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whirlybirbs · 1 month

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— THE FOOL ; KYOJURO RENGOKU ; 煉獄

summary: all you wanted was to pass out in your room, but no. here you are, dragging yourself (quite literally) up the mountainside to the ubuyashiki mansion's onsen. pairing: kyojuro rengoku / f!hashira!reader wc: 3.6k tags: set-pre season 1, rated T, hashira dynamics, kyojuro's impeccable manners, tengen uzui is a son of a bitch, good fluff, embarrassed flirting, slightly forbidden romance, retable reader insert who just wants to be left alone to bathe in peace a/n: don't look at me.

Your bones are tired.

Not just your bones — but every ounce of marrow in those very bones. The expression 'bone tired'? Yea, it was written and smithed with you in mind. Tonight, you're the muse for true exhaustion — battered, bruised, and barely hanging on.

The short walk up to the Ubuyashiki Mansion's onsen is proving formidable.

Every muscle in your body aches and with each step closer, you pray you'll have a moment of quiet peace to yourself. After all, Shinobu insisted (read as threatened) that you soak in the hot spring after administering simple medical aid post-mission.

Something, something, hot spring stimulates blood flow, blah, blah, strong healing properties.

All you wanted was to pass out in your room, but no. Here you are, dragging yourself (quite literally) up the mountainside through the willows of wisteria on a lantern-lit path to the hot spring.

Your geta catches on a root and you trip up, scoffing tiredly as you catch yourself and grumble a curse. Ow. Irritation simmers under your skin, and you wonder absently what's gotten into you.

It normally takes more for you to be so... cranky. And openly so.

When you reach the gate of the onsen, your eye twitches.

Son of a —

There's Hashira abound tonight.

"Look who's back from her little foray out East!"

Did Tengen need to be so loud?

All the damn time?

The small, dimly lit spot is surrounded by wisteria and maple. The gravel crunches beneath your feet as you sigh and shut the red gate behind you, paying careful mind not to catch your fingers in the latch. Lanterns are perched on rocks, candles only beginning to run with wax in the evening air. The open-air bath overlooks the sprawling estate down the mountain.

You sigh deeply from your chest, your eyes practically at half-mast when you turn around to snipe Tengen with an unamused look.

"Our dear Dream Hashira... you look like shit," comes the rogue commentary, "No offense, beautiful."

Tengen is at the far edge of the steaming bath with both arms outstretched along the edge. As always, he's taking up as much space as humanly possible. His silver hair hangs about his shoulders — and he even goes so far as to pin you with a rogueish smile. You stare flatly at him in response.

Then: the middle finger.

"Woof. Tough crowd tonight," he rumbles as he slides a look towards a decidedly uninterested Sanemi. The Wind Hashira has his head hung back against the edge with a towel over his forehead — his eyes are closed. If you didn't know any better, you'd assume he was asleep.

"Tengen, do me a favor," comes the gritted reply from the scarred man, "and shut the hell up."

You motion plainly to Sanemi — the gesture says thank you — with your brows raising in silent agreeance. Even the act of speaking right now is all too much.

"I must agree with Tengen," comes the wistful and soft voice of Muichiro Tokito as he lifts his chin from its submerged position; his hair is swimming about him. The Mist Hashira looks... almost peaceful; but his words are damning, "You do look like shit."

Somehow it's worse when Tokito says it.

That makes Sanemi lift his head and pry one eye open.

You serve him an unenthused look from your spot by the benches. You hope for a bit of sympathy, but instead:

"...What the fuck happened to you?" comes his dry response to your current state of being.

Which — fine, maybe it's fair. The others rarely ever see you in any state aside from perfect. You're meticulous about your appearance; from your uniform to your posture, you value perfection over all else. The devil that has always haunted you is the details. Perhaps it was your rigid upbringing, but regardless—

"Ah!" suddenly, there's a resoundingly warm voice booming across the small courtyard from the onsen's koshitsu, "I see you've returned, Lady— Oh... my, are you quite alright...?"

