#it just never seemed appeasing to me

[apprentice-s]

what are everyone’s thoughts on the allura ships

[steveslevis]

can you see right through me?

azriel x mate!reader

summary: after finding out you're mated to the Spymaster of the Night Court, you can't help but feel self-conscious, thanks to the jealous remarks made by patrons at your bookstore.

warnings: mentions of self-hatred and self-sabotage, angst!!!, body image issues, depression, mentions of death, azriel is an idiot but he figures it out ok, mentions of sex & the mating frenzy

word count: 9.5k (oops...)

Ever since finding out that you’re mated to none other than the High Lord’s Shadowsinger two months ago, everything in your life has flipped upside down.

You’re not just some ordinary bookstore owner anymore, you’re now part of the Night Court’s Inner Circle by default. Your status as a citizen in Velaris has completely changed, but you refused to quit working just because of your mate, much to his disappointment. He’d rather you just stay with him in the House of Wind, filling your days reading your favorite books instead of selling them, but you insisted. You wanted to get to know the male better before immediately accepting the bond, moving in and forgetting about your old life, especially after hearing all the things people say about you and your new mating bond when they’re in or around your shop. 

You have to deal with sidelong glances and whispers from almost everyone who comes into your tiny shop next to the Sidra, have to hear the spiteful unmated females who might kill to be in your position. 

“How do you think she got him? Do you think she slipped one of those banned love tonics into a drink or something?” 

“He could be mated to anyone, and the Cauldron picked her of all people?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he already rejected the bond, I don’t ever see them together.”

“She’s definitely just using him for his money and power, she had to have manipulated him somehow.”

“I thought he was with the Morrigan, she’s much more fitting for a male like him, much prettier.”

Every snide remark hits you like a knife to the heart, but still, you keep your composure throughout every single day. It isn’t ever until you’re in the safety of your own apartment above the bookstore that you allow yourself to mull over the comments, to let yourself fall back into old self-loathing habits.

You quickly learn how to contain your sadness to your end of the bond, blocking Azriel from seeing the pain that you endure on a nightly basis. You’re convinced he would be so embarrassed to see you cry yourself to sleep, to see you poke and prod at your skin in front of the mirror, to see you skip over meals in order to appease that incessant hatred filling your mind, to see you become filled with so much disgust in yourself when you replay the remarks over and over and over again.

The comments never seem to die down as weeks pass, and you slowly convince yourself that they’re all right, that Azriel is going to reject the bond because you don’t deserve him. You don’t see him often anyways, as you’re both preoccupied with your jobs throughout the week, which doesn’t help the fact that you’re convinced that he doesn’t want to be around you. 

You’re stuck between trying to change yourself to fit what you think the Illyrian would like in a mate and rejecting the bond before he gets the chance to break your heart. You eventually decide it’s worth a shot to change yourself into the ideal, beautiful mate that you think he wants you to be before being stung with the inevitable heartbreak that comes with rejecting a bond. 

Sundays used to be your favorite day of the week because you get to close shop at mid-day and spend the rest of the day reading at the foot of the Sidra or walking around to the nearby shops. 

For the last few Sundays, you didn’t feel like doing anything aside from wallowing in self-pity in your bed. You never let yourself do just that, though. 

You’d taken it upon yourself to change your lifestyle after thinking long and hard about the women that he’s surrounded by in the Inner Circle. All of them are tall and toned and so strong, more in shape than you’ve ever been in your life. All of them have natural beauty and grace that you could only wish to have. 

Every Sunday for the last month, you’d spent the afternoon running or doing some kind of training in order to “fix yourself”, to look an inkling more similar to those beautiful high fae of the Inner Circle. This Sunday was no different. 

You closed the bookstore around noon and headed up to your apartment, changing into training clothes before deciding to go for a long run after a day of extremely ruthless comments. You slip out the back door of the bookstore to begin your run, but are halted almost immediately when you walk straight into a wall of leather and warm skin, shadows skittering around your shoulders as you take a step back. 

Azriel peers down at you as you frown at him, concern lacing his features when he takes you in. His heart races as you stand in front of him, excited to finally see you after not seeing you for over a week. He swears you look different every time he’s seen you recently, your frame beginning to thin out in ways that concern him, but he knows better than to bring that up. 

“S–Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” you say meekly, tugging at the sleeves of your jacket while avoiding direct eye contact with the male. 

“It’s quite alright,” he says gently, watching you closely as his eagerness extends down the bond to you. “Where are you going?”

“Was just gonna go on a run,” you reply with a shrug, feigning nonchalance as the self-doubting thoughts swirl around in your mind even more in his presence. “Did–did you need something?”

“Am I not allowed to visit my mate whenever I please?” he teases, which makes your eyes widen in fear that he’s actually upset.

“I’m sorry, I–I didn’t mean it like that!” you stammer, shaking your head at him apologetically as you take a step back, backing into the door behind you. 

“Hey, no it’s alright. I was only joking.” Azriel says quickly, one of his hands coming up to caress one of your arms. “I didn’t mean to take you by surprise, I’m sorry. I should’ve made sure it was okay that I stopped by.”

You shake your head again, blinking before looking up at him with a frown. He wants more than anything to ask you what’s bothering you, but can see that you’re obviously already distraught about whatever it is, and doesn’t want to pry. Since he’s known you, you’ve always been closed off, like him, about your emotions. So, he opts to change the subject instead. 

“I did have a real reason for coming over here though,” he suggests and you nod slowly, waiting for him to continue. “Rhysand requests your presence at dinner tonight.” 

“T–The High Lord?” you question, and Azriel nods. “W–Why is he requesting my presence at dinner?”

“Well, we have family dinner once a week, and he claims it’s not a complete family affair if my mate isn’t present.” he explains, the ghost of a smile on his lips, “I tried to tell him to fuck off, because I know you’re typically busy on Sunday nights, but he insists that you come this week, at least this once.”

There’s a pleading look in your mate’s eyes that makes you nearly melt at his feet, and you know you can’t say no to him at that moment. 

“I–I, yeah, I can come tonight.” you say finally, giving him a weak smile as he grins down at you triumphantly. 

“Perfect,” he retorts, his shadows dancing around you with equal excitement, “I’ll meet you here around five? It’s just over at the River House.” 

You nod quickly, forcing a smile onto your face as he leans in to press a kiss to your cheek before bidding you goodbye. The small gesture makes your heart flutter, but you can’t help but wonder how forced it is, can’t help but wonder if inviting you to dinner is a ploy to bring you in and publicly reject your bond.

There’s no way in hell you’re going for a run now. 

You spend the next five hours pacing around, thinking about what you’re going to wear if you want to even come close to looking as good as the other females that will be there. The clothes in your closet are few and far between, but you finally decide on your nicest dress, one that's made of a gauzy navy fabric, adorned with silver embroidered stars littered over the bodice. It’s more revealing than most clothes you wear, but it’s the closest thing you have to the clothes that the Inner Circle wear. It takes you almost an hour to feel presentable in terms of makeup and hair, and by the time you’re done, you hear a knock on the back door of the store. 

You throw your shoes on quickly before making your way down the stairs, mentally preparing yourself for the evening as you do. 

Azriel’s eyes go wide when you open the door, something like amazement and confusion mixed in his gaze as he stares you down.

“I–I’ve never seen you wear anything like this, it’s beautiful,” he starts, unable to tear his gaze from the flowy dress, “You’re beautiful.”

Your chest aches at his compliment as your mind tries to convince you that he’s lying, but you smile up at him weakly nonetheless. He extends his arm for you to take, ready to lead you to the River House across the Sidra.

The two of you are greeted by more people than you’d expect when you enter the High Lord and Lady’s home, but you recognize them all before they get a chance to introduce themselves. You’ve only met Cassian and Nesta prior to this dinner, so the first hour was spent essentially introducing yourself to each of them one-by-one. Azriel stays by your side through each introduction, hand on the small of your back as his shadows swirl around your hands comfortingly. He can tell that something in you has changed since he met you a few months back, that the light and excitement in your eyes when you first found out he was your mate has since dissipated. There’s an unmistakable lump in his throat as he thinks too much into it, wondering if you’re having second thoughts about him. 

Dinner comes and goes as smoothly as you hoped it would. The nauseous feeling roiling in your gut keeps you from eating much, only pushing the food around on the plate while taking miniscule bites to fight off any comments that any of them might have about your hesitancy. You’re only roped into conversations every once in a while, so you’re able to sit back and explore the dynamic between the group a little more without much involvement. Azriel mainly stays silent, only making a few remarks here and there. 

With a snap of the High Lord’s fingers, dessert appears in front of everyone along with more wine in each of your glasses. 

“I propose a toast,” Rhysand suggests after getting everyone’s attention, eyes landing on you finally, “to Y/N, for bringing our Shadowsinger so much happiness.”

A deep blush spreads across your cheeks as you force a smile, raising your glass as the others do too. ‘Cheers’ is mumbled by everyone before they all take a drink, and Azriel reaches over to squeeze your hand that’s sitting on the edge of the table. You turn to look at him, noting an unfamiliar look in his eyes that you nearly mistake for love, before your thoughts are interrupted by a loud laugh from Amren across the table.

“I, for one, am so grateful that Y/N finally came along after all this time.” she says with a sly grin, “because I think if she wouldn’t have, then the Spymaster would’ve continued to pine after Mor for the rest of eternity.”

There’s a collectively uncomfortable murmur from everyone at her words, and Nesta jabs her in the side with a warning glare as she notices the smile on your face falter for a split second. You could feel all color leave your face as your heart plummets to your stomach, the female’s words confirming all of your doubts about your current situation. Azriel shifts his eyes to you then, but you bring back the same composed mask to your face, the same one you’ve held for the last three months any time someone made snide remarks at you, while you try to avoid his burning gaze. You give the female a withering smile, ignoring the worried stare from the male at your side as you do. 

“Truly, I’m grateful the Cauldron deemed me worthy of being a welcome distraction to such a male like him,” you say in response with a laugh, hoping your voice comes out in a joking tone as you try to mask the disappointment in your wavering voice. 

The comment is enough to earn a few chuckles from around the table, pushing away any awkwardness that stemmed from Amren’s comment. You’re able to skate through the rest of the evening without any snide remarks from the Inner Circle, glad that you’re one step closer to getting the hell out of this house as the group finally starts to stand from the table. 

Azriel follows closely behind you as you bid everyone goodbye, exhaustion raking over your bones as you give one final wave to the High Lord and Lady before turning toward your mate.

There’s a look of worry shining in his eyes when you finally peer up at him, shadows skittering anxiously around your wrists in the meantime.

“Ready to go home?” he questions, forcing a smile onto his face as he guides you towards the front door when you nod. 

“You don’t have to walk me home, Azriel.” you start once you’re out of earshot of everyone else, stopping in your tracks to look at him again. The look on your face is almost unreadable, but his shadows whisper to him about your pain and embarrassment as the two of you stand on the outside of the front door to the River House. “I’m truly fine to go by myself, you don’t–don’t have to bother to go out of your way for me.” 

His brow furrows and a frown pulls his lips down at your words, finally seeing the slightest glimmer of sadness and disappointment shining in your eyes as you speak. He only shakes his head, taking a step towards you before he speaks. 

“I–You’re not a bother to me.” he says, unsure of what else to say to you, “If you’re upset about what Amren said, please know that she always says bullshit like that when she’s drunk, I have not thought about Mor in that way for centuries–”

“Truly, Azriel, it’s quite alright.” you interject with a pained smile. “You didn’t ask to be mated to me, I understand if you’re preoccupied with other love interests or if you just don’t want to be with me.” 

The Illyrian opens his mouth to speak, but is downright dumbfounded by your words to the point where he simply closes his mouth again. He very obviously had been reading the situation wrong this whole time, as he thought that giving you space was the right thing to do in order to let you process the very new bond from your end. He realizes then that you needed reassurance and not space, but it could very well be too late now. Before he can protest, you’re taking a step closer to him in order to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek before stepping away.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” you say, voice barely above a whisper, “I get it, I really do. And–And if you need to reject the bond and never want to see me again after tonight, I’ll understand.”

Oh, fuck. You think he wants to reject the bond. 

Hazel eyes meet yours then, and you swear you see a twinkle of regret and hurt shining somewhere between the bronzy flecks, but it’s almost undetectable. Such a miniscule expression that you tell yourself that you imagined it, that his face never changed and that he truly does not care about what you’re saying to him now. 

He shakes his head as you take another step away from him, as you turn on your toes to walk away from the townhouse, away from him. His chest feels like it’s going to cave in then, as the bond to his heart hums with a sadness he’s never felt before. He can feel the bond quivering in pain between your souls, threatening to wither away if either of you even thinks about truly rejecting the bond. 

But you don’t feel it because you’ve expertly blocked the bond out for the last month, because you truly believe that there’s no way Azriel could ever truly want you, because you’re convinced that he wants this.

There’s no hesitation in your step when you turn your back to the male, walking in swift strides towards the bridge to cross the Sidra to reach your little apartment on top of the bookstore. You refuse to let him see how much it kills you to freely offer up a rejected bond, you can’t let him see how you’re crumbling with each step you take. So you stay steady in your gait, hiding your shaking hands in front of you as you blink back the tears that threaten to spill. 

If you would’ve looked back in that moment, you would’ve seen the tears that spilled down the shadowsinger’s cheeks. If you wouldn’t have blocked out the bond in that moment, you would’ve felt the way you almost tore his heart out of his chest as you walked into the darkness. 

Azriel didn’t follow after you though, he didn’t want to make things worse than they already were. He’d fucked up so badly by not showing you how much the bond truly meant to him, by simply assuming that you needed space. 

So, he simply sent a shadow to make sure you got home safely and sat down on the front step of the townhouse. 

He sat on that step for almost two hours, staring at the stars and cursing himself for all of the mistakes he’d made. 

You only get one mate in your eternal life, and he really fucked it up this badly already?

Memories of the first few times the two of you had met replayed in his mind as he sat there, remembering how your eyes glimmered with the most love he’d ever been shown in his life.

You were shy and quiet, something he wasn’t used to from being around the Inner Circle for so long. After living with the loud, boisterous crown for centuries, he was used to emotions being expressed outright. So, he’d mistaken your meek behavior for disinterest, mistaken your nervousness for distaste. He thought you’d needed space, needed time to get used to his brooding and intolerable presence, needed room to process the sudden bond. But, fuck, was he wrong. 

Everything becomes clearer to the male as as it nears midnight. The ache in his chest becomes more and more painful with each passing minute now, and he realizes that he has to get you back, he has to fight to make you understand how much you mean to him. 

_______________________________________

Nesta Archeron started her Sunday much earlier than usual this week, thanks to her mate’s early morning departure. Cassian woke her by rustling around their shared bedroom before dawn, seemingly flustered as he tried to gather his leathers and put them on in the dark. 

“You’re not very good at being quiet, General.” she remarks tiredly, sitting up in the bed to flick one of the bedside faelights on.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, shooting her a sympathetic smile as he nearly trips over the leathers he tries to step into. “Rhys said there’s an emergency in Windhaven, Az and I are leaving soon.” 

She only hums in response, watching him finish getting dressed in comfortable silence. Cassian stands over her at the edge of the bed after tugging on his boots, leaning down to press a kiss to her cheek before heading out for the day. 

Nesta knows then that she won’t be able to fall back asleep, so she decides to reach for her latest read on her nightstand. Once she grabs the book, she realizes that she’d finished the night before and is completely out of books to read. She knows then that she’ll have to make her way into town, deciding to take a trip to your bookstore at the base of the Sidra for the first time. 

She took her time getting ready, slipping into a gray dress and her usual boots before heading downstairs to eat breakfast. It was a little after seven in the morning when she made her way towards your bookstore, basking in the chilly morning air as she walked along the river.

It took her all of thirty minutes to reach the store, where she was met with a locked door and a dark front window. It was well past opening time for the store and there were no other signs on the door to suggest otherwise, but your store was definitely closed. 

“I’m not surprised,” Nesta hears a female say from behind her, giggling to her friend as they pass the storefront, “I’m sure she’s been rotting away upstairs because the Shadowsinger broke their bond or something like that. The store’s been closed all week. A lesser fae store owner like her did not deserve a male as beautiful as him.” 

Nesta turns to see the culprits of the spiteful comments and laughs, and the two High Fae females’ eyes widen upon her whipping her head towards them. 

Their smirks fall immediately, the one who was speaking starts to open her mouth but Nesta only holds up a hand to shut her up.

“I don’t know either of you females–and I’m very glad I don’t–” the sharp-eyed female spat out, “but I do know the Shadowsinger and his mate. And all I have to say is that if I hear either of you coming around here to harass her or if I hear of you spewing more lies about her relationship, I will be sure to mention it to the High Lord and Shadowsinger. I’m sure neither of them would be very happy to hear the rumors flying around.”

The females nod feverishly as Nesta stares them down with that silver fire flickering lowly in her eyes, both mumbling apologies under their breaths as they scurry away.

Nesta lets out a huff, turning on her heels to make her way towards the other bookstore across town, where she only finds two new books for herself instead of the countless romance novels she knew she would’ve found at your carefully curated store. The remarks from the two females about you aren’t lost on her as she makes her way through the city, their spiteful words and evil giggles running through her mind as she replays the scenario. 

Instead of trekking all the way back to the House of Wind after gathering her books, she makes her way to the River House in order to spend the day with her favorite person–Nyx.

The day goes by quickly between reading and rolling around with the toddler and his mother, and it’s evening before she or Feyre even realize it. Three Illyrian warriors clad in leathers make their way into the drawing room where the two females lounge on the couch, looking exhausted from a day of crisis management at the camps. 

“Long day?” Nesta says as she raises her eyebrow at the three males, stroking Nyx’s hair as he sleeps silently on her chest. 

Her mate only grunts in agreement, coming over to press a kiss to the crown of her head in greeting. The High Lord is greeted by Feyre with a loving stroke of his cheek, smiling up at him sympathetically. Azriel only stands at the threshold, looking more brooding and closed off than usual.

“Well, good news is you can tell us all about it at dinner.” Feyre suggests, trying to lighten the sour mood of the three males as she reaches for Rhys’ hand to intertwine into her own. “Nuala and Cerridwen just finished making some delicious stew and I don’t know about you all, but I’m starving.”

Dinner seems to lighten the mood quite a bit for the group, quiet conversation carrying through the dining room after Cassian and Rhysand get their complaints out for the day. Azriel sits on the other side of Feyre, silent for the majority of the meal, only engaging when Cassian involves him. 

A burning question gnaws at Nesta as she takes in the sad, hazel-eyed male, she can almost feel the pain radiating off of him from across the table as he stares intently down at the barely touched food in front of him. It’s hard to read the male, so she’s not entirely sure what the sadness is about, but she has to know eventually.

“How was your day, Nes?” her thoughts are interrupted by Cassian’s words and his elbow nudging hers lightly.

“Great, for the most part. Got to spend it with my favorite nephew,” she jokes, grinning briefly over at the babbling toddler being fed by his mother. “But I did find something very interesting on my trip to get some new books this morning.”

She notes how Azriel’s eyes flicker towards her then, intrigued by the mention of going to a bookstore.

“Oh, did you go to Y/N’s store? I’ve been meaning to ask if you wanted to take a trip over there to get some new books.” Feyre asks while forking some food for her son. 

“Well, that was the original plan.” Nesta retorts, lips pulling into a half-frown before turning towards the shadowsinger, “Have you heard from your mate lately, Azriel?”

Azriel drops the spoon he was holding into the bowl of stew with a loud clatter, obviously taken aback by the question directed towards him. The room is silent as he finally looks up, seeing four expectant pairs of eyes staring back at him, Nesta’s gaze the harshest out of all of them. 

“No, I haven’t heard from her since Saturday.” he says, willing his voice to be strong as he feels as though he’s going to throw up.

“Hm, interesting.” Nesta hums, eyes sharpening even more, if that’s even possible, “I tried to stop by the store because I finished my last novel last night, but the door was locked and the lights were all off. Then I ran into the most interesting pair of females who I overheard say that the store had been closed all week.” 

“All week?” Feyre questions, a frown on her face now too.

“You haven’t heard from your mate for a week and you haven’t thought to try to contact her?” Rhys interjects, disappointment laced in his tone as he stares down Azriel from across the table, his honed gaze rivaling Nesta’s. 

“She–She hasn’t left her apartment since last Saturday.” Azriel grits out, stopping anyone else from their questioning. “She thinks I want to reject her, to reject the bond. And I’m starting to think I should.” 

Everyone goes silent then, even Nyx’s babbling is hushed as a thick air of tension fills the large dining room. Azriel’s hands are shaking as he stares at his untouched glass of wine, shadows slashing around his wings angrily now.

“Why do you think that?” Nesta’s the only one brave enough to question him, unafraid of facing the upset male. “What makes you think you should reject the bond?”

“I fucked up. I thought she needed space, thought she was overwhelmed by me, by all of this, by being part of the Inner Circle by default.” he says, a pained expression on his face as he finally looks up to Nesta. “I hurt her and I didn’t even realize it. She needed me and I wasn’t there for her. I can’t figure out how to make it better, I–I don’t know how to take away her pain. I’ve been her mate for less than six months and I’ve already lost her trust in me. I don’t deserve such a sweet creature like her.”

“Do you want to reject the bond?” Nesta persists, and he knows she means to ask if he loves you or not.

“I don’t. But–”

“There’s no but, Azriel.” Cassian interrupts firmly, “You either want to, or you don’t. And you don’t want to reject it, I know you don’t. You’ve never been happier than you were when you realized you had a mate and that it was her. You need to get your head out of your ass, stop pitying yourself and start showing her that you want to be with her. If not, you’re going to kill the poor female. You’re gonna fucking kill her from a broken heart.”

_______________________________________

In all honesty, you don’t know what day it is anymore. You’ve sat in the dark in your apartment above the bookstore all alone for Gods know how long, letting yourself wallow in the sorrow that fills your chest every time you breathe. 

You can’t remember the last time you ate, the last time you did anything aside from stare at the wall next to your bed, save for the times that you’ve gone to the bathroom. It truly feels like you’re dying, like you’re withering away into nothing, and you might as well be. You don’t know what day it is, but you do know that Azriel hasn’t tried to contact you since you left the River House on Saturday, you do know that he wants nothing to do with you.

You hadn’t realized how much you had grown to rely on the male’s visits and nervous glances, how much they’d excited you, until they were no more. 

The golden thread in your soul quivers every time you think about him, but you don’t let yourself think about missing him for too long. You always shut down before it gets too bad, and push yourself back into the thoughts of self-hatred, the thoughts of how you wish you’d just cease to exist already. There wasn’t anyone around anymore to check on you, anyone to make sure you made it through this bout of depression like there used to be. Your sister and mother have been gone for years, and now your mate, the one who gave you a sliver of hope for the shortest time, is gone too. 

When the first knock falls on the door to your apartment, you barely hear it over the incessant ringing in your ears. You choose to ignore it, thinking whoever it is will go away eventually if they stand out in the late evening cold for long enough. 

But they don’t. 

They knock, and knock, and knock, and knock for what feels like thirty minutes, each knock getting louder and more insistent than the last. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to fall back asleep to ignore the sound, but it doesn’t work. After what feels like hours, but is probably only a few minutes, the knocking finally stops. 

What you don’t hear–or see–in that moment is the shadows that slip under the door at the bottom of the stairs, quietly unlocking it for their master to slip inside, and the other shadows ahead of their master that report back to him about your state before he makes his way up the stairs. 

Moments later, you hear the creak of the stairs and your heart sinks, but you feel too weak to move, too weak to save yourself, and for a moment, you thank the Cauldron that some intruder has finally come to put you out of your misery in one way or another.

You don’t expect the weak, broken voice of a male at the top of the stairs as you’re laying with your back towards the threshold, the sadness in an all too familiar voice when you hear, “Gods, Y/N. I am so sorry.” 

It takes every ounce of strength out of Azriel to walk over to the bed after taking in the sight of your studio apartment in complete disarray. The place is unkempt and needs plenty of repairs just from what he can see with a quick scan, but that’s not what hurts his heart the most in the moment. You facing the blank wall, staring mindlessly ahead as you’re curled up in a ball at the edge of your bed is what breaks him. He finally makes his way over to the wall that you’re facing, but you don’t look up at him, unable to take the energy to complete the small gesture.

Azriel falls to his knees in front of you, reaching a hand out to stroke your hair. He takes you in fully then–your unkempt hair, chapped lips, red cheeks and heavy eyes–you truly were dying from a broken heart.

“Y/N,” he says gently, trying to keep his voice as strong as possible while choking back tears. You take a long moment to finally look up at him, a look of confusion and then delusion crossing over your face as you do–you had to be dreaming him, right?

“I’m–I’m so fucking sorry, love. Gods, how long have you been laying here?” he says, and you only blink up at him because you’re not even sure of the answer, numb to it all at this point. “Are–Do you want me to help you? Can I help you somehow, please? I–I wanna fix this, I wanna make you better.” 

A strange noise leaves your throat then as your brow furrows at his words, your delusions during depressive episodes have never said anything like this to you before, and that’s when it all feels too real. You slowly realize that this is very much the real Azriel kneeling in front of you with tears shimmering in his eyes, clasping your very clammy hand between his very warm ones. Tears brim in your own eyes now, the weight of the entire situation hitting you like a ton of bricks. You’d ruined yourself before he’d even broken the bond, so now you’ve hurt him by somehow signaling to him of your suffering. 

“‘M sorry, A–Azriel,” you croak out, the first words to have left your lips in days. 

“S–You’re sorry?” he says, voice more stern than before, shaking his head persistently, “No–No, there’s nothing for you to be sorry about, love.” He squeezes your icy hand then, giving you a weak, bitter smile, “I’m sorry for not coming sooner, okay? I’m so sorry and I’ll apologize until the day I die for not being here for you when you needed me. I–I wanna help you now, if you’ll let me. Will you let me help you? Can I take you home with me to get you some help?” 

Despite the confusion and sadness swirling around in your deprived brain, you nod at the male, who jumps up almost immediately after you nod. He slowly peels the covers off your frail form, heart breaking at the sight of you. He pushes the ache in his chest down to be strong for you then, gently scooping you up into his arms. The two of you are engulfed in shadows seconds later as Azriel shadow-walks to the House of Wind as quickly as he can. 

You don’t remember much from your first moments at the House of Wind, other than the fact that there were a lot of people around you in a very short amount of time. You recognized some of them, the High Lord and Lady, along with Cassian and Nesta, but other faces were less familiar. One woman came into the room you laid in, tugging a warm blanket over your body before using what you could only assume was healing power on you. She’d mumbled something to Azriel on her way out before patting him on the shoulder, and that was the last thing you’d remembered before finally falling into a peaceful sleep for the first time in a week.

Sunlight streaming in through the curtains woke you later on, you weren’t entirely sure how long you’d been out for but you’re sure it had been for more than a few hours at this point. You groaned lightly as you stretched your weak legs, eyes fluttering open to take in your surroundings fully for the first time. The room smelled of mahogany and amber, a familiar and inviting scent you knew too well to not understand whose room you were in. 

