confidently than before, and Azriel took his time zipping it up, tucking away the corset. Tucking away the knowledge, the memory of it. It was all his to cherish.

As you put your heels on, a knock sounded on the door. Azriel opened it to find Rhys and Cassian conveniently ready to go, all smug smirks.

“Sorry for making us late,” you said, rushing up behind Azriel. “I had a hard time getting dressed.” Azriel stepped aside, allowing you to exit, taking Cassian’s arm.

Rhys mockingly tsked. “Sorry to hear that. How’d you manage?”

“Azriel helped,” you said over your shoulder.

“Well, thank goodness for Azriel,” Rhys winked at him.

Azriel stood stunned, staring in disbelief at Rhys until you looked back at him blushing, a shy smile knocking the breath from his lungs.

“Yes. Thank goodness for Azriel.”

~

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(lmk if your urls changed, sorry some of them don't work!)

[feyascorner]

Despite the less than fortunate circumstances the two of you met in, you think Astarion is the closest thing a person could call a perfect lover.

Besides one, rather large thing that eats at you every night.

He hogs the blanket.

You've tried everything. More blankets, building a wall with pillows, more blankets, lighting the fireplace, and oh, did I mention more blankets?

With each attempt, you wake up shivering in the dead of night, because he has absolutely everything draped over his body—not even wrapped around him—like a mountain of fabric piled on top of him. He sleeps like a corpse, hands and arms stuck to his sides, so why the hells he needs so many, you don't understand.

And when you yank away the blankets, your hands brush against his skin which you swear border on freezing temperatures. If you wrap yourself around multiple times with blankets, it somehow always ends up near him, leaving you to face the blaring cold by yourself.

Quite honestly, you're fed up.

“Darling, there are better ways of asking to tie me up.”

You scoff, tightening the bedroll around his entire body with the strap that comes along with it. “If I wanted to tie you up, it would feel sexier than this.”

“Trust me, love, I think you're sexy even when your hair looks like a nest in the morning.”

You glare at him which earns you a cheeky grin. “I wouldn't look like that if you let me have one night of sleep without waking up to a blizzard!”

He wiggles a bit in the bedroll, testing it out. And just when you think it might hold, the bindings fall apart, and he’s staring at you with lidded eyes, arms free to swipe the blankets away from you. You groan in frustration.

“This is hopeless.”

“There are other means of warming me up, if you’re willing.”

You roll your eyes and he laughs, sitting up to speak to you properly. “I’m only cold because you sleep so far away from me. You're practically on the edge of the bed, hanging off.”

“Because I don't want to make you uncomfortable and accidentally touch you without asking!”

He raises a brow at this. “Surely that's not why you avoid me like the bloody plague when we’re resting?”

Sheepishly, you tug the blanket over your legs. He eyes you up and down with a silent pause, before reaching to pull you against him. He leans backwards into the mattress and drags you along with him, which you nearly yelp at though he doesn't seemed fazed himself. With your face pressed against his chest and your legs entangled with his, you can barely let out your voice without making it sound flustered.

“What is this supposed to be?”

“I won't be cold, and you’ll have your blanket this way.”

You feel his skin against yours. “…you’re freezing.” You want to stay like this forever.

“You’ll adjust, love.”

And as he pulls the blanket over the both of you, he clears his throat.

“And for the record,” he mumbles against your temple. “I don't mind if you're the one touching me.”

[phefics]

veritaserum

ship: fred weasley x reader x george weasley summary: fred and george dose the reader with a truth serum, which leads to her admitting a sexual fantasy including both brothers. warnings: dubious consent (truth potion is used to make the reader admit her sexual fantasies which then play out), pseudo-inc3st (the twins don't do anything sexual to each other but are both involved in the same sexual scenario), gender-neutral!reader (reader has a vagina but no pronouns are used) word count: 1.9k

Being friends with the Weasley twins was a constant rollercoaster.

There was never a dull moment, always an adventure to go on, a prank to pull, or witty banter bouncing between you and the brothers. Sometimes, you were helping Fred and George pull off their next big joke, but other times, you were their target. Sure, it could be frustrating, but it was also fun for you, and you always found ways to get them back.

You had been friends with the twins since your first year at Hogwarts, and that friendship had continued past Hogwarts and followed you into early-adulthood. You visited them at the flat over their shop in Diagon Alley often, where they showed you prototypes for new products and made you laugh until you cried with their antics.

It was a cold evening when you appeared in their fireplace, a bit dusty from the ashes, and were greeted with excited shouts from Fred and George before being pulled into a group hug.

As you looked up at their grinning faces, you couldn’t believe that there were people who still got the twins confused.

Fred had more freckles on his face, while George’s shoulders and arms had an abundance of them. When Fred laughed, he threw his head back, cackling loudly, while George usually gave more reserved chuckles, laughing down at his lap. And, well, George was fully missing an ear now, and Fred had a large scar on his temple from the Battle, where a piece of castle wall had crashed down on top of him.

“Finally,” Fred said, man-handling you onto the couch. “We’ve been waiting ages!”

“I’m only a few minutes late,” you replied, glancing at their clock, which wasn’t even working—it read 3:15, but it was well past 7:00 judging by the darkness outside.

“And are our few minutes not important to you?” George asked, sitting by your side. “We could have been using that time to come up with more brilliant inventions.”

“Or planned a clever scheme to spill a bucket of water on your head when you arrived,” Fred added.

You rolled your eyes. “I’m terribly sorry to have wasted your precious time,” you said, tone thick with sarcasm.

It was nice catching up with them. They updated you on each member of the Weasley family, such as Fleur’s pregnancy with her and Bill’s first child, or Percy’s upcoming wedding. You updated them on your own life as well, and it wasn’t long until they had pushed a glass of Firewhiskey into your hands.

“So, Y/N,” Fred said, leaning against the back of the couch. You immediately recognized the glint of mischief in his brown eyes, and braced yourself for whatever ridiculous question he was about to pose.

“Which of us do you think is the better looking twin?”

You opened your mouth, intending to say something like ‘neither of you’ or ‘you’re identical—what kind of stupid question is that?’ but the sentence that spilled from your lips instead was, “Well, you look pretty much the same, so I’d say you guys are equally attractive. I think the scar makes you look pretty hot, Fred, but George can really pull off the whole missing ear thing.”

You clapped a hand over your mouth, face burning.

The twins both erupted into giggles.

“Oh, you’re too kind!” George said. “I’m glad you find my lack of an ear sexy.”

“And my scar is flattered,” Fred added.

“What did you two do?” you asked, scowling.

“We might have stumbled upon a vial of Veritaserum…” George said, trying and failing to look guilty. “And put it in your drink. Just a drop, though! It’ll wear off soon.”

You wanted to insult them, yell at them, call them every insult and curse under the sun, but no words would leave your tongue. It was like the truth serum wouldn’t even let you pretend to be pissed off. Sure, this was an invasion of your privacy and totally sketchy, but you had known Fred and George for so long, you were sort of used to their antics by now. You should have been way angrier than you were, but it was just so typical of them, you couldn’t muster much more than annoyance.

What you did manage to say was, “Why?”

Both twins shrugged.

“For fun,” Fred said.

“And because we were curious about something,” George replied.

“About what?”

“About which of us you like better.”

You blinked at them. “Are you serious? We aren’t eleven anymore. Is it really a contest between you two to be the better twin?”

“Not really, no,” Fred said. “Even though we all know that it's me.”

George reached over you to playfully shove his brother’s shoulder. “It’s not about proving anything. We’re just curious. So, Y/N, who do you like better: me or Freddie?”

“I like you equally,” you said. “You are both hilarious, intelligent, and my best friends. I find it easier to connect with George on serious things, but Fred always knows the right thing to say when I need cheering up.”

Your face was flushing deeper, embarrassed at the cheesy, sentimental words that left your mouth. Fred and George had grown up in an incredibly loving, affectionate family and had never shied away from making their love known, but it was awkward to voice your own feelings out loud like that.

Both twins seemed rather touched, though

“Wow, I was expecting you to have to pick,” Fred said. “But that’s oddly sweet.”

You groaned. “Okay, okay, yes, I love you both, can we knock this off now?”

“No, we have more questions!”

“Such as…?”

“Would you fuck either of us?” George asked.

Fred was normally the more vulgar of the two, and the question coming from George’s lips instead took you even more off guard.

“Yes,” you said, unable to stop yourself. “Either of you. Or both of you.”

“At the same time?”

“Yes.”

Fred and George also showed their emotions differently. Fred was better at keeping his feelings to himself, but when he was flustered, his ears would turn pink. His ears had flushed slightly, and his eyes were wide as he licked his lips, clearly intrigued by your answer. George was also flushed, but the color went to his face, and he brushed his thumbs repeatedly over his thighs, a nervous tick he’d always had.

“Have you thought about this a lot?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Tell us how you’d want it.”

You couldn’t help but answer. “I would let you strip off my clothes, groping me. One of you is behind me, kissing my neck as you take off my shirt. The other is at my feet, pulling my pants down. Neither of you shut up the whole time, talking about me like I’m not even there. Commenting to each other about how pretty I am, how wet my pussy is for you. Whoever is between my legs starts to go down on me, while the other holds my body still so I can’t move away from how good it feels. I cum on your tongue, and the other wants a turn, too…”

The twins were both clearly aroused as you spoke.

“Do you want that? Now?” Fred asked, his voice low.

“Yes,” you breathed. 

They waste no time switching their positions on the couch, George pulling your back against his chest while Fred positions himself between your legs, his hands eagerly moving to the waistband of your pants, tugging at it.

George took his time, hands sliding up your shirt, touching softly as he felt you up, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck, lips teasing the skin there.

You couldn’t help but whine under their touches, loving every moment of it. You had truly dreamt of this for years, always too afraid to ruin the friendship. Sure, you had kissed both twins for dares back at school, but this was real and intimate and beautiful.

Fred made quick work of getting your bottom half undressed, and he kissed his ways along your thighs, cupping your ass with one hand, squeezing hard.

“So fuckin’ hot,” George breathed.

“I know, right?” Fred replied. “So good for us, too. Are we making your fantasy come true, love?”

You nodded, whimpering softly.

“So needy, too. You want to cum for us?”

You nodded again. “Yes, yes please.”

George chuckled, nipping at your ear as Fred’s mouth finally reached your pussy, his tongue licking tentatively at you before he found your clit, which he immediately focused his attention on.

Your noises only grew louder, more desperate.

“Already? You’re not very good at this whole build-up thing, Freddie,” George said.

“I think we’ve waited long enough for this,” Fred replied before returning to his task.

“You don’t want to be patient, do you, darling?” George asked, hugging you tightly from behind. “You’ve wanted this for so long, you just want to be good for us, take everything we’ve got?”

“Fuck yes,” you moan.

Fred was clearly just as eager as you are, apparently trying to make you cum as quickly as possible, like he was placing bets in his head.

“You like that, hm? Is he good at it? Making you feel good?” George said.

“Feels so fucking good.”

“Good. You gonna cum for him?”

“Yes, yes, I’m—”

It didn’t take long at all. Fred’s tongue was good for more than just witty comments, and your legs trembled as he sat up, lips shining with your slick and a smug smile on his face.

“I think this is the part where we switch jobs, Georgie.”

Your pussy was already so wet, so sensitive, you knew that George would be able to make you cum fast, too. It was almost embarrassing how easy you were, how turned on they made you.

The twins switched positions, and Fred wrapped his arms around your middle sweetly, dragging his fingers over your waist and making goosebumps spread over your abdomen, squirming in his grasp.

“Don’t try and get away, sweet thing,” Fred said. “Otherwise George won’t be able to have his turn. Just be good for us, okay? Be a good little slut.”

You whined, face hot as George’s lips found your inner thighs and kissed the skin there, slowly, teasingly. He was the more patient, more methodical of the two. He wasn’t going to go straight for your clit, he was going to keep you wanting. Maybe until you begged.

Fred began sucking a hickey into your throat, leaving you a moaning mess as the twins both worshiped your body like it was something sacred.

Finally, George’s tongue found your pussy, teasing your hole and folds before even bothering to touch your clit.

“Should he put his fingers inside you?” Fred asked.

You nodded fervently, thrusting your hips.

George complied immediately, sliding one finger inside which was quickly followed by a second, pumping slowly before curling into that special spot, which he had found surprisingly easily.

Your second orgasm came just as quickly as the first, your hands balling into fists and your toes curling. Once your body was able to relax, you looked up through teary eyes to see George licking your taste off of his fingers.

“Was that everything you dreamed?” Fred asked.

You opened your mouth, expecting the answer to roll off your tongue, but it didn’t. You realized that the potion had worn off, and smirked.

“It could have been better,” you said, thrilled with your ability to lie again.

Obviously, Fred and George had to remedy that immediately.

[myfictionaldreams]

Merry Christmas // Mafia!Stucky x Fem!Reader

Summary: It was a simple question: Have you been naughty or nice this year?

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, dom/sub, costumes/roleplay, rough oral (f and m receiving), rough sex, size kink, praise kink, choking, sir kink, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, subspace, aftercare

A/N: Hello everyone! Sorry, it's been a while since I've posted; I promise to get back to requests at some point. Until then, I just wanted to post a little something and to say Merry Christmas to those who celebrate and Happy Holidays to everyone else!

Words: 2.8k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

Winter was one of your utterly favourite months just for moments like the one you were currently experiencing. The snow layered thickly against the outside of your home, causing a darkened shadow on the inside, which only meant that the blazing fire lit the sitting area in beautiful deep orange and red. The sweet smell of hot cocoa wafted from the kitchen, only making your smile grow as you pulled the fluffy blanket further up your body until the only exposed part of you was your face.

Your back nuzzled further into the soft cushions of the coach you were waiting patiently on, watching the movie with half interest as the comfort of the moment had you wanting to drift into sleep. What’s more was that the meetings that had been planned for later in the evening had inevitably been cancelled due to the freezing weather, which meant that you knew you could sit in with your two boyfriends without the fear of them being out on the dangerous roads, just to attend a threatening meeting.

They were home. Safe. With you.

Blinking open an eye and looking around the room, it dawned on you that they’d been gone from your side for so long that the parts of the cushions they’d been sitting on had turned cold. You’d been drifting between sleep and trying to cuddle closer to them for an hour when Bucky shifted, causing a groan to burst from your throat.

He’d simply kissed your temple tenderly, earning a much-deserved smile in return as he explained that he would make the three of you hot cocoa. Steve had then mumbled something about helping him, but you were too busy trying to reposition your body and get used to not having them squishing either side of you.

Sitting up slightly on the couch, you glanced briefly over the back towards where the kitchen was to see if you could spot either Steve or Bucky, but neither were in sight.

“What’s taking you both so long? I’m getting so cold and lonely out here without you”, you shouted idly with a hint of a whine for emphasis. As you stared up at the TV attached to the wall above the fireplace, you contemplated what film the three of you could watch tonight when you became distracted by the footsteps coming from the kitchen. Frowning, you began to shout, “What took you both so … long?”