You've got to be kidding me.

Kyojuro Rengoku's face is twisted into genuine worry. He's standing in the middle of the path, his focus entirely on you. His hair is undone and the sunburst strands are spilling along his chest and back. There's a small cotton towel slung around his narrow waist. You purposefully level your eyes with his, not daring to let your gaze waver — and then you curse Kocho Shinobu a thousand times over for sending you here.

(Tengen is smirking. You want to throw your sandal at his head.)

Finally, you speak.

"I'm fine."

You don't sound fine. You sound like a woman who'd endured being unceremoniously whipped about by a snake Demon in a swamp for three hours before she could finally land a killing blow.

Kyojuro frowns. His eyes — like two gems of carnelian — are nearly glowing with concern. Those dark brows of his knit and you try to grit out a tight smile. It fails. It looks more like a wince than anything.

It's... pathetic.

"Perhaps a soak will help," the Flame Hashira offers gently. His tone is soft with pity.

Shit. Fuck. Damn it. Fucking Shinobu, fucking hot spring, fucking swamp demon, fucking—

Right. Right, a soak. It's the thing that Tengen Uzui is somehow singlehandedly making more unbearable — he's dragging Sanemi and Muichiro by the necks from the onsen — by leaving you alone with Rengoku.

"Go on you two! We're just leaving anyways, right fellas?"

"Die," you spit hoarsly in his direction; your expression is flat.

Tengen throws you a wink. "Relax a little, pretty. You deserve it!"

You could still hit him with your geta. Maybe if you put enough force behind it, it could kill him.

After all, he's been doing this ever since you let it slip about your little crush.

And just when a girl thinks she can trust an ex-shinobi... never again. You don't care if Tengen is the one offering to buy the sake, you're never drinking with that man again. He's a gossip and a whore. A gossiping whore. A devoted husband-whore who gossips like no-fucking-other.

Admitting to Tengen Uzui's stupid face that you've been avoiding Kyojuro Rengoku because of your feelings was the second worst mistake you ever made.

Your first worst mistake was not dragging your sorry ass back down the mountain after you and Kyojuro were left alone in the onsen.

At least — at the very least — it's quieter now, even if the silence feels oddly intimate.

You're thankful Kyojuro has retreated into the water of the bath; the distance allows you to ignore the burning pit in your gut at the thought of him and you together. In the onsen. Alone.

You've bathed alongside the other Hashira before. The whole lot of you are warriors. There's no shame in the body — and admittedly, you grew up around konyoku onsen in Tokyo.

It wasn't the nakedness that was the problem.

...Maybe it was a little bit of the nakedness.

But, mostly the fact it's Kyojuro Rengoku: the kindest man you've ever met, a man whose smile is nearly as bright as the morning sun, a man whose laugh feels like a summer thunderstorm. A man who is tall, strong, and handsome. It's no small secret he's well-loved among the ranks; respected, admired, sought after... Who wouldn't make an attempt atcatching his eye? After all, he's capable, swift, courageous, honorable—

Having a heart attack.

He's having a heart attack.

I mean — it's you. And him. Alone.

...Naked. And alone.

He himself could have strangled Tengen when the ex-shinobi scurried off, leaving him here — though he'd never admit it. That sneaky bastard is fully aware of Kyojuro's feelings towards you, and Kyojuro swears the Sound Hashira gets off on forcing him to confront the very thing he forbids himself to even dwell upon.

Your voice pulls him from his enraptured internal monologue.

"I am fine," you break the silence as your fingers work at the obi around your waist in nervousness. Your back is to him, and as the grey kimono slips down your shoulders, he panics, "I swear."

"I'm not sure I've ever seen you in such a state as this," he tries to sound level, confident, as he turns in the water; suddenly the mountainside is very beautiful. Yes, very nice. Very... mountain-y.

Kyojuro's eyes flick over his shoulder briefly, back at you.