Though alone at the moment, you know he’s not far, as his shadows skitter excitedly around you as you attempt to sit up in the bed. 

The door opens not even two minutes later, the shadowsinger standing in the doorway with a tray of what looked to be steaming food, a glass of water, and some medications. He nearly drops the tray when he sees you sitting up in the middle of his bed, not expecting you to already be awake and so alert. Without a word, he strides over to the large bed, placing the tray on the bedside table before sitting in the chair he’d positioned on the side where you laid.

“Hi,” he says with a sharp inhale, giving you a weak smile as he searches your eyes for any emotion he can find. 

“H–How long was I out for?” you ask meekly, the full weight of your actions crashing down on you all at once. “How long have I overstayed?”

“What?” he questions, a frown pulling his lips down as his heart sinks. You truly think you’re burdening this male, when all he wants is for you to be safe and to feel loved. “You haven’t overstayed, I brought you here to heal, I wanted you to come here to get better.”

You shake your head then, blinking harshly at him as you refuse to believe what he’s telling you. “N–No, you only came to find me because I’m–I’m stupid and didn’t give you the opportunity to reject the bond before I mourned what we never had.” you insist, looking at him with wide eyes. “I’m sorry you had to deal with all of this, please–please, you can reject it now, you don’t have to pretend anymore.”

The level of self destruction going on in your mind was on another level that Azriel couldn’t deign to comprehend in the moment, but he knew it wasn’t just by your own doing. He can see the internal turmoil you’re going through, can feel your peril down the bond that he now realizes you’ve been shrouding in your own shadows for months, can feel the way you’re tearing yourself apart from the inside out. He reaches for you then, hands coming up to cup your cheeks gently as his shadows rub soothing circles along your back to calm you down, though you continue to babble apologetically about how he should hate you and how you’re the one who should be apologizing for everything.

“Y/N, hey, hey, hey. Look at me.” he coos gently, thumbs stroking your cheekbones softly to bring you back to the moment as you finally lock eyes with him, “I don’t want to reject the bond, I never wanted to reject the bond.” 

You try to shake your head feverishly, but he doesn’t let you as his hands stay on either side of your face. “Nesta told me about some females she heard outside your store on Sunday, who said some pretty foul things about you.” he begins, having to reign his anger in as he speaks about the females, “Is that something that happened a lot at the store? Did females that come into the bookstore say things to you about us often?” 

You can’t even look at him now, dread and self-loathing gnawing at your chest as you think back to all the hateful comments thrown at you throughout the last few months. You shake your head slowly now, brow furrowing as you try to push down the bile rising in your throat. 

“No, it only happened a–a few times.” you lie bluntly, staring down into your lap as you try to pull away from his touch again and this time he lets you, watching closely as you attempt to stand from the bed. “I want to take a bath.” you say, attempting to change the subject to something less painful.

Azriel is there to catch you when you all but fall when trying to stand on your own two feet, hands landing on your waist to situate you back on the edge of the bed, “You’re not supposed to be getting up on your own yet. You didn’t eat for almost a whole week, you’re too weak to stand right now.” he says softly, hands firmly planted on your waist still, “Do you want me to take you to the bathroom? This food will still be warm when we return if you’d rather bathe now.”

You nod wordlessly, brow pinched in frustration at your current situation. Azriel easily picks you up, carrying you bridal style into the en suite bathroom and sitting you on the edge of the large tub as he draws a warm bath. He turns the tap off once it’s nearly full, turning on his heels to leave you alone in the bathroom for some privacy. 

“A–Azriel,” you call out before he shuts the door, making the male stop in his tracks to face you, heart nearly shattering when you look at him with wide, shameful eyes. “Can you help me bathe?”

The male is at the edge of the tub in an instant, nodding at you gently. He looks away as you strip out of the clothes that you’d been in for a week, tossing the dirty pajamas into a pile at your feet before stepping into the tub slowly. He helps you ease down onto the bottom, letting go of your hand he didn’t realize he’d grabbed once you tug out of his grasp to wrap the arm around your knees you pull into your chest. 

You settle into the water, letting the warmth engulf your cold limbs as you lean your head back to dip your hair, up to the scalp, into the water. Azriel gives you a few minutes to relax in the water, watching as your muscles finally relax slightly under the caress of the liquid. He reaches for the bottle of shampoo eventually, eyeing you closely as he pours some into his hands to lather it. You lean your head up as he does, giving him a small nod of invitation before he reaches for your scalp.

There’s nothing but love and tenderness behind his caress, fingers combing through your damp hair to thoroughly clean it. He’s careful with every movement, making sure to not make the wrong move and send you spiraling for one reason or another. 

It’s such a tender moment as he gently tilts you back to rinse your hair with a cup of water that it nearly makes you sob, but hold back for him to continue. 

“Can you promise me that you won’t ever let yourself get like this again?” he says, voice barely above a whisper as he runs conditioner through your hair. “I–I don’t know if I can handle seeing you so sad ever again. I won’t let you destroy yourself over my stupidity, not when I’m the one to blame for this whole situation.”

You tense at his words, chest tightening as you hear his voice crack when he chokes back tears. It takes you a moment, but you finally turn to face him, your own tears blurring your vision as you look up at the hazel-eyed male.

“It’s–It’s not your fault, Azriel.” you say, shaking your head insistently at him, “It’s my fault for making you feel obligated to be nice to me, I–I know you didn’t ask to be mated to a lowly, lesser fae bookshop owner when there’s plenty of beautiful high fae females out there ready to accept your hand in marriage at the drop of a hat. I shouldn’t have tried to pursue you after the bond snapped, I–I should’ve let you reject it then so you could go be happy with whoever you want to be with.”

“It’s you I want to be with, Y/N.” he insists, hands shaking as they fall from your head. He falls to his knees then, pivoting so he’s face-to-face with you when he continues, “I don’t care that you’re lesser fae, I fucking hate that you’re considered that anyways, it’s a disgusting term. I’m not even a high fae myself, I don’t care about title or status or whatever else, I only care that I’ve finally found my mate.” Azriel is trying his damndest to keep himself from falling apart as he speaks, “My mate, the love of my life, the one that I get to spend the rest of my days with. I know you feel like I pushed you away and I know I made you feel unwanted, but I thought you wanted space. I know now that you don’t, and I promise you that I’ll spend every waking moment, from now until we die, showing you that I am so fucking happy that you of all people are my mate. I love you.”

Whether he realizes it or not, Azriel projects his passion and love down the bond in the moment. Your deceitful brain would’ve told you he was lying had it not been for that tug and flow of warmth between your souls, if it had not been for the true, unadulterated ache you felt in your chest when he said that he was happy that you were his mate. 

Tears well up in your eyes once more as you stare at him, really taking him in, in full form, for the first time. He’s so beautiful, and though there’s a little voice in the back of your mind that still tells you that he’s lying, deep down you know that he’s all yours. Something blooms in your chest then, something stronger than you’ve ever felt, something so compelling that you can’t just sit and stare at him anymore. 

You don’t say anything as you continue to stare up at him, reaching your shaky hands out of the water to cup his cheeks. He almost flinches when you do, taken aback by you initiating the touch, but he doesn’t. With the strength gifted to you by the love confession of your mate, you’re able to maneuver onto your knees and tug him a little closer, crashing your lips into his in a gentle, watery kiss. 

“I love you, Azriel.” you murmur against his lips when you finally pull away from the kiss for a short moment. 

He smiles against your lips, pulling you back in for another kiss as his hands grip your forearms to keep you from slipping in the tub. 

“We really need to get you cleaned up before we can finish this conversation, yeah?” he encourages in between kisses, smoothing down your wet hair as it drips on the side of the tub.

You breathe out a laugh, nodding at him before turning to let him continue washing your hair, and then moving on to your body. Each touch threatens to set you on fire, but there’s no sexual intention behind them, only loving caresses meant to wash you clean of the last week of pain. 

After getting you out of the shower, Azriel slowly dresses you in one of his large shirts, mumbling an apology about how he’ll be sure to bring some of your clothes over if you’d like him to. You only smile at him softly, knowing you’ll be bringing more than a few of your items over soon enough. 

He insists that you eat after your bath, bringing you back to the bed where the soup is still steaming hot, likely thanks to the House that Azriel explained was imbued with magic and would do anything you wished it to. You eat the stew after taking the handful of medications and strength tonic that the healer, Madja, had given him for you, relishing the feeling of the warm food settling in your stomach. 

The change in your energy level after the strength tonic is astonishing. You feel as though you can run for days, but know better than to try something like that in front of your terrified mate. But, there is one thing that you feel like you need to do at the moment, something that’s long overdue.

You’re laying in Azriel’s arms when you finally get your burst of energy, sitting up abruptly enough to make him sit up with you. There’s a look of wild concern on his face when he reaches for your hips, steadying you as you pull your legs to the side of the bed. 

“Are you alright?” he questions immediately, brow furrowing when you miraculously stand on your own two feet. “Do you need something? The House can get you whatever you need.”

You give him a small smile, leaning down to caress his cheek before kissing his forehead gently. 

“I wanna get this thing myself,” you state matter-of-factly as he raises a brow at you. “You stay right here, alright?” 

Before he can protest, you’re walking towards the door of the bedroom to swing it open. You shut the door behind you, leaving the male in the room without a word. 

The House is magic alright, you confirm that when you’re on your way down the stairs and it lights the way for you, only letting the fae lights on the direct path towards the kitchen light the way. It knew exactly what you were doing. 

You’re met with a cutting board, a block of cheese, a loaf of bread and a bowl of grapes next to an empty plate when you enter the kitchen, a lone fae light above the counter lighting the area so you can prepare the plate. You make quick work of cutting the cheese and bread, trying to ignore the way your hands are shaking incessantly as you saw into the sourdough. It only takes you a few minutes to lay everything out on the plate and the House takes care of the rest, then you’re on your way back upstairs, on your way to change your life forever. 

Azriel shifts quickly on the bed when you return, sitting up straight as he locks eyes with you. His heart nearly leaps out of his chest when his eyes flicker down to the plate of food in your hand, realizing what you were up to when you left the room. 

You give him a nervous smile, gripping the plate with two hands as you make your way over to the bed, careful not to tip its contents onto the floor as you quiver. You wonder if he can hear your heart beating in the moment, as you feel like it’s about to beat through your ribcage with one more loud thump. 

“Y/N…” he trails as you shakily extend the plate to him when you perch on the edge of the bed, looking up at you with a look you can only describe as certainty. “Are you sure about this? You want to accept the bond right now?” 

“If you don’t eat this food right now, you might as well send me back to my little old apartment so I can try to die of a broken heart again.” you say, voice barely above a whisper as you give him a watery smile and push the plate closer to him.

He takes the plate from you then, but doesn’t grab any food at first, looking back up at you before he does. He leans over, pressing his lips to yours in a gentle kiss before taking a shuddering breath.

“I promise you that after this bond is accepted, I’ll spend the rest of my life showing you that you are so much more than all of those evil things that those females said about you. I’ll spend every waking moment showing you how perfect you are and making up for the time that we didn’t get to spend together,” he begins, planting a kiss on your cheek, “I love you.”

“I love you, Azriel.” you whisper, “now eat that food, please. I’m tired of waiting.” 

He smiles at you then, leaning back on the bed as he grabs for a piece of bread and cheese, ready to spend the rest of his eternal life with you, with his mate. 

_______________________________________

It takes almost a whole month for the mating frenzy to die down enough for the two of you to be able to integrate back into society. Rhys insisted on letting the two of you stay in the Cabin for your time away, but you opted to spend your time in Summer in a secluded bungalow for the four weeks instead. 

When you do return to Velaris after your time away, Azriel insists on taking another week off from spymaster duties to get your bookstore back on track and to help move your belongings to the House of Wind while the two of you look for your very own home, somewhere closer to the Rainbow where you can continue to run your bookstore. You don’t dare to protest your mate’s wishes, letting him alternate between packing the little amount of things you have upstairs and taking inventory in the store while you run the register. 

It’s a sunny Saturday when you open your doors for the first time after over a month of being closed, and you’re much busier than you’d expected to be in all honesty, though it seems many of the females coming in are just being nosy to see how true it is that you’re actually back in the flesh. 

There are less snide remarks thrown your way now, but still enough that they make you flinch every once in a while. They don’t bother you anymore, though. During your time away, Azriel showed you how much you meant to him and how beautiful he thought you were in many ways, with his mouth, with his hands, with his tongue, with his…

“Do you think she’s single again? Like…do you think he actually rejected the bond?” you hear a high fae female say on the far end of your busy shop, her eyes darting in your direction as she speaks to a friend.

“I hope so, there’s no way he actually–Oh my Gods.” her friend says, eyes wide when they fall on none other than the shadowsinger himself emerging from the back room of your store, a dozen books in hand. 

A satisfied smile spreads across your face as Azriel walks behind the checkout counter to press a kiss to your forehead before placing the books next to you. The sound of the females whispering hastily falls on deaf ears as your mate turns to you, grabbing a small piece of paper off the top of the pile of books he’d been holding. 

“Found six more copies of both of those romance novels you said you were out of, so no need to order more until those are gone.” he says while pointing at the books. “You really need a better inventory system.”

“Hmm, maybe I’ll just hire you to do it for me instead, since you’re so good at it.” you tease, shooting him a smirk.

“As long as I’m compensated fairly, I wouldn’t mind.” he jokes with a wink, pulling you in for an embrace to speak to you lowly. “On another note, you are officially fully moved into the House of Wind. So once you’re closed up for the day, we’ll be able to go home and officially christen the bedroom.” 

“We’ve already christened that bedroom,” you giggle, rolling your eyes at him, “it’s been thoroughly christened, multiple times at this point. And if I remember correctly, it’s the first place that was christened by us.”

“And?” he says, lips quirked up into a smirk, “I plan on christening it multiple times tonight, and the next night, and the night after that…”

“Okay, I get it,” you laugh, slapping his chest lightly as you pull out of his grip, “You’re insatiable.”

“And you’re beautiful and the love of my life.” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple.

It was safe to say that you’re getting nowhere past the mating frenzy phase of your relationship anytime soon.

And you’re okay with that.

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[timmydraker]

Tim Drake first went to the Iceberg Lounge when he was seven years old.

Due to a rather unfortunate car collision his nanny, a sweet woman named Lillian, had never arrived to care for him while his parents went for dinner with their biggest sponsor. the woman lived thankfully, but when Tim realised he was home alone he grew fearful and took it upon himself to go and find his parents.

Luckily he was paranoid enough with them leaving so frequently he had… found a way to permanently track them.

Tim had only been allowed into the seedy lounge due to the fact that the bouncer on duty recognised him and knew his parents were inside.

Escorting the young boy inside after Tim very politely explained the situation, the man left him in the staff rom for the security and went to get the elder Drakes.

Who promptly betrayed Tim for so recklessly leaving the very safe mansion in Bristol on a public bus and then walking through Gotham in his pyjamas into a very respectful restaurant owned by a very important man all because his nanny was a little late-

Until an incredibly well dressed man came in, waving a cane around with a gleeful look on his face, “Jack! Janet! You didn’t tell me your little one was coming!”

Oswald Cobblepot, AKA the Penguin, didn’t seem to care for the frazzled and furious looks that quickly vanished into something appeasing from the Drakes and instead approached the wide eyed boy who just realised where exactly he was.

Tim looked up at the man and, knowing full well he was one of the most powerful mobsters in the whole world, promptly panicked and went into full faun mode, “I-I’m sorry Mister Pen- Mister Cobblepot, I was just alone and I got scared and I- I wanted my parents-“

Cobblepot, a feared man who had made his very name and appearance enough for people to run or give appeasing bow in a hopes he wouldn’t have them shot on the spot, then cooed.

Tim was then given a new set of pyjamas bought by a henchmen and was given his own room to sleep in for the night while his parents finished their dinner. Tim was given a hot chocolate with penguins shaped marshmallows and despite being in such a dangerous place, he felt so very safe.

Cobblepot tucked Tim in himself and with a somewhat dark look in his eyes said to him, “Look, kiddo, there’s… some people in this world who say they are good or that they will do good by and they don’t. These folks they, ah, don’t always seem like the type and that ain’t your fault, ya hear?”

Tim had listened with a confused expression but chose to keep the words in mind after considering how the older man had built his inheritance up to something so grand. He had to be smart, had to have good advice, even if he used said knowledge for nefarious means.

Tim had left a few hours later, half asleep in his mothers arms, with Cobblepot’s last words in his mind,

“If you ever need anything, you just come by, okay? Don’t worry, I won’t let anything bad happen ‘round ya, not anything that could make the big bat cross with you. But… if you need helps, any at all, just say the word.”

Tim didn’t exactly go and see the monster after that, not at least straight away, but when he got a sprained ankle one night after taking photos of Batman and Robin he panicked. Seen as The Iceberg Lounge was closer than the bus stop and he was really in a lot of pain, the then eight year old decided that it was better to get help quickly than have to wait for hours and only help himself.

So, Tim went to the Lounge and calmly asked the security if they could ask Mister Cobblepot if he could please come help him.

Having been told to allow the boy in if he came by, the man was already radioing to alert the boss only to widen his eyes at the very obviously swollen ankle the boy was standing on.

Picking Tim up carefully and taking him into the office room, he quickly got some ice and wrapped it around the limb.

Cobblepot had rushed in, alarmed at hearing the boy had been hurt and not having any other context, just to find himself telling the boy to be more careful when climbing around to take photos.

Tim, who had been given prescription medicine that Cobblepot had promised him was safe and the young boy had somewhat recklessly decided to trust, was then sleepy and embarrassed and accidentally confessed to taking photos of Batman.

Cobblepot had just been about to order his men to contact his parents, who were in Peru and unavailable, and was left with curiosity.

Tim showed him the actually very good photos and Cobblepot was left with a choice.

Use the boy for information on how he was finding and tracking the Bat or… leave the golden chance to get one over the Big Bat in favour of not hurting the young boy.

If he had lived even the slightest bit crueler of a life, if he had taken the marketing and business opportunity of dealing in kiddies and drugs and the things that are truely evil and not just money control, maybe he would have used the kid.

But this Cobblepot wasn’t as bitter as he could have been, all due to one interaction with Martha Wayne where the woman had chosen him to talk to in a crowd or ‘normal’ people.

He had to repay that kindness in more than just procreating her son.

So, Cobblepot bought Tim some new shoes and a new camera lense and told him come by in a few days so he could check his ankle was healing and maybe to see some more photos?

Tim then started to send printed out photos to Cobblepot every few weeks. Never really of Batman, but of everything and anything he photographed.

Cobblepot adored them and framed his favourite.

When winter came and Tim took as many photos as he could of the snowed in Gotham, the ice rinks and the penguins sat the zoo, Cobblepot had many of them framed and soon half of The Iceberg Lounge was covered in them.

When Robin died Tim went to Cobblepot and sobbed.

The man hadn’t understood why he was so upset at first even though he was a bit shaken by the boy dying, but all that mattered was the kid chose to come to him even though his parents were in town.

That night they talked a lot.

Tim confessed that he wanted to be like Robin, maybe not a hero, but brave and loud and funny and bright and not all polite wording, formal clothes and scheming for partnerships. He wanted to be someone more than a company and a last name, even if he did like his life and all of his friends.

Oswald opened up about his disability and how much he hated it. He told Tim about when Martha Wayne spoke to him like a person, greeting him without bending down or making a show of looking lower. He talked about how he wishes he was different and that he is only so cruel so people respect him.

They make a promise to each other that night.

Oswald promises to be nicer to himself so Tim won’t be worried about him, as well as a more loose promise of trying to avoid the meaner methods of his business.

Tim promises to be whoever he wants and that if her ever becomes Robin, he’ll turn a blind eye to the Lounge.

Tim does become Robin a year later, debuting two years later after his extensive training in an improved suit and with a far a more calculating and measured approach to the role than the last two.

Oswald didn’t stop dealing in weapons and some of the lesser drugs, but he did stop with the drugs that were harder to control and kept getting out of his connections. He still killed those who wronged him, but he gave one chance for improvement and instead of killing his men who failed he dropped their rank to things like janitors or waiters.

Oswald is hurt when his favourite gothamite stops coming around every few months for a chat or sending photos. He worries he upset the boy he started seeing as a family member, which makes him focus on the family aspects of his business, how it started and what he turned it into.

It’s almost a whole year later, a whole year of hearing about and seeing the new Robin get hurt on TV, that he meets the boy wonder.

Tim looks at Oswald, Batman commanding in his earpiece, in full gear and stares at the man in his full Penguin gear.

They lock eyes and Oswald just knows.

Twenty men have guns pointed at him, ready to fire when their boss says so, only to lower them when he stamps his cane down.

Awkwardly they all leave the room, knowing the boss is telling them too but consisted as to why.

Tim starts crying, feeling like he did when his parents were yelling at him when he first entered the Iceberg Lounge, and clenches his fist at his side and tries not to beg forgiveness.

Oswald, hurt that Robin is Tim and that Tim lied, is just so relieved because this means Tim wasn’t angry at him he just couldn’t be friends with a mod boss and be Robin at the same time.

The man smiles, wide and showing off his two golden teeth, he laughs heartily and shouts, “Congratulations, my boy! I can think of no one better for the role!”

Robin runs into Penguins arms, begging for forgiveness and asking for them to please not fight!

Oswald holds the boy for a moment before pulling away, “Listen, the boy behind this mask will always have a safe space in my Lounge, but the mask himself has a job to do. Leave me and the Bat to tussle, for both our sake.”

Sniffling, Tim pulls away and asks in a hopeful but resigned voice, “Can’t you just… stop?”

Oswald smiles and pulls the boy down for a quick squeeze, “You’ve already changed me a lot, but business don’t care for softies. Now, get outa here! My boys are tired so we’re… we’re gonna turn in for the night.”

Tim smiles, knowing full well that Oswald is giving into his puppy eyes but not willing to push it.

Batman, who was listening the whole time, is fucking furious, but can’t deny that Penguin has shaped up in the last few years and isn’t as much of a threat.

Robin is benched for three months and in that time trains with Barbara.

Tim visits Oswald, now named Uncle Ossie, every few months and sends him all of his photos even the odd ones from patrol.

Red Robin works with Penguin often, trading information and getting supplies for The Nest when he is too angry or petty to talk to anyone in the Cave.

Tim Drake has free access to the Lounge and often brings his friends. He knows all the workers names and has his own room next to his Uncle’s, who will always find the time to greet his boy with a big hug and a kiss on the cheek that he has managed to master with his pointed nose.

Everyone thinks Tim is apart of the mob, but considering he’s a CEO of Drake Industries and CFO and COO of Wayne Enterprises and seems to be a bit ignorant to crime statistics, they assume he’s just another rich dumbass or knows what he’s getting himself into.

Red Robin always shows up to the places encroaching on Penguins turf.

Tim Drake spends 57,000$ dollars on a cane made from a meteor that landed in the Arctic and has penguins engraved in the handle.

Red Robin yells at Red Hood for being mean to his ‘uncle’ and everyone assumes that’s why Penguin has gone soft, but when that same Red Robin single handedly beats the hell out of a mind controlled Superboy they decided it’s warranted.

[kisakunt]

Choso getting all jealous of a fuck machine and your dildo collection?

-🫡

“Why do you need that?” It’s a simple question, but you can’t tell if he’s angry or not. You and Choso were going through your closet, some spring cleaning if you will, and he happened to stumble upon your private box.

“I don’t know, it’s fun.” You don’t think it’s a big deal. Almost every girl has a sex toy or two. Sure, maybe you’re a little bit overboard— you did buy a three hundred dollar contraption that physically fucks your favorite dildo into you— but are you so bad for liking a little pleasure?

He pauses, fingers tracing over the veins on your hyperrealistic toy.

“Am I,” He starts, pausing for a second as if he’s questioning himself. “Am I not doing a good enough job?” Shit.

“No! No, baby, you’re perfect.” You reach and grab the dildo out of his hands, quickly shoving it out of the box. “You’re gone a lot, though, and I don’t know… I get needy, I guess?”

“Oh.” That didn’t seem to appease him. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“I didn’t mean to leave you unfulfilled.”

“No! Cho, you’re not understanding.” Your hand is over his and it feels like religion. You never get over him. “I think about you every time.”

“Yeah but if I were fucking you enough you wouldn’t need this.” Your heart drops. In some sick, twisted way you think it’s cute. 

“Is it better than me?”

“No.” He finally looks up at you, eyes full of something you can’t seem to understand, and also a little pain.

“Does it make you cum?” You’re not going to lie to him. If it didn’t, that would be a horrible waste of three hundred dollars.

“Yes.”

He’s grabbing you before you can even think twice, yanking you towards your bed with still such a timid touch. It’s a soft push when your back falls onto the mattress, and he’s on top of you in an instant.

“I’m the only thing that’s supposed to make you cum.” Choso fucks sweet. He can get rough, he can fuck you like he hates you, but despite all that he is a gentle lover. There’s never been a moment having sex with him that you haven’t felt his care radiating from him. You can still feel it right now as he latches himself onto your neck— open-mouthed and sloppy—, but there’s a sense of selfishness you’ve never felt before. Possession. He’s jealous.

It’s a silly concept, you think, to be jealous of a sex toy— but Choso is a silly guy. His hands trace down your stomach, fingers hovering over your hip before they go lower, touching you over your pants.

“I don’t like that you have those.” Choso is never controlling. You know he’s not telling you to get rid of them, more so conveying his emotions to you like you’ve begged him to do.

You gasp as he circles your clit, pussy wet under the cloth of your leggings. There’s a sense of routine when you and Choso fuck. He’s always asking what’s okay, always asking what feels good, always checking on you. But now, he strips you naked without a word, bringing himself down to suck at one of your tits while his hand goes back down to your now bare cunt.

He doesn’t waste time with your clit. His fingers plunge inside you, curling into your g-spot as he moves them in and out of you.

“Does it go faster than this?”

“Yes,” It’s shaky, because even though it hasn’t been long Choso knows how to make you feel good. Then he speeds up and it’s better and you’re cockdrunk without even having his cock.

“Oh, shit.” His tongue is back to lapping circles around your nipple, his hair poking at your neck, his chin pressing into your ribs, and you’re overwhelmed. The room is full of sounds of just wet— from his mouth and your pussy— and it’s vulgar and crass and lewd and you want him.

You cum quick. He feels it on his middle and ring finger— you taught him that, you taught him everything, he’s your picture perfect fuck toy— and whines into your chest.

“I’m going to fuck you now.”

It doesn’t take him long to live up to his promise. He’s bottoming out in you without a second thought, balls hitting you every time he thrusts.

“This is what you’re supposed to have.” You think you might be stupid right now. Actually, you can’t think at all— sharp breaths and erratic moans leaving you.

Choso is a whiner, but right now he groans. He’s fucking you like he needs you, like he loves you, like you’re meant to be his.

It’s almost grotesque; the way your pussy drips from both of your arousal, the sloppiness of the way it sounds each time he bullies in and out of you, the desperation from your spasming cunt.