Any words you were thinking of asking were swiftly forgotten as your view of the TV was replaced by both of your boyfriends, each standing in oversized Santa trousers, each held up by black suspenders over their shoulders. The red velvet material that covered their strong legs was cuffed with thick white fluff around the ankles and waistline. However, your attention wasn’t forced on this as your eyes squinted, not quite believing the detail; “Have you oiled your chests?” you asked quietly, throat suddenly thick with saliva.

Bucky smirked, tensing his pecs so that you could see the oil's gleam better in the fire's orange light. In any other situation, you might have laughed at the fact that they looked like wannabe Santa strippers, but your pussy was being a traitor with the deep pulse that had your thighs clenching with the desperate need to find some relief.

The baby oil that covered the top half of their naked body seemed to extenuate the god-like bodies they both had, the muscles over their arms and abs flexing with the subtle movements they were both making. Even Bucky’s metal arm was oiled, causing the silver shade to shimmer and gleam.

Your head swivelled between admiring the both of them, unsure what to say or how to act. Thankfully, Steve was the first to speak, his thumbs hooking into the base of the black suspenders as he asked in a deep, gravely voice, “Have you been naughty or nice this year?”

Your lips automatically flicked up at the corners to a teasing smile, but the single eyebrow raised by Steve had you falling right into the trap. All the thoughts that had crossed your mind to laugh and joke with them had quickly melted into the submissive, needy girlfriend that they both wanted.

“Um, nice - I think, " you respond before biting your lower lip, a move that had both Steve and Bucky reaching forward, but the latter made first contact, his metal thump gently easing out the lip from between your teeth.

“Nice huh? You sure about that, Doll?” Bucky asked, his fingers firmly holding your chin so you could not look away from him.

You shivered as Steve eased away the blanket, and even though the room wasn’t cold, the sensations pulsing through your core had your body overreacting. Your eyes had drifted over to Steve, who had squatted to be closer to your height, but a sharp tug on your chin from Bucky had your attention back on him as you tried to form the words to respond to him. “Ye-yes. Yes, I’ve been nice”.

A sharp gasp left your mouth as a quick tug of your nipple from Steve had your body shifting upright. With your arousal building, your nipples had pebbled beneath the thin, oversized top that you wore. Bucky’s eyes seemed to darken as he watched your reaction, the subtle way your hips ground on the couch.

“Really? Because from what I’ve seen, it looks like you’re being a very naughty girl right now. Tell me, Sweetheart, what do you want for Christmas?”

“You”, your response was instantaneous, and it seemed to be the correct answer with the way Bucky smiled down at you before releasing your chin.

“Well, it still remains to be seen if you’ve really been a good girl”, Bucky emphasised the last two words, knowing just how those words stroke the deep praise kink that further warmed your pussy, your wetness beginning to coat your lips and drench your shorts.

“Pl-please let me prove it. I want to be both of yours, good girl.” You look between where Bucky still stood above you, and Steve knelt at your side.

“That’s the thing, Sweetheart. The boss down there seems to agree with you. He thinks you’ve been a good girl all year round for his treats, but me? I’m not convinced; I think I need you to show me just how good you can be”, Bucky explains with darkness lacing his words. “Stand up”, he orders, full of authority. You do, being careful not to knock into Steve as you stand with enough speed that you are somewhat lightheaded. Both of their hands were on you in a split second. Steve grabbed the waistline of your shorts, and Bucky pulled the shirt up and over your head until the two of them had you standing completely bare.

Ungracefully, Bucky pushed against your shoulder, forcing you to sit back onto the warm cushions, looking up at him with wide eyes. A gentle tremor was pulsing through your body with anticipation of what was to come. Your cunt would have been soaked just from the way they were both acting, but with the outfits as well, you were near feral with need.

Bucky’s warm hand gently wrapped around your throat, his thumb and forefinger on either side of your neck, feeling the galloping pace of your heartbeat as you stared up at him. “Will you do everything I say?” he asks with a more gentler tone than before.

“Yes, sir”, you say, voice laced with desperation.

“Good, then I need you to ignore everything that Boss is going to do to you. The only thing I want you to do is to keep your eyes on me”.

“Yes, sir”.

With great ease, Bucky pushed against your neck, forcing you to sit back correctly against the cushions as he began to stand on the couch, just as Steve moved between your legs on the floor, lifting them until your legs lay over his shoulders.

With the oil, your legs wanted to slip off, so his massive hands had to grip onto the flesh of your thighs, keeping them thoroughly in place as he lowered his face to the heat and wetness that was begging for his touch.

As his tongue caressed the length of your pussy, drinking down the juices you’d seeped in the moments of seeing them in the outfits, your moan was cut off by the light squeeze around your throat from Bucky as he subtly reminded you of his demand. Your eyes moved away from Steve and up to the tall, foreboding figure above you as Bucky’s metal hand drifted to his suspenders, pushing them off each shoulder.

“Remember what I said. I want you to ignore him down there and keep your eyes on me. Now, why don’t you prove to me why you should be on the nice list?”. 

You were unsure if, by ignoring, he meant for you not to moan or react to Steve’s tongue as it circled your swollen bundle of nerves, but it was damn near impossible to be silent as the waves of toe-curling pleasure sparked through your core. However, your mouth was now salivating for another reason as Bucky pushed the red velvet material down his hips until midthigh, and the thick, veined cock of your boyfriend was throbbing in the air before your face.

Resting your hands on Bucky’s thicks and licking your lips whilst also trying not to crush Steve with your thighs, you willed Bucky to come closer with a pathetic squeak. Thankfully, he removed his hand from your throat and rested it on the back of the couch, using it to lower his body and directing his cock to your mouth. You didn’t waste a second before licking around the tip, gathering all the precum into your mouth before swallowing the salty goodness down, swiftly followed by a few inches of his hard length.

Bucky’s sigh was praise enough to have you feeling sated and happy as you began to pleasure him with your tongue and mouth, almost matching the movements of Steve between your legs.

“That’s it, just a little more; I know you can take it”, Bucky encouraged with a firm hand on the back of your head. As his cock reached the back of your throat and the overwhelming urge to gag overcame you, you attempted to relax your throat to take him deeper, which thankfully worked, ignoring the tears that now lined your eyes from the stimulation.

It didn’t help matters that your throat kept spasming with the moans and whines from Steve’s treatment of your pussy. He was eating you like the man was starved. Devouring is the best way to describe the way he was licking you out. His tongue changed from delving into the depths of your soaking cunt, twisting and turning to stimulate all the nerves within, just to then pull out and his teeth to gently graze your clit, causing a throb from your walls which was the gently eased by his tongue once more.

It took almost no time at all before you were cumming into his mouth with a flush of heat and added wetness that coated his chin and cheeks. Steve didn’t stop, though, and used your overstimulation post-orgasm to draw you closer to a second orgasm.

Your nails digging into the soft material of Bucky’s Santa trousers helped to keep your ground and not drown in the overwhelming length that was still forcing down your throat. With all the time you’d been with Steve and Bucky, you’d thankfully been able to train your throat to be fucked and take more of their length compared to when you were first with Steve.

This feat was a minor miracle because when Bucky began to take control of the situation and gyrated his hips so that he was now just straight-up, fucking your throat, it meant that you were able to breathe through your nose at the correct times without panicking.

Saliva had filled your mouth from the fucking and was steadily dripping down your chin, causing obscene sloppy noises to come from you, but this only added more praising groans from Bucky as you knew he loved a sloppy blowjob.

“Fuck, you’re being such a good girl, Doll. Remember what I said, eyes on me only”. You tried to nod, but the cock in your mouth hindered your movements as your eyes remained focused on the buzz-cut brunette standing over you.

This became more difficult as you noticed movement out of the corner of your eye as you came for the third time. Steve was beginning to straighten his height but remained on his knees; however, your legs were lowered until wrestling around his waist, but his grip remained tight and firm, keeping them in place.

Without warning, immense pressure and stretching of your cunt began to contort your body as Steve began to fuck into your cunt. Thankfully Bucky pulled out enough that you could gasp without his cock filtering the noise as your eyes clenched shut from the welcomed intrusion. Inch after inch filled your empty hole until his hips were flush against yours.

As you and Steve both released a relieved sigh, the dominating hand on the back of your head began to firmly tug your lips closer to Bucky’s cock once more until you were full with both of them.

The two worked together like they did in every aspect of the word. One of them remained in your body as the other pulled out. In out, in out, they fucked you until you were a trembling, wet mess.

Thankfully, now, they were both heavily praising you, which was like sweet music to your ears.

“Taking my cock so well”.

“Fuck, you always make me feel so good. Yes, just like that”.

“Such a good girl, Doll. I know you wanna cum on Steve’s cock; do it. Cum for him”.

You did. Many times, in fact. Steve had you cuming so many times that you’d lost count as a sweet warmth wrapped around your brain, leaving you feeling like you weren’t in your mundane house anymore but amongst the clouds, floating endlessly in pleasure. Your hands had dropped to your side as all of your energy was now being reserved for sucking Bucky’s cock and taking the punishing pace of Steve’s.

Eventually, Steve was the first to cum with a harsh grunt and snap of his hips as heat and thick wetness flooded into your cunt. He remained in place, holding your legs around his waist as his cock began to soften.

Bucky’s chest was now glistening with both sweat and oil as his eyebrows pinched together, his cheeks rosy with a flush as he groaned deeply, “I’m cumming, holy shit-”. You did gag this time as his entire cock bulged into your throat, the whisps of trimmed hair on his pubic mount tickling your nose as he came.

You worked hard to swallow every drop of him down until your lungs were burning for breath, and he gently eased out of your aching jaw. Your mouth tingled as you licked your swollen lips, sure that if you tried to talk now, all that you’d be able to achieve is a dreadful, deep, gravely voice.

Bucky leapt off the couch, disappearing into another direction you were too tired to follow. Thankfully, Steve remained with you as he carefully repositioned the two of you so that he now sat in the middle of the seat and had you sitting in his lap. Your head felt heavy as it lulled against his slipped chest, but you still hummed in contentment as he kissed your forehead sweetly whilst wrapping his strong hands around your shoulders.

“Hey, Sweetheart, I need you to drink some of this; it’ll help your throat”, Bucky encouraged a few moments later as he sat next to the two of you with a mug of steaming hot cocoa. Steve helped lift your head as Bucky held the drink out, tipping it slightly so that you could drink a couple of sips, moaning at the chocolatey sweet taste and the warmth that did soothe your sore throat.

“Well done, just a little more”, Steve whispered against your cheek as he lay delicate kisses against your sensitive skin.

Finally, with the drink gone, Bucky leaned closer to you, giving your lips a much-deserved kiss before pulling away with a cheeky glint in his eye. “So, do you like the outfits? They were Nat’s idea. Pretty sure she meant it as a joke”, he wondered out loud, but your giggle and nod recaptured his attention.

“I loved them”, you whispered with a voice thick with tiredness and evidence from being thoroughly fucked.

“Good, because I can’t wait to see what you’ll look like in the outfit we bought you. We think you’d be the perfect match to be Mrs Clause, but I must admit, there was significantly less material”, Steve explained as his fingers massaged into your still aching legs.

“I can’t wait, but maybe tomorrow”, you admit tiredly, relaxing further into the arms of both of them. 

[faexoxoxoxo]

My Love Will Never Die...

Pairing: vampire! geto suguru x fem! reader

Summary: your father was a good man, gullible yes, but still good, so when you receive a letter telling you of his imprisonment, you're left with no choice but to make your way to the Lord's castle, hoping you'd convince him to release your father in exchange for the little gold you have to offer. Pity that's not enough for him...

Warnings: 18+, dubconish, smuttt, breeding, blood drinking...

Sharp wind bites at your skin, carrying with it the promise of frost and cold. Your thin cloak barely shields you against the chill, leaving you shuddering. You had nothing in your heart but hope, hope that your father was alive, hope that his captor would show a shred of mercy and agree to set him free in exchange for what little gold you had to offer.

The woods appeared to have a life of their own, some trees reaching tall while others thick and tangled down below, mist growing thicker as you rode deeper and deeper into the forest, causing your sight to fluctuate between clear and blurry. An eternity seemed to pass before the dense trees gave way, fog lessening to reveal a clearing, and there it was at the center.

The castle stood tall, an ominous, imposing presence. Its twisted spires and sharp black points against the sky as if to pierce the heavens themselves. People in your villagers had long whispered tales of the horrors that lurked within the castle's walls, of the elusive Lords and Ladies that called its dark halls their home.

“...eight, nine, ten…”

Step by step, you counted, trying to push away the fear that threatened to consume you. Dismounting from your trusty steed, pulling its lead rope you slowly nearing the castle gates, the sound of dry leaves crunching underfoot, doing little to ease your already tense nerves.

“Welcome Madam, Master Geto has been expecting you.”

One of the guards standing by the gates greeted, seeing your approaching figure, tone calm and respectful as he opened the large gates, and taking the reins of your horse, gesturing to his companion to take you inside the castle grounds.

Following behind the guard, you couldn't shake off the dread creeping into your bones. He was expecting you? Why? How could this Master Geto have been so certain you would come for your father's aid? And the way that guard spoke as though you were a person of great importance, when you were merely the daughter of a poor village healer…

It was usually dark inside, with only a handful of burning torches lighting your way, the sound of your shoes clanking against the dark marble floor echoed through the stately halls. The elegant surroundings only added to your unease, ornate tapestries and massive statues decorating the area, one sculpture in particular standing out amongst the rest, a black dragon with haunting purple eyes, fangs bared, wings spread wide, as though ready to leap from its pedestal and tear you apart. Subconsciously, you draw your cloak closer, wishing to make yourself invisible.

Reaching a set of grand double doors, the guard in front of you halted. He was nervous. You noticed a slight shift in the burly man's demeanour as he knocked on the door once, twice, and no more. Moments of silence followed before a response finally came from the other side.

“Send her in, Makoto”

The voice was deep and commanding, making you feel small despite not having yet seemed the person it belonged to. The guard, Makoto, instantly opened the doors, ushering you inside, before closing the doors behind you with a deafening thud, causing you to flinch, the reaction earning a chuckle from the man sitting in the room.

“Timid little thing, aren't you?”

“I...I…”

You stood for a moment, unsure of how to respond, taking in your surroundings: shelves lined with more books, tomes and scrolls than you could imagine, and him seated beside the fireplace in a leather armchair clad in the finest black robes, the man you could only assume was the Master of the castle, Lord Geto.

He was not what you imagined, not that there was much to imagine with how little anyone knew of him, but you definitely did not anticipate him possessing a face so handsome even the finest craftsmen couldn't sculpt, raven locks loose and inviting as if waiting for someone to run their hands through it.

But it was his eyes, unlike any you'd ever gazed upon in your life, a deep, haunting violet much like the dragon state; they pierced straight into your soul, making your breath hitch.

“Sit.” He gestures to the chair beside him, a soft smile tugging on his lips watching you do as he says.