He sees skin. More of your skin than he's ever seen. There are dimples at the base of your spine. Good god. He swallows tightly and turns his gaze forward once more.

Even the act of shrugging your kimono off is enough to make you rasp. The ribs Shinobu had been so concerned about are protesting now. It's fine. Everything is fine. You peek over your shoulder. Relief floods you as you realize Rengoku's back is turned.

Quickly, you slip into the onsen. It's the quickest you've moved all night.

You plunge in deep, ignoring the burn of the water along of the more raw marks and bruises bitten into your skin. Your ribs wail in protest as you inhale sharply at the heat, and you try your best to coach your expression into unwavering when Kyojuro turns back around.

"Better?"

All you can do is grunt from your submerged position.

That makes him laugh.

You try to memorize the warm sound and tuck it neatly into your heart. It's cute, the way his eyes scrunch when he laughs. You find yourself staring for a second before swallowing down your affections.

"Shinobu demanded I come," you explain slowly, lifting your hands and playing with the surface of the water, "If I had it my way, I'd be in bed."

Or murdering Tengen in his sleep.

"The hot springs are good for healing," Kyojuro chirps brightly, canting his head as he speaks almost as if he's going to reprimand you. His voice drops an octave, "You know that, Lady Hashira."

He's teasing you.

He's — he's seriously teasing you.

You're naked and he's teasing you.

You sink a little lower into the water and narrow your eyes at him — the act makes you look a bit like an angry, wet cat. Kyojuro can only grin. Truly this is rare form for you. Your disposition is usually sunny, if not well-manicured and mindfully well-mannered. You are every bit a Lady Hashira. Moreso than Shinobu or Mitsuri in a way.

You are the Dream Pillar, after all, and a woman composed purely of romanticism in his eyes. It's the way he could see you, in another life, in a fine silk kimono and delicate make-up; he could see you in gold and pearls, pouring tea worth more than his monthly salary into fine ceramic cups. Suitors abound.

Though, perhaps that's not so different than now.

Not with the way you're delicately pouring yourself a helping of Tengen's abandoned sake at the edge of the onsen. You'd think it was the most expensive liquor in the land with the care you take to not spill a drop.

You slide him a hesitant look over your shoulder, the water lapping at your bruised back. Kyojuro lifts a brow.

"What?" you ask, feigning innocence as you turn back to the task at hand, "It'd be a shame if it went to waste."

"I didn't know sake had healing properties," Kyojuro offers slowly, his lips twitching upwards as he watches you take a long sip from the cup.

"Something, something, blood flow," you murmur mostly to yourself, tossing back the rest with a scowl and a wince, "I'm sure Shinobu would agree."

Kyojuro leans back against the wall, sinking a little deeper as he settles onto the seat beneath the water. The ends of his hair are soaked, turning an even darker shade of crimson. His shoulders flex as he relaxes his arms against the stones.

His own body is tired. Beneath the water, he absently stretches his legs and pays careful mind to the twinge of pain in his left knee.

"Whether she agrees or disagrees is none of my business," he supplies diplomatically.

You reach for the jug, giving it a light shake. It's nearly empty anyway.

You extend it, offering it to Kyojuro.

The Flame Hashira shakes his head. "No thank you. I reserve drink for special occasions only."

You quirk a brow. Your tone is light. Airy, almost. "I didn't know that about you."

He hums. You place the sake down, sink lower into the water, and try to focus on his face — not the strength in his forearms, nor the water running in rivets down his chest.

"My father has quite a love for the stuff," he admits with a controlled frown, "I avoid it when I can."

Ah.

Right.

Your own father, also a retired Hashira, voiced many a feeling about Shinjuro Rengoku when he was given the chance. You'd visited home months ago and when you mentioned serving alongside Kyojuro, his eyes narrowed dangerously and impeccably sharp. His tongue lashed out at you — as if you were the retired Flame Pillar himself.

There's a history there, it seems.

"I apologize."