“Does it feel like this?” He’s barely getting out the words, almost incomprehensible. “Does it fuck you better than me? Does it fucking love you?”

That’s enough to make you cum again. And now, you feel stupid for ever having it.

“I’m sorry!” He’s relentless, each thrust pounding at your cervix, stretching out the softness of your walls. “I’m sorry, I’m yours, I’m sorry.” And it’s beyond the toys, it’s beyond the insecurity and jealousy, it’s beyond primal emotions.

It’s connection. Sweat drips from his hair onto your cheeks, and in a desperate move you lift your head to lick it off his temple. He owns you. You can both feel it in the way your soft walls clench around him, you can both feel it as your legs wrap in a loose pretzel around his waist, you can both feel it as tears form in your eyes from how much it all is.

“I love you, I’m sorry, I’m yours.” It’s weak, muffled by your moans and the sound of his pelvic bone slapping yours. His hips rub at your clit each time he snaps them into you, his cock grazing the top of your pussy in a way you didn’t know was possible.

“Cum, please,” It’s pure yearning. You can tell he’s close from the way he hiccups his breaths, from the way his head has dipped down into the crook of your neck, from the way he begs you through gritted teeth. “I need you to cum, let me make you cum.”

And how could you deny Choso? So you let go, nails scratching at his back, fingers gripping at the slightest bit of fat on his waist, head lulled into the mattress, and you cum.

And so does he, continuing his choppy movements to fuck his cum further and further into you, getting you as full of him as he can.

He collapses on you for a brief moment, before he shifts himself out of you and next to you, arm wrapping around you as he presses kisses onto the top of your head.

“Is it better than that?” It’s breathy, exhausted and worn, but he sounds so sure of himself you can almost see his smile.

“No.” Choso hums, shifting gears into aftercare.

You finish your cleaning the next day, and when you’re back in your closet, Choso can’t find your precious collection anywhere. He thinks he must’ve done a good job.

[pencil-n-pen]

YOU BEWITCH ME

꧁ ༺ ✧ ༻ ꧂

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Oh baby I am a wreck when I’m without you- I need you here to stay.

Line Without a Hook, Ricky Montgomery

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benedict bridgerton x eldest daughter! reader

summary: Benedict Bridgerton has been the least tolerable Bridgerton since you arrival to the ton. You are a lady of respectable means, though nearly forgotten by society due to some extenuating circumstances. But no matter how hard you try, you can’t stay away from him.

cw: time period typical treatment of women in society. btw when i say eldest daughter i mean SHE IS THE FIRST BORN OF HER FAMILY SHE IS NOT RELATED TO HIM NO INCEST THAT IS NASTY !!!! also no smut

a/n: i’m writhing on the floor foaming at the mouth im dying dead. my girlies from the books know that Benedict is a Tier One Yearner (tm) and im utterly obsessed with the dynamic of elizabeth bennet and fitzgerald darcy so i bring you the bridgerton version

i wrote this before i watched season two so shhhhh i didn’t steal her backstory from Kate’s i had no idea they were gonna be so similar T-T

please excuse the crazy long playlist my brain is infected

songs i listened to while writing: Somethin’ Stupid by Nancy and Frank Sinatra, Bewitched by Laufey, Line Without A Hook by Ricky Montgomery (these fools are yearning CRAZY) Amore mio autami by Piero Piccioni, Valentine- Live at the Symphony by Laufey & The Iceland Symphony Orchestra, Someone to Say- Reprise from the Cyrano Motion Picture Soundtrack, Hopelessly Devoted to You by Olivia Newton-John, The Way I Loved You (Taylor’s Version) by Taylor Swift, A Lovely Night by Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone, The Swan by Camille Saint-Saëns, Sebastian Comberti, and Miriam Keogh

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title taken from Bewitched by Laufey (GO LISTEN TO LAUFEY)

✧˖°.

In your short time at the ton, you have met every Bridgerton. Eloise in particular is your favorite- her determination to carve her own path despite the vice grip societal standards have on her is nothing less than refreshing and inspiring. Violet, their mother, is the most likeable of all the ones you have met. Anthony is respectable, Colin is nice, and the children behave well enough for their age. That just leaves one left.

Benedict Bridgerton is the least tolerable and easiest to dislike out of his siblings and family. His cavelier disregard for anything of true substance —besides the art he covets so dearly— grates on you. His smirk prickles your skin whenever he flashes it at you (which is, of course, much too often) and his general manner of being make you desire nothing more than to leave whatever party or ball you are at and never return.

And he, no matter how hard you try, does not seem to get the message.

"Ah," He bows slightly as you enter, "The lady doth grace us with her presence."

You give a tiny curtsey —enough to appease Portia Featherington, whom you have arrived with— and a thin smile, which drops the second she is out of earshot.

"Mr. Bridgerton," You greet, purely out of formality and however might be eavesdropping, gossip is especially rife in this town, "How... nice of you to leave the comforts of your canvas to charm us ladies at this party. I'm sure there is someone else here in attendance who would wish to speak to you more."

Indeed, there are several ladies eyeing the pair of you. To Benedict, with very obvious heart eyes, and to you, barely contained sneers.

If only you could assure them you are of no threat to their dear Benedict. Not a threat to any gentleman well and truly looking for a wife, to speak plainly.

"But who would entertain you? It must be difficult, being here, so far away from your friends and family in..." He trails off, leaning in to you expectantly.

"Cheltenham," You respond, smile paper-thin.

"Cheltenham," He nods. "I hear they have the most magnificent gardens. We do have some impressive ones here in London, but we are not quite known for them."

"Oh, yes. You must be quite familiar with these gardens by now. I must suppose this is our third time having this exact conversation."

There. Right there, his smirk almost falters. As usual, your sharp-tongue and quick-wit catches him off-guard. It is the easiest way to disarm a one Benedict Bridgerton long enough to make a quick escape.

Except this party is rather boring (even though you have just arrived) and well. With almost no chance of possible suitors approaching you and your usual preference of lingering on the fringes of parties and analyzing what happens in them, there is little better to do than subject Benedict to whatever mood you are in.

"You'll forgive me," he affirms, "It is hard to find topics of conversation when one's partner is adamant on not continuing past formalities."

The usual flame begins to spark in your chest. "Oh? Then let us continue, if that's what you desire. I had believed you would want to save your best conversation for the ladies who are much more... diverting."

"My, my," He tilts his head, smirk widening. "Do you consider yourself plain?"

"I consider myself un-agreeable," You remark, words rolling so easily off your tongue. Something about arguing with Benedict specifically always makes your words easier to find, easier to say. "I think you will find that most, if not all, of the gentlemen here agree. Even Lady Whistledown writes of my abilities to repel any and all suitors."

"So I have heard," Nearly in sync, you both pluck glasses of wine off a passing tray, "I do worry, my dear Lady. You sound almost proud of this feat."

"I am. I have worked tirelessly for the title."

He takes a sip of his wine. "I recall several suitors calling upon you back when you first arrived, at the start of this season."

"Ah yes, well," You take a sip of your own, "Nothing makes a woman think of marriage like being fought over like a shiny new toy."

Benedict chuckles, looking down at his glass and then back at you. "I see now why you and my sister get along so well."

"I believe that was evident from the moment we met. Not just anyone deserves the right of befriending Eloise Bridgerton."

"Ah! There we go," He raises his glass as if toasting. "Something we both can agree on."

The conversation lulls into silence, neither of you bothering to start it up again. You merely stand, an appropriate distance apart, and watch. Benedict, likely watching his brother, who has taken to the dance floor, and you, watching a young lady who bears a rather striking resemblance to your one of your sisters.

A stab of homesickness plunges deep into your chest, so sharp and so quick you almost suck in an audible gasp. You haven’t seen your sisters in quite some time. Each of them married and in love and happy- something you worked so, so hard to achieve.

Even if it meant you yourself are likely to become a spinster.

Benedict notices your momentary grief. He follows your eyeline, and when he speaks next, it is surprisingly soft.

“Do you miss your sisters?”

You sip your wine, at the same time using the glass to cover the slight shine of tears that has risen in your eyes and to take a moment to gather your words.

“Do you miss Daphne?”

“Of course I do,” His voice is firm, almost vehement. “But I gather that the bond between sisters is different than sisters and brothers.”

The wine begins to settle in your stomach, rich and heavy.

“It is,” You say, nearly a whisper, “My sisters and I were all very close. I miss them a great deal.”

You allow your words time to hang in the air before continuing. “But they are all married now, and they are happy. Most of them have children of their own. They’ve all gotten fine lives for themselves.”

Benedict makes a noise in the back of his throat that has you turning to stare at him.

“You are the eldest, yes?” He asks, something you can’t identify in his eyes.

“I am.”

“And you have not yet married,” He continues, “I would think that the eldest would get married first, and her sisters would follow her lead.”

You stare down at your gloves. This topic of conversation has come up several times over the course of your stay —Especially because you’re staying with the Featherington’s, being old family friends of your father, and Portia does love a good piece of gossip— and it never gets easier.

“My mother died before any of us entered society. I was raised by our governess, and my sisters were raised by me. Our father has… little interest in the affairs of match-making and courtship and everything it is young ladies get up to.”

Benedict is silent while you speak, eyeing you curiously.

“And my mother had always spoken of how she wished for her daughters to marry for love. And with her gone, well,” You swallow harshly over the lump in your throat, “Somebody had to ensure that came true. How could I prepare my sisters for society and guide them to their matches if I was busy and married?”

He doesn’t respond for several long moments. When he does, there’s an edge to his voice that wasn’t there before.

“I had not considered you so selfless.” He admits, eyes flicking over your face. “I must say, I am quite surprised. So many layers to the ton’s most infamous suitor-fighter.”

And just like that, all the air seems to return to the room, and whatever momentary tension was there leaves, and you remember that you are speaking to Benedict Bridgerton.

You give him another fake smile. “We can’t all be so one-dimensional, Benedict.”

—

You’re not sure how you have found yourself a seat at the Bridgerton dinner table.

Of course, you are not surprised at all to have found yourself at dinner with the Bridgerton’s. Eloise is always insisting you come to dinner— the dowager Bridgerton has heard of her pleas so often that they’ve almost come to save you a seat- you are there at least once a week.

The surprise falls in the matter of who is sitting next to you.

“Mr. Bridgerton,” You say, voice just loud enough for him to hear, “Your wine glass is a bit close to mine, don’t you think?”

The smile he sends you —that you can barely see from the corner of your eye— is sharp and full of teeth.

“Nonsense. I’ve found that a little proximity is good for things every now and then.”

“Every now and then,” You repeat, voice firm, “Somehow I find myself seeing you more and more.”

“Oh, surely there are worse fates.”

“Hardly.”

“Tell me- are you this sharp-tongued with all whom you meet?”

“Only the ones that deserve it.”

He raises his wine glass to his lips. “And what have I done to deserve such cruel wit?”

“Oh, don’t play ignorant to your intentionally aggravating behaviors.”

Benedict rests a hand over his chest in mock pain. “You wound me. Truly.”

The sip of wine you take is a little too large to be considered a sip. “Somehow, I find that hard to believe.”

“Tell me,” He tosses back a generous gulp of wine, “Were you born this stubborn and sarcastic or did it come naturally over time?”

“Hmm,” You pretend to think, “I suppose I’d consider myself that of a fine cheddar. Only tasting sharper with time.”

Benedict laughs, a private thing, clearly already tipsy. “That doesn’t even answer my question.”

“Why do you even want to know?”

“I want to know what your sisters endured during their childhoods. My word. I can only imagine why you haven’t had any suitors since arriving here.”

Fear races up your spine at his words, a sudden a rather unwelcome reminder of why your father sent you to London.

“Yes, well,” You answer, your mouth suddenly dry and your hands sweating in your gloves, “They should know there is no accounting for someone’s personality.”

He’s silent for a few moments. It makes you nervous his silence, so you turn your head, just a little, to see what expression he’s wearing.

Only when you turn, he’s already staring. Not even the half-head turn that you’ve done. He’s staring. Right at you.

His brows are furrowed, little creases on the skin in between them, and his eyes are bright and searching.

“Are you alright?”

You have been in London for two months, one week, and three days.

Benedict Bridgerton is the first person to ask if you’re okay.

“Fine,” You say, smoothing out your features with force, “Wine does not always agree with me.”

He doesn’t believe you. But he doesn’t pry, either.

“Shall you be giving the wine a thorough lecture, then?”

“Wine does not have ears. A lecture would be wasted on it,” You pause, “However, if we can track down the winemaker…”

Your words have their desired effect. He laughs, this time a little louder than something just for the two of you to share, garnering a couple glances from Anthony and Eloise, so you sip your wine and pretend you did not just make Benedict laugh. A real laugh, not the fake one he does when you’re arguing.

You suppose there are worse ways spend an evening.

—

It is an almost pleasant day in London. Almost being that the temperatures are fair, but the weather overcast.

You find garden parties the most interesting of all the parties to be had by the high society families because it means you get to escape to the gardens. Of course, there are others milling about in them, but they offer much more privacy than a ballroom and have the added bonus of reminding you of your home in Cheltenham.

“What is it liked to be overlooked by society?” Eloise asks, ever lacking decorum. It is, honestly, refreshing. She does not beat around the bush or sugar-coat her words.

You think on her words before responding, taking the time instead to eye some rather nice roses. “Honestly? It is not as terrible as you might think. Everybody always says that spinsterhood is a fate worse than death, but if it’s anything like this, I can’t think it to be that painful.”

She nods, thinking over your words. “But didn’t you want to marry? You must be lonely.”

You elbow her side as you walk, arms entwined. “How could I ever be lonely with such incorrigible friends?”

You both laugh, raucous and cackling and nothing close to lady-like.

“Is there a pack of hyenas roving about the gardens?”

You hear the rush of footsteps swishing across the grass, then feel the brush of fabric on your arm.

“Mr. Bridgerton,” You sigh, cutting him a glare, “What are you doing here?”

He loops his arm through yours, the same way that Eloise has done to you.

“Mr. Bridgerton.” You warn, tone sharp

“Oh relax,” His smirk is in high form, today, “I am protecting you ladies from those hyenas. We haven’t found them yet, have we? It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”

“Eloise,” You pause, craning your neck about the garden, “Do you see a gentleman around here?”

Eloise snickers behind her glove. “I can’t say that I can see any.”

Benedict rolls his eyes. “Humor me, then.”

You continue walking. “I suppose we will. It’s good to engage in charity, dear Eloise. You must not think yourself above those less fortunate.”

He scoffs. “Since when do you consider yourself charitable?”

You flap your fan a few times. “I have a great many qualities. Do not fault me because you are so caught up in yourself to notice anything other than what you want.”

His fingers flex. “And what is it you think I want to see?”

You shrug plainly. “Me as I present myself. Unbecoming and, probably by the standards here, vile.”

“No.” He says, the word more of a sound, sort of ripped from his chest.

You look at him in alarm and he meets your gaze evenly. “You are a great many things- stubborn and irritating, but never vile.”

His words and the vehemence in which he said that stun you into silence. You’d never imagined Benedict, of all people, to take such an issue with that word. Vile. You’ve been called vile often over the course of your life, by mothers and suitors and other debutants and even on occasion your father. Its meaning has been mostly lost on you, the cruel nature in which it is said no longer barbed and painful. It is just a word, like every other word.

He’s staring at you, an almost pained expression on your face, so you figure you should say something.

“I see,” Eloise’s arm tightens on yours, “I suppose I should take your words to heart. I am glad to know that there is at least one gentleman who does not think me a vile woman.”

Benedict smiles, but there’s a flicker of something else in his eyes for a moment, something you don’t manage to place before it is gone.

“Ah! You called me a gentleman. Have I won you over?”

“For now, at least.”

—

You miss dancing.

Since you are the most un-agreeable lady in the Ton, you are seldom asked to dance, and since a partner is a requirement for the activity, you tend to spend most parties on the fringes, either talking with Eloise or merely observing.

Or arguing with Benedict. But you’ve found it a little harder to truly poke at him with any real malice or criticism since he defended your character so passionately that day in the gardens.

“You’re watching the dancers like they personally offended you.”

He always finds you at parties. Actually, he always finds you no matter where you are.

You gaze at him out of the corner of your eye. “I’m envious. Pay me no mind.”

He snorts. “Envious of the dancers? Whatever for?”

“I miss dancing. The only problem with scaring away all your suitors is that you also scare away all of your potential dance partners.”

You both observe them quietly for several moments, eyes tracking the flowing and sweeping movements.

“Do you,” he pauses, clears his throat when his voice cracks over the last syllable, “Like to dance?”

“Yes,” You admit, a tad embarrassed, “I always have. Most of society’s expectations for women are quite sedentary or still. But dancing is… its movement and passion. And sometimes, when your partner is agreeable and the music fair, it can almost feel like you’re not dancing at all. That there is no one else there, just the two of you.”

Your face heats, the realization that you’ve been talking so long about something you really do care about striking you. “Or so I’ve heard. I haven’t actually experienced that last bit.”

He inclines his head. “Where did you hear about it?”

“From my mother, as she regaled me on the day she met my father.”

You both stand, shoulder to not-shoulder, more like mid-upper arm, observing the spins and steps of the pairs of dancers.

“Would you dance with me?”

You snap your head to him. “Dance?”

“Yes,” He says, voice a little breathless. “I have yet to do my duty dance for the evening and it would be unfair to keep a lady from the dance floor.”

He extends a hand. “Especially if she longs for it.”

You stare down at his hand. “People will talk of you dancing with me. I would not want to bring reproach—“

“Dance with me,” He says again. “Please.”

Who are you to deny such an earnest request?

He marks a spot on your dance card- your first and only of the night.

As the next song comes a close, he leads you onto the the dance floor, and for the first time in awhile, you feel… conscious, of the eyes on you.

Everybody always watches for the who the Bridgerton’s dance with. Except now Anthony has Kate, and he is much less interesting than the second Bridgerton brother taking a partner to dance. Especially a partner with the reputation you have.

The song begins, and you glide your way through the steps.

“You didn’t have to dance with me. I’m sure we’ll—“ you pause, spinning, “—appear in Lady Whistledown’s review in the morning.”

He grasps your hand tightly. “Let them talk. I have never been the brother anyone is well and truly worried about.”

You begin to feel more and more alive and the song plays on. Movement— real, fluid, passionate movement thrums in your veins, the music jumping through the air.

But all good things must come to end.

Eventually, the music comes to a close, and you must curtsy, and allow Benedict to leave the dancefloor.

“You dance well,” He praises, eyes alight, “I see why you miss dancing. You glide like a swan.”

The smile that tugs at your lips is entirely involuntary. “You are too kind. I do not dance that well. I just have a passion for it.”

He raises a brow. “Oh come now, accept the compliment.”

You shake your head, chuckling a breathy laugh. “Then I must pay you one in return. Not once did you step on my toes or lose your way. Color me impressed.”

His face lights up, joy evident. “And the night grows better! A compliment from our dear spinster.”

“I have always proclaimed myself a fair judge, have I not?”

Benedict’s expression is alight with amusement. “You have. But that doesn’t mean I’ve been all that inclined to believe you.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Well, there’s no accounting for opinions, even if they are wrong.”

“I thought opinions above being right or wrong.”

“Only sometimes.”

Benedict looks all together too pleased with himself as he gazes at you, lips quirked up and cheeks still a little flushed from the dance.

He extends a hand.

“Care for another dance?”

You smile down at your gloves. “I couldn’t possibly. Dancing with me once could be forgiven, but twice? What would your mother think?”

“My mother happens to like you a great deal,” He says smoothly, “And I think I might enjoy dancing with somebody who actually dances.”

How could you refuse?

You place your hand in his.

“I’d be delighted.”

—

As has become a particular habit of yours recently, you’re lying away, staring at your ceiling and pondering Benedict’s actions.

Why did he ask you to dance? Why did he allow you the joy of two dances?

Why did he care?

Why can’t you stop thinking about it?

In your heart, and probably your mind, you know why. The warmth of his hands through the gloves and the dappling of the candlelight on his flushed cheeks is stuck fast in your mind for the exact same reason you’ve hated him since the moment you met:

You love him.

You didn’t love him when you met, but you know yourself. You know he is the type of man that you would love- the type that would break your heart because he is charming and kind, and he will never choose you. And why should he? You’re sharp and sarcastic and nowhere near the shining qualities and perfection of this season’s diamond- any of the season’s diamonds, really. You’re a spinster in the making with an attitude and standards.

It is a most unfortunate combination. For your upbringing to have made you so hard to love and have also instilled such a deep want for love and romance in your heart. You know you were not made for it, not for the kind your father sent you to London to get.

He wants you married to whoever will take you- only problem is, now no one will. Especially not Benedict.

But… could he?

You turn over in bed, smushing your face into the pillow.

No, you tell yourself, Don’t go down that road. Don’t even think about it.

You barely sleep a wink, that night.

—

The morning brings the post, and the post brings a letter from your father.

Not even Portia Featherington’s threats of grounding stop you from racing into a carriage to Bridgerton house.

You enter through the back entrance and upon seeing your disheveled appearance and tear stricken face, a servant rushes inside to fetch Eloise immediately.

The girl herself looks harried and concerned as she meets you in the back garden, a million questions etched in her face and streaming out of her mouth.

“My father,” You half-sob, “Has found me a husband. Baron Dunsmoor. He is— he’s horrible. He has had two previous wives, and then all died in childbirth. He is disgusting and revolting and treats women like, like cows.”

Eloise’s expression crumples. “What is, what can be done?”

You shake your head, pressing the back of your hand to your mouth. “It is too late. He’s ordered me to come home at once so the proposal can be made official.”

The younger Bridgerton girl grasps your shoulders. “What if you were to get a proposal? Here? Now?”

“Eloise!” You say, “Who are we going to find to marry me before tomorrow?”

Her eyes shine when she answers. “My brother. Benedict.”

The cruel, twisting stab to your gut that hearing his name, now, here, gives you is nothing short of agonizing.

If you were not crying before, you certainly are now.

“How could you say that?” You ask, breath hard and stuck in your throat, “He would— He will never marry me. That is, it’s cruel to even suggest that.”

“No, no I promise, he loves you, I am sure of it—“

“Eloise, please do not—“

“He has painted you, drawn you, I swear he must have illustrated your likeness more than—“

“Eloise!” You snap, patience thin and tears thick, “That is enough. Benedict will not marry me. I cannot—“

“Marry me.”

You snap your head up at the sound of a familar, rich voice, eyes meeting Benedict’s as he marches over to you eyebrows drawn tight and lips set.

He looks… distraught. Utterly wrecked.

“Mr. Bridgerton,” You gasp, “You—“

“Benedict. Please. You never call me Benedict.”

His words come out like a dying man’s wish, despite you being the one stuck in a hopeless situation.

“Benedict,” You start, “I cannot marry you.”

“Why not?” He snaps, words and expression immediately becoming sharp and confused, “You would rather live a life with that wretched man?”

“Of course not,” You retort, “But it’s not that simple—“

“Yes it is!” He cries, throwing his hands up and taking another step towards you, “Tell me, honestly, if you wrote to your father and told him I had proposed and you had accepted, would he not choose my proposal over the baron’s?”

“Yes, but—“

“But what?”

“But I cannot accept!” You shout, aware of Eloise standing only a few feet away and servants no dough crowding to watch from the door, “I can endure a loveless marriage to a loveless man. I could not endure a loveless marriage to a man that I love.”

Benedict sucks in a gasp, and you refuse to meet his gaze. How can you, after saying that?

Birds chirp overhead. There is the distance noise of carriages moving about in London. Somewhere distant, a dog barks.

“Do you truly think our marriage would be loveless?” He says, voice scraped raw and quiet, “How could you not know the depth of my affection for you?”

You look up, taking a half step forwards, searching his face for any hint of a lie, for deception.

You find open, painful, vulnerable honesty.

“What reason would I have to believe that I had a chance?” You ask, voice hushed, “All we do is argue. I have been cast out by society and you are a Bridgerton.”

He reaches forwards, grasps your hands in his. Your breath hitches.

Neither of you are wearing gloves.

“I am so in love with you it makes my chest hurt and my bones ache. Eloise was right. I have drawn you hundreds of times because there is just so much inside of me and it has nowhere to go,”

His lips quirk up a little, almost sad, “I loved it when we argued, because it meant you looked at me. It meant I held your attention. And you are remarkably smart and so, so much more wonderful than you give yourself credit for. I would sooner burn everything I’ve ever drawn than let you marry that man, than let you believe that you can never marry for love.”

He squeezes your hands once.

“Please, marry me.”

Your eyes are burning with a fresh wave of tears, but there’s something warm and alive unfurling and beating in your chest, something that glows with every word he says.

You laugh a strange noise, somewhere between a chuckle and a sob.

“Yes,” You gasp, your smile practically splitting your face in two, “Yes. I will marry you.”

Benedict’s smiling too, the both of you looking like fools, smiling and laughing in his garden.

Eventually, he turns to Eloise. “You’d better go tell mother she has another wedding to plan.”

Eloise scoffs. “Oh, please. She’s been working on this one for ages. I’m absolutely positive everybody knew this was only a matter of time except the two of you.”

He looks baffled, and you note in the back of your mind that he’s still holding your hands, “What? I wasn’t that obvious.”

“You danced with her. Twice. In a row.”

“So?”

Eloise rolls her eyes. “You don’t dance with anybody, especially more than once. You’ve been making love eyes at each other over verbal spars for ages. It’s been disgusting to watch.”

You snort. “Then look away.”

“Absolutely not. You insult my brother too well.”

You laugh again, then look back to Benedict.

“My father, and the Baron—“

“I will write to him today,” he soothes, “And have the letter sent with the fastest post carrier. You’re my wife now. I’m not going to let anyone else have you.”

Your cheeks heat. “I’m not your wife yet.”

He shrugs. “Only a matter of time, my love.”

Eloise retches in the background, and Portia will be an absolute nightmare to deal with when you get back, and part of you still wonders if Benedict is serious, but none of that seems to matter.

Not with how he’s looking at you now. Not with your hands in his.

You’re really looking forward to that first kiss.

✧˖°.

──────────────────────

taglist: @mythical-goth @sfotiegiuls @shoyooss @booknerdlife @gratuitous-and-superfluous @got-the-cheese-touch @amysfav @pear-1206 @purplefluffycows @secretisme4 @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen @s0mewhereweaknessis0urstrength @twistedkisses @vcnillafairy @labellapeaky @fxiryeon @eddiiiieeee @kalanthra @soniiyi @famouslywaiting @deeninadream @moschinocherries @monaskydancer @bobo-bush @agreeeeeeeeeee @tardis--tea--time

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: nsfw, dubcon, yandere, omegaverse, forced/accidental bonding, subjugation

♡ part one

♡ fem reader

Once you wake up in the morning, you feel… changed.