“L...Lord Geto…” You begin feeling your heartbeat pick up he made you so nervous... How could someone look so perfect and his voice...it was so smooth and soothing like a sirens song...

“Suguru” he looks at you frowning, the smile now gone, as though you gravely offended him. “You just call me Suguru.”

You froze for a second. He wanted you to call him Suguru. Was that his name? Why? Why? So many questions ran through your mind, but you knew now wasn't the time. “As you wish...Suguru.” It sounded so strange his name on your tongue, but seeing his smile return, you continued, “I received your letter. My father... he's old and sick...I'm sorry, I will pay for his wrongdoings...” Taking out the worn-out bag, you show him the few gold coins inside. This was meant to be your dowry, but now the dreams of ever finding a husband, having children, or a home of your own seemed so far …

“Hmm…” he hums as if sympathetic to your case, but his next words crushed any previous hopes you had. “I'm afraid gold won't make up for the damages your father caused.”

“Then...then what must I do?”

“Perhaps…” There's a glimmer of wickedness in his eyes now as he looks at you. “You could take his place?”

“M...me?” You gasp at his sudden offer “B...but what use could I possibly have...can't you just accept the gold..please…” you pleaded but that only seemed to fuel whatever desire he had of keeping you in place of your father.

“I'm sure we can find something for you to do…” he muses, violet eyes hungrily roaming your body freely, making you squirm in your seat. “Of course I can always have your father hanged for thievery; as you said, he's old, with little ability, no use keeping deadweight alive…”

“No !” You protest, “No, please, I...I'll stay !” There was no way you could stand by and let your father die, not when there was a chance to save him, even if it meant sacrificing yourself…

“Good girl.” Suguru pats your head, his smile widening. You could've sworn you saw a flash of something sharp, fangs? No, that's impossible. Your tired mind was simply playing tricks on you…

~~~

True to his word, Suguru released your father from the dungeons the next morrow. You'd been allowed a brief goodbye before he was sent away, courtesy of the Lord.

After that, you expected to be thrown into the damp cells or at best given a room in the servants quarters; not that there was anything to complain about; these were the terms of your father's life in exchange for you spending yours in captivity. However, to your surprise, you had been given a room in the west wing of the castle, right besides Suguru's.

“You need to stay close to serve me,” he chuckled when asked for the reason. Cold hands patted your head, ruffling your hair in the process. He really seemed to like doing that.

Suguru was a strange captor, never asking you to do harsh tasks; quite the contrary, he was quick to grow agitated whenever you suggested doing anything related to household chores, working in the gardens, cooking meals, or tending to the horses with other servants...

“How many times must I repeat myself? Your only task is serving me.”

But you never want me to do anything! You bite your lips every time, silently screaming in your mind. Serving the Lord was boring. All he asked of you during the day was to sit in his office as he finished the never-ending amount of paperwork on his desk. Occasionally, he'd ask you to fetch him his special wine, and that was it.

Despite his at times odd behaviors, you found Suguru to be charming? others might label you as debauched for finding the man who threatened to kill your father, and now served as your captor attractive, but strangely, you couldn't bring yourself to care, how could anyone be expected to remain impervious when facing someone so...alluring.

To make matters worse, he was so much more than a pretty face. He was gentle and kind; there was the casual teasing and laughing whenever he noticed you getting flustered due to his words, and even that made your heart flip-flop...

It was so easy to get lost in him, but you tried the best to nib the blooming affections at the bud, constantly reminding yourself of the position you had. There was no way Lord Geto Suguru would return your feelings; he was a highborn lord who'd go on to marry a purebred lady of upper-class society. You were a prisoner, lowborn, and insignificant compared to him...

For what felt like a year, you continued living the same daily routine: waking up, getting dressed, drawing Suguru his morning bath, helping him dress, never leaving his side, letting him nuzzle into the crook of your neck. “It calms me,” he claimed, something you never questioned, and as the days went by, you began feeling more and more like a pampered house pet than a prisoner serving their sentence, but then you started to grow homesick missing your father and the garden of herbs you tended to…

~~~

“Suguru” you said one night as you both sat by the fireplace, having finally worked up the courage to ask him, "I...I was thinking, Would it be alright if I visited my father? Not for long, of course, just a few days…I promise I'll return; my village is close by, I just w—” 

Suguru's wine glass shattered in his hands, expression growing cold. You flinched at the sound, eyes widening at the sight of blood dripping down his finger. What was happening? You had never seen him react like this before. Sure, there was sternness or chiding whenever you accidentally scalded yourself trying to bake something, but this was completely new... and it terrified you.

“Leave? You wish to leave me?” Suguru rose from the chair, his expression a mixture of anger and disbelief. “I thought you'd just need time to accept me,” he whispered, violet eyes glimmering dangerously as he approached you, and you're not sure if you heard him right. Accept him? What did he mean? You swallowed nervously as he inches closer, your back hitting the smooth wall, his arms on your sides trapping you in place.

“Sugure...” You want to beg, to tell him you regret asking to go home, to promise you'll never ask again. But all that comes out is a broken sob as you feel him dig his fingers into your hips to keep you from moving out of his hold.

His eyes softened. "No, no, hush now...I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…” hands trailing to your face, gently wiping the tears under your eyes. “Always forget how delicate your kind can be...” he sighs, resting his forehead against yours.

You don’t move. Thoughts whirling as you replayed his words in your head. Your kind, your kind, your kind, your kind. You knew you heard him right; he'd said it, but what did that even mean? Suguru was like you, wasn't he? He was human...

He was cold, too cold, always cold…

He didn't eat, always making some sort of excuse to skip meals…but he loved to drink…the special wine he loved, it was red and smelled metallic like…like…blood … 

“Nosferatu.” You mumble knowingly, looking into his violet eye.