"Don't," he says; firm yet soft.

"It is better that way, really," you mumble in an attempt to soothe the ache you can see across his face, "Liquor leads to making many a fool."

Kyojuro's brow quirks. "You sound as though you're speaking from experience."

"Perhaps," you say slyly, wandering to the far end of the pool. You're nearly submerged to your nose, "A lady shall never tell."

"And if I asked Tengen?"

"You wouldn't dare." The water splashes as you whip around and glare — though Kyojuro senses no real malice.

It was no small secret you'd been dragged through the mud after you and Tengen's night on the town. Why the Master called a meeting that morning was beyond you, but there's a part of you that wonders if he was slightly amused at your less-than-pleasant state. You swore you were going to puke all over the engawa when you bowed — never mind the fact the morning sun's brightness was enough to nearly drill your brain into a pulp.

Kyojuro had never seen you so... disheveled.

Second to tonight, that is.

The Flame Hashira smirks. "If the lady forbades it, then who am I to ignore her wishes?"

Fucking Tengen, fucking Shinobu, fucking Kyojuro—

Fucking honorable, respectable, polite Kyojuro.

"Well, this lady does forbade it," you say with narrowed eyes, "So there."

"You really are in rare form this evening."

He's smirking. That's new.

"Yes, well," you mumble as you lull your head back and wet the rest of your hair; the warmth seeps through the strands and feels soothing on your scalp. You already feel better. Less like a swamp demon's plaything, more like a girl trying her best not to let her petal-mouthed feelings slip out, "We can blame Muzan Kibutsuji for that."

"I surmise it has been a difficult day?" he rumbles quietly from his spot in the onsen.

"You haven't the slightest idea."

"Care to enlighten me?"

"And embarrass myself?" she mutters, splashing absently, "I'd prefer to remain capable in your eyes, Rengoku. I'll spare you the details. And anyone else who asks."

He's grinning. That sort that appears in an optimist's dream. Bright, sunny and so enrapturing it feels like your heart is being scorched by its warmth.

"Your capability will never waver in my eyes," Kyojuro supplies as he flicks the water absently; his gaze has fallen to the sway of the wisteria in the evening air, "You are amazing. One particularly bad day does not diminish that fact."

Maybe it's the sake. Maybe it's the compliment. Either way, the tips of your ears feel warm.

That little, nibbling feeling is back in his chest. The very one he's been trying his best to ignore for months.

"You are only being kind," you mutter, "Because, as the other's made very clear, I look like shit."

Kyojuro finds himself smiling a bit at the jest — his fingers glide along the top of the water, tracing idly patterns into it as he watches you sink deeper and deeper into the hot spring. Finally, for a moment, you descend below the surface.

Then, you break the surface slowly. Your hair is swimming around you, clinging to your bare shoulders. You exhale, brush water from your lashes, and inhale. You look... beautiful. A different sort of beautiful than he's used to. This sort of beauty is relaxed. Tired. You seem a bit freer than usual — unrestrained by the image you aim to keep well protected amongst the others.

Kyojuro sinks a little deeper himself.

He's still watching you.

Your eyes find his.

There's a moment where all you two can do is blink — Flame and Dream mingling for a breath beneath the stars. Wide eyes bound by a moment of silence, a moment of hesitation. He feels like all the breath has been swept from his lungs. All Kyojuro can do is stare into your eyes.

Then, he speaks.

Blurts, more aptly.

"You are beautiful."

...Did he just say that?

Your lips part in quiet shock.

Suddenly, his posture is more rigid, and his expression a bit panicked — perhaps because your own eyes widen a mile at the words that spill from his mouth. Kyojuro raises his hands as he inhales sharply, the heat of the bath inching a degree hotter. Whether it's from the sudden admission or a misfire of his breathing technique, you're unsure.

His cheeks are hot. He leans forward, shaking his head.

Damn you, Tengen. Damn you, damn you—

"I-I simply mean — you... You do not look like shit—" He attempts to explain.