Your body feels full—as though you’d indulged too much last night—heavy and sticky and sore all over. There’s a strange taste in your mouth—sweet, somewhat salty, and metallic. Geez, you’re head’s pounding—how much did you drink last night? No, this feels different from a hangover—more full-bodied than that—a withdrawal of some kind or another. You must have done more at the party than drink, and yet, you can’t remember having stayed there all that long. No, you left with someone. That’s right. You went with… that overgrown Omega.

Oh no.

“Good morning, sleepyhead!”

He comes in only wearing a pair of snug boxers—body stacked with brawn, not a single hint of Omega-like softness aside from his tousled bed hair. There’s a big toothy smile on his face—eyes are creased in cheer while carrying an overfull breakfast tray. You know you’re hungry, and yet you can’t bring yourself to feel anything but sick to your stomach by the horrid sight of his flaunted neck, decorated by a gory ring of your bitemark.

No. No, no, no, no, no! Fuck! “Tell me that’s not what I think it is…”

He laughs lightly with an awkward smile, apologetically scratching the back of his neck while balancing the tray in the other hand. “I’m afraid so…”

The world stops spinning, and for a moment, you think it might actually never start up again. Your throat snares, and you think you might throw up. How the fuck could this happen?

He sets the tray down next to you, then himself. The whole bed takes waves upon his weight. You remain still—eyes unrest and mouth hung.

“Hey, I know this might not be what we had planned, but…” he starts.

But you don’t let him finish before declaring, “I’ll take full responsibility.”

There’s nothing else to do, you think. The red string of fate has tied the two of you together. It’s sealed.

“There is no going back now.”

His face expresses shock, but if you’d taken a closer look, he’d probably not be able to hide it—the overwhelming sensation of victory. Oh, bless your Alpha pride. He knew you would say that.

He smiles softly. “I’m in your care then.”

It’s a work in progress after that—slow in the beginning, but that’s to be expected. You never pegged yourself to be the type who got caught up in the unmendable mistakes of a one-night stand, but then here you were—mated with a stranger, moving into his apartment because it’s bigger and closer to work, sharing the same bed and eating the same meals and helping each other through one another’s ruts and heats.

He's still no closer to being your type. In fact, he’s the total opposite—too giant to give you even a semblance worth of superiority over him. A couple of days ago, when he’d been searching for the remote in the couch you were lying on, he’d taken to pick you up instead of just asking you to move. It was completely humiliating. He’s so brazen, and it’s starting to become clear he’s doing it all on purpose!

He doesn’t get fussy when you state your claim of being the one on top—no, but what he does instead is somehow worse, going along with it with snide praise, grinning up at you, his big hands weighing heavy on your haunches as you roll them, calling you his good girl. It seems to humor him how it angers you—chuckling behind your hands as you layer them both atop his mouth, growling at him to “Shut up!”

No, he doesn’t mind letting you take charge. He rather enjoys the view of watching you ride—working so hard to appease him while he rests pretty and admires your body—all soft edges and plush curves. You tire quickly, though—poor thing, why don’t you leave the rest to him?

You had rejected it the first few times he’d offered. Your bruised pride simply wouldn’t have it—you’d rather you both stop than let him finish you off. But a couple more nights and you’d quicker come around than either of you expected—perhaps worn down by his constant nagging or simply fed up with your own failure—you let him assist by bouncing you on his lap.

You wouldn’t admit it to his face, never, but you’d enjoyed it far more than you could have ever thought…

Thankfully, your face in and of its own glory told him all he needed to know. It didn’t take long before he’d taken full advantage of it, nor for you to begin allowing it without being asked. Soon you were letting him fuck you against the wall, making the entire room shake—wall creaking and shelves rattling, pictures falling down. You hold your tongue and hold on tightly, arms and legs wrapped around him—moaning sweetly right by his ear. Fuck, you even bite him again.

As time passed, you came around to indulging more and more of his antics. Letting him fuck you from behind—hard and heavy and deep—thrusting into you while grappling your waist. You even go down on all fours when he does it—digging your claws into the sheets.

Lying belly-up beneath him still makes you feel nervous—and slightly ashamed—almost convinced something’s wrong with you for liking it. And yet you can’t help it. You know any other Omega wouldn’t fuck you like this. They wouldn’t have the stamina, the drive, or the desire. Not like him, who does it all like it’s his nature even when it shouldn’t be.

Guess you’re both freaks.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks, Amajiki ♡ JJK – Gojo, Geto ♡ HQ – Kuro, Oikawa, Miya twins, Tendou ♡ BLLK – Reo, Nagi, Bachira, Isagi ♡ DS – Doma ♡ WB – Suo, Togame

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[enviedear]

stay, little valentine, stay ｡𖦹° jason todd

🎧ྀི your roommate makes the fateful mistake of passing you, his roommate, off as his girlfriend to his boundary ignorant family. now the both of you are tasked with maintaining a faux romance for the entirety of a dinner at wayne manor—simple enough, right?

wc 4.2k | roommate!jason, lowercase intended, fem!reader, brief mention of booze, cursing, mutual pining, two idiots fake dating…truly what more can i say (a lot, so). please, enjoy my 'funny little valentines' day special ᯓᡣ𐭩

“there’s not enough room in the freezer for the ice trays. either move your booze or enjoy an ice free apartment,” your voice is tinged with annoyance as you stare down your long-term roommate.

he’s laid back on the shared couch, right cushion side, staring back at you with a impish grin on his face, “or, you could finally throw out that cake you bought for your ‘promotion’ party. since, the fuckin’ promotion never happened and it takes up half of my freezer.”

“our freezer.” you add. “and fuck you, i could still get that promotion any day now. i can always unfreeze it—good as new.”

jason seems to be beginning to tune you out as your eyes drift to a new letter on the fridge, stuck on with an ‘i hate gotham’ magnet. the print is fancy, cursive, bold black ink—YOU’RE INVITED—it reads.

“what are we invited to?” you ask, ice tray debacle not at all at the forefront of your mind now. not when you can tell your roommate’s got an invite from his estranged past guardian, none other than bruce wayne.

he hums a reply at first, still zeroed in to the rerun of some prison show. when he finally picks up on your question he sours, visibly, “some idiotic anniversary dinner for dick and kori. we’re not going, you weren’t even invited.”

you pout, “i want to go! why can’t we go?”

jason’s got a stern look on his face now, and you’ve always found it so unnerving how quickly he musters it up—usually so relaxed in your shared domain.

“we’re not going because i told a lie, and if we show up…everyone will know.” he groans, “just drop it, i need a little more time to ride this out.”

suddenly more intrigued, you prance over to him on the couch, flopping down beside him, “a lie?”

“don’t. just drop it.” he huffs at the obvious annoyance on your face, “it’s just stupid.”

“c’mon, we know all of each others ‘stupid’ shit. what was the lie, todd?” you’re being genuine, riddling your appeasement with a sweetly sardonic tone.

finally, after a good minute of staring at a very completive jason, he cracks, “i might have alluded to being in a relationship with you.”

your smile cracks before he even finishes his admission, oscillating between confusion and sheer giddiness—trying to halt the part of your brain that wants to imagine a life where a relationship isn’t such a laughable idea.

you curl your lips to stifle your last giggles before looking back up at him, “why?”

jason shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the question. his eyes dart away from yours, finding sudden interest in the television screen, "bruce kept...asking about my life here. if i was settling in, if i was happy." he runs a hand through his dark hair, "and then, all the others got involved, asking to set me up with people. i needed them to stop asking. and you-" he pauses, scratching the back of his neck, "you were the most believable option.”

you stare at him, unblinking, trying to process his words. "most believable option…” you repeat slowly, testing how the phrase feels on your tongue. a warmth spreads across your chest-whether from flattery or something else entirely, you're not quite sure. "so, what? think i can’t pretend to be your girlfriend for a dinner?" the idea sends an unwelcome flutter through your chest. you curse yourself.

jason's expression shifts, a mix of surprise and something else you can't quite read. "you'd do that?" he asks, his voice carrying an unusual note of vulnerability.

"of course," you reply, trying to keep your tone light and casual. "what are roommates for? plus, free fancy dinner at wayne manor? count me in." you're aiming for nonchalance, but your heart is racing at the prospect.

jason's jaw clenches, a tell-tale sign of him thinking too hard, "it's not that simple. they'll know it's fake. bruce especially—dick and tim too—they’re too observant for their own good.”

"oh please," you wave off his concern, settling deeper into the couch cushions, "we've lived together for what, two years now? we already act like an old married couple anyway. i know your coffee order, you know my work schedule. we share groceries, we fight about ice trays—“ you gesture broadly to the kitchen, "it's practically method acting at this point."

he looks at you then, really looks at you, with an expression you can't quite read. "you'd really do that? pretend to be with me in front of my entire family?"

"of course i would," you say softly, nudging his shoulder with yours. "what are friends for if not to fake date each other to avoid awkward family dinners?" you try to keep your tone light, ignoring the way your stomach flips when he smiles at you that rare, genuine smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.

"fine." he finally concedes, shrugging his shoulders, "but we need to get our story straight. no holes, no gaps—i figured we'd keep it close to the truth. roommates who gradually realized there was something more." he pauses, then adds, "the best lies are built on truth or some shit, right?”

you nod, and start crafting the imagined romance with jason. over the next hour, you both piece together your relationship timeline—how you first bonded over late night takeout after his patrols, the way you'd patch him up after particularly rough nights, and how somewhere between shared grocery runs and movie marathons, faux you fell for him. or him for you—the both of you can't agree on that just yet.

you try not to focus on how easy it is to imagine, how some of these made-up memories feel more like documentation rather than fabrication.

"okay, and when did we actually get together?" you ask, pulling your knees up to your chest, trying to ignore how invested you're becoming in this alternate reality.

"three months ago." jason answers quickly, too quickly, like he's already thought about this. "after that night I came home really beaten up, remember? you were so pissed at me for being reckless."

you remember that night vividly—how he ever thinks you could forget, you’re unsure.

him stumbling through the window at three in the morning, blood seeping through his stupid jacket. how your hands shook as you stitched him up, how quiet he was, how close his blanched face was to yours. you’d attributed the racing of your heart to fear, but now…not so much.

"yeah," you say softly. "that works."

the rest of the week flies by in a blur of preparation and anxiety, until suddenly it's the night of the dinner, and you're standing in front of your mirror, wondering if you've made a terrible mistake.

you're wearing a deep red-toned dress that hits just above your knee—something you'd bought on a whim (a fifty percent off sale) months ago and never found the right occasion for. jason had given it an approving nod when you'd shown him, which somehow makes you feel more nervous than reassured as you stare yourself down.

"ready?" jason's voice comes from behind you, and you turn to find him adjusting his tie in the hallway mirror. he looks…different. good different. the suit fits him perfectly, and you wonder briefly if alfred had something to do with that. the older man has a penchant for doting over your overgrown battling ram of a roommate.

"as i'll ever be." you manage, trying to keep your voice steady. "but, um, how convincing do you think we need to be?"

jason's eyes meet yours in the mirror, "enough to fool the world's greatest detective," he sighs, "and his army of protégés." he turns to face you properly, and something in his expression softens, but he looks away too quickly for you to discern, "you look really pretty."

"thanks." you mumble, fiddling with your clutch. "so do you. very…boyfriend."

he laughs, but it sounds slightly strained. "that's the idea, isn't it?" he offers his arm to you, "shall we?"

the drive to wayne manor is muted. jason's knuckles are white on the shifter, and you find yourself reaching over to place your hand over his without thinking. he startles slightly, but he doesn't pull away—even keeps contact as he switches gears.

"hey." you start softly, "we've got this. we know each other better than anyone, we live together. besides, what's the worst that could happen?"

jason sighs, his hand tightening slightly under yours. "you clearly don’t know how bruce and tim get at these things. anniversary or not, they'll smell blood in the water if we slip up."

"relax," you assure him, glancing out at the looming trees lining the driveway. "i doubt they’ll care about your relationship timeline when they’re busy fawning over how happy dick and kori are."

jason shoots you a look that clearly says 'don't tempt fate', but his grip on the wheel loosens slightly. "just…follow my lead. and if it gets too weird, we can always fake a medical emergency."

"that...is always an option." you grin, trying to ignore the way your stomach flips when he smiles back.

the manor looms up ahead, and as jason pulls up to the gate, you feel his hand squeeze yours briefly, almost indecipherable.

"last chance to back out." he murmurs.

you intertwine your fingers with his, ignoring the voice in your head that whispers how right it feels. "not a chance, todd. you're stuck with me."

the gates open, and as you drive up the winding driveway, you're unable to shake the feeling that you're about to cross a line you can't come back from. but with jason's hand so warm and relaxed in yours, you're not sure you want to.

jason parks the car in front of the house at the partition, "in case we need a quick exit." he shrugs.

"i think you're too worried, jason. i doubt they'll even question it. you said they wanted you dating anyway, i bet they'll just be happy." your voice is quiet, hand hovering in front of the doorbell.

he sighs, "you don't know these people, they question everything."

before you can reply or try to alleviate his doubts, the double doors fly open. you grab jason's hand in your own and pull him closer, just as alfred sets eyes on the pair of you.

alfred's eyes visibly brighten at the sight of both of you, his normally reserved expression softening into something fonder, "master jason," he greets, a ghost of a smile on his lips, "and miss, how lovely for you to be joining tonight. everyone is very excited to meet you, i fear my few stories were not enough to quell them."

you smile, a real genuine one too, "it's nice to see you again alfred! i hope we're not too late—jason decided to change his tie last minute."

alfred hums and beckons you both inside, "fashionable tardiness, miss. i assure you."

jason, hand now sweaty in yours, chuckles, "he's being nice since you're with me. he's usually irate by my lateness."

you shoot jason a pointed look as alfred continues. "master richard and miss kori have been eagerly awaiting your arrival. their anniversary dinner is a rare occasion they’ve pulled out all the stops for, you see."

jason grumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, overachievers.

the sound of multiple voices echos through from a room, and you feel jason's grip tighten slightly. you've heard stories about his family for years now—mostly complaints, occasionally fond remembrances, and everything in between during late night conversations over takeout.

"master bruce insisted on formal dining tonight." alfred mentions, though his tone suggests mild disapproval. you've learned over your visits that alfred much prefers when the family dines in the kitchen.

jason scoffs quietly, "because god forbid we eat somewhere comfortable." you squeeze his hand again, a silent reminder of your emergency exit strategy. two years of living together has given you an extensive library of non-verbal communications.

the dining room, when you enter, is exactly as alfred has described it countless times—grandiose in a way that speaks to old money and older traditions. the table stretches long and elegant, set with what you recognize as the ‘good china’ alfred often mentions.

your muscles tense slightly as you finally notice all of the eyes on you—staring and studying—you have to think before you step.

bruce wayne rises first, and despite all of jason's stories, despite seeing him on tv and in newspapers, you're struck by his presence. "jason." he greets, then turns his attention to you. "we've all heard quite a bit about you from alfred, though significantly less from my son."

you feel jason's posture stiffen, but you're prepared for this. "oh, you know how jason is with sharing things." you say easily, the words flowing naturally after years of defending his privacy to nosy neighbors and concerned coworkers. "though, alfred's probably told you all my embarrassing stories by now."

dick grayson—exactly as handsome as the magazines suggest—breaks into a wide grin. "actually, alfred's been surprisingly tight lipped. just kept saying we should ask jason ourselves." his eyes sparkle with mischief. "which, of course, got us nowhere."

"some things don't need to be broadcast to the whole family." jason grumbles, but his thumb is mindlessly drawing small circles on your hand, a gesture you've learned means he's more comfortable than he's letting on. 

"oh, but this is so wonderful!" a melodic, cheerful voice chimes in, and you glance up to see koriand’r—kori to most—seated beside dick, her vibrant curly red hair catching the light as she smiles radiantly. "you must forgive us for prying, but jason does not often share such…delightful surprises."

"by 'us,' she means her." dick cuts in with a smirk, earning a playful nudge from kori.

"yes, and what of it?" she replies lightly, turning her attention fully to you. "you see, jason is like a tamaranian grisnek—so fierce and protective on the outside, but underneath, he is all kindness and loyalty. how could we not be curious about the person who has captured his heart?"

"great. glad we're all analyzing my personal life at the dinner table." jason mutters, though his hand stays on yours, his grip steady.

"do not be fooled," kori says in a whisper that is anything but subtle, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. "jason pretends to be irritated, but inside, i know he is glowing with happiness."

your lips twitch into a smile despite yourself, and jason sighs heavily, his shoulders sagging with mock defeat. "i think i'm gonna need another drink."

kori leans back, laughing softly, the sound warm and lilting, as she looks between you and jason once more. "you are lovely." she adds sincerely, her tone softening. "and jason could not have chosen better."

tim drake, who you've only seen in passing when he's stopped by your apartment to drop off miscellaneous ‘private’ documents, raises an eyebrow. "yes, it's all very sweet." he hums it almost, tone carefully neutral but eyes sharp, studying you.

"sweet indeed." you agree, letting some of your genuine fondness for jason color your voice. it's not hard to fake being in love with someone when you've spent two years memorizing their coffee order, patching up their wounds, and falling asleep on their shoulder during movie marathons. the hard part, you're starting to realize, might be pretending it's all pretend.

bruce barely looks up from his plate as he speaks again, cutting through your blissful thoughts of jason, “a shame i wasn’t aware you two were involved.”

jason tenses beside you, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “yeah, well. guess you don’t know everything, old man.”

bruce sets his fork down with deliberate slowness. his gaze flicks between the two of you, assessing, “i never said i did.” his voice is even, unreadable. “but you don’t bring people around often. that’s worth noting.”

jason scoffs, like he couldn’t care less, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—annoyance, unease, probably both.

jason’s hand finds yours under the table. it’s definitely not a calculated move, not a necessary nor obvious display for the act you’re putting on. it’s just—there. warm and solid, his fingers curling around yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

you don’t let go.

dinner progresses with a strange mix of tension and ease. You find yourself falling into natural conversation with dick about your work, while jason maintains a careful distance from bruce's attempts at engagement. still, his hand hasn't left yours, and you're starting to wonder if he's forgotten it's all for show.

"so—how did you two finally get together?" dick asks, leaning forward with genuine interest.

you exchange a quick glance with jason, settling into the story you've rehearsed. "it wasn't really some big dramatic moment," you say, the lie feeling uncomfortably close to the truth. "we just...realized we work."

jason picks up the thread smoothly, his thumb still tracing patterns on your hand. "she was patching me up after a rough night, mad at me for being so bruised," he says, and you can hear the genuine emotion in his voice. "and i just...i dont know—knew, i guess."

tim's watching you both with analytical eyes, and you wonder if he can see through the charade. "that tracks." he says finally. "you two have always been...close."

"speaking of close," dick interjects with a grin, "i think it's hilarious jason used to insist you were 'just roommates', and yet never went on any of the dates i set him up on. i should have known, really." there's a pout on his face, humourous.

you laugh, perhaps a bit too nervously, "well, we were. for a while." the irony of the statement isn't lost on you. you can see jason watching you from your peripheral, face stoic—but his eyes are soft. the way they watch over you, simply affectionate.

bruce, who's been quietly observing, finally speaks. "i'm glad jason has someone looking out for him," he says, and there's something in his tone that makes your heart ache. "he's always been...independent."

jason's grip on your hand tightens almost imperceptibly. "yeah, well, some things change." he mutters, but there's less bite in his words than usual.

the conversation shifts to safer topics—work, current events, alfred's latest culinary experiments. you find yourself relaxing despite the pretense, falling into familiar patterns of banter with jason, finishing his sentences, and sharing knowing looks.

it's during dessert that damian, who's been suspiciously quiet, finally speaks up. "you're good for him," he declares with all the authority of a youngest sibling. "he's less annoying when you're around."

jason chokes on his tiramisu, and you pat his back automatically, the gesture so natural you don't even think about it. "thanks, damian!" you say, fighting back a smile. "i think."

as the evening winds down and dinner ends, you find yourself in the manor's vast library, having wandered away from the group for a moment of quiet. besides, you feel somewhat redundant against their coded phrases and stories. jason finds you, as he always does.

"hey." he speaks softly, coming to stand beside you. "you doing okay?"

you turn to face him, suddenly very aware of how close he is. "yeah, i'm good. your family's...intense, but nice. just like you said."

he laughs quietly, but there's something different in his eyes. "you're amazing, you know that? playing along with all this. you didn't have to."

"i wanted to." you admit, and it feels dangerous how true those words are. "besides, what are fake girlfriends for?"

jason's looking at you with an expression you can't quite read, and for a moment, you think he might say something more. but then dick's voice calls from somewhere far off in the house and the moment gaps.

"we should head back." jason says, but he doesn't move. "before they send a search party."

you nod, trying to ignore the way your heart is racing. "yeah, we should."

but neither of you moves, caught in this strange liminal space where pretend and reality blur, and you're no longer sure which is which. even less sure if you hunger for dreams or waking existence—which is which? for a split second, you want to reach out. you desperately want to feel him—to possibly transfer the devotion you’re still too afraid to admit you harbor.

jason’s breath is staggered, coming out forced and shallow. his eyes, darker in the dim light, are flitting between you and the door—until he focuses in on you, fully. you’re too confused as to why he’s getting closer to you to react accordingly when his lips brush yours.

your first instinct is to furrow your brows, still confused. then, you kiss back. hungrily. confusion still fogs your mind, but nowhere near the way jason does. his lips are chapped, plump, and still tasting faintly of expensive dark liquor. his body cages you close him, hands respectfully at your shoulders. of course the only thing you can recognize is jason.

you err on the side respectfulness—opting to tug him closer by the tie. there’s a flash of the memory of him putting it on, and you can’t fight a small smirk from slipping onto your lips. jason must notice, because he finally breaks away to peer down at you.

“what?” he whispers, panting and staring down at your lips.

“what do you mean, what? we kissed.” you still feel giddy from his kiss, but reality begins to settle into you like a winter chill.

jason watches you closely, his expression a mix of smugness and unease, “hmmm—playing it dangerous.” he finally murmurs, shaking his head.

you arch a brow, feigning derision. “you say that to all the girls, todd?”

he exhales a laugh, raking a hand through his hair. “yeah,” he huffs. “that grand number of...you.”

before you can say anything, footsteps echo just outside the library's door. jason instinctively steps back, widening the space between you just as dick pokes his head in. “there you two are! we were about to send out a search party.”

you smile, pushing down the lingering tension. “sorry. just taking a little tour.”

dick’s gaze flickers between you and jason, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “right. well, come on. we're playing charades—and bruce is actually smiling. you don’t want to miss that.”

jason groans, but he follows you and dick back back toward the others. his hand brushes against yours in the hallway, and for a second, you think he’s going to take it again. but he doesn’t. 

charades is winding down by the time you return, alfred putting away various dry erase boards and markers with the kind of efficiency only a butler can possesses.

kori beams when she sees you, reaching out to squeeze your hand. “lovebrids! you have returned!" she gestures to herself and grayson, "thank you for coming—we would like to extend our support to your relationship.”

jason lets out a little breath, like he wasn’t expecting that—like he isn’t sure what to do with the sincerity. “thanks, kori.”

bruce, too, seems slightly less intimidating now. “thank you for coming—you’re welcome here anytime, both of you.” he tells you, and it sounds like a rare offering.

something about it all settles in your chest, warm and unexpected. you’ve spent so much time being jason’s person in private—patching him up, watching his back, making sure he gets home in one piece—that it’s almost startling to have it acknowledged in front of everyone else.

goodnights and goodbyes come soon after, and tim catches jason by the elbow before the pair of you can walk out the door, pulling him aside for a hushed conversation. you linger near the doorway, talking with kori and dick, but you can’t help the way your attention keeps flickering back to jason.

when he finally returns to your side, his expression is unreadable. “ready to go?”

you nod, murmuring your goodbyes as you both step back into the night air. jason doesn’t say anything as he leads you back to the car, but his hands flex at his sides.

the drive back is quieter than before, the easy banter from earlier replaced with something heavier, something neither of you seems willing to touch just yet. jason’s grip is tight on the wheel, his jaw set, eyes fixed on the road.

it isn’t until you’re pulling into the familiar streets near your apartment that he finally speaks. “they bought it.”

you huff a quiet laugh. “yeah? i told you so.”

jason’s eyes flick to you for a fraction of a second before he exhales. “thank you, seriously. you were great.”

you glance at him, something warm curling in your chest. “we just make a good team.”

something glints in his expression, something hesitant, something aching. “yeah,” he agrees, voice quieter. “we do.”

the silence stretches between you as he parks the car. you unbuckle your seatbelt, but neither of you make a move to get out. stuck stagnant.

“so, this is was fake...” you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

jason’s fingers drum against the steering wheel, knuckles red. “yeah.”

you should leave it at that. you should forget the kiss. you should revert back to just his roommate. you should laugh it off, make some joke about how convincing you both were—but you don't—instead you say, “does it still feel fake to you? us...tonight?”

jason’s breath catches. for a long moment, he doesn’t answer. you almost let doubt seep in.

then, he turns, his eyes dark and searching. “god, no.”

your heart stutters in your chest, and you swallow hard, pulse roaring in your ears. “good. me neither.”

for a second, he just looks at you, like he’s waiting for you to take it back, to laugh it off. but you don’t, you won't. and when he leans in—slow, hesitant, like he’s giving you every chance to pull away—you don’t.

you decide to meet him halfway, instead.

writer’s note .☘︎ ݁˖ all of my thanks to the helpful, @sunnie-angel for being my beta reader for this fic! thank you again for your services—and your sweet comments on this little story, very very happy to have a moot like you !!!

🖇️ masterlist | askbox | recent works

[luvendiary]

stealthy / h. haddock

hiccup haddock iii x reader

request: EEEJDHJS your writing ALWAYS has me giggling and kicking my feet LIKE ACKSJSS MWAH /p I wanted to try and request a HTTYD oneshot on where us and the gang are on a mission and fighting off dragon hunters as usual BUT hiccup finally witness us being a total badass since we never like to team up with anyone and be alone and stuff and he’s like ‘wow, that’s a hot badass woman right there on the spot-‘ and we get hurt in the process but still carry on and hiccup takes care of us after.🤭 You can choose the dragon species if you want! AKDNDJ YOU CAN TAKE YOUR TIME WITH THIS💕

a/n: thank you for your request. i had a lot of fun with this one. let me know if you like it!

It was supposed to be an easy mission. A simple raid. Go in, release the dragons, and get out. But as always, your friends had a knack for a dramatic entrance.

Hiccup had gone first, the rest waiting for his signal to prance out of the shadows. You, hidden in plain sight, watched along with your dragon as a guard seemed to take notice of Hiccup's presence. He squinted his eyes, trying to make out what exactly it was he was seeing amidst the fog. He drew his lantern closer, but there was no need to, as not a moment later Hiccup’s blade ignited, giving his faint outline now more visibility.

“What are you?” the guard asked, his voice trembling slightly.

Hiccup, ever so dramatically, placed his finger near his mouth and shushed the guard. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

Apparently, that had been Toothless’s signal to make himself known. A deep growl came from behind the guard, and his bioluminescent scales showed the small man exactly what he was up against.