Every little child had been told the tales of his kind. blood sucking creatures of the night who feasted on mankind, vampires, and Suguru was one of them. The revolution was too much; you could feel yourself losing air, and then you fainted in his arms.

~~~

You wake this time in something soft and velvety. Seeing the faintest flicker of candlelight around as you force your eyes to open. your neck hurts, you feel strange, warm, too warm this wasn't your room; it was…

“You're awake.” 

His. Your mind replays the events before Suguru wasn't human; he was a monster, something straight out of the scary bedtime stories your grandmama would tell you...

“Don't hurt me !” You try to back away, to break free of his hold, tears streaming down your face. This wasn't how you envisioned your life ending.

No, no, no, no…

“I won't,” he tries to assure, but you can feel his hands tighten around your waist. His cold lips stop against your pulse point as he licks up and down your neck. “You're mine, my fated, I couldn't hurt you even if I wanted to…” 

Fated? What in the world was that? You open your mouth, wanting to scream for help, but all that comes out is a helpless moan... You feel so week, your body was on fire. You needed something, anything, to make it go away....

“If only you knew how painful it was.” His voice is a drug, intoxicating, but if you take too much, you'll die. Large hands gently rub your thighs, making you shake. “Denying myself of claiming you when I first set eyes on you...so fucking hard, but then you say you want to go back...” he laughs, not the usually warm ones that make your heart flutter. No, this one was cold. Sending shivers down your spine...

“No more waiting”

You let out a squeak as he pushes you into the mattress, moving himself to face you now. Violet eyes shining with hunger, and desire...

“Suguru–” he slams his mouth on yours, fully intending on muffling whatever protests you have. His tongue was rough and cruel as he filled your mouth, only pulling away to rip your dress off, leaving you bare for him, hungry eyes taking in every little detail of your body as he strips himself off his dark robes. Why was he so beautiful ? His face, his toned muscles, his... oh, so big, there's no way that'll fit. You want to run and hide, shrink into nothing so he can't find you...

“my perfect love” he coos lips again on your neck slowly trailing kisses, down to body until he's reached the place you no man has ever seen. you want to squeeze your thighs shut to tell him not to look, but you can't, not with the firm grip he has on you legs...

“This is mine,” he takes a long lick, burying his nose into your wetness, inhaling your smell. “My pussy,” he groans into you, “mine to breed.” His long fingers move now, rubbing against your bundle of nerves as he greedily laps at your juices, this... this was what you needed to stop the burning in your core. You feel yourself shake, hips rocking into Suguru's face, hands making their way to his scalp, pulling him closer. You need it, need more, so close...then you fall over the edge; too much, too much, and he's drinking it all up...

Pulling away, he gives you a mischievous grin showing off his fangs, as he comes back up to kiss your lips so you can taste yourself on his tongue, rocking his hips so you can feel how hard he is, how much you turn him on...

“Please, please, Suguru, please...” You're not sure what you're begging for, mind too foggy to comprehend anything. All your senses consumed by Suguru, his touch, his smell, you want him to make the burning ache go away...

“My sweet love,” he coos, kissing your forehead, hips still rutting into your stomach, “we'll be forever bound after this, as it was always meant to be...” he grins, love drunk eyes focused on you a feral gleam in them, and for a split second, the logical part of your mind returns, but it was too late now...He'd wrapped your legs around his waist one hand holding on to yours and the other moving down to gide himself into your virgin cunt.

You screamed at the foreign feeling, clawing at his back, he was tearing you open, filling your insides, it hurt so bad you didn't want it anymore...

“Shhhh you can take it,” he kisses you again, “my good girl” You feel him move gentle and slow, but the moment he hears you moan, he takes it as a sign to fuck you hard. It makes your head spin. He's so, so deep, you can feel him hitting all the right spots inside, making you see stars...

“Thought about breaking your legs when you said you wanted to leave,” Suguru growls into your neck, his sharp teeth scraping the bruised skin he'd bitten during your unconscious state. “But this is better,” you gasp as his pace becomes more brutal, deeper and deeper, giving you the feeling that the head of his cock would poke through your stomach. “You'll be my good girl from now on, won't you?” he looks at you, the edge of his mouth quirking into a sly smirk as if daring you to challenge him.

“Yes, yes...” you nod, the feeling of his fingers pushing on your already sensitive clit making you cum for the second time, toes curling as you cling on to Suguru, who moans at the feeling of your pussy walls fluttering around him sucking at him harder. "You'll look so perfect swollen with my seed,” his hands holding yours in a painful grip, thrusts growing sloppy and untimed, “Our own family, f–fuck... you'll never think about leaving me...”

No…no…no push him off…push him off 

A tiny voice in your heart shrieked, knowing the consequences of what would happen if this beast successfully fucked his child into you. Any chance of escape gone, you'd forever be a prisoner to him…

But it was so hard to act, mind dazed, and vision blurry with fresh tears, tangled into Suguru's arms, whimpering as you felt him fill you up, rope after rope of his thick cum coating your inside, fangs sinking into your neck as you gush around him.

“My pretty love," he purrs, still inside you, “My always and forever.” blood coated lips met yours gentler than before, almost making you melt, thinking maybe just maybe being Suguru's wouldn't be so bad...

A/N - trying to get back into writing longer fics and not just drabbles or headcanons so hope this turned out well...I did a alpha!gojo hc before and vamp!geto now next I'm thinking ghost!Nanami mayhaps...

My ask box is always open if anyone wants to talk (≧ω≦) fr tho come talk to me babes I love to hear from ya'll

likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated <3

[yourfriendowlbear]

Boundaries

Astarion x gn!reader

Summary: A stranger approaches Astarion in your favorite tavern

Genre: slice of life, little bit of angst, mostly fluff

The tavern is cozy. Loud and lively and warm. There’s a fire in the fireplace. The bartender keeps the alcohol flowing plentifully. And you’re seated at your favorite table–in the corner, against the wall but still close enough to the action to enjoy the tavern atmosphere–with your favorite cold-blooded company.

Astarion has dragged his chair around to your side of the table, and he’s sitting close enough that you can feel the chill from his skin.

You’re comfortable, a drink in-hand as you both watch the tavern’s small stage. There’s a musical group clustered together–a fiddle player, a flutist, a man with a hand drum, and a woman playing a horn–and there are people dancing just in front. 

Overall it’s joyous and raucous and fun, and though you’d originally had to practically bribe Astarion to come with you tonight, you can tell he’s enjoying himself all the same.

You both cheer when the band ends a song, and when they take a small break to chat with the crowd around the stage, Astarion leans back to say something to you.

But you never get to hear what he has to say, because at that exact moment, a man appears in front of you both. He’s handsome–strong jaw, piercing eyes, youthful energy–and his smile, though enticing, is predatory. A cat who has sighted a dove.

The man sizes you up briefly before turning his attention to Astarion. You can tell that the vampire knows what’s coming based on the way he tenses up. The stranger either doesn’t notice, or he doesn’t care, because he continues on without a care.

His opening line makes you roll your eyes. It’s cheesy and basic (“I saw you from across the room and I just had to come over and say hello.”) and he looks proud of himself when Astarion laughs and says “Oh, how positively quaint.” Poor sod can’t even tell when he’s being made fun of.

He’s shockingly persistent, asking questions, asking if he can buy Astarion a drink. For the most part, you’re sitting there, both offended because hello you’re right there and amused by Astarion’s polite but increasingly snarky responses.  

Around the third time the man asks to buy Astarion a drink, things start to get significantly less polite. And when the band starts up again and the man asks Astarion to dance, the vampire practically growls out “No. Thank you, darling, but I’m much more comfortable here.”

As he’s saying it, Astarion shifts slightly closer to you, as if he’s trying to get physically away from the stranger. You can tell he’s annoyed from how tense his jaw is.

“Oh, come on. Have a little fun.” The stranger’s persistence has finally pushed you to your limit and you snap “Gods above, he said no. Take a hint and fuck off.”

The stranger scowls, but ultimately, he does leave, and you follow him with his eyes as he weaves through the crowd and out the door of the tavern.

After a moment, Astarion stands, moving his chair back to the other side of the table. “I can handle myself, you know.” His voice is soft, but you can hear the hurt in it. “I know you think I’m just some pitiable creature that can’t set his own boundaries, but I assure you, I can manage on my own.”

You frown. Of course, you don’t think that. And of course, you know he can handle himself. You were trying to help. But when you go to say that, he shoots you a firm glare, and your words die in your throat. Instead, you simply say “It won’t happen again.”

You leave shortly after, the band no longer holds your attention, and you want to give Astarion some space. So you head out into the night.

Bloomridge is the nicest neighborhood in the Lower City. The City had gifted you the house after everything, and while at first, you’d chafed at the idea of living in the quiet, sweet, more affluent part of the city. But you’d both grown to love it. The view over Grey Harbor is unparalleled, and it’s shockingly nice to have somewhere quiet to settle down between adventures.

Your feet have carried you home, but you don’t really want to go in yet–the night is covered in a beautiful, light fog, and there’s a lovely breeze coming in off the harbor–so you sit on the front steps and lean your back against the door.

It’s only a few minutes later that you see Astarion picking his way back up the stairs along the side of the city wall. He pauses in front of you, and you can see the pain in his crimson eyes before he sighs and sits beside you.

“I’m sorry,” you say softly. 

Beside you, Astarion stiffens and inhales sharply. “Why are you sorry?”

“You’re right. I should have let you handle it. You’re more than capable.”

“I…” He deflates a little, and a confused frown creases his forehead. “I appreciate that you stepped in. Sometimes… sometimes it’s still hard to…”

He trails off, but you know what he means. Sometimes it’s still hard for him to enforce his boundaries. He tries, but 200 years of Cazador’s reign of terror don’t go away in a year. It can be difficult to walk the line between being firm and being outright rude (and as snarky as Astarion can be, he doesn’t always want to be rude).

These things take time.

You reach out and squeeze his hand, wordlessly telling him that it’s okay, that you get it, that he’s done nothing wrong. You’ll work on his boundary enforcement together. You have a lifetime together to do it.

[humanpurposes]

So thrilled you’re taking requests! I love winter themed fics this time of year. I’m requesting modern Aemond (if not allowed then Michael Gavey) + stuck in this cabin until the storm passes/come sit by the fireplace. As much smut as you’d like with maybe a teeny bit of angst?

Thank you for taking requests, I know they will all be lovely

A/n: Took the liberty of making this a Michael Gavey request 😈 Also this gif is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen!! Shoutout @barbieaemond and all the other amazing gif makers on here. These guys are such an integral part of fandom and they deserve all our love, appreciation and credit ❤️✨

Words: 2.9k

Warnings: 18+, slight angst, handjob, thigh riding (ish), Michael Gavey being awkard, but not quite a virgin

Main Masterlist

“Fucking skiing holiday. Should have fucking known this would be a fucking disaster.” 

Michael’s foul mouth hardly phases you anymore. When you first met him you thought he’d be a shy type of guy, with his baby blue shirts, cargos and wire frame glasses he kept pushing up with his middle finger.

You’d quickly found that he wasn’t at all like you expected. He can be abrasive, often judgemental and vulgar, not so unlike your other friends but with Michael it seems to come from a place of unashamed honesty. You sort of admire him for it.

He’s pacing the small living room and kitchen of the cabin, furiously fiddling with his mobile. You’re kneeling by the wood burning stove, hovering a lighter by the kindling in the hopes that you can light a proper fire.

You’re surprised he agreed to go on this trip at all. 

You have a few friends who do Maths, and at the start of second year they started inviting Michael to the pub on the weekends. You recognised him from your trips to the library, where he’d usually sit alone after his friend ditched him for Felix Catton.

They’d been all talking about a skiing trip between Christmas and New Year, to this little Italian village in the Alps. You didn’t— and still don’t— actually know how to ski, but spending a few nights in a cabin in the mountains, surrounded by snow sounded like a dream. Michael had been sceptical at first but you’d managed to convince him to come when you said you’d need someone to keep you company when the others were on the slopes.

The others had all gone out as soon as you arrived, leaving Michael to get settled in the cabin.

But it’s turned out to be somewhat of a nightmare. It’s too dark to actually see the snow storm but you can hear it, shrieking and howling against the walls and windows of the cabin. You have no service, no central heating, just the small assortment of snacks you had brought with you, a packet of paprika crisps, a bar of chocolate and a prosciutto sandwich you’d bought back at the main resort, back down the mountain, back in civilisation.

“Fuck, fuck fuck!”

“What now?” You ask, still focused on the fire.

“Mobile’s fucking dead. Shit! I have a charger in my bag but the bloody electricity isn’t fucking working so I can’t fucking charge it!”

You smile to yourself as the kindling catches alight and the flames start to lick at the larger logs.

You glance over your shoulder as Michael tosses his phone on the sofa, runs his hands through his hair and catches his lower lip with his teeth.

“I have plenty of charge on mine,” you say, “I’ll turn it off to save the battery and we can see if the service is working in the morning?”

Michael stares at you for a lingering moment. He can be so intense sometimes, almost unsettlingly so. “You want us to stay here all night?” he says softly.

“People know we’re here. I’m sure someone from the resort will come up when they can. Until then, we just have to wait out the storm.”

He tuts, but he knows you don’t have any other options.

You sit together with your backs against the sofa so that you can be as close to the fire as possible. The heat pleasantly burns your face and skin through your jeans and jumper. Even then, where your arm presses against Michael’s, you feel the warmth of his body beside you. 

You grab the crisps and the sandwich out of your bag, offering them both to Michael. He only takes a handfuls of crisps and when you split the sandwich in two he takes the smaller half. You offer him more of the chocolate bar but he insists he’s not hungry. You frown at that. It might not be a Crunchie, but Michael never turns down chocolate. 

“How was your Christmas?” You ask, popping a square of chocolate on your tongue.

“Fine,” he says, looking down at his hands, “had dinner with my dad and my nan, went to see my mum on Boxing Day.”

Guilt twinges in your chest. “Are your parents not together?”

“Oh no, they split up a long time ago,” he says, like it should have been obvious.

“I’m sorry.”

He turns to face you, staring intensely. “Why would you be sorry?” 

“Because I didn’t realise.”

He smiles. You think it’s because he knows you’re nervous. “I’ve been splitting Christmases between my parents every year since I was twelve, I’m well used to it now.”

The topic doesn’t seem to phase him. He takes another crisp from the packet and looks into the fire as he crunches it between his teeth.

The low light reminds you of the nights you’ve sat opposite him in the King’s Arms in Oxford, all the times you’ve been tipsy off wine spritzers and found yourself trying not to make it obvious that you’re staring at him. He’s handsome, especially up close when you can see the details of his face, his lips, his surprisingly pretty eyelashes, the little cleft on the tip of his nose.

When his eyes turn towards you, you think your heart might leap out of your chest.

You take a quick breath, eyes darting around the room, at the fire, the pile of logs beside the stove, the sprinkling of ashes on the floor, but it seems inevitable that you’ll find your way back to him.

“Why did they split up?”

Michael raises his eyebrows but keeps his face solemn. “She left him for someone else.”

“Oh,” is all you can think of to say. 

“It happens,” he says. “People always want to find something better. My dad was never the most exciting guy to be around.”

“But what about you?”

He huffs a laugh to himself. “I’m not exactly enticing company either.”

You can’t tell if you just want the conversation to end or if you should say something else.

“It’s not something I can fix,” Michael says. One of his hands rests on his thigh and he slowly flexes it so the tendons shift beneath his skin. “And it’s not something that needs to be fixed. People come in and out of your life, but you move on. That’s just the way it is.”

He’s almost hunched over himself, with his chin tilted down and his glasses sliding down towards the end of his nose. 

You’d seen him in the pub once, back in first year, with that friend of his, Oliver Quick. Oliver had gone up to the bar and ended up sitting with Felix Catton and his band of admirers. You’d watched Michael leave the pub and remember your heart shattering for him, for this boy you didn’t even know.

Now, stuck in this cabin, snow swirling past the windows, the sound of the fire crackling a few feet in front of you, and Michael’s side pressed against yours, your heart shatters all over again.

You place your hand over his, and he instantly stops moving. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re great.”

Michael tries not to smile. “You don’t need to flatter me,” he says.

You curl your fingers over his hand and tighten your grip. His eyes meet yours and you feel yourself frowning, because he doesn’t understand, because he doesn’t see himself the same way you see him. 

“I mean it. You’re funny, even when you don’t even mean to be, and honest, and straightforward…”

You glance down at his lips, slightly parted as he listens to you. It crosses your mind to lean in closer, but something stops you.

“I really love that we’re friends,” you say.

Michael looks down at your hands. His lips are pressed together.

He doesn’t want this, you think. He doesn’t want me.

So you pull away, with a little smile to keep it friendly.

He blinks a few times as he looks back at your face. “Thanks,” he says, softly. 

He stands, and you don’t think you can bear to look at him as he moves towards the hallway that leads to the bedrooms.

You turn your attention to the fire, add another log for good measure and poke at the glowing embers in its heart.