"Oh—"

"Yes, yes, I—"

"Thank you," you say quickly, trying to calm your own racing heart as he swallows down a bought of embarrassment and offers a pained smile your way. It's enough to quell his panic.

"Of course," he breathes out, sagging a bit deeper into the water as he fiddles with his hands. He has a habit of rubbing at his callouses. Kyojuro swallows, then hoarsly admits: "One might think that I was drinking the sake with the way I'm making a fool of myself."

Your laugh is like a balm.

"Hardly," you offer as you sink into the water with a smile; your eyes are glimmering with something a bit mischievous as you swim towards the water's edge. You pause, then slip a look his way over your bare shoulder, "...Do you mean it?"

"That I'm a fool? Of course."

You scoff quietly. Kyojuro's smile is tight — knowing.

Then, he speaks warmly and kindly. He confirms your question with ease. His arms are wound across his chest. "You are truly beautiful. The most beautiful woman I have ever had the grace to lay eyes upon, my Lady."

Maybe you could drown yourself here.

You're not entirely sure how you'll ever recover from this — not from how tender he says it, not from how honest his words sound. So suddenly you feel as though he's hung every star in the sky for your eyes only, having wished upon them, time and time again, for nothing more than a moment of your time. It's reverent is what it is.

You're about to open your mouth and say something when a bright, girlish giggle cuts through the tension—

Kyojuro Rengoku has never been more thankful for Mitsuri Kanroji's ill timing. Behind her is Lady Shinobu.

The pink and green-haired Hashira is ecstatic to find both yourself and Rengoku in the hot spring — her delight is palpable as she waves her arms and cheers brightly into the air. Her crow caws overhead. Her darker-haired counterpart levels them both with polite smiles.

"Oh, this is just lovely! My friends!" she's chirping as she closes the gate, "I am so glad to see you both back safe and sound—"

"Heading my advice, it seems," Shinobu says slowly — almost like she knows something you don't. Her pale, lilac eyes flick between you and Rengoku. For a moment, you almost suspect she's about to ask something.

"How are you feeling?" Mitsuri cries in your direction, shrugging her kimono off with ease — unbothered entirely by Rengoku's presence. The two are like brother and sister, and Mitsuri has never batted an eye about nudity, "How are your ribs?"

Kyojuro levels you with a look.

You offer a sheepish grin.

"Yes," Shinobu mutters as she slips out of her geta, "Four broken ribs."

Kyojuro's nostrils flare. "You said nothing about the sort."

You lift your chin in defiance. "I told you I was sparing you the details."

Mitsuri's bright eyes dart between the two of you — a little bit of giddiness blooming at the sight of Kyojuro looking so worried about their fellow Dream Hashira.

He slides a look towards Kocho. Then rolls his shoulders. With a sigh, he moves to stand, the water lapping at his waist. You decidedly find the edge of the onsen very interesting as you try to coach yourself through the overwhelming urge to stare.

"I trust you'll monitor her condition, Kocho," he murmurs as he moves through the water; the words sit nicely in your heart and you feel a little pride swell at his indication that he cares if you're alright, "I'll let you ladies have some time amongst yourselves."

You catch his eyes for a second. A moment. A lingering little breath that mingles between you — like Kocho and Mitsuri aren't there. Then, he stepped from the bath and gathered his robe.

For now, the two of you will pretend earlier never happened.

For now.

Just a little thing between the two of you — and suddenly, you're not so cranky. Once the muse for exhaustion, you're now the muse of lovesickness.

When the gate closes behind Kyojuro, Kocho speaks.

"...What was all that?"

Nevermind. The crankiness is back.

"Shut up."

#kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer x reader #rengoku x reader #kyojuro rengoku x reader #kyojuro x reader #rengoku reader insert #kny kyojuro #kny x reader #kny imagine #demon slayer imagine #literally don't look at me this has been my break up obsession

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b00kdiary · 8 months

Note

Could I request Azriel and Plus Size reader where they’re both new to the mate bond and she overheard Azriel and Rhys’ conversation about the “Cauldron being wrong.” She left before she was able to hear Azriel call himself a fool for even believing it for a second, knowing that he’s already kissing the ground his own mate walks on. She starts comparing herself to Elain and then starts lashing out, going to Rita’s every night and avoiding Azriel whenever she sees him.

Cauldron Blessed | Azriel

Azriel (ACOTAR) x Plus Size Reader

Warnings: Mature themes (18+), swearing, body-image issues, angst, and eventual smut.

MASTERLIST - 1 and 2

'The Cauldron was wrong, so wrong.'

Those words played and replayed in my mind again and again, all day, every day, for the last week.

Wrong.

He said that the Cauldron was wrong- about us, about me.

Me, his mate- wrong.

It had been an accident, me overhearing them that night, a coincidence I had decided to come home early from my girl's night with Nesta, Gwyn and Emerie. Though with the Cauldron, there was no such thing as an accident, no such thing as coincidence.

I'd waded through the House of Wind, tipsy on wine and giggling softly to myself as I banged into the walls, thumping clumsily against the art pieces hanging and tripping over my own two feet. Giddy, I had been giddy, stumbling through the halls in search of him.

Azriel, my mate.

Only a few hours apart and I missed him, yearned for him, I felt the distance as if it spanned miles and the more I drank, the more I craved him. That's all I had been thinking of when I trekked through the empty halls, closer and closer to the lounge- just of my mate.

And that's when I heard it.

"The Cauldron works in mysterious ways," Rhysand's laugh drifted out to me in the corridor, and I came to an unsteady halt at the sound. "Feyre was my salvation; I didn't expect anything good to come to me Under the Mountain."

I smiled to myself, my hand coming to my mouth, shielding any sound that threatened to slip past- Az always teased that my lips loosened when I drank too much. Instead, I lean against the cold wall, warmth filling me as he gushed about my High Lady.

They were Cauldron blessed, that was clear to see.

"I think five hundred years of waiting for her was enough, brother," Cassian snorted, and I heard the faint sound of liquor pouring into a glass, wings rustling as one of the powerful males moved. "I know I never imagined my mate as a twenty-five-year-old human female, with a bite worse than mine."

I bit my lip as Cassian laughed, a loud, bellowing sound, so full of joy, so full of content, the mere memory of Nesta, human and utterly indomitable against him something that still brought him to his knees.

"The Cauldron must have a sense of humour," Rhysand teased, and I could practically envision Cassian rolling his eyes, a vulgar gesture thrown between the two males. "Connecting people in the most unexpected pairs, in the most unexpected ways."

"Like Elain and Lucien," Cass scoffs, loudly chugging back the remnant in his glass, "There's a pair I could never have foreseen, not in a thousand years."

"Proof that the Cauldron isn't always right," Azriel muses for the first time since I arrived, and my body almost croons at the sound- low and rough, moving over me as sure as if it were his hands. "She deserves better than any male friends with Tamlin, that's for sure."

She deserves better.

It was silly I knew, for the mere mention of her, the thought of her to make me feel nauseous, make my smile instantly fade, but I couldn't help it. It was hard for me to see a female as lovely as Elain Archeron and not feel inadequate by comparison.

Another who was blessed, so lovely that she had been gifted her seer abilities by the Cauldron itself as if her beauty and delicate demeanour weren't gift enough.

"Brave words, Az," Rhys whistled, and I had to force myself to blink away the picture-perfect image I had conjured of the middle Archerson sister, forcing myself to focus on their conversation instead. "Openly opposing the Cauldron."

"Brave or stupid?" Cassian counters tauntingly, and I knew he was drunk just from how loud his voice was, practically bouncing off the walls. "You think the Cauldron makes mistakes?"

"I know it does," Azriel challenges and it was that voice, that sure, quiet demeanour that I adored and desired so fiercely. I inch closer to the door, grinning at the idea of popping out and scaring them- but then he says it.