Before things could get any worse for him, he decided to enact his attack on Hiccup. Forcefully thrusting his spear to him. Your boyfriend managed to evade his maneuver easily and unarmed the man without much effort.

In a panic, the guard threw his lantern at him, making it shatter completely against his suit. Fire consuming the wood beneath his feet and catching on to his suit.

“You dumbass,” you muttered to yourself as you secured your helmet, ready to come in at any given moment.

“He does love a dramatic entrance,” Valka whispered, perched next to you as you both watched him walk theatrically amongst the flames with Toothless by his side. “A demon!” the guard screamed.

Hiccup’s confident demeanor promptly fell as he started hushing the guard. “No, no! I’m not a demon” he whispered frantically. “I’m not a demon”

As he said so, he removed his helmet and the ash-cloth that had been previously covering his mouth and nose. “See! Just a guy!”

The guard did not seem appeased by this and frantically tried to scurry away as Hiccup persecuted him. “Just a guy!” he repeated. “Here to rescue these dragons,” he gestured towards the iron cages all around the ship.

“You walked through fire!” he screamed at him, now sweaty from a mixture of the heat and his nerves.

“Dragon scales!” Hiccup explained reassuringly. “Dragons shed a lot.”

“Oh I know a demon when I see one!” the stubborn man continued to scream as he stumbled backwards.

From your vantage point you saw a large shadow appear from behind him. It took no time to realize that it was Snotlout with a dramatic entrance of his own. Hookfang was completely on fire, as the guard kept on mumbling about how those were not human legs.

“You might want to get in there soon,” Valka chuckled next to you as you adjusted the saddle on your dragon. You hummed in agreement as you heard Snotlout chant about how he made a better entrance before setting himself on fire.

“I knew it!” the guard yelled. “More demons!” as Snotlout ran around in pain, trying to put out the fire eating his suit from behind.

“That’s really just a nitwit,” Hiccup sighed. “Forgot to fireproof his butt-”

“Behold!” another voice came from the darkness. Ruff and Tuff.

“Your worst nightmare!” Tuffnut called out as their two-headed dragon lowered its head, setting them down on the floor of the ship.

“Behold-” Ruffnut echoed.

“Along with his sister who insisted on coming!” he interrupted her.

“That’s my introduction?!” she whined.

Not a moment too soon, Astrid swept in, her dragon’s mouth filled with water as she spit it out all over Snotlout, effectively extinguishing the fire he had been spreading.

“Gross!” the boy cried out as he stared down at himself.

“Too soon guys! You always come in too soon-” Hiccup called out to the twins, interrupted by Fishlegs clumsily tumbling down towards the dack and crash-landing.

“Again with the baby?” Astrid asked as she expertly dismounted Stormfly and joined them.

“Sorry, she’s still getting the hang of her wings,” the chubby boy replied as a baby Gronkle perused around the ship clumsily.

“This is a raid,” Hiccup complained. “Find a sitter.”

Amongst all the chaos, the guard had been promptly forgotten. He hid away in the shadows, trying to go unnoticed. However you wouldn’t allow that. You swept in, your dragon grabbing his head with their claws and slamming it against one of the metal cages.

You heard your name being called, relief evident in Hiccup's voice. “I had him right where I wanted him,” he chuckled as he approached you, whilst contracting his fire blade.

You stretched your back and rolled your neck. “And now he’s right where I wanted him!” you replied cheerily. “Let’s get to work,” you said as you patted his shoulder.

He couldn’t help but to look at you with admiration for a second.

“Okay, we screw that up. But at least no one else knows we’re here,” he said, signaling instructions to the riders on which direction to take.

Just as the words left his mouth, alarms blared through the ship, and from the shadows, more men emerged, weapons drawn.

“Spoke too soon,” you muttered, already reaching for your weapon.

Toothless, right on cue, appeared at Hiccup's side just as he unsheathed his sword.

“Get the dragons out of here!” he ordered and you immediately jumped to action.

You wasted no time and with a running start you planted your staff into a broken railing, using it as a lever to launch yourself into the air. The momentum sent you soaring high above the fight, twisting midair as you aimed for the largest group of hunters.

You came down like thunder. Your staff crashed into the nearest hunter’s head, knocking him out cold before you spun, striking another square in the gut. As they stumbled, you twisted, taking the opportunity to open the cages.

With no time to lose you slid the iron bar containing the dragons, swiftly jumping on to the next cage.

The freed dragons wasted no time. A Monstrous Nightmare burst from its cage in a ball of fire, sending hunters scrambling. A Gronckle barreled forward, knocking the guards aside like ragdolls.

It was a dance-like trance the way you skillfully made your way through the chaos. No change in your expression and every movement perfectly calculated. To Hiccup it would always be wonderful looking at you in that state. It was beautiful and dangerous.

“You can gawk later,” you chimed in, breaking him out of his trance as you forced the blunt end of your staff upon the head of a man who fully intended to beat Hiccup to a pulp.

“You promise?,” he replied with a grin as he stepped over the man’s unconscious body and swung an arm around you while you walked away.

“Duck,” you said. He immediately obeyed as you swung on your staff and kicked a guard who had been sneaking up on you.

“You bitch!” he groaned in pain.

“Hey, apologize to the lady!” Hiccup said as he discarded the used oil cartridge in his sword and put in another one. “Geez, people nowadays,” you mumbled as you opened yet another cage, setting the dragon free.

Just in time, Toothless came down the ship, persecuting a group of hunters. Hiccup cut their path, his sword ablaze.

The terrified men looked for any way out of their current predicament and took a sharp left, walkin in the cage you had just opened. With a swift swing of his tail, Toothless closed it shut.

“Thank you,” Hiccup said as he rubbed the dragon’s snout. “Now go get the rest bud.” Obediently, he jumped up onto the cages and like a cat, disappeared into the shadows.

“I thought this was supposed to be a stealth mission,” you said as you geared up once again, standing next to Hiccup.

“Yeah, they always start that way.”

Just as Hiccup was about to signal the retreat, a hunter lunged from the shadows, aiming straight for you. Reacting quickly, you spun on your heel, staff meeting his weapon with a sharp clang. You knocked him back, but before you could finish him off, Hiccup’s sword swung in from the side, cutting through the air and forcing the hunter to retreat.

“We’ve got all the dragons!” Astrid called over the chaos. “We need to move out!”

“Everyone, back to the sky!” Hiccup commanded, swinging onto Toothless. The gang obeyed, dragons lifting off one by one. You turned to follow, but just as you took a step, something heavy wrapped around your ankle.

A chain.

Before you could react, the hunter yanked hard. Pain shot through your leg as you were ripped from your feet and slammed into the deck. A sickening crack echoed through the air.

Your vision blurred, but you forced yourself up, adrenaline pushing past the pain. The hunter sneered, stepping closer. “Not so tough now, are you?”

You gritted your teeth, shifting your weight despite the searing pain in your foot. Your staff spun in your hands, and with a desperate swing, you aimed for his legs. He stumbled, giving you just enough time to struggle against the chain.

You tried to stand but immediately came tumbling down, as your foot would not allow your whole weight to rest on it. You screamed out in pain, trying to claw your way to the ledge of the ship. Your dragon made its way to you, trying to help you up, but with the thick chain still wrapped around your foot, their wallows and struggles were in vain.

You barely registered your name being called out, followed by a dropping figure from the sky -Hiccup.

“Get out of here!” you screamed as you tried to stand once again. Your breaths came heavy, hands shaking from the pain, but you refused to stay down.

With one final strike, Hiccup sent the hunter sprawling. He rushed to you, eyes wide with panic. “Are you okay?”

You were about to give him a response, but instead, a pained groan came out of your throat.

Without hesitation, Hiccup scooped you up into his arms and leapt onto Toothless. “I’ll take care of her,” he said to your dragon who had refused to leave your side. “Go!”

With hesitant eyes, and after a brief moment, they leaped into the air, joining the rest of the ridders.

As Toothless carried you both home, the wind rushed past, cooling your skin. You groaned, shifting slightly in Hiccup’s arms.

“Are you okay?”

You winced. “Broke my foot. But I’ll live.”

“That hunter was an absolute bastard. I swear, if I see him again—”

Hiccup chuckled. “You mean if you hobble over to him?”

You scowled. “I had it handled.”

“You were on the ground.”

“Temporarily.”

He laughed again, shaking his head. “You are something else.”

By the time you reached Berk, the pain had settled in, and Hiccup wasted no time getting you back to his hut. He set you down carefully, grabbing a cloth and some water as he examined your foot.

“You’re terrible at taking it easy,” he muttered, wrapping the injury with careful hands.

You smirked through the discomfort. “You’re terrible at stealth missions.”

He sighed, shaking his head, but there was something fond in his expression. “Just… let me take care of you for once, alright?”

For once, you didn’t argue.

[scara-writes]

sweetheart

Yandere Emperor X Consort! (F)Reader X Yandere Crown Prince(platonic)

милашка-sweetheart according to google correct me if im wrong!

CW: kidnapped, reader is look down upon by the nobles, infantilize, forced pregnancy, dehumanizing, mentions of attempt suicide, false rumor, power imbalance, worshipping, delusional(?)

NOTE: Crown Prince is at the age of 16(he is your first/oldest son). Reader is around 36-38. Emperor is two year younger than the reader. Also I don't speak russian everything is google (the empire is not based on irl russian empire but a fantasy world like the manhwas/shoujou isekai we read) and english is not my first language you can clearly see when you read the story. This is purely a fiction and I do not mean to offend anyone.

I DO NOT CONDONE ANY ACTION IN THIS FICTION.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Running is not ideal for a 5 month pregnant woman like you.

When you tried to seek help from your parents for the first time, they never helped you because who would believe an illegitimate daughter who was frowned upon by nobles.

You are an illegitimate child of the duke and a humble maid who passed away shortly after giving birth, but despite this, you are a physically and mentally healthy child. You even managed to withstand the attempts of your stepmother and your half-sister to discredit you in the family, and didn't even find a help to your neglectful father who busies himself of taking home many women from brothel.

That was in the past but you were desperate when you ask for their assistance. However, you never heard from them ever since you bore your first child, Ize.

Ize your son. Your lovely crown prince son grew up to be like your husband with his teachings. You tried to persuade him to never listen to his father but he only shook his head and told you that all his teaching that he was learning from his old man was to protect you.

Afraid that it will stress you even more in this suffocating high walls to protect you during your pregnancy and well being, Ize-the crown prince would be willing to act like a little kid for you. He would occasionally brew you a cup of tea that you enjoy or give you a handmade gift, such as an embroidered handkerchief, to show you that he was thinking of you and that said skill you taught him when he was a child. Knowing the child, this kind of acts is for him appease the worries you have;he is different behind closed doors of your confined palace where your eyes and ears can't reach; your crown prince son is a different person who will be willing to shed the blood of others just for you.

And it seems that the morals that you taught him must have been thrown out of the window thanks to your husband.

So here you are after escaping from the hundreds gazes of a watchful loyal hounds around your palace you escape, it wasn't easy since you are carrying the emperor's second child. You heard on a passing by servants that the two tyrants had a meeting with the other nobles and the neighboring kingdom, this is a rare occurrence that the two left you alone. It took you an hour to escape the royal grounds before exploring around the town till you found a port that would take you to another country. This is your only chance to escape that suffocating palace that those two tyrants confined you in. Your Husband, Yuri can't leave you alone not when he found out that you are with his child-a second child at that. Even before you were pregnant with his first child, his wary gaze and infantilization to you had multiplied tenfold.

Your husband spread the rumors about you being mentally ill. But why would he do such a thing? You reflected to yourself and it devastate you to realize it was his scheme to prevent you from seeking help from his subjects to escape. Only the royal physician and your husband were aware of this bogus illness. It felt betrayal that he has to make that action so he can confide you more.

Your husband's scheme worked. Even your own son believed the spewing lies coming from his father, and the nobles never gossip about you as if it was a taboo ever since you were married to the emperor. Speaking ill about the emperor's consort was just as good as the reaper visiting you by the second you speak those words. Only praises coming from their filthy mouths were allowed.

No one bats an eye on you, even the servants who serves under you. They will bathe you, serve you food, refreshments, but none of them will engage or start a conversation with you. When someone last made an effort to assist your escape, a kind servant at that. The lowest mining pit, which is worse than death, The emperor bestowed upon them to be sent the servant's family, including the said servant. High ranked criminals labour in a pit there for 18 hours with a maximum 4 hour break the rest of the hour are for necessities like sleeping, with much less food and income. In short, a death torture for them.

You implore your husband to kill them rather than send them there, the only thing he said to you that it wasn't your fault they were sent there. Something along the lines of—"you were acting like this because of your condition. That servant was attempting to kill you." He told you that in front of other servants. Everyone compliments his action for 'protecting' you. His cunning red eyes looks at you that none of the servants and nobles noticed but you did. It was a warning for you to behave or he will do worse.

Yuri has never harmed you, physically. but he will harm others who want to separate you from him.

The only time you regret your decision is when you met Yuri—he was about to meet his demise by the hands of his brothers if it weren't for you stumbling to see him in the middle of the night on an alleyway of the tsvetok village struggling to breathe from the deep pools of his own blood. So you drag his half dead body into your abandoned chamber—which is rarely visited by servants—that your father bestowed for you when you were born. Aiding his deep wounds, helping him heal up, befriending him, falling in love—

You purse your lips and gave a small wince feeling your belly is starting to ache, the kick from your unborn child thumps under your long dress.

My child please, Now is not the time! you gently brush your belly soothingly before leaning on the lamp post that dimly lit the night. You sigh in relief when you felt the baby inside of you cease on kicking. Although you were a little further from the palace when you looked behind you, you still needed to move quickly. Right now, you assume that Yuri or a servant that was suppose to serve you had definitely find out that you were gone this afternoon and notify the knights and some of high ranking mage to find you immediately, but the sun had already been sunk by the evening. They must have been having a hard time finding you. A little more 18 minute walk and you'll be able to ride on the ship that will help you travel to another empire, or any nation.

"ort---s--ing!" you turn to your left to look one of the vendors of the nights were gossiping. A woman with her husband was panting, assuming he was running to deliver a news to his family. His cloth headband on his raggedy hair is soaking. He took a deep breath before repeating what he said earlier. A dread of fear rise from your throat as he uttered his next words,

"The Emperor's Consort is missing! The Emperor's knights are blocking all way out!"

You heart felt like dropping when you saw a nearby knight were looking one by one at the women nearby, specifically women who are similarly pregnant like you. Speaking of the devil, they are already here!

Knights in horses, mages running around the busy street. Some of them stopping women who has similar hair color as you to assess if they found the right person.

"Oh my! I'm hoping the consort is doing okay! She must have acted such way due to her failing mental state. The emperor must have been worried sick, I can't imagine the devastion look of the emperor especially their son!" said the woman to her husband.

You hid your hair with your cape and quickly blend in with the busy road of the night town. Muttering, "excuse me!", "Apologize!" As you force your way around the crowd. One arm around your belly to protect child, while your hand went to sling your bag with clothes and some gold coins. as you bump so many people on the crowd. You look edges of the town, at the gate, to see all the possible exits were starting to get block by the imperials knights and mages. You bit your lips frustration as you felt the hope of getting your freedom back is slipping away from your grasp.

Your plan of getting to the port has been discarded after seeing a two mage and three knights were on their way there. Even if you did go in town's gate the gatekeepers will inspect people who are exiting and entering.

But...

You look at the old man who was riding a donkey with his carriage towards to exit of the gate, fruits were laying under the cloth. An Idea quickly pop your head but you are desperate to leave this suffocating country so you have no choice but to execute it.

Your silent foot falls went behind on a slow moving carriage before climbing up silently and quickly, in your haste and desperation movement, you didn't feel as though you had torn your cape at the wooden edge of the carriage before taking the fabric that was covering the fruits that keeps them from dust and dirt. You carried a handful of fruits before slowly sitting down beside it then covering yourself with the said fabric and the remaining fruit fast enough before the knights from the gate of this region would notice you. You wince when one of the fruit hit your belly but not enough to endanger the baby.

"Have you seen this lady?" A man in his mid 60s look at the paper, he squint his eyes as he held his old lightly crack glasses to take a better look. Your (e/c) eyes look at the gapping hole of the carriage and gulp fearfully when you saw your portrait on the paper holding by the imperial knight.

"O-oh...sa-aw her!" you held your breath when the old man spoke. The two knights look at each other before listening to the next word of what the old man would say.

He lick his dry lips before continuing, his voice's struggling due to his old age, "If I-Im..not mistake-en the lady in the p-picture look like the lady I saw by the lampost o..on the rozahk street!"

You exhaled in relief since you mistakenly believed that the elderly man had just seen you, but he actually noticed you five minutes' walk from the gate to roza street. However, this would also let them know that you are actually close by.

The imperial knights gave the elderly merchant a nod as they hastily walked around the city, alerting a nearby mage to use a spell to track you. They quickly tell their subordinates for a new command.

You felt the carriage starts to move. Hugging yourself for reassurance especially at your upcoming baby that everything will be okay.

You weren't escaping just for yourself but for your second child that will be born. You don't want your kid to become like their older brother and learn from their father. Ruthless, and doesn't have a compassion to another human. You want your kid to have a brighter future, away from the blood shed. You hope that if you got caught or killed by your husband in the future. You will tell your second child to run away and never look back, when you are gone.

You ignored how uncomfortable it was to sleep in the fruits. You close your eyes and see the farm neighborhood that the carriage passed as well as the slowly dissipating kingdom that was beginning to appear as a dot on the horizon.

The abrupt shake of your ride woken you up. You hear noises outside the carriage and glance through the hole to see that light was creeping through, signaling that it was dawn but sun has yet to come in the horizon. What is happening?. You peek above the cloth seeing that you don't have enough visual on what's happening. A dusty road lay in front of you, and woods surrounded you. You turn around to look behind you and realize that the palace is no longer in sight. A sense of relief that you were indeed far from that prison.

A bunch of voices caught your ears, you turned to look to your right.

Your whole body went pale.

Your son-the crown prince was chatting with each of the roadside merchants who had just exited from their vehicle not far from where you were. The imperial warriors and mages that were conversing with the other sellers the same task as your son was doing just behind him.

You curse yourself, how did they come here to fast?

You need to leave before they notice that you are inside this carriage. Just as you swiftly escape your imprisonment. You carefully stood up, removing the fabric that was covering you and the fruits, ignoring the woozy and aches from your muscle pain for not moving too much from the entire night.

A creak was heard in your vehicle when you tried to climb down. Snapping your eyes back at them, to witness if they heard the mistake you made. To your relief, The prince and the other guards were still busy interrogating.

They didn't hear me..

You reach down and starts to stalk away from them, your hands were trembling. Stepping back to reach the wood just a 5 meters behind you. It didn't matter if you get lost in the woods, as long as they don't catch you.

No, you would rather live in a woods, in a forest where no one can reach you.

As you step forward carefully in to the woods, you didn't notice from your cautious and anxious state that your boots crack a twig, just like the cliché you previously read. The nearest knight snaps his head at the sound. He was perplexed before realizing that the woman from the paper in his hand resembles you.

"Her majes-"

You dash toward the woods. The imperial knights sought to catch up to you, as you heard him behind. You grab a nearby rock and shot it directly to his skull, and it hits him.

You ignored the yelp as he yells your honorific causing the nearby knights hear him and went for his aid, before they realize what he was yelling and starts to chase after you.

You felt the dress that was getting stuck on some of bushes and dried branches, resulting to have your dress to be ripped.

Heartbeat were thumping agressively, adrenaline were rushing around your body. One of your hands went up to your belly protecting it from getting injured despite your legs were now full of scratches and bruises from the twigs, and sharp edges of these woods. You feel your legs ache.

"Mother!" You faintly hear a galloping horses along with your son's voice behind you.

Your mistake was to look behind you while running away. You saw how your son and his guards were starting to gain just to bring you back to that hellhole. Your son Ize was reaching up his hand to take you back, his red orbs were full of concern and anxiousness.

"Mother! It's me,Ize! Please, slow down you will hurt yourself!"he yelled."Mother! Think about my sibling! Your child! Listen to me! Don't let this illness take over you!"

Poor child, he thought all of this nonsense that you are doing was because of your bogus illness.

You were about to stop when you saw a nearby cliff but a trunk made you tripped.

You screamed feeling a misstep when you realized you are falling, instinctively cradling your pregnant belly, protecting it as you roll down from the ground. A piercing scream was heard—from your son. Your head colliding to the three and it felt like your head would split open.

Your eyes were blurry from the impact. Touching your belly if there was injury. Atleast trying to feel your lower part if there was bleeding through your thighs other than your legs.

You look up at the steep cliff to see your son was sliding down, crying out your title as his mother. You saw his red orbs were full of tears as it glides down to his cheeks. The last thing you saw before your vision was consumed by the darkness was his hands reaching up to your head.

You were awoken by the sound of the chirping birds coming from the balcony.

You coughed, feeling the dryness from your throat. You eyes were blurry for a few minutes before clearing to see that you were back to the same imprisonment.

But....

It wasn't the same room you shared with your husband. Are you...even in the palace?

You took your time to assess your surroundings only to realize that the room has similarities of the royalties room that are exiled but it looked renovated, one of your husband's brothers used to live here before taking his own life. You felt grim about the thought of it.

After his brother's passing you heard from one of the maids that he turned it into a vacation palace for royalties.

It was different from the last time you saw it. It was much more cleaner and better. It looked good after it was renovated.

Wait, the baby.

THE BABY!

You eyes quickly gaze down to your belly. Hands quickly feeling around them, you exhale in relief when you felt a small kick from your stomach. You felt your tears at the edge of your eyes. It was a miracle that the heavens hadn't take your unborn child away.

I'm sorry baby...

They would have died from the stupidity you'd done!

You laid down to your right side of the bed and cradle in your stomach muttering a soft apologies and starts fluttering your eyes to go back to sleep.

But somethings not right. You felt like a pair of eyes watching you, looking at you.

Observing you.

You opened your eyes and look up only to see your pair of red eyes staring down at you.

Your husband, the emperor sitting on a wingback couch, his face resting at his hand while the elbow is resting at the arm of the couch beside him is a kettle with a cup that rest on top of the bedside table.

You feel your body tense up, you tried to get up and turn to look at your husband.

"Y-your majesty." You called but it sounded like a whisper. You don't know what he will do to you. Sure, he never hurt you physically but this is the first time you'd gotten far away from the place he imprison you in.

You gulped, will he hurt you this time?

"I-I'm... I.." you cannot come up a word,an excuse, what if he gets sick of you? What would happen to your child?

You felt your breath shorten. Tears are starting to swell up in your cheeks.

A rough hand brush on your cheeks before cupping it. You found your partner is already beside you on the bed.

He didn't speak he just let you weep as he brush away your tears. You stammer your words wanting to apologize. The emperor handed you a cup of water and you took it quenching the thirst from your larynx.

Once you drank it all, you hiccup trying to stop your tears from coming out. You felt his hands caressing your belly. "H-husband.."you gulped.

"hush,милашка."he commanded and you held your tongue and closed your eyes when he leans on your cheeks before engulfing you with his arms around you. You felt suffocating around him like a snake coiling around your body.

You feel tensed as he starts peppering kisses on your shoulders and neck before resting his lips to your earlobes, you shudder when he kissed it.

His right hand from your waist slid up under your loose sleeve before sliding it down, your emperor leaned down giving your shoulder a hickey. You whimpered trying to push him away but he hadn't budge an inch. Once he was satisfied he let your skin go with a pop before looking at the red mark he left.

The same hand went to brush your hair, tuck it behind your ear before leaning his forehead against yours. His red eyes held adoration, affection, but most of all obsession.

"милашка." He muttered closing his eyes sighing, he brush his lips against yours before deepening it.

He kept calling you, held you in his arms gently. The same arms that has full of blood that slay so many heads to get to the top of this food chain.

He laid you down before kissing every finger tips of yours and then clasping it with his rough hands as he called for you.

"милашка...."

".... my милашка..."

He pressed one kiss on your collarbone. "None of this is your fault..." He told you.

"... This illness will be the death of you."

Your heart broke for him. He really delude himself that everything you did to get away from him was because of your 'illness'.

"... Everything will be fine, darling. I will take care of you." He dampened his lips one last time onto your lips before leaving you in your new confinement.

[thanosscross]

my girl - Choi Su-Bong/Thanos x reader 3/? SMUT

A/n: This was supposed to be a short half chapter..but ended up being a full chapter of smut I guess

Summary: After finally getting away from the games, Thanos wants to show you just how much he needed you

warnings: SMUT HOLY HELL SMUT, hair pulling, Thanos being a switch bc obviously, slight degradation, use of the term 'good boy'

You weren't even done eating for ten minutes before Su-Bong's hands were back on your body "I've been waiting for this for days, beauty flower" He whispered, you were both sat in the dining room, Su-Bong was standing though, letting his hands roam your body as you stay seated "Years actually, since you did your little dip move right fucking in front of me during my first shoot" He whispered in your ear, his tone started to grow more frustrated "I just had to keep my mouth shut, not do anything because you did it right in front of my c.e.o" He growled before spinning your seat around, you were now facing him, eyes locking with his waistband of his pants "I never meant it-" He cut you off, letting your chair lean back on two legs until the back of it sat against the table, keeping you at an angle "Lies, beauty flower, lies" He protested, popping one of his pills as he starting to take his black button up off, he couldn't even remember why he was wearing it in the first place when he left for the games. You were nervously fidgeting in your seat watching him closely, he offered his hand up smirking "Baby" He whispered dragging out the petname in a sing song tone, you took the initiative and pulled his lips down to yours, confidently swiping the pill off of his tongue, swallowing it before deepening your kiss with you, moaning against his lips as you felt his tongue swipe across yours.

"Holy shit, I knew you'd sound so fucking amazing" He panted against your lips, letting your head fall to the side, Su-bong took his chance and attacked your neck with his lips and bites "S-Su-bong" You whispered faintly, you were getting so turned on you were getting light headed "Thanos" He demanded, his breath against your neck as he spoke didn't help, you tried to grab him, set yourself level so you could move this to his bedroom, but he just caught the arm rest of the chair and slammed it back against the table "where are you goin, beauty flower?" He asked nipping as the base of your neck "please, su-bong, please" You begged, trying again to sit up, but this time his hand was pressed against your boob using that to keep you sitting back, this time sending you a dangerous glare "P-Please, Thanos" you tried, this seemed to appease him because he slowly lowered the chair to sit back on all fours, lifting you up before you could actually stand on your own "Feel that baby?" He asked, purposely holding you lower on his hips to feel the obvious hard on "Every. fuckin. night" He whispered, squeezing your hips as he brought you towards his room, dropping you on the bed, and compared the shitty mattresses they provided during the games, his felt like a cloud. Setting you down gently, he roughly ripped your top off, it made your heart swoon, he was so rough, but so gentle as the same time.