You hear movement behind you, footsteps and fabric.

When you look back you see Michael has his arms full with pillows and blankets. He layers some of the blankets on the rug, and soon he has two makeshift beds, one on the sofa and one on the floor.

“What’s this?” You ask.

“We’ll freeze in the bedrooms without the heating, we might as well make use of the fire.”

It’s a good call, and now that you have somewhere to sleep you start to realise how tired you are. 

You rummage through your suitcase and pull out a pair of pyjamas you got for Christmas. Michael changes in one of the bedrooms and comes back in one of his maths pun t-shirts and a pair of red and black bottoms. 

You go to lie in the bed on the floor but Michael puts his hand on your shoulder and insists you sleep on the sofa.

Even with the heat of the fire on your face and the blanket pulled up to your chin, you can’t stop shaking. Your limbs are frozen and your skin is tight, but it feels deeper set than that. You feel the cold in your chest like a fever.

It feels like hours have passed and you still can’t sleep.

“I can hear your teeth chattering,” Michael’s voice grumbles below you. You peer down over the edge of the sofa. He’s turned away from you, towards the fire. You hadn’t even realised he was still awake.

“It’s fucking cold,” you say, wincing at the quiver in your voice.

Michael shifts to his other side so he’s facing you. You’ve never really seen him without his glasses, and he looks completely different, somehow softer, not as harsh.

“We’ll be warmer if we, if we share,” he says quietly.

His suggestion weighs heavy in the space between you, unless it’s just in your head. You can already imagine yourself pressed against him, feeling the warmth from his body and letting it sink into yours.

You don’t trust yourself not to try something stupid either.

You take the blanket with you. The floorboards are piercing against your bare soles so you step on the balls of your feet, quickly slotting yourself by Michael’s side, on the layers of blankets. 

He’s facing you now, your noses must only be inches apart and you feel his breath running over your cheek.

You try to steady your own breathing, but it only makes your heart beat faster.

You see his neck move as he swallows. “Come here,” he mutters, and brings his arm around you, pressing his palm to your back to pull you closer into his chest.

You let your arm drape over his side and your legs intertwine with his. You need the heat, tucking your head in under his chin and resting the side of your face against him.

You move with the rise and fall of his chest, breathe in the scent of him with every breath, hear his heartbeat against your ear.

If you shifted your head slightly, your lips would meet the base of his throat.

Want tightens and lingers in your stomach, but curled up under Michael’s arm, you let its dull ache soothe you to sleep.

You wake slowly, opening your eyes to cold sunlight glaring through the windows. In your haste to get warm last night, you had apparently forgotten to draw the curtains. All you see on the other side is white, the snow now settled and piled high.

The fire has long since died and the air is colder than it was when you fell asleep, sharp as you take a breath through your nose.

It’s still warm where your cheek meets Michael’s chest, where his hand rests against your back and your bodies are pressed together.

It feels good to be so close to him. He’s still asleep, as far as you can tell. You hear the heavy sound of his breathing, air fluttering in his throat and passing through his pouted lips.

As you start to become more aware, more awake, a warm wanting stirs in your gut and between your legs.

It’s a stupid little crush, one you’ve not been able to distract yourself from these last few months.

You start to trace your fingertips over his chest, feeling where his chest is hard, then soft, and remember everything you said to him the night before, and what you perhaps should have said.

You nuzzle your face in closer to him, to the clean scent of his t-shirt and something else that is so uniquely him.

You try to stay like this for as long as possible, even if it’s torture not to want more.

“You’re moving a lot,” he mutters. You feel his voice rumbling in his chest and humming against your head like it’s a part of you.

Only when you freeze do you realise you’ve been rocking your hips, every hint of friction you get against the fabric of your pyjamas only fueling your hunger. But you’ve stopped now, resting your palm against his stomach.

“I’m cold,” you say.

“Hmm,” he says, resting his lips and his chin against your head, over your hair, “I don’t feel cold.”

The low rasp of his voice only makes you want him more.

The lingering haze of sleep must be clouding your judgement, your sense.

You tilt your head up, brushing your lips over his throat like you’d imagined. You feel him shudder, and feel his stomach tighten under your touch.

He utters your name in a breathless whisper as he paws at your back and pushes his hips into yours. His arousal is evident, hard and pressing to your centre through two layers of fabric.

And then he pauses, and his hand slips away.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he says.

You drag your hand down a little further, to slip under his t-shirt and feel the ridges of his surprisingly toned stomach, just above the waistband of his bottoms. “Why are you sorry, Michael?”

“I don’t know, I just…” he huffs in frustration as his hand returns to your body, gripping at your waist through your shirt.

You start to snag your fingers on the waistband, and realise he’s forgone wearing any boxers to bed. “Do you want me to help you?” You whisper, unable to hold back a grin.

“Yes, fuck, please,”

A whine sounds in his throat as you shift his bottoms down just enough to free his cock, and close your hand around it. He’s bigger than you expected, long and thick, heavy, hard and soft-skinned as you stroke, up, down, up, down.

You enjoy the feel of him, run your thumb over his weeping tip as he starts to pant and try to hold back his moans, leaning against you and ghosting his lips against your temple.

You only feel yourself becoming more and more desperate. You hook your leg over his, grinding your core against his thigh. Sparse sparks of pleasure course through your body, not enough for a release, but it still feels good.

You tilt your head again, eagerly pressing your lips to his. He seems taken by surprise at first, but meets you with clumsy enthusiasm. He kisses you like it might save him from something. Once or twice he seems to lose track, dragging his lips to the corner of your mouth only to pull you back into him.

The movements become more and more frantic, your hand pumping Michael’s cock, his hips bucking under your touch.

“Fuck,” he hisses against your lips, “I’m close. Fuck, I’m so close.”

You rock particularly hard against his thigh, and he brings his hand to your rear, squeezing at your flesh and urging you on.

You tease your lips against the shell of his ear, smiling at the wanton noise he makes as he buries his face into the crook of your neck.

“Are you gonna cum for me Michael?” You whisper as you up the pace.

“Please,” he grunts, “please…” and suddenly he’s moaning against your skin, holding you tightly as you feel his cock pulse in your hand as he spills over your fingers and knuckles.

You quickly move your head back so you can look at him, eyes fluttered shut, jaw slack and tongue just peeking out from behind his teeth.

“You’re so pretty,” you say quietly.

He blinks his eyes open, looking down at you with a dazed smile. “You think I’m pretty?”

“So fucking pretty,” you say, with another drag against his thigh.

He hums, low and cryptic in his chest. “Do you need some help there?”

Before you can answer he’s slipped his hand underneath your pyjamas. He cups your bare, wet cunt, lightly circling over your clit with the tip of his finger.

“Fuck you’re soaked,” he mutters, all but teasing your lips as he leans in to kiss you. “Got yourself all worked up, hmm?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, “fuck, don’t tease me, please…”

“Now, sweetheart,” he coos as he presses more firmly against you, hastening his movements so your breath catches in your throat. “We might still have a few hours before anyone comes to get us, and I can think of more than a few ways to pass the time.”

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[gtgbabie0]

-Finnick Odair x reader

{Quiet moments between you and Finnick when you can’t sleep}

I hope you enjoy my lovelies! 💕

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Winter was in full force, with harsh winds that nipped at your skin. Not even the fireplace could fend off, let alone the fluffy covers that you’ve layered upon your shared bed. Perhaps it was the cold chill in the air that prevented sleep from capturing you, or maybe it was something else entirely… you decide to not let your mind wander to what that could possibly be.

You sit up wrapping your cotton shawl around your shoulders tightly as your eyes scan across your room, dimly lit by the small sliver of moonlight that peaks behind the curtains and stretches across the floor trailing along the wall.

Finnick doesn’t stir with your movement which means he must be exhausted because he’s often a light sleeper, although you’re not surprised with the busy day he’s had. You smile softly down at him, the way his cheek is smushed against the soft pillow. You gently push his hair away from his closed eyes as you admire him, you’re glad he’s found comfort beside you.

The thought crosses your mind to wake him up, he’s always told you that if you can’t sleep to wake him up, he wouldn’t mind. But looking at him now, you just can’t bring yourself to do it, you’d feel far too guilty.

Instead, you decide to make your way to the kitchen, but not before putting on a pair of thick socks, after all, the tiled floor always felt much colder in the dead of night. Perhaps a warm drink would help lull you to sleep? You think to yourself as you fill the kettle.

You cringe slightly as the water begins to boil, squeezing your eyes shut at the sudden loud noise. Finnick had brought all types of different teas with the hope that one of them might help you get a good night's rest, he’d do anything if it meant you were happy.

You remember when he brought them home, two whole bags full of boxes with different kinds of ‘sleep treatments’ it brought tears to your eyes.

Finnick was always sweet to you, it shows in the way he looks at you, the way he holds you, and the sweet nothings he whispers to you whenever you feel down. You start to miss him, even though he’s only in your shared bedroom, the room next to the kitchen, fast asleep.

You pour the hot water into the small ceramic mug, the same one Peeta had gifted you as a congratulations for your engagement, he had hand painted them, beautiful flowers that swirl around the cup.

Soon enough the sweet smell of the tea reaches you, soothing the restless feeling that builds up within your chest. You take a small sip of the warm beverage as Finnick wanders through the kitchen, eyes heavy with sleep.

“It’s freezing out here honey” his voice is rough despite the softness of his tone, exhaustion hangs on his every word. he shuffles closer to you, bringing his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him as if he’s trying to protect you from the chill that lingers within the air.

A sigh falls from your lips when he presses a kiss to your forehead, his hands soothing against your back as you rest against him. Even in the safety of his arms the guilt still bubbles up within you, “Did I wake you up?” You ask, pushing your face against his shoulder.

“No, was already awake” he’s lying but you decide not to fight him on it, far too distracted by the warmth of his hands as they slip underneath your shirt, fingers splaying across your lower back. “Can’t sleep without you anyway” he says, pulling back to get a better look at you, the truth of his words are shown through his eyes.

“M’sorry” you mumble into the soft fabric of his shirt, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me” The words come out much heavier than you’d like and it strikes a cord within Finnick, one that pinches his heart.

He tuts softly as he leans back slightly, holding your chin with his finger and thumb. “Hey,” he whispers, tilting your head to look at him. His eyes immediately soften as yours find his, “Don’t apologise, honey, it’s what I’m here for, yeah?” He smiles, seeming more awake than he was just mere minutes ago.

“I know, I just- I don’t want to be too much” The words feel silly as they escape your lips but your chest feels lighter for it. You know deep down you shouldn’t feel like this, Finnick has never made you feel anything but loved.

“Too much?” He repeats after you as if you had just said something that had completely baffled him, and it did. “There’s no such thing, sweetness,” he tells you, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I love you- so much” he whispers against your lips before kissing you, not letting your mind wander elsewhere for even a second.

“I love you too Finn” you exhale, eyes closing as he rests his forehead against your own, your noses bumping against each others slightly.

“Come on, it’s warmer in bed,” he says, unwrapping his arms from around you as he picks up the tea you had made, “I got this, you go get into bed honey” he smiles and you know better than to fight him on it, so you do as he says, climbing back into the cosy bed with Finnick following shortly behind you.

He hands you the warm beverage before joining you, his hand slipping into your own as you take small sips of your drink. He talks about the market, how they're starting to sell that one specific seasonal bread you like, and he even begins to make plans for the weekend with you. his voice clams your nerves, it brings peace.

"Thank you, Finnick" you whisper, resting your head against his shoulder as he pulls the blankets over your legs.

He brings your hand up to his lips, pressing soft kisses to your knuckles, “Always for you” he says, voice heavy with sleep once again. You set your mug on the bedside table before turning back to him, and for the first time tonight, you start to feel yourself drift off as you lay in his arms.

Finnick could admire you forever without wanting anything, study every ‘imperfection’ and fall even more in love with you. He would pour his heart out to you right now if he wasn’t so tired so instead he settles for a simple, “G’night beautiful” with love dripping from his tone, and soon enough you both find sleep.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Warm Me Up

Summary: Illyria is cold, Rhys has some ideas on how to stay warm.

Content Warnings: Smut; dirty talk; little bit of cursing.

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Illyria was a wasteland, nothing but frigid mountains and harsh winds, you'd never understood how anything survived here. Your mate had flown you in an hour ago, you'd immediately had to sit in front of the cabin's fireplace, smothered in blankets, a warm cup of tea in your hands to avoid your teeth chattering and your fingertips from turning blue. The boys were somehow training outside shirtless. You could see them from the window, sparring, even as the relentless wind continued to beat against the windows.

You furrowed deeper into your mountain of blankets, still so damned cold. How were they managing that? How had Cassian survived his childhood, alone and hungry in this for so long? Was there something built into Illyrians to help them survive?

You tapped a mental hand against the bond hesitantly, worried you might distract your mate and he'd get hurt... again. Rhys had gotten used to your random questions, but thd first couple of times had been so sudden he'd lost focus, Az had clipped him across the shoulder, drawing blood. It hadn't even scarred, had healed with the help of his powers in less than hour. He'd probably forgotten about it. You hadn't.

Your mate responded with a gentle caress against your mental shields, like he'd brushed a hand over you mind, urging you to come forward.

"Do Illyrians run hot?" You asked.

A dark chuckle ran across the bond, sending a shiver over your spine. "Why don't you come out here and find out?"

You rolled your eyes. "And freeze to death? No thank you."

"It's not even snowing yet.," he let your peer through his eyes, the landscape dripping from yesterday's rain, but it was more mud than anything.

"I've seen warmer places in the Winter Court."

"There are plenty of ways to stay warm up here," Rhys purred, his voice a playful caress against your mind. "You're welcome to join us in the birken when we're done."

"And leave the safety of my little nest by the fire? I'll have frostbite by the time I make it there."

"Give me five minutes." The bond snapped closed and then Cassian was screaming obscenities from where they were sparring near the side of the cabin.

"THAT'S CHEATING YOU BASTARD!" Azriel shouted.

"RHYSAND I CAN'T FUCKING SEE!"

You pulled the comforter off the top of your head to try and get a good look through the closest window, but there was nothing but darkness against the glass. It was still too early in the day for the sun to be going down, the darkness outside rattling against the windows like a harsh wind. Rhys very rarely unleashed that much power, but you felt your own flare to life in your chest at the sight of it. Like calls to like, and your starborn powers had always risen to the challenge it found in Night Triumphant.

It wasn't even a full five minutes before the back door was thrown open so fast the old wood cracked against the wall. The wind came in with it, making you burrow deeper into your mound of blankets to avoid it.

Rhys must have kicked off his boots at the door, because you heard it slam shut and then nothing until large hands settled on your blanket clad shoulders.

You jumped with a shriek of surprise that had your mate bending over the back of the couch to kiss your barely exposed forehead apologetically, his skin colder than the wind beating against the walls.

"Ack! You're an ice cube!" You hissed, twisting to get away.

He chuckled as he pulled away and went to the closet near the front door.

"Don't bother, I've already raided it," you warned.

He opened it anyway, then frowned at all the empty shelves. "You weren't kidding." His next move was to go to the stack of wood neatly organized by the fire place and throw more in, the blaze illuminating the sharp planes of his face. He wasn't wearing a shirt, training leathers hanging low on his hips, a fine sheen of sweat making his bronze skin glow in the firelight.

Under normal circumstances, you would have jumped right on him, ran your tongue over his abs, traced the swirl of ink across his chest. Something about him in leathers made you weak in the knees, all rational thought out the window. The only thing keeping you in place this time was the thought of loosing the little pocket of warmth you had created.

He felt your gaze of course, turning away from the fire to look at you. "Better?" His voice had gone down an octave, his pupils dilating.

"Little," you admitted, though him being so close, looking like that might have been more of a reason for the heat you were starting to feel than the fire.

He walked to you slowly, intently, violet eyes fixed on you.

Your heartbeat quickened in your chest as he knelt in front of you.

"Think you can make room for me in there?" He kept his hands on the top blanket of your little cocoon, waiting for permission.

"I don't know, how cold are you?" You teased; this would be the last little bit of your resolve.

He slid a hand under the blankets, fingers dragging up slowly, intently over your calves.

"Cold," you whimpered, but the shiver that ran through you had nothing to do with the temperature, not as he traced his way up your thighs, only stopping when he found the hem of your sweater.

He leaned and pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose first, then the corners of your lips, his breath warm against your face, the contrast between the two temperatures making your head spin. You wanted to reel away and lean in all the same time.