You arched your back, allowing him to take off the sports bra you wore before you left, it was a little big now, but still fit for the most part. "Holy shit look at those fuckin tits" He marveled, eyes blown wide as the drugs finally hit him, right as he did, you could swear you could feel your high starting. He was quick to take one of your nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around in figure- eights and sucking every four or five swirls. You were coming undone underneath him, your moans sounding like the beat he had been looking for all of life, it was perfect, heavenly, and they just got better as he started to grind his hips into yours, he was so hard you would think his dick was made of concrete, he held it together though, unlike most men you had been with. "You want this baby?" His voice pulled you out of your thoughts, now registering in your mind, his hand was ghosting over the button of your pants, never breaking eye contact as he waited for your go ahead. "Y-Yes Thanos, please" You whispered rising your hips to meet his fingers "I want you to fuck me su-bong, please, only you" You muttered, grabbing the back of his neck pulling his lips to yours "I want to be with you Su-Bong, only you, forever" You whispered, he froze for a moment, before placing his thumb on your chin parting your lips as he slammed his lips into yours, grinding his dick against your clit a lot more direct than before causing you to call out moaning.

"I know baby. You're my girl, of course you only wanna be fucked by Thanos the great" He smirked, you rolled your eyes smacking his chest "Stop calling yourself that before you ruin it" You giggled, he shook his head, using your relaxed nature to press his hips against yours, watching as your hips twitched and bucked against yours. Finally deciding to, Su-Bong unbuttoned your jeans sliding them down your legs effortlessly, smirking at the lacey f/c underwear. He wasted no time ripping them off, lowering himself to be eye level with your pussy that was currently dripping onto his bedsheets. "Fucking fantastic baby" He whispered, spreading your legs as far as he could before slipping his tongue through your folds, gathering the wetness on his tongue before attacking your clit, nipping, sucking, and swirling his tongue around spelling his name out, while you tugged his hair screaming out his name, you weren't going to lie, you had been very sexually frustrated by Su-Bong, especially whenever he mistakenly went into the female bathroom at night right before you, so you knew he was packing large.

"S-Su-Bong!" You squealed, feeling yourself get closer to cumming, the tight ball in your stomach growing larger, the more you felt his movements against your desperate pussy, you lost it whenever he shoved his tongue inside of you, curling and flicking his tongue as he wrapped his arms around your thighs pulling you back down to his mouth. Your chants were going unheard on Su-bong's ears, he was too enthralled with your body and pussy and how amazing it tasted and felt, as he curled his tongue again and felt you squeeze around his tongue and pulled his hair he whined, grinding against the bed whispering soft begs under his breath. "Fuck! Please! yes right there! Oh fuck yes! Fuck yes that's such a good boy!" You screamed out, twisting your hand in his fluffy hair, Thanos let out a mixture of whine and moan as his dick twitched inside of his jeans, cum spurting out of the tip, getting trapped inside of his boxers and smearing as he continued to grind against the bed desperate for another release. You picked up on his demeanor, starting to grind against his mouth, moaning even louder "Fuck Su-bong! Such a good boy, keep eating your girl's pussy! Fuck make me cum like a good boy" You begged, squealing as his fingers pinched and twisted your nipple, his other hand using your free boob as a stress ball, twisting and squeezing as he continued to curl and twist his tongue inside of you, his hips grinding against the bed faster as he felt more liquid start to spill out of you "Fuck! Su-Bong! Faster please! Be a good boy for me and fucking go faster please" You half demanded half begged, Su-bong had fully switched though, desperate to please you in any way you ask, as long as he could hear those amazing words fall from your lips again. He grunted against your clit as you tugged his hair roughly, cum rushing into his mouth, filling his cheeks as he greedily tried to gather it all, whimpering as you pulled him away by his hair "Come here, baby" You whispered, watching him swallow your cum, making your stomach start to turn again, you slowly pressed your lips to his collarbone, sucking gently as you slowly traced a hand to his hard on that was prominently showing from his jeans, you could feel the dampness even through the denim and almost felt bad, here you just had one of the bed orgasms of your life, and he had to cum in his pants like an awkward teenager.

"p-please" His whimpers were soft, quiet, almost embarrassed as he grinded his hips against your hand "I will baby, don't worry..." You whispered starting to undo his button and zipper "What happened to thanos the great?" You teased, you could tell this was a different side of Su-bong, one you had never seen before "D-Don't care, just want to be your good boy" He whispered cupping your head in his hand as you moved onto your third hickey "Why don't..you be a good boy, su-bong, and fuck me" You whispered licking a soft stride over his bottom lip before wrapping your hand around his cock pulling it out of it's confines, you could see the glossiness of the cum from earlier, you could also see Su-bong's face go bright red, and him start to retreat, you caught his hands pulling him down onto his back, straddling him "What's wrong, baby? Cum in your pants like some school boy?" You teased softly, watching his face go an even deeper shade of red as he looked away from you "It's cute" You whispered grabbing his dick that stood at full attention, you kept your eyes trained on him as you slowly positioned your pussy over his dick and slowly pushed it inside of you. Su-Bong jolted, his legs bending and hands falling to your hips trying to lift you back up "What's wrong baby, talk to me" You whispered pressing your lips against his neck "T-Too good" He whined quietly "Aww, it's okay baby" You whispered kissing him softly as you slowly lowered yourself fully, letting him bottom out inside of you, Su-bong wouldn't admit it but he was already about to have his second orgasm, he couldn't help it, not only had it been a minute since he actually fucked a woman, but a woman like you who also likes calling him a good boy? he doesn't think he'll ever last over an hour with you.

Su-bong was a whining mess underneath you, trying to buck his hips or roll them, but you kept your pace steady, arching your back and moaning, feeling Su-Bong's hands cup your tits you rolled your hips against his "M gonna cum, y/n, please beauty flower, holy shit please" He begged, throwing his head back, you slowly leaned down taking a handful of hair tugging his head back watching him bite his lip harshly "Cum. Be a good boy, I wanna feel every bit" You whispered as you slowed your hips, Su-Bong took the hint and grabbed your hips, roughly flipping you over, starting to fuck you so hard you could hear the head board slamming against the wall, you tried your best to hold your composure but he was like a god in the sheets, one hand expertly playing with your clit while the other twisted and pinched both of your nipples back and forth. It all sealed your fate whenever he leaned over whispering in your ear "Am I your good boy, ma'am?" before kissing your deeply, not having any shame with how messy the kiss was. You both cried out as he came inside of you, he gripped onto your left boob tightly as he came, panting against your lips, you could faintly hear him chanting yes and please, and you could've swore you heard him call you mommy once or twice. Feeling the warmth spread inside of you, your body convulsed bending forward towards Su-bong's chest, he moaned out feeling you tighten around him, you squealed as you felt the cum drip from around his cock that was becoming hard again, intensifying any pleasure you already felt. Su-Bong shamelessly start to buck his hips again, turning into a blubbering mess of yes's and pleases and again you could've sworn you heard a mommy in there as well.

"Su-Bong fuck! I didn't say you could fuck me again, fucking slut" You grunted, pulling his hair back so you could see his twisted face "I-m sorry! P-Please your pussy- I-I can't" He begged, his hips twitching as he tried to pull out, crying out whenever you wrapped you legs around his hips "don't you dare fucking pull out" You growled, his cock was now harder than he had ever had it, at least he thought, and the way your pussy was wrapped around him made it feel like it was hard as a rock. You wrapped your arms around his neck, signaling to lift you, he did as he was told, whimpering as he tried not to fuck you crazy right then and there, you never spoke though, just pointing towards the wall. Walking over, and carefully setting you down he whimpered, and you could feel him almost lose his balance, you leaned forward, using your hands to stabilize yourself against the wall, spreading your legs and bending slightly, Su-Bong moaned again, placing one hand on your hip and another in your hair "Fuck me Su-Bong, make me one of your girls" You said lowly, that seemed to flip something in him, his thrusts becoming rough and fast, his grip tightening as he slammed his cock into you "You wanna be one of thanos's girls? Wanna be in the thanos world, baby?" He asked panting as his cock slid in and out of you, you couldn't speak though, just nodding your head "Let Thanos blow your fuckin world then, baby" He grunted, you didn't think he could be any rougher, you'd be lying if you said you didn't like it though, your back arched again and his grip tightened even more, you couldn't even tell he was cumming while his thrusted inside of you until you felt some drip onto your thigh "Fuck yea baby, you like that? you like whenever Thanos fucks you good?" He asked, you were so close, grabbing his hand from your hair you moved it to your boobs, he used the new vantage point to pull you against his chest as he fucked you. "You gonna cum, baby? Oh fuck yea you are, I can feel it, go ahead baby, let that feeling grow and grow" He whispered using his other than to ghost over your stomach "Feel your pussy trying to pull my cock deeper, like a desperate slut? Means your probably dripping right now" He whispered swiping a finger where your pussy and his cock met, pushing his finger into your mouth "Taste it? just the taste makes my cock hard" he whispered, your whines were getting more frequent and high pitched "There you go baby, squeeze my cock, ride it, use my cock like a toy" He demanded, pressing his hand onto your stomach, he gasped as he felt you squirt around him "Yess baby, let it all out, just keep ridin that dick" He whispered starting to thrust his hips slower to meet your hips bucking against his "Such a good slut for, Thanos, aren't ya?" He asked squeezing your nipple in between his finger tips, you whimpered leaning back and slumping against Su-Bong, he held you up effortlessly, slowly pulling out of you and helping you walk to the bed "Um...I don't..know how this really works..I'm getting some weed and some water..do you want some?" he asked, you smiled softly still trying to catch your breath "P-Please" You whimpered trying to find a comfortable way to sit, he was quick to come back and claim his spot next to you on the bed, handing you a water bottle with a quick peck to your lips "That was..fantastic baby..better than I ever dreamt of" He panted, you giggled, remembering to ask him to elaborate more on his statement later.

---

I need some holy water and JESUS

[occamstfs]

Evo Bio 101

Annoyed at the prospect of wasting time during his simple lectures, Craig's misplaced ambitions lead to a first hand lesson in (d)evolutionary biology.

Was possessed by the idea and couldn't not write it haha! Here's a story taking hair growth and brutification to the extreme ! Hope you enjoy! -Occam

It’s not that Craig didn’t want to teach the class, he was grateful to have a chance to instruct on anything even remotely close to his research area. Intro to Evolutionary Biology was directly in his wheelhouse and given how cutthroat his department was he was more than happy to jump at the chance.

It’s just- the class was so introductory it’s insulting. The course is required for all students in the university’s tiny biological anthropology program and judging by the recommended syllabus given to him by the department head, there’s not a day where Craig is going to teach his students anything they don’t already know.

Complaining under his breath as he makes his way to the classroom across campus, the doctoral candidate wonders if any of his undergraduates are even going to show up given how remedial the material seems. Kicking the air he wishes to himself that he’ll get the chance to teach them something novel. To show them what their field is all about, how man became man rather than droll lectures on Darwin’s finches and Mendel’s peas.

As soon as he utters the words to no one he shivers and his skin prickles with goosebumps before he fully stumbles over himself just outside the classroom door. There’s a quiet buzzing in the air and he looks around to find its source before noticing the time on an overhead clock and realizing he’s already late. Bumbling into the classroom he adjusts his tie and apologizes as he rushes to get his laptop set up.

“Sorry guys! Always forget these dinky 101 courses are relegated to the middle of nowhere,” there are a few quiet laughs but the lecturer is sure they’re just trying to appease him. He knows because he’s laughed at countless half-jokes from professors over the years. Craig continues to awkwardly mumble to the class as he waits for his equipment to bootup. After getting his introductory powerpoint running he wipes his brow and for the first time turns to look at his small class.

It’s then that he notices how warm it is in the room. Wiping his forehead, his stuffy sleeve wicks sweat from his brow and he assumes it’s just from nerves at standing in front of the bored faces of students who have done nothing today but go over reading lists and play icebreakers. Might as well get this over with. “Welcome all to the intro course on Evolutionary Biology! I’ll be your instructor, Craig Stoll. See a few familiar faces around here from courses I’ve TAed, you guys can just call me Craig. I assume this is no one’s first rodeo-” 

Craig opens his mouth to slyly complain about how basic the material is, to mock the university requiring people well on their way to becoming experts in the field to waste time going over the most absolute basics. But before he can speak, it’s like his throat has been zapped free of moisture. He tries to clear his throat a couple times, stretching open his mouth in between doing so as he struggles in front of his few students. 

Smiling awkwardly as his forehead sweats even heavier under the bright lights above the lectern he turns and digs through his bag for the water bottle that scarcely leaves his side. Still turned away from the class he forces it to his lips and guzzles for a few seconds straight. After a moment he pauses and breathes heavily for a few seconds, gasping for air just as hungrily as he was gulping for water, and then he gets right back to it. Lifting the bottle perpendicular to the Earth as he drinks like he’s dying of thirst.

All students present eye him apprehensively, most of them had seen him countless times over the years sitting performatively uptight as he graded assignments and aided professors as needed. Never could they imagine him doing something so uncouth. One sophomore whispers to her neighbor, Dawson, concerned at how nervous the researcher seems. He replies mocking Craig, excited to see the meek man who gave him a 79 on a final last semester crash and burn.

Letting his bottle fall away once more there isn’t a thought in his mind questioning how peculiar what just happened was. He was thirsty, and now he no longer is. Simple. Craig turns back with a wide smile at his classroom clearing his throat once more this time successfully. He doesn’t notice how his voice echoes through the lecture hall, decidedly deeper than it should be, “Ahh, that’s better! Sorry again y’all!” 

In the front row a student motions for him to wipe his face as water is clearly dripping down his ever-so-slightly shadowed jaw. Craig’s face burns red as he does so, for the first time realizing himself that he’s acting a tad strange. This is only more apparent as he feels a burp begin to rise. He did drink that water awfully fast. Before the thought even occurs to him to silence it he lets it loose, producing the loudest burp he’s ever heard. Stunning the classroom to silence.

Even the student eager to watch Craig fail was shocked enough to grimace in second hand embarrassment as he sees the man’s eyes dull while burping like an animal in front of his class before scrambling back to his senses. “Oh jeez, I don’t know what’s gotten into me today- Let’s just, uhm, get to it.”

Directing his class’ attention to the slides he squirms and adjusts his tie with sweaty palms as he realizes how uncomfortable his clothes feel all of a sudden. Struggling to get the thing loose he grunts and flexes his feet as he suddenly feels confined. Trapped in his shoes. Shaking his head to stay focused he pointedly ignores the feeling of his toes poking the front of his dress shoes and starts lecturing.

Clicking past the introduction his brow furrows as he sees the title of the first slide of substance, ‘What is Evolutionary Biology?’ Grunting once more, Craig scratches his chest as he can’t help but address what he thinks to be the elephant in the room, unaware of the eyes staring at him as his arms seem to be stretching out from their sleeves. Not noticing as his perpetually clean shaven face suddenly begins to sprout stubbly sideburns and a scratchy neckbeard.

No, suddenly the rising anger in his mind can’t help but address how stupid it is that his boss is making him explain to these people essentially majoring in evolutionary biology what those words mean. Clenching his jaw as he yanks the tie from his neck and tosses it to the floor he speaks up, his voice clearly rougher than it was even seconds ago, “This is- You all know what evolutionary biology is, obviously,” his voice cracks deeper as he tries to remove his jacket, ignoring how it gets stuck on arms that have impossibly begun to lengthen. Hanging lower and heavier as he struggles against clothes that suddenly feel like they’re holding him captive. “You all know already!”

He hammers a fist down onto his lectern and hears the sound of his shirt tearing from the back. Students flinch in shock and a few begin to gather their things as Craig stares at his arm. His hand shouldn't be that big. Isn’t that big. Seeing the few thick hairs starting to pepper his bulkier wrists, Craig turns to look down at his chest as it begins to grow, grunting ever deeper he stares as two meaty pecs begin to strain the button-up. 

Hairs poke through the straining placket as they start to spread above the neckline. Every movement sends further sounds of tearing garment through the classroom as Craig tries to understand what he’s seeing. His voice sounds even duller, brutish even as he cries out,  “What goin- What’s, grgh, happening to me-” Thicker fingers yank off his shirt sending sweat and buttons flying into the classroom, freeing pecs that were not there even a minute ago.

Many students begin to flee the classroom as their instructor begins feeling up his chest with hands growing hairier. The student who was initially concerned dials emergency services as she ditches her laptop and begins to race out the door, terrified as Craig’s thickening brows start to just out further from his forehead. The man who was waiting to watch him awkwardly stumble over his words rather than join his fleeing cohort just watches enthralled. Staring at his widening jaw as it is promptly covered with a thick beard. 

Unaware of the small horde of students in flight from his lecture as his newly fat palms cup itching pecs as they grow meatier, Craig groans and apologizes to whoever remains as he leans underneath the small podium to deal with the sharp pain in his shoes. His ass bursts free from his pants, exposing briefs barely holding up and cheeks that are rapidly being decorated by a forest of fur. His wider back bumps into the lectern as he struggles to free his thick feet from shoes that were already a tad too snug. 

Speaking accompanied by the sound of his tearing at leather shoes, Craig tries to continue the lecture in between increasingly common grunts, “So me, unh- I think you uhhh- you know this evo- uhh” The one remaining student, Dawson, begins creeping closer, deadset to see this through to the end. Slowly pulling out his phone and setting it to record what is clearly some impossible miracle of science. Some reversion towards a more primal state, a devolution. Dawson smirks as he imagines how far this will set him ahead in the field.

Craig finds himself suddenly much less preoccupied with said science as he frees his newly hairy feet from their binds, leaving sweat steaming off of their wider soles as they continue to crack larger. Instead, mind leaking intelligence, he begins to drool and quietly grunt to himself as his cock begins to throb. Buried in a bush of thick and curled pubes which are themselves haloed by massive burly thighs, his rougher hands easily claw off his briefs to free his bobbing cock. Dripping with pre he sees veins visibly pulsing as what must be a foreskin begins to encroach towards a head almost purple and pre-covered. 

Dawson sneaks onward, zooming in to capture how Craig’s beard raises higher on his face to meet with the hair on his head growing wild. His eyes flicker across strange bulging muscles on his instructor’s shoulders as they’re rapidly blanketed by a forest of curls thicker than his own pubes. The student's mouth slightly waters as he adjusts the frame to capture the man’s massive hands as he begins to masturbate in the classroom. And then he drops his phone. 

On high alert, the man-no-longer jumps with a start and hits his head on the lectern, guffawing as he rubs the spot he foolishly bumped. Falling to the floor himself, Dawson is torn between fleeing like the rest of his wiser cohort and staring at a living breathing caveman. He can’t resist simply being the first man to witness prehistory. 

Beyond that, Dawson can’t help but stare at the exposed pits of a man he assumed was as smooth as marble. He’s almost possessed, staring at the wild jungle of pit hair that flies free from the brute’s raised arm, dripping with sweat. There are almost visible stink lines as body odor that hasn’t been found on the earth for thousands of millenia begins to fill the room. And the longer he stares, the longer he smells, he begins to lose any will to do anything but submit.

Perhaps it’s simply a biological reaction that Dawson finds himself rooted to the spot, taking in heady breaths of the fetid scent. Why else would his mouth fall open as his cock starts to rise at the sight, Craig speaks up seeing his own remaining pupil sitting there in some state between primal lust and fear. Feeling his cock bob against the podium and seeing himself nude in this clinical classroom, some semblance of self returns to the once-doctoral candidate.

“Dawsugh- Need help. Cra-ug ugh- Crag need help, nowugh” His jaw stings with pain as it widens more, his lips struggling to create sounds he knows he should be able to. As he stares down on the male planted on the ground he feels those bizarre instincts begin to return once more. His skin prickles, back cracking as it compacts while his chest grows wider with every heaving breath. Putting on mass as his mind begins to grow foggy once more.

Crag struggles to stay focused, struggles to remember who he is, what he’s doing. What that strange rectangle is at this lesser man’s feet. But with every precious second his twenty-first century concerns begin to evaporate. Worries about the grind of academia, disdain at being shoehorned into reading powerpoints no one cares to hear, the monotony of driving home in rush hour traffic. Everything begins to fade. Everything that is, besides the need to dominate the hairless, beta man staring at him.

Dawson can scarcely make heads or tails of what happens next as he sees the brute pounce on him. He feels the man’s calloused hands tear at his clothes and lies in repose, waiting for whatever Crag, apparently, is to do next. Desperately wanting fulfillment no man has experienced before. His hands clutch the caveman-apparent’s back, feeling the scratch of hair thicker than man can grow and the bulging sticky muscle beneath. 

Feeling the man’s river of precum dripping down his abs, Dawson begins to feel the prickle of his treasure trail regrowing as his feverish mind realizes his future far too late. Every inch of skin touching the man begins to change likewise. Arms he was never shy of lengthen just as he saw his least favorite TA’s did minutes ago, decorated with hair and bulging larger with thick muscle. 

Even quicker than he witnessed happening to Craig er, Crag, hair begins to engulf him. The concerted efforts towards maintaining his clean-cut appearance is absolutely erased as every inch of his form prickles with thick, dark hair growth. Crag sloppily kisses him and leaves a growing beard in the wake of his tongue. Forearms that have had the lightest coat of blonde peach fuzz erupt with fark jungles of hair before launching even further, coating his increasingly clumsy fingers and biceps twitching stronger with every haphazard movement.

Dawson’s hips reflexively hump into the man dominating him. His changing cock scratches against the man’s essentially fur covered torso which only heightens the student’s rapturous delight and accelerates his transformation. In no time at all the complexities and desires of the life he lived are wiped and replaced by a need to do nothing more than seek sustenance and pleasure. To serve and be served by the Crag who begins to hoist him against a wall and hump.

His handsome face changes, bones restructuring as hands he doesn’t recognize as he clings to Crag who is more monster than man. Feeling his rising cock rubbing against his new alpha’s as it begins to change he knows he is on the fast track to join him. He feels his vocal chords thickening as he cries out in ecstasy, Crag finally claiming what is his. Longer toes burst through tennis shoes, curling on the floor as nails yellow and thicken. 

Dawson’s sharper and larger teeth bite Crag’s shoulder as they continue to frot and fuck. They continue until their sweat and ancient semen coats much of the room, their new balls having apparently quite the short refractory period. When they finally tire or get bored their snores sound loud enough to break glass as they curl up together somewhere behind the podium. Bonded mates of a world that hasn’t existed for hundreds of thousands of years.

Well before the pair were done with consummating their new forms, the whole building was placed on lockdown. Quarantine crews working hastily to contain whatever impossible pathogen has apparently begun to infect the campus. Scientists across the world wait with bated breath from some update on whatever impossible goings on are hidden behind that yellow quarantine tape. Hearing the horrified testimonies of those students that escape does little to sate their curiosities, though it does invite them to be lab rats as scientists watch each and every one of them hoping to observe their own prehistoric changes.

It’s only a matter of time before some foolhardy explorer or researcher desperate for a discovery breaks the seal and finds something they could never be prepared for. Sooner rather than later the mounting need to know will be insurmountable. Sooner rather than later whatever this plague of the past they tried to keep behind lock and key will spread. And then those foolish enough to remain nearby will get a first hand experience on the nature of evolutionary biology. And to think, Craig Stoll was so concerned that nothing of note would come of the course.

[s0dium]

who are the sexiest JJK DILFs??? Your toji fic got me thinking....

I LOVE DILFS

Synopsis: Ranking the top three JJK DILFS. This was very self indulgent ;)

Characters: Toji Fushiguro, Nanami Kento, Geto Suguru

Warning: Age gap, breeding, blowjobs, edging

Toji Fusiguro

Of course first place goes to him, he is THE DILF

More of a father than people give him credit for, but is definitely one everyone would like to fuck

The type to act like he doesn't care about what his kids do but then show up to their baseball game or recital with a camera

Definitely likes younger women

He knows no shame. Are you his kids pre k teacher? He is fucking you. You his kid's babysitter? Might as well spread your legs now

Toji knows how hot he is, in fact he bathes in the stares of all the other moms and the whispers

He's mean in bed too

You thickly swallow when you feel Toji tap his tip on your soft lips.

“Suck.”

With not an ounce of hesitance, you bring your face close to Toji’s awaiting member and allow your tongue to flop out, the warmth of your wet muscle gliding across the underside of his dick making his thighs shudder. Your ego swells, he rarely, almost never, shows a reaction when you suck him off. That simple shudder gives you the courage to bring his tip in your mouth, suckling and kissing the swollen head. Your eyes are locked with his as you do this, relishing in that subtle smirk he gives when your tongue swirls over his member, soaking the skin with your saliva.

"Make it quick, before the kids get home." He says through a groan.

2. Geto Surguru

Coming in hot is Suguru

Above all else Suguru is a family man, even after two daughters he finds him self wanting more. Perhaps a boy even?

Very loving father, the type to make you breakfast in bed and cook for you

Very active in his kids life, will go to PTA meetings (which you hate because all the moms swoon over him) and he knows how to braid and do his daughters hair

Wants. More. Kids. Honestly, it doesn't matter what gender the kid is, he would be lying if he said the part he didn't like the most was the fucking you dumb and filling you

"Talk to me baby," Geto groans in your ear. Oh god you want to, you want to say something something about how fucking good you are feeling, but words seem to fail you. The friction of his dick thrusting in and out of your walls is too delicious almost maddening. Geto snapped his hips so fast that everything seemed like a blur, the bed was shaking immensely with the head board banging on the wall and so were you from getting your cervix abused by his leaking tip. One hand is pinning your wrists together while he pistons into your gummy walls with brute force, too dumb to resist him that you could only moan and whine from how good he was fucking you.

"Want me to cum in you baby? Fill you up?'

3.Nanami Kento

Honorary DILF! This man has everything that meets the DILF criteria without being an actual dad

But if he where a dad, he'd be an amazing one

Stern but kind, Nanami Kento is not only dad material but husband material

Nanami Kento is the type to be oblivious to all the stares he gets from other women because the only this that on his mind is you and his kids

And with you, his wife, the love of his life, this man takes his time loving u

"M'feel so good so good," You babble feverishly, practically choking on each syllable. Your breathing has become ragged and fat tears started to cloud your vision.

"Shhhh baby I know." Nanami groans, grunting at the way your pussy squeezes around him, trying to suck him in impossibly more even though his tip is already brushing against your cervix.  The sounds that emanated from your bodies were sinful, trapped warm cum sloshing with every slow thrust. Your thighs trembled, toes curling and uncurling at the feeling of being stuffed so impossibly full. 

“Faster please faster,” You whine and bury your nose into the nape of his neck to kiss and lick at the skin in an attempt to appease your husband. 

“Just a little longer baby, wanna fuck you nice and slow first.”

[mrsknowitallll]

If I Ain’t Got You

Bo Chow x Black Plus Size Reader

Summary - You have an on again off again situationship going on with Bo Chow and you’ve grown tired of it, deciding to spread your wings and try out other suitors. After a date goes badly and he nearly loses you he decides he’s done with the games and wants to make you his once and for all.

Warning: Assault, Fighting/Violence, Foul language, Mentions of death, Gore, I think that’s it?

A/N - Bo Chow appreciation cause that man is FINE, i’m going through the whole crew at this point lolll y’all tired of these fics yet?

"When you gone stop playing with me girl? I ain't too proud to beg y'know." Bo leaned into your personal space, strong smell of whisky on his breath.

"Don't you got a lady at home Bo? You can't have yo cake and eat it too, not with me." You placed a hand on his face, mushing him.

"Oh come on now you know me and that lady been done for a while. You the one I want why you keep doing me like that?" He grabbed ahold of your waist pulling you against him.

"Cause you like to play games and i don't. I'm a grown ass woman, too grown for a fuck buddy, you gone be with me you gone have to settle down, stop fucking everything that moves." You glared at him.

"Aww is that what you take me fo baby? Somebody that just goes around sticking it in every available hole?" He frowned.

"Bo go on now, I came here to have a good time not fool around, go mess with some of these other huzzys in here. Bartender, a refill please." You shook your glass.

"These other 'huzzys' ain't you, it's you I want." His lips ghosted over your ear.

His words caused you to shiver, arousal pooling in your gut causing your knees to go weak.

But you knew Bo all too well, it was easy to fall under his spell, all those sweet nothings he'd whisper in your ear turning you to mush, leaving you feinin for him, begging for it all for him grow cold afterwards, standoffish, distant. You never knew what his problem was but you weren't gonna be swept up into the mess again.

"Have a goodnight Bo." You downed your drink heading toward the exit of the club, waving goodbye to slim and the others.

He watched you go, disappointment washing over him.

He was just gonna have to do better, try harder. As much as he loved the thrill of the chase had grown rather impatient. It wasn't your fault it was his, he was the one that kept running, from what? He didn't exactly know. But he was done playing games, you were his and he wasn't gone stop till he got you.

You’re out on the town a few nights later shacking up with some guy you met through Annie, while he was a nice man, polite, gentleman like he didn’t appease you. He was just soooo boring.

He kept going on and on about some mill he inherited from his father, something about how all the upkeep was wearing him down not only physically but financially, and while you felt for the man, you really, really did, you didn’t wanna spend your night talking about work. You came out to have fun, to pretend like your problems didn’t exist, not be burdened with somebody else’s.

You stared longingly into Bo’s shop window as you passed. Was it bad that you wished he was inside? That you wished he’d come out and save you from this terrible date.. if you could even call it that.

As much as you’d hate to admit it, especially to Bo himself, you’d grown to love the man. No matter how many time the two of you fell out you always came running back as did he. You had spent many nights looking for someone to fulfill those desires, to scratch that itch, to love you like you needed, but nobody else seemed to fill Bo’s shoes, no matter how many guys you took up no one could compare and you hated that but at the same time it ignited something in you, a fire you didn’t care to tame.

You turned toward your date, ready to cut the night short when he kissed you all of sudden, causing you to freeze for a few seconds before you pushed him away harshly.

“What the fuck was that about?” You wiped your mouth roughly glaring at the man.

“I just thought..” He trailed off eyes lowering to his feet in shame.

“You thought what? Just because you took me out to dinner, brought me flowers that i owed you something? All you niggas act just alike.” You scoffed storming off.

“Girl get yo ass back here!” He grabbed ahold of your wrist snatching you up.

“You better get yo motherfucking hands off me or i swear ‘fore god.” You seethed.

He grabbed a switchblade from his pocket, placing it against your throat.

Any smart remark that you had quickly diminished.

“I spent my last on you, wined and dined your stuck up ass and you think i ain’t leaving hear with something? Oh you got me fucked up.” He began dragging you away.

Your eyes darted around pleading that somebody, anybody stop this but they all just stared cowardly, to fearful to do anything.

You couldn’t believe they’d just stand around and watch this man hold you at knifepoint, drag you off to god knows where and do god knows what with you.

Your eyes fluttered close, tears spilling from beneath your lids as you continued walk, the man’s arms wrapped around your neck, blade still pressed against your throat.

“I suggest you drop that and let the lady go.” A familiar voice spoke in front of you, the sound of a gun cocking.

“Bo.” You sighed in relief, body relaxing upon seeing his face.

He spared a quick glance at you, brows furrowing in worry, gaze softening.

“You come any closer and i’ll slit her throat.” The man’s grip on you tightened.

“Nah you wouldn’t even attempt to do that, cause if you did i’d have your brains splattered all over these country roads faster than you could blink.” Stack spoke lowly from behind him, gun aimed at the back of his head, a hint of amusement in his voice.

The man’s body stiffened in fear, dropping the blade immediately.

“S-stack i ain’t mean no harm i swear.” He turned around raising his hands in the air.

“Oh you meant every bit of harm when you put yo hands on my lil cousin.” Stack twirled his toothpick around in his mouth, his iron grip on his gun not faltering.

“And my lady.” Bo inched toward the man, gun aimed at his back.

You rushed over to him, arms wrapping around his middle tightly.

“Thank god you came when you did.” You whispered into his neck.

He kissed your forehead gently, free hand rubbing your cheek.

“Go wait in the shop for me.” He looked down at you, expression hard.

You knew not to argue, nodding rapidly before rushing off to the store.

“On your knees.” Bo commanded.

The man did as he was told, sobbing like a little girl, reciting scripture, but even god couldn’t save him from the wrath of the two men.

“You got this?” Stack spared him a glance.

“Absolutely, he messed with my woman, so imma take care of it.” Bo grinned devilishly.

“Baby you alright?” Bo rushed over to you practically tearing off the shop door.

“I’m fine, I’m good. What bout you, you okay?” You swatted at his hands grabbing ahold of his face.

He sighed deeply resting his forehead against yours.

“Be mine.” He whispered after a while.

“What?” You pulled back from him slightly to stare into his eyes.

“Be. Mine.” He repeated staring right back at you.

“Where all this coming from Bo?” Your eyes searched his.

“When I saw that man threatening you i just- I realized right then and there that i couldn’t imagine a life without you, that i wouldn’t be able to live with myself if i lost ya, be mine baby, no more games, be mine.” He peppered gentle kisses on your jaw.

“Okay.” You nodded.

“Yeah?” His eyes lit up.

“Yeah Bo i’ll be yours, no more games.” You giggled.

He shouted in excitement, picking you up and twirling you around.

He set you down, grabbing your wrist and pulling you toward the back.

“Where we going?” You quirked a brow.

“I gotta show my lady how much i love her, sometimes words just ain’t enough, and lord knows i love a little action.” He smirked setting you on top of a supply box.

He knew just what to do to get you going.

Tags - @eclecticblkgirl @alphabetically-deranged @sassymemoryelixir (Comment to be added to my tag list)

[seraphicsentences]

all mine (pt.2)

closeted/in denial abby anderson x reader

pt.1: you told me your new man don’t make you nut, that’s a damn shame.

please click here!

tags: sub!abby, dom!reader, experienced!reader, mentions of owen, tbh trauma from owen, strap-on sex, cunnilingus, 69ing, dry humping, grinding, nonexplicit masturbation, lowkey voyeurism+exhibitionism ish? there’s plot i swear.

A/N: im well aware that i apologize in every post i make and that its redundant, but im still sorry that i took forever to write.

so. some of this may sound a little familiar from the first part, but it’s simply just drawing parallels between abby’s and your stances on one another.

this gets gradually worse and worse. i think the quality started landsliding once i reached the smut. enjoy!

it’s been near ‘round a week later, and abby’s avoiding you like the fucking devil. in fact— by the way she’s been acting, you think she might even believe so. she’s never felt so inexplicably thrown off. clickers, bloaters… couple of well-aimed shots and they’re no deal. but you? the ghost of your touches haunt her day and night. she’s like a woman possessed. and she’s insatiable.

her once weekly visits to the chapel have become daily: hour-long stays spent on her knees, prayers whispered hastily under her breath, eyes darting to paranoically try to catch potential eavesdroppers.

even owen, the air-headed asshole, has been left victim, or perhaps victor, to the effects of your actions. in a desperate attempt to ease her whirling mind, or rather, to ease the painful throbbing between her thighs, abby’s seemed to have turned to her boyfriend as a last ditch effort.

abby’s newfound flood of arousal, pooling and pleading, only to be met by owen’s two incher every night have had his ego blowing up fucking obnoxiously.

“god, abby, you’re fuckin’ desperate for my dick lately,” he’d gloat, hilariously blind to his girlfriend’s infidelity.

unfortunately for abby, her pathetic resorts have done nothing to quiet the moaning mess of guilt-filled memories. if anything, they’ve done quite the opposite.

she’s been left to the mercy of her palm, heel of it digging into her clit while she’s beside the sleeping figure of owen, straining every massive muscle in her body to give her that orgasm she so badly needs.

it’s to no avail, though. stuck gasping and tearing up against a pillow, her poor pussy crying for some semblance of relief. and what’s left is a week-long edged abby anderson, ms. “top soldier”, who’s back to shooting no better than a freshly new recruit.

what’s up with that, hm?

~

2am now, in the isolated west dormitory’s showers, and abby’s at it again. her body starving for your touch; your sinful, corrupting, addictive touch, and she’s failing to appease her needs once more.

“mmph- fuck, ah-please,” abby begs into her forearm, groaning as two thick fingers plunge deep into her sopping hole, thrusting in and out messily.

it’s exhausting to fuck the way you do. even with her arms the impressive size they are, it’s impossibly demanding to reach every nerve you had reached, filthy sounds echoing along the tile walls, taunting her.

abby knows what’s coming, or really, the lack of it.

skin pink from the heat of the water, she abandons her effort, shutting the stream off with a squeak and ventures the locker room to get dressed for the night.

her mind wanders to you— that’s all it ever seems to do as of recently, and she thinks about how she almost misses your antics. she can’t place her finger on what it is exactly about you that makes her chase every teasing interaction so masochistically.

maybe it’s your lopsided smile that lures her in, or that glint in your eye she gets caught up in. or maybe it’s just that she knows she shouldn’t want you, and it’s so deliciously wrong, and that’s why she’s got to have you.

towel flung over her shoulder, abby makes her way out, only to stop in her tracks when she hears the loud slam of a locker door.

what the fuck? wasn’t the bathroom empty when she last checked??

cheeks burning at the mistaking of her privacy, she swivels the corner, furious to see who the fuck else is using the west dorm showers at this hour. of all the hours.

and, well, abby’s frozen in place when she’s met with the sight of a mystery someone’s bare back. but oh, how she recognizes you, you and your wet hair, slinging droplets down your smooth skin, trailing lower and lower and-

you cough, breaking her trance. baby blue eyes dart up, caught, as you slide your tank on, smirking.

“hey, anderson.”

that just about does it for her. abby slams an open locker door shut, almost sprinting out of the room.

and really, there’s no choice but for you to follow her, practically hunting her down as she sharply turns down random hallways, clearly attempting to outrun you. abby makes a wrong turn soon enough, and you honestly think you might burst out into laughter because of the funny way fate seems to string the two of you together.

the blonde’s backed herself into a corner, and it just so happens to be your residential corner. you can’t help but wonder if she already knew where your room was located.

“scared, anderson?” slips out of your mouth, and it feels significant, reminiscent of the week before. you stare her down, wet strands clinging to her skin to match yours, and it’s like the two of you know what’s to come with your words. the inevitable.

you’re not sure which one of you moves first, rubber band of tension snapping as your lips collide in a catastrophic sort of way. you’re scrambling to blindly dial your dorm code in and tugging abby by her shirt in a tangle of limbs and saliva.

“i’ll play nice,” you pant, “even after that disappearing stunt you pulled last week.”

abby laughs, whispering, “whoops,” under her breath before pulling you in for another dizzying kiss, tongue eagerly curling into your mouth like she’s been waiting years for a taste.

you wrap your fingers around her hair with a tug, and the low groan that escapes from the back of abby’s throat has you repeating the motion again and again as you veer her backwards to fall atop your bed. you follow, straddling her, not wanting to spend a second apart from the fucking drug that her mouth is.

your hips grind down on their own, burning and desperate for stimulation. abby, in return, wraps a strong hand around your throat, pulling you even deeper into a sloppy kiss to swallow your moans as she pushes her hips up to meet yours.

“fuck,” you gasp, clit catching against the seam of your shorts with every roll.

abby’s mind has gone blurry with arousal, drunk off the satisfaction of finally getting what her body’s begged for. every pretty noise that slips out of your mouth sends pulses of pleasure straight through her bundle of nerves, and every touch of skin has her feeling set ablaze.

but as always, she needs more.

she maneuvers you easily under her big frame, your head tipping back in a soft whine as she latches herself onto your throat, biting and soothing your skin over.

she’s lodged a leg in between your own, mimicking your position as she wildly bucks her hips down onto you. “please,” she breathes out, tears welling in her eyes with how foreign this feeling is. she can’t bring herself to care about how needy she’s acting, because to starve, is to take anything.

“just like that, baby, you’re soaking my thigh,” you coo, continuing to dry hump her leg like she’s nothing but a toy to you. the whimper she lets out at the name you call her is downright criminal, and the way her movements pick up have you groaning it out again. “c’mon baby, make a mess of yourself for me,” you grab her meaty hips, grinding her harder down against you.

“gonna-“ she gasps into your neck, before shuddering against you as she cums with a cry, muscular thighs holding you so desperately tight in place. you almost scream, caught in the iron grip she has your body in, stopped so close to your own finish. you dig your nails into the flesh of abby’s hips, hearing her moan as the pain mixes with pleasure, and echo the sound yourself as the burning in your core starts up again.

“just let me, for a minute- i need you- just stay here, shit,” you ramble, gripping her hair for leverage while you fuck yourself faster against her thigh.

every twitch of a muscle beneath your soaked pussy has you reeling, unable to wrap your mind around what a massive fucking crime it is, for another woman not to have experienced the absolute blessing it is to have abby anderson’s defined-ass thigh to grind on.

you glance down at abby, and the fucked-out expression she has on, all watery doe-eyed as she peers up at you, mesmerized, has you throbbing enough to match your heart rate.

curse after curse flies out of your mouth as she attaches her mouth to your neck again, biting down as you let go of that coil tugging on your navel.

abby’s no sooner clambering atop you, diving in to taste your sounds as she scoops you onto her lap, practically growling, “fuckin’ get over here,” under her breath.

as your vision returns, she attacks your mouth with a sloppy kiss, colliding teeth, and you’re unbearably hungry for more.

“let me- i’m gonna taste you,” you breath out, shoving abby’s back down with a push.

she falls back with a soft thud, eyes not leaving you once. “please, fuck- taste me, have me,” abby affirms, scrambling to tug her shorts off.

the massive soaked patch at the center her boxers have your eyes rolling into your skull. “shit, anderson,” you run a finger over her clothed slit, giggling as she jerks her hips up.

“shut up,” she rasps, her words harsh, but the small smile on her face says otherwise.

you grin up at her, “didn’t say anything,” before licking a fat stripe up her covered pussy.

her response is immediate, hands fisting into your hair to pull your mouth closer, actions the epitome of more, more, more.

you flatten your tongue, licking, and meshing her arousal with your saliva to entirely soak her boxers wet. you wrap your lips around where you guess to be her clit, based off the place her legs tremble when your tongue reaches it, and suck hard.

“there,” abby whines out, back flying off the mattress, and you’re so very desperate to see what other fun reactions she has in store for you, you grab at her waistband to unveil her pretty dripping pussy.

up close, face to face, you get to really admire the work of art she is. the divets of muscle adorning her thighs frame her pussy almost in a greek-goddess sort of way. light brownish-blonde curls of hair that reach out to your mouth, trying to pull you in closer. she’s beautiful. you’re in complete control of her right now, and holding the reins of such an unreal being has you groaning into her slick eagerly, hands holding her spread wide open while you feast.

you’re dipping your tongue into her sopping mess, teasing and thrusting, feeling her gummy walls flutter around every brush of the muscle. you dart a thumb up to circle her puffy clit, red, from her earlier actions, and the way abby’s legs kick up— almost hitting you in the face, has you giggling again into her pussy. the vibrations of your laugh make abby squeal, thighs clamping around your head, and then she’s tugging at your hair, chanting, “stopstopstopstop,” and you, of course, oblige immediately.

your face comes up covered in her wetness, arousal dripping from your chin as you lick your lips in an halfhearted attempt to clean yourself up. “sorry, sorry, i- did you want me to stop?” you ramble, concerned that you might’ve gone a little too far this time, getting yourself involved with a taken straight girl.

abby’s face flushes a deep red, even darker than it had been from your actions, as she catches her breath and looks away. “no, i- can you, uhm.”

you catch on to her hesitation, newer to sex thats more than just, well, dick. you rub her calves soothingly, “use your words, baby, you got it.”

she visibly gulps, thighs pressing tight around your body, “can i?” she asks, almost sulkily as her hands move to tug at your shorts.

“oh-!” slips out of your mouth, surprised, “yeah, yeah you can.”

she lets out a soft okay, tugging harder now, slipping her calloused fingers under your waistband as well so as to drag both down together. abby’s groans, low and heady, at the sight of your glistening pussy, practically dripping down your thighs from just getting her off. “this too,” she murmurs, sliding your tank off before you can blink.

she’s pulling you in closer, as if she’s in a trance, as she wraps her lips hesitantly around one of your perked nipples. the high-pitched sigh you let out is more than enough encouragement for her to continue, warm tongue flicking at it as she sucks around your breast. “is this okay?” she pulls away to whisper, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear as she looks up at you, eyes wide.

“fuck- yes, just,” you push her head back in, her lips abiding immediately as they gently pull at your nipple, teeth grazing the most sensitive parts of your chest as you arch your back into it, quiet moans ringing in her air.

all of a sudden you’re being turned around, confused, until your hips are being lifted up towards abby’s stuck-out tongue and you’re shaking with your face pressed to her thigh while she experimentally kitten-licks around your hole, unknowingly teasing you.

her nose brushes ever-so-slightly over your pulsing clit as her tongue passes just over your dripping mess, and it has you crying out, “there, please- right there, please,” breath hot over her own throbbing pussy.

her hips jerk up at the sensation, and you take the hint— latching your lips around her own clit and stuffing two fingers easily into her hole, moaning at the feeling of her squeezing tight around you.

it’s no wonder abby’s the top soldier of wlf. for a girl who’s only ever been with the most lacking, vanilla man ever, she picks up fast. each action of yours is borderline self-serving, with the way abby’s mimicking every move not even a moment after, so adorably eager to please.

abby had this insistent need to pull every pretty sound from you, whether she got it through grazing her teeth against your clit, or curling a thick finger against your g-spot, she was determined to hear it— to the point where you thought she might’ve even needed it. and it’s what made sex with her so intoxicating.

she wasn’t like any of the other girls you typically hooked up with, and that’s not to say the girls you usually got with were bad to fuck… they just weren’t as invested in your pleasure as you were with theirs. and as the type to get off on giving rather than receiving, this was especially new. you’ve never been with someone like you. and god, does it take the cake.

abby’s really coming to terms with all the ways she can use her especially large everythings to make you feel good, murmuring into your pussy, “‘m fuckin’ splitting you open with my fingers, pretty,” as she pushes in a third finger to your sopping hole, relishing in the squelch that comes with the thrust.

your thighs shake around her head, stimulated beyond compare as you continue your ministrations on abby’s pussy, humming mhms into it to encourage more of her bolder ventures.

“mm-fuck, can feel you choking my fingers. you gonna cum, hm?” she mumbles cockily, the high from your reactions sending her mind into a frenzy.

“shit, please, need it so bad,” you croak out, taking only mere seconds apart from tonguing down her puffy clit.

“ah- god, me too, pretty. cum on my tongue,” she says, and the fucking vulgarity of it, so downright shocking to hear from ms. straight christian prude over here, has you riding your orgasm out, trembling heat overtaking your body like a california wildfire. matched moans come from beneath you, as abby’s hips fuck up against your mouth, legs flexing deliciously as the two of you reach your peaks together, the world slowing.

you slide your body off of hers, turning around to be met with a sight to behold. your cum, all over abby’s mouth, shining on the tip of her nose, remnants leaked onto her chin— and you have not a doubt you look the same mess. you yank her into a sloppy kiss, fluids mixing in your mouths in the most animalistic nature.

“i’m not done with you,” you say, eyebrows scrunched as you take in her fucked-out expression.

“i know,” she whispers, “give me more,” she breathes out.

abby slips out of her tank, finally, using the cloth to gently wipe your face and hers, action a bit too intimate for what you guys have, but neither of you decide to call out on it.

“you gonna let me fuck you?” you ask quietly, running a hand over her chest softly, enamored, as abby shivers from your words.

“please fuck me,” she whimpers, tone all pouty and petulant as she watches your hand trace ambiguous shapes over her skin.

“so polite,” you tease lightly, pulling her in for a brief kiss before reaching over to your bedside drawer and pulling out your favorite strap, just the one for the special girl in front of you.

8 inches, hot pink, with a slight curve to it, but most importantly, never been used on anyone other than yourself, by yourself.

“it’s so-“ she stutters nervously, thighs rubbing together in anticipation as you secure the toy onto your hips.

“pretty?” you finish, unable to help your laugh as she looks at you, so clearly not thinking of your response.

“yeah,” she shrugs, “suppose it is.”

it’s quiet in the room as you finish latching the silicone dick onto yourself, the two of you settling into the weight of your impulse-fueled actions.

you gently pull open her closed legs, settling yourself between them as you tease her entrance with the tip of the toy, covering it with her cum. you then spit down onto it, twisting your hand around to coat, and hear abby ask, “what’re you doing?”

you continue to prep the toy with easy motions, committed by memory, “i know you’re soaked, anderson, but it’s still a dick you’re taking, baby.”

“i just mean- i, you know,”

you hum, “owen doesn’t put in the effort, huh? and i bet you’re not even a quarter as wet for him as you are for me,” scoffing.

“don’t-“

“it’s the truth though, isn’t it?”

“…yeah.”

“that’s what i thought.”

you thumb her clit in circles, using her slick as lube to rub over it smoothly, relishing in the way abby’s head falls back and her hips jolt up. “that’s it, ease up for me,” you murmur.

you prod again at her entrance with the toy, sliding the tip in slightly as she hisses, “‘m sti-still sensitive.”

“and you’re gonna take it like the fuckin’ slut you are, anderson, aren’t you?” you tsk, pushing a couple inches more into her.

“shit- yes, yes ma’am,” she whimpers out, legs threatening to close from the new stretch.

“because even after all that time in the shower, nothing can fill you like i do,” you finish, thrusting the full length of you into her tight pussy, abby nodding repeatedly as her back arches up.

her moans pick up alongside your hips, voice breaking with every thrust as you push into that one sensitive spot deep inside with obvious expertise.

“so, s-so go-od,” she cries, hands gripping into the bedsheets as she searches for some tie back to reality.

you smirk satisfactorily, fast pace fueled by the sight of abby’s open mouth, drool spilling out the sides as her voice grows hoarse from constant use. you fuck her hard, strength channeled from the anger you bore against her homophobic attitudes, and jealousy you garnered towards owen and his idiotic male self.

you lock your eyes with abby, sweat dripping down your face as you zero down on her, slamming into her pussy with no reprieve. “no more owen,” you say, each word punctuated by another deep thrust.

“this is so wrong, this is so fucked,” abby rambles, nervous eyes darting around the room so as to avoid your gaze. her eyebrows are tugged together, head shaking no: but no to argue your words, or no to agree with them?

“has something so wrong ever felt so good?” you pant out, “tell me baby.”

“i can’t, i can’t, i can’t,” she repeats, torn between what felt right in her head, and what felt so right in her heart. “turn me over,” she babbled, not wanting to head-on face the fucking sin-filled act she was committing.

“you tried running, baby. and how’d that work for you?” you ask, fed up. “you’re still back here, a fucking mess, and all for me.”

“what’s it gonna take for you to face the fact that you’re getting fucked by a girl, and it’s so much better than anything you’ve ever experienced?”

abby’s eyes scrunch tight, trying to tune you out, but her moans still wrench out from the back of her throat, guttural and unstoppable.

you slide out finally, earning you a soft whine of disagreement, toy dripping with her slick with the tip pressed against her folds. “look at me, abby.”

and fuck. she’s never taken notice to the fact that you’ve never said her name before—but god does it sound so pretty coming out of your mouth. and god is it enough to make her wrestle her eyelids open and stare you dead in the eyes, blue clashing with the darkness you reeked in.

“say that again,” she whispers, look full of pleading. 4 letters, 2 syllables, but it has her core tensing and her heart racing a mile.

“tell me you’re mine, abby,” you breath, and she almost finishes right there and then.

“i’m yours,” she says, a single tear breaking free from her right eye, baptizing her skin, absolving her of guilt.

“good,” you choke out, bottoming entirely into her as she releases a cry. your movements quicken, ravenous, chasing the sweet whines that fill the room.

abby’s tits bounce with each thrust, and you reach down to give her sensitive nipples a pinch, making her reach an all time new height of pleasure. her chest heaves, curses slur, as she squirms under your touch, nearing an unbearably overstimulated state.

“feels- gonna cum,” she moans, barely holding on.

“cum for me,” you demand, needing to see her fall apart now more than ever as you pound into her harder, fingers rubbing harsh circles into her clit.

“s-shit,” she gasps, throwing her head back as her walls tighten around the toy, “‘m- fuck, god- fuck! ‘m cumming!”

loud squelching noises overtake the room, complete with the sight of abby writhing beneath you as spurts of her juices drench your moving cock.

her chest heaves, mouth open in a silent scream as she comes down from her high, squirming with overstimulation.

you can see the moment her brain clicks, panic in her eyes clear as her skin turns pasty white.

“i’m so sorry i didn’t mean to do that i don’t know how-“

“abby.”

“-that happened ive never done that before, like who-“

“abby.”

“-fucking pisses on someone like that i’m so sorry ill clean it-“

“ABBY.”

her eyes shoot up to meet yours, frame cowering as she mumbles a quiet apology again, so obviously uneducated in the realm of half-decent orgasms.

“you squirted, abby, you didn’t piss on me for christ’s sake. it was hot. now don’t worry about it, i’m very honored,” you chide lightly, cradling abby’s heated face in your hand.

you stand up, grabbing a clean towel and wetting it with warm water from your kettle. striding over, you spread abby’s legs lightly, running the towel gently over her worked-out center, breath hitching, hips jerking with your touch.

“why are you- you don’t have to-“ abby stutters, grabbing your wrist.

you pause, confused. “abby, i’m not a fucking dick, contrary to belief,” you scoff.

she doesn’t let go. “no that’s not what i- i didn’t mean it like that, it’s just, you know.” she waits for you to look up at her, before looking away. “you don’t have to fuss over me.”

a laugh bubbles out of you before you can stop it. “you mean owen doesn’t-? yeah, who am i kidding, of fucking course he doesn’t ‘do aftercare,’ god, what a dick!” you groan, facepalming.