"Just for a second," he promised, "then I'll get you nice and warm."

You opened the blanket, and that intense violet gaze took stock of your attire: His old sweater, so loose and baggy it looked like a dress on you, and knee high, fuzzy pink socks. Pants had felt like a waste of time, not when sifting through the dresser meant time spent away from the fire.

Rhys all but jumped on top of you, pushing you down into the couch cushions, the blankets tangling between you as he crashed his lips against yours.

Rhys, as High Lord, was always so poised and put together, everything about him calculated and curated to create the necessary masks of court duties; but alone, like this, when it was just the two of you, no masks necessary, he let that unending restraint slip, kissing you and running his hands over your body like a man starved. His tongue swept into your mouth as he slid a hand under your sweater, deft fingers dragging up your skin to cup your breast.

He'd kept his promise about the cold, you'd only felt it for a moment before he'd settled between your legs, using a bit of magic to untangle the blankets and rearrange them over the two of you. You ran a hand through his hair, scraping your nails lightly over his scalp as he playfully gave your nipple a tug.

"Better?" He rasped, lips barely off yours like he couldn't bear to be that far from you.

The warmth of his weight on top of you would have been enough, but the way he kept running his hands over any bit of you he could reach, the way he kissed you again and again and again was enough to make you forget you had ever been cold in the first place.

"Much better," you confirmed as he broke away to nip at your neck.

He chuckled as you arched into his touch; whimpering lightly as his tongue laved over the sting of his teeth on your throat.

"Can't decide," he murmured into your skin, "if I should fuck you in my sweater or not?"

Heat coiled between your legs, even further when he rocked his hips into your center, even with the clothes separating the two of you, the friction was enough to make you moan.

He nipped under your jaw, "Look so pretty in it, but I gotta get you all warmed up don't I? My poor little mate, not used to the cold."

Now that he was with you, you wanted, needed, every bit of contact with his body you could get. The sweater, so warm and comforting before, now felt like a tremendously itchy obstacle keeping you from him. "Want it off," you complained, trying to find your voice around another moan as he rutted his hips into you again, hard even through his leathers.

He chuckled as he fisted the hem and started pulling it up your body. "Wear it again for me later?"

You nodded as he pulled it over your head and tossed it over the back of the couch. Distantly, you hoped Rhys had the good sense to send his brothers away for a little while since you had stopped hearing them moving around outside, but had no time to ask as he started kissing his way down your body, pausing to give some attention to your peaked nipples. A whine tore from your throat as he swirled his tongue over one and then the other.

"Love when you make those little noises for me," he purred into your mind, not wanting to remove his lips from your body to speak.

"Rhys," you whimpered, body arching into him as he nipped at your sensitive skin.

"You're gonna look so pretty, all marked up under my sweater later," he sent an image of you, covered in hickeys from your throat to your hips down the bond as he continued to move slowly down your body.

Rhys liked to push you, liked to see how worked up he could get you, first with that silver tongue of his, then his hands, he could keep this up for hours. You, however, where so desperate for more friction, to fill the ache now burning between your legs, bucked your hips, squirming underneath him now. "Please. Need you."

He scraped his teeth along he hem of your underwear, humming his approval. Rhys grinned against your skin, all male satisfaction as he held your hips in place. "So impatient. I thought you were freezing to death in here? Don't you want to get warm, Darling?"

Warm? Your skin was on fire in every spot he had touched, the warmth of his body spreading to every point of contact he gave. It was becoming too much and not enough, you needed more, more, more.

"Please!"

He caught the hem of your panties in his teeth and pulled them slowly down your hips, hands skimming your hips and thighs, kneading soft skin. Your legs widened for him automatically, instinctively, despite the fact that you were now uncomfortably wet from his ministrations.

He ran his tongue against your center, humming his approval, blasting it down the bond. "So wet, and I've barely even touched you."

You pinched your eyes shut, overwhelmed already. He really was too damn good at this. No amount of time would ever be enough to satisfy the well of need you had for him. You blasted that desperation, that ache for him right down the bond as words failed you, as he continued his exploration of your dripping core with his tongue. Stars erupted behind your closed eyelids as he chuckled down the bond, pleased with your reactions to his body.

You were sure you were begging for him, whimpering and pleading nonsense as he worked you closer and closer to the edge, but the words faded in and out of your consciousness. There was only Rhys, the movements of his tongue, the feeling of his fingertips digging pleasantly tight in your hips, the heat of skin wherever it touched you. Your eyes rolled back into your head, body arching, hands tangling in his hair as the edge rose up to meet and you and you toppled over it with a scream that sounded an awful lot like your mate's name.

"Such a good girl," he purred as he lapped up the evidence of your pleasure.

You're whole body shook as he kissed his way back up your body, grinning against your flushed skin the whole way. He was so warm, when he kissed you again, the taste of your release still on his plush lips, your only thoughts were on how you could get more of that warmth, until it has seeped into your bones, erased any trace of the cold that had laid so deep beneath.

You threaded your hands in his hair, now a mess across his forehead, whimpering. "Need you still."

He grinned as he caught your lower lip between his teeth in a playful nip. "I know, love."

You moved a hand to the small of his back, pulling him closer.

"You'll have me until there are no longer stars in the sky." The bond flooded with more warmth and affection, as deep as your need for him ran, his was equal, there was no end to what he could give you.

You kissed him again, even as your legs wrapped around his waist, a bit of magic finally removing those damned leathers. Maybe you'd ask him to put them back on later, so you could enjoy the sight of him in the aftermath as much as he would you, but those were questions for later.

"I love you," you whimpered as he finally slide into you, slowly, casually, like there was all the time in the world for the two of you to enjoy each other.

He fit like he was made just for you, the stretch just uncomfortable for a moment before the pleasure made your back arch and your toes curl. He moaned into your throat, pushing his nose into your sweat dampened skin, inhaling your scent as he pushed all the way in to you.

You wondered, distantly, if the stars you were seeing were his making, or something that appeared for him too. The way he panted into your skin as he rocked his hips, testing you, made you think he saw them too.

"So perfect," he moaned as he slid almost fully out.

Your nails clawed at his shoulders, begging for him to come back and he plunged back in a little more forcefully this time, the couch groaning beneath the two of you.

You rocked your hips to meet his thrusts, hands still trailing down the contours of his spine in a move that would be sure to leave marks of your own. He nipped at your neck and shoulders when you pushed too hard, skin breaking beneath your fingertips, but you knew he didn't mind, know he relished in being marked up by you, like it was a badge of honor. You'd leave hickeys on him afterwards, when the pleasure building between your legs wasn't so white hot, when you could focus your attention somewhere other than the need burning it's way through you.

His hand snaked down between your legs, drawing you closer and closer to the edge again.

"Rhys," a prayer, a mantra, the only thing that made sense as pleasure turned all rational thought to mush.

"I've got you," he rasped in your ear, every muscle taught as he rocked into you again and again and again. His pace was quickly becoming more frantic, his breath hot on your throat as he moaned into your skin. It was that sound, so desperate and low right beneath your ear, coupled with the movement of his deft fingers, the angle of his cock inside you, all hurtling you so quickly towards the edge that you didn't notice it was there until you toppled over it. Your mate followed with a roar, his own release warm inside you.

You clung to him, trembling, panting, as you came down from your high, the familiar weight of him atop you grounding in the aftermath. He snaked an arm around you as he positioned the two of you on your sides, sharing the couch now. You buried your face in the crook of his neck as he kissed the top of your head, gently.

"Warm now, darling?" He asked softly, a hint of teasing still there, even as he recovered his breath.

He hadn't pulled out of you yet; you bit your lip in thought as you tossed a leg over his, bringing you flush against his hips. You were sensitive, the movement made you wince a little, but even after all that, you still wanted more of him. Perhaps it would never be enough. Like the Illyrians that called this frigid place home, there was always going to be something that pushed you back towards the fire, that damned insatiable need to get warm.

"I think I'm still a little cold," you purred, eyes glinting playfully.

Your mate chuckled at the challenge in your tone, violet eyes narrowing into where you were still joined. "Can't have that, can we?"

The fire roared in the fireplace, a bit of your mate's magic flaring, making sure there was more heat in the cabin, before his lips were on yours again, chasing away any hint of cold before it could touch you.

[merbear25]

Enjoying the little things

There's never a dull moment when you're with him even on days that are calmer than others. On days like these, small flickers of his inner thoughts give you a deeper understanding of him.

Zoro, Mihawk, Sanji, Law

CW: SFW, gn!reader, established relationship, headcanons + drabbles.

Zoro: training in the early morning, the brisk breeze, a chill in the air. He enjoys waking up and being productive when the rest are still sound asleep. It gives him the feeling of having the upper hand. When there's a chill in the air, it hitches his breath, reminding him to maintain his breath control. The brisk breeze feels nice against his skin as he's training, acting like a natural cooling system.

You asked to accompany him on one of his early training sesssions, of course, already knowing you'd have to wake up before the crack of dawn. He agreed to let you tag along but added that he didn't want to hear any complaining about how early it'd be or tired you'd feel. Crossing your heart, you gave him your word that you'd be on your best behavior.

Waking up the next day was showing to be difficult though, while you weren't, and would never be, a morning person. Despite your sluggish steps getting out of bed, you put on a good face when you noticed Zoro, who was already geared up to set out for the day.

Taking a double take, your body language was hinting to him that you were probably going to be a thorn in his side this morning. Paying it no mind, he gestured for you to come to the upper deck of the Sunny. You simply nodded while trying to hide the regret on your face.

However, you would have never guessd how grateful you would be to see him with the soft glow of the morning sun speckling his sunkissed body. After each set, his usually furrowed brow was instead eased, and his walls appeared to lower to the gentle breeze of the ocean air.

"You're staring at me," his even tone broke the silence of the new day. "Why?" You didn't have much of a response so blurted out the first thing that came to mind that being that he looked unbelievably handsome. In saying this, you couldn't have predicted any other reaction out of him—he went rimson. Averting his eyes from the sudden shock of your blaten honesty, he could barely utter a 'thanks' before continuing his regime.

Mihawk: the crackling of a fire, sunsets, clear nights. He likes being under the stars and how they, as well as the moon light his way. Sunsets bring a peaceful end to the day, covering the sky and illuminating rooms with its soft color. The fire supplies warmth, not just with heat, but also in atmosphere. The crackling brings a sense of liveliness to the cold interior of the castle.

Sitting in the study together was one of your favorite ways to spend time with him. It was almost routine at this point to end the day by joining him infront of the fireplace, each of you curled up with your own book. Even though the castle was built from cold bricks and stone, the fireplaces throughout it gifted the both of you with comfort.

The natural light of the day was dimming to pinks and oranges, letting the fire become more prominent within the room. Embers from tonight's flames were rather lively: the wood splintered and cracked. Feeling the roasted firewood on your person, you affectionately shifted your gaze to him.

His intense stare had been softened by its brilliancy; exhailing, the moon's illuminating beams entranced him next. He must have known you were watching him, though he refrained from calling attention to it. While your eyes kept on him, you saw slight alterations in his stoic stature: his lips twitched at the corners, his eyelids lifted and lowered more slowly, and his chest rose and fell at a much steadier pace, as if he was admiring something in the distance, just outside the window.

When he finally decided to acknowledge your gaze, you didn't shy away from it, and he didn't ask why you were watching him. Instead, you let the tender love you had for him be expressed through a knowing smile. The corners of his mouth were faintly tugged, almost resembling one in return.

Sanji: sunrises, the smell of coffee and tea, sharing a meal. The shades of orange, pink, and purple remind him of the love and passion he has always had for his friends and dreams. The smell of coffee and tea awaken his senses, sharing a meal gives him a sense of gratitude that he has people to eat around the table with.

Sanji was one of the first of the crew to wake up, afterall, he was in charge of feeding everyone. However, you were there to greet him in the kitchen this morning. Having already started the coffee, you thoughtfully asked how he'd like it. Seeing you this early was a lovely surprise.

He'd tried insisting on you letting him prepare the drinks, but you reassured him that you could manage making the coffee just fine. Upon joining him at the table, you noticed a sincerity to him that you hadn't come across before. With the warmth of dawn peaking in through the window, you wondered if he'd always had this side to him that perhaps you overlooked. Either way, you couldn't help returning his peaceful gaze.

Reaching out to hold your hand, he made sure to thank you. To you the gesture of making coffee was so minute, although it seemed from his appreciation, that it really is the thought that counts. Returning his love with a light squeeze of his hand, he scanned the slight waves of the sea. The tones of pink and orange were now mixing into purple.

"Aren't sunrises beautiful?" he asked in a rosey tone. Before agreeing with him, you admired the man, his eyes being filled with hope and joy. You added that they're much more beautiful when enjoying them with someone you care about. Turning to you, he was grateful for having shared this morning with you.

Law: the creaking of branches, rustling of leaves, crickets chirping. These serve as a reminder of the different forms of life that make up our world. Nature is a majestic force, and although it can be frightening at times, it means he's never truely alone. There is a sort of comfort in knowing this.

The day had shown to be a taxing one. Having accomplished far less than he'd wanted to, he excused himself to his study to reevaluate his approach. The Polar Tang was to stay docked at the island's port until the crew was able to gather the necessary items and information they'd originally set out for, which meant being tied to an island as breathtaking as this one until further notice.

There was a steady wind that night: the branches of the surrounding trees were swaying, their leaves accompanying them in rustling. Peace and tranquilty were gradually replacing the qualms of the disappointing day. Looking around, you just came to the realization that you hadn't seen Law since reboarding the submarine.

Taking it upon yourself to check up on the most likely sulking captain, you began making your way to where he said he'd be. Upon reaching it, however, you were met with a vacant room. Running through all of the other locations he could be, you settled on checking on deck again.

Low and behold, there he was, seemingly brooding against the railing. When you approached him, you noticed that his eyes were shut, and although his eye brows weren't eased, his breaths were drawn out in an unagitated manner. It was then that your ears caught on to the distant sound of chirping from crickets. Even with the rustling of the leaves and creaking of the branches, the song of those insects could still be heard.

He opened one eye to measure you up, but closed it again when you placed your hands on the railing, looking out dreamily at the darkened forest. The energy being released from Law was the exact opposite of earlier. Without having to say anything, you understood that there was a comfort he found in nature. You didn't want to ruin his rarely peaceful demeanour, so you just let yourself enjoy the scenery with him in silence.

[annaloveshjp]

drunk in love

harry potter x fem!reader

word count: 1k

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a/n: another little fluff scenario :)

warnings: slight drinking.

summary: y/n has a little too much butterbeer(?)

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Loud music filled your ears as you entered the crowded Gryffindor common room. Almost everybody had a drink in their hand, or was dancing with someone.

Gryffindor had just won another Quidditch match, which was always the perfect excuse for a party. Harry had invited you even though you weren’t in the same house, but being the boy who lived’s girlfriend has its perks.

“Whataya doin here!?” Ginny Weasley stumbles your way with a half empty cup in her hand.

“Harry invited me!” You shout over all the noise.

“Oh, right!” She remembered, “come on in!”

You smile at the intoxicated teen before making your way further into the common room in search of your boyfriend.

After asking a few people where Harry Potter was and receiving a few “I don’t know” and “want a drink?!” In return, you find your good friend Hermione chatting with Ron by the fireplace.

“Hey, Mione!” You exclaim, relieved to find someone who might know where Harry is.

“Y/N!” Hermione and Ron say in unison.

“Have you seen Harry?” You ask them, ducking suddenly as a Weasley invention flew over your head.

“No, I haven’t,” said Hermione thoughtfully. “Have you, Ron?”

“No, sorry mate,” he said, giving you an apologetic look.

“Okay, thanks,” you muster up a smile as best you can before walking over to an unoccupied armchair and sitting down.

You wonder where Harry could be. maybe in his dorm? It’s fine, he’ll probably be here soon.

But even after waiting ten minutes, still no sign of your boyfriend.

“Want a drink?” Hermione came up to you holding two cups, a sympathetic look on her face.

“Sure,” you take one cup gratefully, the first sip burns your throat slightly. “Firewhisky?”

“Mixed with butterbeer,” Hermione confirms, taking a swig of her drink.

“Tastes nice,” you say before drinking almost all of it in one go.

“Woah woah, slow down,” Hermione chuckled.

You laugh, feeling lighter than before. This drink is magical.

After a few more drinks (more like a dozen), and some dancing later, you now sat on the floor leaning against the wall.

“My head hurts,” you whine like a little kid to no one in particular. “I want my boyfriend.”

You suddenly see someone walking towards you. They crouch down to your level and start talking to you.

“Hey, what happened?” The stranger asked you, their face appeared blurry but you could make out a look of concern on their face.

“I had butterbeer,” you reply, your words slurring slightly.

“How much?” They ask.

“Why do you care?” You question.

“Too much, I take it.” They sigh before lifting you up by the armpits and walking you towards the boys dormitories.

“Noooo I don’t wanna,” you complain, attempting to plant your feet but failing.

“Honey, you need some water, I’m taking you up to my dorm.”

“Hey! Only Harry can call me that, don’t be weird.” You say accusingly.

“Guess what,” the stranger says. “I am Harry.”

You gasp. “Harry? Awww I missed you!” You lean into him.

“I missed you too, Honey. Now, can you walk?” Harry asks you.

“Hmmmm I think so,” you walk, stumbling a bit. He holds your waist as you both walk up the stairs to Harry’s dorm.

Harry shut the door behind him and led you to his bed. He laid you down before taking your shoes off, he then went to the bathroom and returned with a glass of water.

“Here,” he said softly, lifting your head up and tilting the glass for you to drink.

“Thanks,” you mumble before rolling over and planting your face into his pillow.

“You smell nice,” you say, sniffing his pillow.

“You say that a lot,” he chuckled.

“I do?” You ask. “Hm,”

“Mhm,” he hummed in confirmation. “So tell me, what happened earlier?”

“Well, I came into the common room and I couldn’t find you, so I got sad and decided to have some butterbeer, but it wasn’t just butterbeer, it had some firewhiskey, Hermione told me. Then I danced, then I got a headache so I sat down, then you found me, then I thought you were a stranger, then I realized you were Harry, then Harry took me to his dorm and gave me water, then he asked me what happened.”

“Oh, wow,” he says.

“Yeah. Where were you, by the way?” You ask him. “It felt like I was waiting hours.”

“It was only twenty minutes,” he said. “But I was taking a shower,” he pointed to his hair that was dripping onto his now damp t-shirt.

“Oh, right, you get all sweaty after Quidditch,” you say. “But I think it’s hot,”

He chuckled. “Thank you?”

“You’re welcome,” you say, snuggling into his blanket.

After a minute, you feel the bed dip beside you. You look over and see Harry laying next to you.

“What are you doing?” You ask him.

“What does it look like? I’m lying with you.” He states.

“But I thought you’d want to go celebrate, you know?” You say confused.

“Nah, I’d rather be with you, and since you’re wasted, I figured it’s best if we don’t go back down there.” He reached out and pulled you closer to him, your head leaning against his bare chest.

“Oh,” you mumble. “I’m sorry for drinking too much…”

“It’s alright, Honey,” he muttered into your hair, stroking it with one hand and holding you with the other. “I like this better anyway,”

You smile and sink into his warmth, both your slow breathing and the muffled noise from the common room being the only sound audible.

“D’you need anything else?” Harry asks you, brushing your hair from your face.

“No, just need you,” you say, turning around and snuggling your face into his neck. “This is good.”

You gave him a few kisses on the side of his neck and on his collarbone. Although you couldn’t see, Harry smiled.

“I love you,” you tell him.

“I love you, Honey.” he said, kissing the top of your head.

—————

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Pretty like the wind

Previous chapter / Next chapter

a/n: part ten! Surprise! Thought I would treat you all. 🤫🫨🫂

warning: kids, past trauma, blood, mention of puking, wounds, Illyrian camps, alcohol, smoking, nightmares.

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The wind blew behind the window. Steady tapping and hoots echoed through the empty house. Even the flame in the fireplace seemed to sway to the melody of the wind. You sat in one of the plush chairs. Feet tucked beneath you. A blanket wrapped around your shoulders. Yet it didn't seem to warm you. Nothing seemed to warm you these days. No matter what you did, you always felt a chilly sensation twirling deep within you.

Your eyes felt heavy. Sleep was another thing that did not come easy. You had tried, but the longest you had managed to stay put was an hour, and after that, you had been up, pacing the rooms. Worry ripping at your skin. You had hoped to see Azriel once you could manage to lift yourself from the bed, but he had done everything he could to avoid you. I don't want to accept it. Your voice echoed through your mind. If only you could take them back. Go back in time and scratch it all up. Explain it all to Azriel before asking him for time. Before saying that you simply couldn't do it now, it didn't mean that you didn't want it in the end. You did want him, but then, did he want you?

A sickness crept up your throat, and you stood quickly. Waiting for the nausea to subside. Home. You wanted to go home. The only issue was that you no longer knew where home was. Was it back in the sanctuary? At Cordelia's? With Azriel? A cold shiver ran down your back, your skin growling clammy. When you stated to Rhys that you wanted to be escorted to the sanctuary, he simply shook his head. "What do you mean, no? You can't deny me...", but the high lord only gave you a tight smile and said, "It's Azriel's order. You're to stay in the house of wind".

You had let out a huff, "I'm not a prisoner! And if he wants to order me around, he better grow a pair and do it himself". Rhys had only laughed at your words, tilting his head back in clear delight. He was enjoying this way too much, this smug ass. "You sure keep him humbled", the high lord snickered. But his delight soon faded, "You'll be safe in the house of wind, Y/N. We both know there are many more males..." You had turned to the high lord at such speed that you nearly gave yourself a whiplash. "That wants me dead. Then let them. Let's end this and move on", you said through gritted teeth. "I can't", Rhys said bluntly, "I couldn't back then and especially can't now when my brother's life is linked with yours".

Panic rose over your body. Your hands trembled as you moved to walk once more. You couldn't sit still. You couldn't. Taking in a sharp breath, you plunged within your heart, trying to find that barely flicking bond. Trying to tug. Trying to... Azriel, you called, your voice barely a whisper. Of course, you guessed it. You might have practically grown up between the iron walls, but you knew what mates were. Or you had suspected. But you had never allowed yourself the time and luxury to dream of such things. They would make one weak. And there was no kindness in...

The sound of footsteps made you whirl back. Eyes catching a glimpse of a tiny frame. Zofie peered through the corner, earless in her hand. The poor empath had been exhausted. With you and Axel in distress, she was barely managing to juggle the emotions everyone felt. From anger to heartbreak. Yet she stood through it all, unyielding. You opened your arms for the little girl without a second thought. After all, the two of them were all you had. Zofie's bare feet tapped against the wooden floor.

"Why are you up, little one?", you asked softly as she nuzzled deeper into your embrace. "Is Mr. Earless snoring again?", brushing her messy raven hair, you smiled down at her. Zofie only shook her head, "Do your hands hurt?", she asked you instead, cutting the chase. Wanting to know the source of your discomfort. "No, Zo, nothing hurts. I'm just not tired, baby", you hoped your lies struck the truth for her, but the girl only tilted her head to the side. Eyeing up the dark bags beneath your eyes. The grayish tint your skin had gained. "Is it your back?", the girl asked, her eyes big as she looked at you. Her question stole the breath from your lungs, but you quickly shook your head.

"I promise, you don't have to worry", you said, cupping her cheek. Zofie bit her lip, her eyes darting towards the window. "I miss Azriel", she admitted finally. She had been the one who had taken the spymaster's absence the hardest. Or more like the one who showed her emotions openly regarding that. You knew that Axel also missed Azriel. The boy had scrubbed drawings of him but hidden them beneath his bed so no one would see them. You caught glimpses of him trying to train throughout the day. Then frustration would strike when he would lose his balance and Azriel wasn't there to catch him or correct his movements. Angry tears followed suit. Come back; you would call in moments like that; come back for them at least, please. But it was the same unbreakable wall you hit all the time. Icy yet thick with shrouded thorns.

"He doesn't like us anymore, doesn't he? If it's because of what Ax said,", the girl rambled on, her eyes building up with tears. You asshole, you banged your fists against the cold wall Azriel had built between the two of you, I hope you're seeing this. But you bit through the anger. Because you couldn't. You could hurt yourself. You can suffocate, but not them. Not the kids. "Listen to me; what I said that day, I said because I was upset", you cupped her already crimson cheeks. "Azriel loves you two; he's just...", Your words trailed off, "He's away on a mission, hence why he hasn't been here for a while. But he will come see you both when he returns". The hope that bloomed in Zofie's golden eyes made you want to let out a sob. She held onto your hands. "Will he actually?", you nodded your head without hesitation. You'd find a way to make him see them at least one last time. You would find a way. "Good", Zofie nodded quickly, "Axel has written him an apology letter, and I drew him a picture. He'll have to read it". Her innocent voice was so full of hope that it made your eyes sting.

Azriel could barely see through the cloud of smoke he puffed out. He was not the one to use stimulants like that. The state of intoxication always left him uneasy. His sharp senses dulled out. And Azriel held himself to high standards. He always needed to be in shape and prepared to act and make decisions. But the past week had been nothing but a mercy cloud of whatever herbs he had snatched from a local dealer. The longing and pull were so strong that the spymaster was ready to do everything to keep you off his mind.

But he failed. Failed at late night hours the most. During the day, he felt you struggling on the other side, kicking at his mental shields and scraping your nails at them. So he knew you were well if you had the energy for all that. It's at night when it all halted that all the lingering fears slip into Azriel's head. What ifs swirling around. And when he no longer managed to grasp you on the other side, he would winnow. Winnow to the house of wind. He would walk through the quiet house until he was right in front of your slumbering figure.

Most nights, he watched you and the kids like that. One of you would stir, and he would turn into nothing more than a shadow. There were nights when Azriel dared to brush his fingers over your forehead or run his hand over one of the kids' backs soothingly. Azriel hoped that he wouldn't have to deal with their distress. But it lingered all over. Zofie's tiny body seemed even smaller, and that alone ripped out a chunk of the spymaster's heart.

"Maker", Azriel's head jerked up to the sound of an empty bottle rolling across the floor. A handful of curses followed suit. "Ah, that's a handful more than when we checked last time", Cassian's voice ran through the hallway. "He's alive", the lord of bloodshed cheered, clapping his hands, but he only earned a huff from his high lord, "Shut it, Cass". Azriel knew that he should go and greet them. That was part of the Nothing Bad Is Going On Act, scene three. But he couldn't be bothered tonight. Not after he heard you sobbing through the bond. Crying till you turned to heave. His blood was burning from the neglect. Everything in his body screamed for him to go, but he stayed lying on a messy mattress. He had never bothered to buy a bed frame. He never cared.

"You are unbelievable", an old shirt flicked onto Azriel's chest. He didn't need to move to feel Rhys's angry gaze. "Get your ass up; we're going to train", the high lord ordered, nudging Azriel's leg with his foot. It was almost funny how not long ago they all grumbled about Nesta's living condition. Alcohol consumption. And here he was. The spymaster of the night court. Azriel draped an arm over his tired eyes. "I told you to come here only when it was necessary", the shadowsinger muttered. Hoping to usher these busybodies away.

"It is important", Rhys shuffled behind, no doubt picking up the empty bottles. "You are wasting away", Rhys had gone easy on Azriel with work. It almost felt like a full-circle moment. Azriel couldn't help but remember how Rhys had wept after he realized that Feyre was his mate and the girl had gone back with Tamlin. "Come on, Az, this is insane", even Cassian's voice held a thread of worry, but Azriel couldn't find it in himself to care. He had been selfish once again. So what was the reason?

"How is she?", the words slipped past Azriel's lips before he even realized it. No matter what he did, you were always on his mind. No matter what he did, getting rid of your presence in his senses seemed impossible. "I have an insane suggestion for you", Cassian answered, no doubt getting fed up. "You will be shocked when I'll tell you ", Cassian kneeled next to his brother, poking at his side before saying, "How about you go check yourself?"

Azriel only rolled his eyes. Everyone was urging him to speak. Even his mother had scolded him. "You'll grow to regret this, boy", she said, pointing a warning finger at him and shaking her head. But you said it yourself—I don't want to accept it. And for the third time in his life, Azriel was left to be a fool. Mor. Elain. Now his mate. One he had dreamed for as long as he remembered.

Azriel shook his head as he moved to sit up. Head pounding from the alcohol and the lack of sleep, "She doesn't want to do anything with me", those words stung because you had been barging into his mind without a break. "You don't know that", Rhys said, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared at Azriel. "Did you let her explain herself, or did you tuck your tail beneath your legs and run?", the high lord huffed. Azriel shot him an angry look. "Fuck you", the spymaster barked. Rhys only nodded, "Mature, get your ass up". But Azriel stayed seated. Trying to win the staring contest. "You gave up on them real quick", but Cassian didn't get to finish because Azriel had his hand on his brother's neck. The lord of bloodshed pressed against the nearest wall. "I. Did. Not. Give. Up. On. Them", Azriel snared each and every word through gritted teeth. His hand jabbed against the middle of Cass's neck. He's been feeling so on edge. So in need to punch something. He had shattered the mirror in his bathroom but it did little to soothe his frustration. Cassian didn't back away as he snarled back, pushing against his brother, "Then go to her; she's practically walked holes in the floor up there". Azriel pulled back. He turned away from him to brush his fingers through his hair. He needed a distraction. Something. Anything to keep his mind off this.

"Do you have the reports from the camp?", he turned to Rhys. Cassian pulled at Azriel's arm, "Don't change the topic, ass". But Spymaster ignored him, his eyes on Rhys. "Do you?", he repeated the question. "I do", Rhys said calmly, not a single trace of emotion on his face. "Give them to me", Azriel extended his palm towards Rhys, who only looked down at it, not amused. "No", the high lord said simply, "It involves information that's... sensitive". Azriel let out a huffed laugh, "Bullshit". He stepped closer to the high lord, who simply raised his palm, silencing the male, "Azriel, enough". Azriel gritted his teeth in return, "You can walk yourself out", he barked out, turning from the two males as he reached for another bottle.

You were braiding Zofie's hair when a dark swirl appeared in the living room. Your breath hitched. Hope blooming in your stomach. But it all fizzled out as quickly as it sprouted. It was Rhsy, Feyre right next to him. The kids instantly stood up, bowing. You couldn't help but smile. The two had been mesmerized by the high lord and lady. To Axel Rhys was still a floating head, but since the high lord didn't seem to mind the constant reminder of that, the boy continued to wave that card around.

"To what do we own the pleasure", You stood as well, smiling at the two. You looked like a rag doll that's been dragged through dirt compared to their neatly pressed clothes. "You all should come to have dinner with us", Rhys said calmly, that cat-like smile on his lips. Feyre nodded to her mate's words, "Staying stuffed in here doesn't help. I'm sure"; you knew that the high lady had spent her fair share of days here herself. "The paintings keep me entertained", you gestured to the painted furniture and the colorful walls. A laugh slipped past her lips as she too looked around.

"You can take the kids. It'll be nice for them to see Nyx", you ruffled Axel's hair, and the boy instantly stepped forward, reaching for the high lady. Zofie followed suit. But it was Rhys who wasn't too pleased with that decision. At least not fully. "I don't want to leave you here alone", the male stated, his eyes darker than moments ago. "I'll be fine", you said, smiling at him, but he didn't return the gesture. "Rhys, I'll be fine", you stated once again, not failing to catch a glimpse of worry that flashed across his face. Worry that seeped into your bones, "What is it? Did something happen to Azriel? The high lord shook his head quickly. "No, no", he reassured you, "I just revisited the day I brought you to the sanctuary". You reached to clasp his hand, trying to suppress the shiver that ran through you, "Don't think about it. It's not worth it".

You felt as if you were on fire but also freezing at the same time. Your back felt sore; you didn't remember the mattress feeling so hard. You moved your finger over the surface, halting when you didn't feel the plush material beneath you. Solid, cold ground met the tips of your fingers. You sat up quickly. No. No. No. There was no way. The breeze flew past you. The only comfort left for you. The camp buzzed around you. People were walking past. A lady let go of her daughter, the girl rushing to thread a wildflower through the bars. No. You crawled toward her. Hands reaching for the iron polls. "Please", you breathed. "Tell them", but the girl only laughed as she hurried away. You pushed your hand through the gap, trying to wave her over again. Wave anyone over. But no one stopped. No one listened. No one answered.

You jolted up. Cold sweat dripping down your body. You quickly pushed the blanket off. You must have fallen asleep while waiting for Rhys to bring the kids back. You reached for the wood, throwing a couple of logs into the fire. The floor creaked behind you, making you jump. Hiss fell from your lips when the back of your leg met the flame blazing behind you. You leaped forward, hissing, hand-moving to run down the sore spot. And then it echoed again. The same noise. The same footsteps as that night. A glass hit the ground. You jumped forward without a single thought. Yanking the door open, bare feet sinking into the fresh snow as you ran.