“abby, baby, this is fucking normal. owen just sucks,” you smirk, her cheeks flushing at your words. “let me take care of you,” you continue more softly, nudging her grip off as you drag the towel over her sternum next, cleaning off any remnants left from the two of you.

abby’s quiet now, eyes following your every movement, curious almost, a bit hesitant— as if she’s not sure what to do with herself in the meanwhile. she’s stiff to the touch, frame shrunken now due to the sheer vulnerability of it all. bare as the day she was born, and touched like she’s never done wrong a minute in her life.

she doesn’t know how to feel about it. wisps of hair tickle her nose, and so she scratches it, pushing her hair away, tugging it behind her ears. and you’re right there on it, wordlessly turning her around as you begin to comb through her hair loosely, pulling it into a simple braid. the same hairstyle she displays everyday, always done by her own hand: tight, knot-free, and burning into her scalp. a reminder to remain true to her virtues, live by strict rules, and not stray from the lord’s path.

but the way you braid is so different. you’re careful to tie in the tickling wisps, but not harsh. effective, but not pushing. with owen she feels like an accessory, but you make her feel like someone worth worshipping. and so, the only burning she feels is not on her scalp, but behind her eyes.

you do notice the subtle tremble in abby’s shoulders, droplets trickling down her cheeks as you weave her hair through, but you make no comment on it. certainly not with the way your own hands fumble her golden strands, fingers shaking into the knots. you tie the end of it up.

“i should go,” abby whispers, standing to grab her scattered clothes.

you remain seated, mouth opening and closing like a fish, as your lips struggle to wrap around the words your heart is singing out for.

you settle on one.

“stay,” you blurt, louder than you intended, the word ringing in the tense air.

abby freezes, hand outstretched towards her tossed shirt. her head edged just the slightest bit towards you, like subconsciously, she was waiting for you to say something.

“just- stay,” you whisper this time, more unsure. waiting for the rejection you know is to come. and while your brain is screaming for you to let her go, your eyes are hooked onto abby’s figure— searching intently for the smallest signal of her response.

you see her breath catch in her throat.

“okay,” she whispers back, and her head turns just enough for your gazes to lock, matched desperation surging.

she’s drawn back to the bed like a magnet pulled to its twin, the mattress dipping as she settles in the space beside you.

and abby feels the heat of your drilling stare, one she refuses to return. she has no more fire left in her, not for you, just contemplation. a longing for more, an urge to savor, an ache to feel.

so abby faces the door, and you face her back, waiting for the day she’ll turn around.

so what did we think guys?!?? this was 4.7k words. crazy.

ok. so notice the tear coming from her right eye during that whole end part of the sex. note that it came from her RIGHT eye. scientifically speaking, that’s a tear of joy. BOOOOOOM MIC DROP.

i, unfortunately, shot for the stars and tried to make this deeper. hard to do that when you’re not in touch with your emotions. so now you guys are stuck being confused. good luck!

anyways. the final scene is supposed to represent where they metaphorically stand in their relationship. reader is trying to bond with abby, or at least making an effort to, hence her facing abby. abby can’t come to terms with all this, but she’s trying! she’s not fully accepted the homosexual part of herself though, the side that comes out with reader, so she’s facing the door. FACING IT, not leaving through it. ;)

also, yes, owen goes in dry. it’s canon. do not come at me.

taglist:

@pricefieldsuperiority @heartlexs @graviewaviee @liaphrodite @k1ngpin42 @deadbolted @be3flow3r @mrsabbyanderson

@rob1nbuckl3ys @vivispace @bookpagecandlescent

@thelosstvalkyrie for photo creds ty baby <3

[freezerbrldes]

short n’ sweet - part 1

“wanna try out my fuzzy pink handcuffs?”

PART 1, PART 2,

PAIRING. spencer reid x popstar!reader

SUMMARY. spencer gets a lot more than he bargained for when he attends a concert with garcia.

WARNINGS. afab!reader, sub!spencer, softdom!reader, oral (m receiving), use of handcuffs, begging, red lipstick in places it should never be, unprotected pnv sex, creampie, just pure filth, also not proof read

AUTHOR’S NOTE. i got this idea after rewatching my short n sweet concert videos. i could not get the thought of spencer receiving the juno handcuffs out of my head so I wrote it all down. i hate the beginning and ending of this a lot but the middle is so good hehe.

credit to @cafekitsune for dividers

wc: 4,029

also on ao3

Garcia gripped Spencer’s hand tightly, pushing through the crowd until they reached the barricade next to the stage.

“Holy shit Spence! We made it!” Garcia cheered.

“Nice, that’s great… I think i’m going to pass out.” Spencer pants, gripping onto the railing for dear life.

Spencer, who isn’t particularly fond of concerts or music in general, reluctantly agreed to attend this show solely to appease Garcia’s relentless begging. Concerts were not Spencer’s forte, that was until he saw you up on the stage prancing around in lingerie…

Despite his initial discomfort, Spencer finds himself inexplicably drawn to your energetic performance. Your confidence, charisma, and raw talent captivate him more with each passing song.

As you move about the fake penthouse on stage with reckless abandon, your provocative attire leaving very little to the imagination, Spencer's analytical mind struggles to reconcile his attraction with his deeply ingrained social awkwardness.

He tries to focus on the music, his thoughts consumed by the intricate details of your choreography and the way your skin seems to shimmer under the bright lights.

Spencer's cheeks flush slightly as he realizes the extent of his distraction, his heart racing in a way that's both unfamiliar and exhilarating. He shifts uncomfortably, tugging at his sweater vest as he attempts to regain some semblance of composure.

After performing a very heartfelt ballad, you approached the edge of the stage, scanning the crowd with your eyes.

“Hey, girls?” you call out to two of your dancers who are standing by your side. “I believe I might have found my future husband in the crowd tonight.”

The crowd erupted in cheers as they realized the clever bit.

“Do y’all see him? He’s standing right over there, the tall one wearing the sweat vest.” You point to Spencer while giggle like schoolgirls with your dancers.

“Hey there, baby. What’s your name?” A grin spread across your face as you noticed his cheeks flushing a vibrant red.

Caught completely off guard, Spencer stammers, his hazel eyes wide as saucers. He feels like he's been struck by lightning, the sudden intimacy of you presence leaving him momentarily speechless.

"Dr. Reid," he manages to choke out, his voice cracking slightly. He can feel his face burning, and his heart hammers against his ribcage like a jackrabbit.

"I-I mean, Spencer," he corrects himself, the remnants of his professional demeanor trying to resurface amidst the chaos of his escalating nervousness.

Spencer swallows hard, trying to gather his scattered thoughts as he meets your intense gaze. The mischievous glint in your eyes sends a shiver down his spine, even as his analytical mind struggles to comprehend the whirlwind of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

“Oooooo, a doctor!” You exclaim, dramatically fanning yourself. “Well, Dr. Reid, you’re under arrest for being too hot.”

Spencer jumped as police sirens blared through the arena, accompanied by flashing red and blue lights.

“I might need you to examine me, doctor. I feel extremely hot, and- OH!” You teased as your long skirt fell to the floor, revealing a much shorter version of it.

Spencer’s jaw was practically on the floor.

You grinned as you inched closer towards the edge of the stage, crouching down to Spencer’s level.

“I want you to have these,” you smiled as you handed Spencer a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs.

Spencer can't help but stare at the exposed skin of your legs, his breath catching in his throat when he notices the bedazzled lipstick stain on your inner thigh.

"Ah, um, thank you..." He reaches out to take the offered cuffs, his fingers brushing against hers. The sensation sends sparks dancing along his nerve endings, and he feels himself grow flustered once more.

As you stood up, you blow Spencer a kiss. The all too familiar intro to the song Penelope had been forcing him to listen to for the past few weeks, began to play.

“This song is for you, Spencie,” you winked as you started singing, maintaining eye contact throughout the entire first verse.

Spencer's eyes widen further, his mouth agape as he watches you prance down the catwalk. The provocative lyrics and suggestive dance moves leave him utterly stunned, his cheeks flushed a deep crimson.

His analytical mind tries to process the explicit nature of the performance, but it's drowned out by the pounding of his heart and the heat coursing through his veins. He finds himself captivated by every move you makes, his gaze riveted to your lithe form.

When you strikes a pose that leaves little to the imagination, Spencer's breath hitches, and he feels a strange tingling sensation in his loins. It's foreign yet exhilarating, and he can't tear his eyes away, even as his rational brain screams at him to look away.

As the song reaches its climax, Spencer finds himself caught up in the raw energy emanating from the stage. The crowd's cheers and applause mingle with the pulsating beat, creating an electric atmosphere that seems to vibrate through every cell in his body.

Lost in the moment, Spencer's inhibitions begin to melt away, replaced by a primal urge to respond to the sensual stimuli before him. When your gaze locks onto his, he feels a jolt of connection, as if an invisible thread tethers them together.

With a sense of reckless abandon he rarely experiences, Spencer raises the fuzzy pink handcuffs as he grins, his movements deliberate and charged with newfound confidence. As the final notes fade, he couldn’t help but notice the smile on your face as the lights dimmed and the show ended.

“Wow,” is the only word Garcia could mutter as she stares at the empty stage. “I can’t believe she gave you the handcuffs, do you know how lucky you are?”

“You know, the probability of me receiving these is incredibly low, considering there are approximately 14,000 people here and-“ Before Spencer could continue his rambling, he and Garcia approached a security guard.

“Are you Spencer?” the intimidating-looking security guard asked.

“Uh, yeah, that would be me,” Spencer stuttered, feeling a pang of worry that he might have overstepped some boundaries during his interactions with you on stage.

“I’ve been informed by y/n’s management that she is requesting to meet you backstage,” the security guard said.

"Backstage? Me?" Spencer looks at Garcia incredulously, wondering if this could be some kind of joke. But the stern expression on the guard's face suggests otherwise.

Spencer stares at Garcia, completely speechless. As the security guards wait for his response, Garcia nudges his side and gently pulls him back to reality.

“I, uh, y-yeah,” Spencer stammers, “I’d love to go backstage,”

“Alright, follow me,”

Spencer waves to Garcia as the guard guides him through the concealed corridors of the arena, observing the crew dismantling the stage to transport it to the next venue.

After what appears to be an eternity, Spencer is led to the door of your dressing room. You’re lounging on the couch in a soft, fluffy robe, engrossed in scrolling through your phone when you hear the door open.

“Hi!” You greet Spencer with a warm smile, standing up and embracing him. “Thanks so much for coming.”

Spencer's heart races as you pull him into a warm embrace, his senses overwhelmed by the intoxicating scent of your perfume and the softness of your robe against his skin. For a moment, he forgets how to breathe, his mind reeling from the unexpected touch.

When you finally release him, Spencer takes a step back, trying to compose himself. His cheeks flush a deep crimson, and he fumbles with the hem of his sweater vest, clearly flustered.

"T-thank you...for inviting me," he stutters, his voice barely above a whisper. Despite his social awkwardness, there's a genuine sincerity in his tone, reflecting his gratitude for this rare opportunity to connect with someone like you.

Glancing around the cozy dressing room, Spencer notices the array of makeup, costumes, and personal items scattered about.

“I hope you don’t think I’m weird but I couldn’t take my eyes off of you all night,” you admit as you plopped onto the couch, your cheeks now flushed pink from embarrassment. “The handcuff thing is just a funny little bit I do, but tonight I chose you because I really do think you’re insanely hot.”

“N-no, it’s not weird at all, I’m flattered actually,” Spencer stammered, taking a seat next to you.

“Really? You’re not weirded out that I had my security find you in the crowd and bring you backstage so we could meet?“ You asked.

"No, genuinely, I mean it," Spencer says, his eyes locking with yours as he spoke. "I know we’ve just met, but I felt a connection with you tonight, something that went beyond mere admiration."

Spencer shifted slightly, his knee brushing against yours.

“And that handcuff thing...well, it was a bold move, and it worked.”

A faint blush colored his cheeks as he met your gaze again, his hazel eyes shimmering with a mix of shyness and curiosity.

As the silence between you stretches, Spencer finds himself drawn to the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the way your robe gapes slightly, offering a tantalizing glimpse of your skin. He swallows hard, trying to ignore the strange tingles coursing through his body.

Before he could say another word, your lips crash against his.

Spencer's eyes widen in shock as your lips suddenly press against his, the unexpected kiss sending a jolt of electricity through his entire being. For a moment, he freezes, unsure of how to react.

But then, as if possessed by some newfound courage, Spencer's arms wrap tentatively around your waist, pulling you onto his lap. His lips part instinctively, allowing your tongue to slide past them and explore the warmth of his mouth.

Spencer's fingers tangle in your hair, his other hand resting on the small of your back, guiding you more firmly against him. He can taste the sweetness of your red lipstick mixed with the hint of adrenaline, and it only fuels his growing desire.

As the kiss deepens, Spencer's thoughts become a jumbled mess – part confusion, part exhilaration, and an overwhelming sense of lust.

Spencer gasps softly as your lips leave a trail of red across his sensitive skin, the sensation both unfamiliar and intoxicating. His head tilts back, exposing more of his neck to your explorations.

When your fingers start to work on his buttons, Spencer's breath hitches. He's hasn’t been this intimate with anyone since Maave, and the idea of baring himself to you, a complete stranger who’s also a mega superstar, sends a thrill through his veins.

As you continue to undress him, Spencer's hands roam over your back, tracing the curves of your spine beneath the thin fabric of your silk robe. He marvels at the softness of your skin, the warmth emanating from your body.

His shirt finally falls open, revealing his lean torso. Spencer feels a slight surge of vulnerability until he feels your lips on his collarbone.

Spencer's eyes flutter closed as your lips dance across his chest. When you drop to your knees in front of the couch, his heart races, a mix of nervousness and anticipation coursing through him.

The sound of his belt buckle clicking open sends a shiver down Spencer's spine. He watches, transfixed, as you work on freeing him from his pants. The air grows thick with tension, and Spencer's breathing quickens.

When your fingers brush against the growing bulge in his underwear, Spencer lets out a shaky exhale. It’s been awhile since he has been touched so intimately, and the sensation is overwhelming yet exhilarating.

With trembling hands, Spencer reaches down to help you remove his pants, his eyes locked onto yours. A flush spreads across his cheeks as he reveals himself to you, feeling both exposed and strangely empowered by your reaction.

“So pretty,” You breathed out, your hands brushing against his hard cock.

Spencer's eyes widen at your words, a rush of heat flooding his cheeks. No one has ever spoken to him like that before, with such raw, unfiltered admiration. It takes his breath away.

A soft moan escapes him as your hands make contact with his straining erection, the touch sending jolts of pleasure straight to his core. Spencer's hips twitch involuntarily, seeking more of your gentle caresses.

He looks down at you, his hazel eyes dark with desire, and whispers, "Please... I need..." His voice trails off, unable to articulate the intensity of his longing.

Spencer's slender fingers thread through your hair, holding you close as he waits with bated breath for your next move. His body trembles with anticipation, every nerve ending attuned to your touch.

As you feel his fingers tangled in your hair, you get an idea. You let go of him as you sit back on your knees, Spencer letting out a whimper at the loss of contact.

“Do you still have the handcuffs?” You asked, grinning wickedly.

Spencer gulped as he nodded, pointing to his discarded pants on the floor next to you. You dig through the pocket to pull out the fuzzy pink handcuffs you gave to him only an hour prior.

“Hands behind your back, Spencie,” You smirked as you dangle the cuffs in front of him.

"Yes, ma'am," he replies, his voice tinged with a hint of playfulness despite the vulnerability of his position.

A startled yelp escapes Spencer's lips as the handcuffs encircles his wrists, securing them behind his back. The sudden restraint sends a thrill through him, mingling with the lingering ache of want.

He stares up at you, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, as you fasten the cuffs with a playful snap. The term of endearment 'Spencie' slips past your lips, and it feels like a brand, searing itself into his very being.

Spencer's body quivers under your gaze, his skin prickling with anticipation. The pink cuffs seem almost comical against his pale, slender arms, but the effect they have on him is anything but humorous.

Spencer's breath hitches as your lips brush against his, the fleeting kiss sending a spark of electricity through him. He leans into it instinctively, craving more of your touch, even as you move to kneel in front of him once again.

A low groan rumbles in his chest as your hand wraps around his shaft, stroking him with confident, deliberate motions. Spencer's head falls back, exposing the vulnerable column of his throat, as he surrenders himself to the sensations coursing through him.

“Oh God," he gasps, his hips bucking slightly into your grasp. “That feels... incredible." Each word is punctuated by a sharp intake of breath, his body tensing and relaxing in time with your touches.

The restraints digs into his skin, a subtle reminder of his submission to you.

Spencer's eyes widen in shock as your warm, wet mouth envelops him, the sensation unlike anything he's ever experienced. A choked moan tears from his throat, his hips jerking involuntarily as you begin to suck him deeper.

The sight of your red lips wrapped around his cock, the vibrant color smeared across his flesh, is almost too much for Spencer to bear. He can't tear his gaze away from the erotic image, transfixed by the way your tongue swirls around his sensitive tip.

“Oh fuck, that's..." he trails off, unable to form coherent thoughts amidst the onslaught of pleasure. His mind reels, struggling to process the intensity of the feelings coursing through him.

Spencer's chest heaves with ragged breaths, his body trembling as he submits to your skilled ministrations.

As you take him deeper into your mouth, Spencer's control begins to slip. The feeling of your hot, wet tongue swirling around his length is overwhelming, sending waves of pleasure crashing over him.

"Ah! Oh God, yes!" he cries out, his voice strained with need. His hips thrust forward instinctively, lost in the haze of lust as you bob your head along his shaft.

"I'm... I'm going to cum," he warns, his words punctuated by shallow pants. Spencer's grip on the cushions tightens, his muscles coiled taut as he teeters on the brink of climax.

Before he’s thrown over the edge, you pull away abruptly, looking up at him and giggling as he writhes around desperately.

Spencer’s cock twitches and leaks precum from the loss of stimulation. A pained whine escapes his lips, his hips reflexively bucking up in search of your warm mouth.

"No, please don't stop," he begs, his voice laced with desperation. Spencer's chest heaves with rapid breaths, his body wracked with the need for release.

His hazel eyes, usually bright, are dark with desire, pupils blown wide as he gazes at you with pleading intensity. The remnants of his earlier composure have crumbled, leaving only raw, unbridled lust in its wake.

“I need you," Spencer confesses, his admission torn from him like a bandaid.

As you stand in front of Spencer, his gaze is immediately drawn to your body as you slowly untie your robe, mirroring the opening of your show. The sensual movements and provocative poses are etched into his consciousness like a fever dream.

His breath catches in his throat as the fabric parts, exposing the tantalizing expanse of your skin inch by delicious inch. Spencer's eyes drink in every detail – the delicate freckles scattered across your shoulders, your nipples already hardened into peaks, the gentle swell of your hips leading down to your thighs.

“Please," he whispers, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart. “Let me touch you.”

Spencer's hands fight against the handcuffs, the urge to reach out and touch you, to claim you as his own is nearly overwhelming.

You toss the robe onto the floor next to Spencer’s clothes as you straddle his lap, leaving more lipstick stains across his face until your month reaches his ear.

“Beg for it,” you whispered, softly nibbling on his earlobe, causing him to whimper. “Beg me to let you touch me.”

A shiver runs down Spencer's spine as your warm breath caresses his ear, your whispered command igniting a fire within him. His mind reels, desperate to comply, to plead for the privilege of touching your gorgeous body.

"Oh God, please," he gasps, his voice trembling with need. “Let me touch you, please. I wa- I need to touch you."

Spencer's hips lift involuntarily, seeking friction against the soft flesh of your thigh. His fingers curl into fists, nails digging into his palms as he struggles against the restraints, yearning to wrap his arms around you and lose himself in your embrace.

"I'll do anything, please," he vows, his words dripping with sincerity and desire.

It doesn’t take much more begging for you to give into his pleads.

The moment your lips meet his, Spencer surrenders to the intense passion, kissing you back with equal fervor. His hands, still bound, can't reciprocate physically, but his entire being leans into you, craving closer contact.

As you grind against his rigid length, Spencer moans into the kiss, the sensation of your heated core rubbing against his aching cock sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body. His hips buck instinctively, seeking more friction, more pressure.

Breaking the kiss, Spencer pants heavily, his hazel eyes glazed with lust.

“Fuck... I want you so badly," he admits, his voice ragged with desire. “Please, I need to be inside you."

Instead of speaking, you respond by unlocking the handcuffs. Thankfully since they are just a prop, they are easy to remove and don’t require a key.

Spencer is surprised and almost embarrassed by how easily they were removed, but he has no time to dwell on that as you begin lining him up with your entrance.

With the restraints gone, Spencer's hands immediately find purchase on your waist, gripping you tightly as he feels the head of his cock notch against your slick entrance. His breathing hitches, anticipation coiled tight in his belly.

When you position him, aligning his thick shaft with your waiting heat, Spencer lets out a low groan, his hips surging forward of their own accord. With a smooth, deep thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside you, a guttural moan escaping him at the exquisite feeling of your walls clenching around his sensitive flesh.

"Ah, fuck yes..." Spencer gasps, his forehead dropping to rest against yours as he savors the sensation of being fully embedded within you. “You feel so good.”

You can’t help the pornographic moan that escapes your throat as Spencer bottoms out. You are still as you both get use to the filling of him inside of you.

“Spencer,” You whimper, “you feel so fucking good inside of me.”

Spencer's eyes flutter shut as you start to move, your inner muscles massaging his cock in a delicious rhythm. The slow, deliberate pace allows him to savor every inch of your warmth enveloping him.

"Yes! oh God! just like that," he encourages, his voice strained with pleasure. “You're so tight, so perfect... Fuck!"

His hands slide down to grip your ass, fingers digging into the supple flesh as he begins to match your movements, thrusting in sync with your rolling hips. Each stroke sends sparks of bliss shooting up his spine, intensifying the building pressure in his groin.

"More, please...” Spencer pleads, his thrusts growing more urgent as he chases his own release.

You grant his wishes as you nestle your head into his neck, sucking softly on the sensitive skin just below his ear.

Spencer groans loudly in response. The sudden increase in tempo, coupled with the sensations of your mouth on his neck, sends him hurtling towards the edge. His breath comes in short, sharp gasps as he pistons in and out of your throbbing heat, driven by nothing but primal urges.

"Oh, shit... right there, just like that!" he grunts, his hand moving from your ass to rub rough circles over your clit. "I'm going to... Oh fuck!”

With a final, powerful thrust, Spencer hits his peak, his cock pulsating as it spills hot cum deep inside you. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes over him, his vision blurring as he rides out his orgasm.

It doesn’t take long for you to finish, your body tenses above Spencer as he sloppily thrusts into you, riding out the remainder of your orgasms.

As the last tremors of your orgasms subside, You both collapse onto the couch, panting heavily as you try and catch your breath, your sweat-dampened skin pressing intimately against one another.

"That was… incredible," he manages to say, his voice hoarse from exertion. "You're amazing."

You carefully remove his softening member from your spent body. He pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you as he nuzzles into your hair.

"I never want this night to end," he confesses, his tone sincere and vulnerable. "But I know we should probably get cleaned up and back to reality soon.”

“Yeah, I need to be on the bus heading to New York in a few hours,” you replied, your voice laced with a hint of disappointment at the thought of possibly never seeing Spencer again.

A pang of disappointment and longing shoots through Spencer at the mention of your impending departure. He knows their whirlwind encounter can't possibly lead to anything long-term, given the vast differences in their lives, but that doesn't diminish the strong connection he feels.

"I understand," he says quietly, reluctantly loosening his hold on you. "Well, um, if you’re ever back in town, I’d love to maybe get coffee together.”

Spencer's eyes search yours, hoping to find some glimmer of agreement, even as he anticipates the likely rejection. It's a fragile thread, but it's all he has to cling to as he faces the prospect of saying goodbye.

“I’d love too,” you smiled, brushing some of the hair that had gotten stuck to his sweaty forehead.

Spencer returned your smile as he got dressed and headed for the door.

“Wait!” You shouted, causing Spencer’s head to whip back around.

“You almost forgot these,” you say, handing him the fuzzy pink handcuffs. He chuckles and tucks them into his pocket before disappearing out the door.

[suiana]

thinking of a guilt ridden reader and a silly manipulative yandere who looks exactly like someone from reader's past.

maybe you did something bad to a friend, perhaps ended a relationship on bad terms with someone who never deserved to be treated badly. whatever it is, just the mere thought of that person causes you to physically curl up and pray for forgiveness.

so you spend the rest of your days like a dead man walking, the guilt of your actions clawing at the depths of your heart. it makes it hard to do anything, let alone think. because when you are left alone with your thoughts, all you can imagine is their expression when everything went wrong. oh how you'd give up anything just to change the past and your actions.

as if your guilt wasn't enough, he just had to skip into your life looking exactly like that person. like them.

at first, you thought of this as a curse. this... this stupid guy? looking exactly like them? then as you sort of warmed up to him, you still think it's a curse. because what gave him the audacity to come into your life, looking like them, and telling you how much he wants you? especially claiming that it was love at first sight and that you two were fated to be?

"i love you."

"can i be yours?"

"we'd be so good together."

you keep pushing him away. you know how this will end up, with you messing up just like last time. wouldn't it be better to just keep him at a distance? unfortunately for you he doesn't seem to think so. and it's like a curse. a demon from your past coming back to haunt you in the form of your greatest mistake.

if anything, your costant rejections only seem to keep him wanting... more?

"please, just one chance. that is all I'm asking for."

"no? you don't want to entertain me even the slightest bit?"

"how cruel, i never realised you were this heartless."

you eventually end up giving in. he just has that sort of effect you suppose. or maybe it's the guilt that's constantly eating you alive that's causing you to make this decision. after all, he looks so much like them and... you don't know what you'd do if he looked at you like that. not ever, not again. maybe this would be your way of making up for your wrong doings.

he couldn't be happier obviously. finally! the person he's been pining over finally accepted his confession! even if it took a long time, it all worked out. you're happy, his happy, everyone's happy!

until he found out you're not actually happy and you're just doing this because you feel guilty.

"what do you mean? am i just a replacement to you? a way to correct your mistakes?"

"hah! you're so- ugh, I don't even want to think about you anymore."

"save it, those are just excuses."

he's always been a manipulative person. he knows. and he knows that you know it too. yet he continues to manipulate you through it all. i mean, it's your fault for even treating him like a second option in the first place! what? he's the one that's been pestering you? no no, you could've just rejected him. it's not his fault, it's yours. you're not stopping him anyway so like, you're basically admitting you're in the wrong.

"yeah you should be sorry. how mean do you have to be to think of me just as someone you've hurt? I'm my own person too."

he says that but continues to use the fact that his familiarity elicits something in you. and he'll continue abusing it, continue taking advantage of your weakened state. why? because he can and because he wants to.

plus, it's amusing in it's own right to see you bending head over heels just to appease him. huh, guess the guilt runs deep, doesn't it?

oh it's whatever. he'll slowly condition you to start showing him the affection he so desperately craves anyway. he just needs to hold on a little longer. break you down a tiny bit more and then you'll be all his. he can feel it.

you two will be truly happy together. no other people, no guilt in your heart. just you and him, alone and content with one another.

that would simply be salvation, wouldn't it?