Azriel's eyes shot open. He wasn't in deep sleep; he was sure of it. The sleep he had managed to slip into was simply gray. Dreamless. There was no sound. Nothing seemed off. Until an ache ran through him. His feet grew cold. A shiver. Azriel sat up. His senses perked up. Something was wrong. But none of his shadows posted at the watch spots had been triggered. And then the same images of the ever-recurring nightmare flashed through his eyes. The snow. The river. Arrows. The delicate white turned a deep shade of red. And then, as if all at once, your panic hit his chest. Making him growl. "Y/N", he muttered. "Find her", Azriel roared, shadows leaping into the night as the spymaster stood, broad shadows filling the space as he too winnowed.

You had no idea where you were running. You knew that the only way down the mountain was a handful of stairs, but you couldn't find them. They were snowed in. Had to be. The wind blew right through you. The silk nightgown did nothing to protect your skin. But you didn't care; you had to get away. You would never go back. They would never... Your foot slipped. Your body weight shifted as you tumbled to the ground. Sliding down the side of the peak. Nails digging into the frozen ground, hoping to catch onto something, anything.

You hit the ground with a thud, the snow breaking the fall slightly. Stars danced in the corners of your vision, but the voice inside your head urged you to get going. You turned to get up, reaching for a branch, only to feel it snap beneath your weight. A frustrated cry slipped past your lips. The snowstorm was picking up. A dark shadow flew over your head. "No", you muttered, hurrying to pick yourself up, darting towards the dead trees, trying to leap between them. Branches caught onto the thin material, ripping slits into it, scratching your skin. You had to get away. If you could just make it down the hill, someone would...

A hand gripped your shoulder, and you let out a scream, trying to duck away. But the grip didn't ease. You trashed in their grip with all that you had. "Y/N", a voice roared. "No", you said, trying to claw your way out. "Y/N", it called once more, "Love." Darkness swallowed you as two huge wings spread over your body. Your eyes followed the curve of it.

"Look at me, hey", a warm palm touched your cheek, making you blink a couple of times. Azriel stood right in front of you. Eyes filled with worry. "What are you doing? Are you out of your mind?", he huffed, looking down at your scratched-up body. But you didn't care; you couldn't... Stepping forward, you wrapped your arms around his neck, shaking. Azriel didn't miss a beat, his arms wrapping around your delicate frame. Hissing at the coldness of your skin.

"You're barefoot; Mother strike me", he huffed, dipping to pull you up into his arms. "We can't go", you said, shaking your head, making Azriel frown. "We can't; there's someone. They are in the house", the spymaster only watched you. Purple lips. Teary eyes. Bloody fingers. "No one can get into the house beside us, love", Azriel muttered, watching your terrified eyes. How was he able to walk away? Leave you like this... After it all... The spymaster gritted his teeth. "Let's get you warmed up", he muttered, shooting up into the sky.

You stayed by the same fireplace, feet dunked in a warm water bath made by Azriel. He was walking through the house, checking every single door and every window. Right now, you couldn't tell him what was part of your dream and what happened actually. Everything you heard and felt mushy, mixed up together, but Azriel didn't press.

"Nothing seems broken. It's probably just the wind", he muttered, handing you a cup of tea. Oh, how the tables had turned. "You need to get out of the damp clothes", Azriel said bluntly. "It's fine", you muttered, not lifting your eyes up. "You're in a bloody silk nightgown that's drenched", his voice picked up. Whatever you still had on your body, left very little to the imagination. The swell of your breasts was visible through the damp material clinging to your skin, and the slit, a tree so gracefully granted you, finished right over your hip.

"Azriel", you breathed, closing your eyes. This was the last thing you wanted to talk about right now. "Where are the kids?", Azriel muttered, no doubt having looked for them in the rooms. "At Rhys's. I thought seeing Nyx would cheer them up", you breathed out, setting the cup of tea down. The mug felt scorching hot in your frozen palms. "They miss you", you added after a moment, finally daring to look up. Only to be met with that same mask of coldness. Unapproachable mountain. "I don't think so", he huffed, even if deep down he knew that he was wrong. It was easier to stay away if he kept telling himself that. "You're petty over something a scared child told you?", you shook your head, huffing. "Something YOU told them", Azriel stepped closer, pointing a finger at you. Watching as a flash of guilt ripped through you. Hating the way you lowered your gaze instantly.

"Have you seen her", it was petty to ask. If he wanted, he could. You had grown jealous of her in the past week. Of how she had Azriel in ways you hadn't. "What if I have?", Azriel's words made a shiver run down your back. An angry tear slipped down your cheek. Azriel's face fell at the sight of that, his anger and frustration fizzing out as he turned to kneel in front of you. "I haven't. I swear I haven't. I didn't... I didn't even think of her once", he said in one breath. He was desperate now to chase the ache that bloomed in his chest.

"Do you see why I don't want it now? Don't want it like this?", you breathed out. "You're not over her, and I'm not here", you said, shaking your head. "Elain chose Lucien; they are mated", Azriel said firmly. "It didn't stop you last time", you muttered, turning away from him. "They are happy, she settled. Y/N, they walked in there after fucking", he exclaimed. Frustration dripping off him. "And the only woman I want to bend over and...", he halted, his chest raising up and down frantically.

"I know how it goes. The frenzy and all", you rubbed your palms together, "I'm not ready for that". Your voice sounded so small, and it ripped at Azriel. He moved to hook a finger beneath your chin. "Do you think I would do anything against your will?", "I didn't want you to leave, but you did", a shiver ran down Azriel's back. Not only did he leave, he didn't answer your calls for a week. Too deep in self-pity. "I'm sorry", Azriel muttered, closing his eyes and dipping his head. "I just...", he muttered, "My whole life, I've been waiting for you, and the thought of you rejoicing me... it blinded me".

You watched him for a moment—a male so big, looking so small—in front of you. You leaned closer to him, cupping his cheek. Tugging on the bond slightly. Making the sides of Azriel's lips curve up. "I want you... just...", you swallowed thickly, the images of your nightmare swirling at the tip of your tongue, "Be patient with me".

"I'm sorry for how I reacted", Azriel said, moving to thread his fingers through your hair, "There's no rush. I told you, I'll wait, and I will". You leaned closer to him, resting your forehead against his. Breathing him in. "But you do need to change because I'm only a man", he huffed, making you let out a laugh. "Is this too seductive for you, sir?", you purred, making Azriel growl. "You will be a death for me, sweet", his hand gripped your hips just how he liked it, slippery silk bunching up in his palms.

His lips brushed just over yours before he pulled away. "Can I kiss you?", Azriel muttered, inches away from you. You tilted your head back slightly, suddenly feeling giddy. "A bit late to ask that, no?" Azriel shook his head, his palm nestling in the crook of your neck as he pulled you closer. "Yes or no?", lustful need swirled in his golden orbs, but he waited for your answer regardless. "Why don't you try and find out", you hummed, unraveling the last bits of Azriel's self-control.

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Taglist: @naturakaashi @hoemadegrace @just-m-2 @thereadinggremlin @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @caroline-books

[rafesslxt]

Hii, could you please write a Mattheo x reader fic where the reader has raynauds disease? It’s where your hands are basically just red/purple and painful/swollen and super cold during winter. Ty! x

sorry for the late answer, I‘m answering all my requests right now 🫣

COLD HANDS | m. riddle

summary: you‘re on a walk with your boyfriend and forgot your gloves

warnings: raynauds disease ( something like red hands that turn white on some parts and then red/blue on the hand? I tried to google <3 ), mattheo being a cute boyfriend and caring for you

words: 850

Mattheo always looks out for me and my hands, knowing that they need a little more care than others.

He told me to meet him outside in the yard after his last class. I was there a little too early so i sat down on a bench when it started snowing, the little flakes falling down on my hair and shoulders, slowly melting on there after a while. When Mattheo came walking towards me, a big smile was spread on his face.

"You look so beautiful with all those snowflakes in your hair." he says when he finally stands in front of me, pulling me up from the bench and against him. He leans down and gives me a loving soft kiss, placing a hand on my cheek which was still warm from just coming out of the warm walls from our school.

" Come on let's walk a little before we go back in, shall we?" he asks me and gives me his arm to intervene, which I do. We always did this at least once a week even tho it's cold outside. We meet outside in the yard and walk over to the big black lake which was frozen now, and walked around it in the snow.

After a while he let's go of me and leans down towards the snow on the ground, forming a snowball in his hand. "Mattheo.." I say in a warning tone when I see his cheecky smirk. I start laughing and run away but still get hit with the snowball on my back.

"You arse!" I yell from afar, now also taking snow into my hands and forming a ball with it. When I throw it, it lands right on the back of his head, making me laugh even louder at his shocked face. "Oh just wait until I get you baby." he shouts and starts running towards me. I squeak and run into the opposite direction but he was way faster than me and when he finally catches me, he pulls me down into the snow with him.

I gasp at the feeling of the snow against my hands and bare neck after I forgot my scarf today. "Gotcha." he giggles when he pulls me on top of him, wrapping his arms around my jacket. "You started this war." I answer him smiling, placing my hands on his chest.

He looks down at them, his eyes going wide. "Y/n, why didn't you tell me you forgot your gloves?" he asks now with a more serious tone. I bite down on my bottom lip when I see parts of my fingers and hands turning blue. "Uhm - I don't know.. I didn't think about it I just had so much fun." I tried to explain but he shook his head and grabbed into his pockets.

"Here take these." he hands me a pair of warm gloves, way too big for my hands but still doing the job. " But these are you-" "No debate, you will put them on okay? You need them more than I do, please, for me." he says now, putting on his best puppy eyes.

I roll my eyes but can't hide my smile either when I kiss his cheek. "Thank you for always taking care of me Matty." I whisper, this time giving him a soft kiss on his lips, making him smile. "Always, princess."

After that we went back inside, into our common room. When we arrive he sits down next to me on the couch in front of the fireplace we have. "Show me your hands baby." he demands in a soft tone, nodding towards my hands which were still inside his gloves. I pull them off slowly and see how the blue skin is a little lighter but still not back to normal. He grabs my hands and puts his over and under mine, warming them with his heat.

I smile at him, looking at him and realizing again just how much I love him. "They're not getting warm enough.." he sighs after a few moments. "Here I have an idea." he says before pulling me closer and pushing my hands under his thick hoodie, placing them on his burning hot skin. " Oh my god why are you so hot?" I ask him, not thinking about my choice of words. "I alway am." he winks.

I chuckle and slowly trace his abs with my fingers. "Aren't my hands too cold on your skin?" I ask worried now but he just shakes his head and kisses my forehead. "I'd do anything for you, you know."

After a while I pull my hands back again, looking at them with a happy smile. "Look!They're normal again." I let out a quite giggle before he pulls me onto him, still on the couch. He takes my hands into his and starts to kiss every finger of mine. "I promise I'll always take care of you, no matter what." he whispers against my ring-finger.

"I know, Matty. I love you, thank you." "Love you too, princess."

thank you for reading and requesting 🫶🏻

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[wisteriadumster]

Warmth ❥Arthur Morgan

ARTHUR MORGAN X FEMALE READER

CW➻❥ I pulled an all nighter man like yall fuck that’s what’s up

WC➻❥1265➻❥ this isn't well proof read so any mistakes or odd things are purely accidental

Summary➻❥ you’ve just arrived to Colter and once the cabin is empty, Arthur has an idea on how to keep you two warm.

*✧･ﾟ:* WisteriaDumster original work.*:･ﾟ✧

You shivered into the abandoned cabin, doing your best to escape the frigid blizzard that tortured the old town. “How long you think we’re staying here for?” You adjusted your scarf, “I ain’t too sure but not long, couple days.” Arthur replied, you followed him as he entered the room Grimshaw had assigned for you both.

The bed was small, but you could cuddle up together to keep warm.

You hugged Arthur, wrapping your arms around his torso. He hesitantly accepted the hug and draped his arms over your waist, his hands gripping your body.

Your face was nuzzled into his shotgun coat, the texture rubbing against your cheek.

In the main room you could hear a conversation between Hosea and Dutch, “think you should go talk with them?” Arthur pulled you off him, looking at you, “I suppose you’re right ‘bout that.” He caressed your cheek and walked out of the room.

You had followed behind and were sitting with Molly. “How are you Miss O’Shea?” She closed her pocket mirror, “I’ve lived better ya know?” She adjusted her head scarf.

“Miss O’Shea,” Dutch stepped in, “would you like to come with me to check on everyone else?” His smile was sly, “I’d rather stay here, and be out of the storm,” she admitted, “I insist.”

The cabin had slowly emptied, Dutch had convinced Molly to leave with him, and Hosea was off to go check on different gang members.

You sat by the fireplace with Arthur, wishing the fire would engulf you with heat. “Darlin’ I have an idea on how we could keep some heat around,” you raised an eyebrow, “and what would that be?” He stood from the chair, he walked to your chair, towering over you as you looked up.

“We should have about ten minutes before anyone comes back,” he hinted. Your lips curled into a smirk as his idea, “quite risky don’t you think?” You stood up, “well I’ll be quick.”

His hands wrapped around your ass, suddenly lifting you up against his body.

You cupped his face, connecting your lips with his. One of his hands gripped and dug into your ass cheek, his legs stumbling, searching for a place to set you down. You pulled from the messy kiss, hot breath escaping your mouth. Arthur kicked down the chair you had been sat in just moments prior, he walked to the old table that laid against the wall.

He set you down, a hand holding your hips as you continued the heated kiss. His free hand was digging through the layers of clothing on your body, searching for an entrance.

“Darlin’ I hope you don’t mind,” he pulled back from the kiss, his forehead pressed against yours. You opened your mouth to question Arthur, a sudden rip of your underwear answered you. “I’ll sew it later,” you smirked and pulled him back into the kiss.

Arthur pushed his hand through his jacket, his gloved fingers pushing the button of his pants through the yoke. You uncupped his face, your hands pushed past his hand and undid the buttons of his union suit. His hard cock pushed out, waiting for what it had been desiring.

Arthur pushed your skirt and coat up your legs, his cold leather gloves made your warm skin shiver. “Arthur,” you looked at him, “take those gloves off please.” He obliged and pulled the gloves off, dropping them onto the small table beside the one you currently sat on.

Arthur’s calloused hands gripped your thighs and pulled you closer to the edge of the table.

Slowly he entered, you gasped as his cold dick hit against your warmth. You wanted to moan but you had no protection from the walls of the cabin, Arthur wrapped an arm around your back and pulled you in, thrusting slowly as his cock adjusted to the sudden temperature change. “Fuck” you shuddered against his lips as his hips rotated against yours. Your head rolled against your shoulders, falling against your back as Arthur quickened his pace.

“We surely ain’t got long Sweetheart,” he began kissing at your neck, “I don’t need long.” You managed through muffled moans, you bit your lip to contain yourself, your hands white-knuckled the edge of the table.

Arthur’s pace was consistent, hitting your walls just right. His lips vibrated groans against your neck, one of his hands released its grip against your thigh and tilted your head back towards his. His eyes fluttered with lust before he pulled you back in for unfinished kisses, his hands travelling into your hair, intertwining itself with the locs.

“Fuck Sweetheart,” Arthur groaned.

Your legs felt shaky, your body struggling to keep itself composed at Arthur’s increasing speed. The adrenaline from the chance of being caught made your heart race, as every thrust made you want to scream a moan, scream Arthur’s name.

A final thrust and his tip itched you exactly where it had to be to trigger your orgasim. You sprung up, throwing your chest against Arthurs, yours hands clawing at his back.

You moaned into his shoulder as your legs quivered, a wave of every emotion covered you as each muscle in your body tensed and released within seconds.

Your own orgasm vibrated against Arthur, a deep and raspy groan eluded from Arthurs chest. His body was heavy against your own. As the climax of your orgasm was ending, he continued thrusting through it, prolonging its inevitable end.

“Arthur,” you shake against him, coping through the pleasure you had felt and the pleasure you were still receiving. “I’m almost there Darlin’ just be a good girl and don’t move,” he mustered through a moan.

Within a few more intense thrusts and you doing your best to stay still and quiet, you felt and heard his own orgasim. A deep groan rumbled from his chest as he panted.

Two fingers lifted your chin up, his eyes twinkling with love, his lips slowly connecting with you for an intimate kiss.

The sound of a conversation began to enter your ears, “Arthur,” you pulled from the kiss. He looked at you and looked as your finger pointed towards the door, Arthur understood and helped you off the table.

You were quick to help him clean off and rebutton his clothes.

You pushed down on your skirt and went to your room, searching for your sewing box.

Arthur fixed the chair he had kicked down, he leaned in the doorframe of your room.

“Need help?” He cleared his throat as he watched you search through nightstand drawers, “how well can you sew?” You grabbed the small metal tin, “not as good as you Darlin’.”

“Arthur,” The door creaked open, Dutch brushed the fresh snow off his jacket, “we’re gonna go find Micah, you comin?” You made eye contact with Dutch, “Arthur you should go, I won’t freeze.” You smile, Arthur looked between you and Dutch before nodding at you and turning around.

He grabbed his gloves that laid on the table, he looked at you once more as he put them on, a small smirk sneaking through his lips for a moment. You smiled from his contagious look, your cheeks feeling flush as you thought of what had happened only moments before.

With a growing discussion the door slammed, leaving you alone.

You sat on the bed, turning your body away from the door as you hiked your skirt up. Examining the rough rip Arthur had left, you smiled at it.

You popped the top of the tin off and began setting up the needle and thread.