Says the thing that makes me stop dead in my tracks, makes my heart stop dead in my chest.

"Look at me and Y/N," Azriel sighs, and there's no joy, or adoration or yearning in his voice in memory of me, not like Rhys or Cass- no, there's dread. "The Cauldron made us mates... the Cauldron was wrong, so wrong."

There's a loud crack that echoes through the room, and it's that sound, and the feel of sharp debris against my palm, that pulls me from my memories. I blink through the tears, looking down at the crumbling marble sink, the corner pieces breaking off into my hands.

I sob through my teeth at the sight, small cuts leaking stark red blood down my fingers as I bring my hands to my chest. I can't see the looking- glass before me, not through the haze of tears, tears so strong it's as if I were made of them.

As if they had become a part of me.

It was all I had done the past week, cry and cry and cry- and avoid Azriel.

Every morning I skip training and breakfast, feigning fatigue or a full stomach, just so I wouldn't see him there. Each afternoon I'd get lost in the stacks and stacks of books in the library, so vast and endless that Azriel never stood a chance of finding me in the maze.

And at night I'd find solace wherever I could find a drink- Rita's, taverns, the Music Quarter, anywhere. Anywhere but at home, anywhere that I didn't have to see him.

I couldn't bear it, couldn't bear the sight of his face, even now the thought of his tilted smile, the beam of his soft hazel eyes, the touch of his scared hands and wild shadows, it made my whole body wrecked with sobs.

I couldn't bear any of it anymore- because none of it was real.

Every smile and touch, every kiss and moment where our bodies joined as one, where he confessed his love and devotion to me, it wasn't real. Azriel thought we were wrong, a mistake, a confusion, just wrong.

My hands shook as I wiped the tears from my cheeks, rougher than necessary, blood-smearing, but I was tired of tears, I was tired of crying, of feeling so unworthy. I was unworthy of him; he was beautiful inside and out and deserved so much better than me.

I sniffed as I lifted my gaze to the looking glass before me, and my heart hurt at the reflection, knowing that this was what Azriel saw, that this was why he knew the Cauldron was wrong. Every curve and roll and inch of flesh that I had, all of it, it was all wrong.

And I hated myself for it.

Wrapping my arms around myself, I take a step back and then another step, away from the reflection that taunted me, and mocked me, before forcing myself to look away. I swallowed against the dryness in my throat as I moved across the cold floor of my bathing suit, my body desperate for my bed.

And as I step over the door's threshold, and back into my old room in the House of Wind, I know it's not the same as when I had left it ten minutes ago.

He was here.

"Azriel," I gasped, halting at the sight of him- sat on the edge of my bed, his broad shoulders and powerful wings rising sharply at the sound of my voice, those hazel eyes meeting mine and filling with something honeyed and warm. "Wha- what are you doing here?"

He rises from the bed, elegant and still, his shadows dancing around him at the feel of my presence, the scent of my skin, and I shiver as he watches me, keen eyes gracing my stiff figure.

"Y/N," He sounds almost relieved as he says my name and my breath is caught in my lungs as I stay rooted to my spot, and he seems to sense my unease, as he doesn't move any closer to me. "You've been staying here for a week now; I missed you at home."

Home- the apartment we shared in town together, a cosy space that we had made our own.

Another thing I couldn't bear to face.

"I've been catching up with the girls," I say quietly, ripping my eyes from him and walking forward on numb legs. I tug at the hem of my nightshirt, his nightshirt I had stolen, feeling too bare before him and his eyes narrow at the movement. "It's just easier to sleep here when we have plans every day."

As spymaster it was Azriel's job to scrutinise, to observe and I felt every single part of that slot into place as he watched me now, watched as I moved toward the bed. I wasn't looking at him, I couldn't hold his stare- and he couldn't figure out why.

His shadows dance through the room, through the distance between us and I jolt, biting my lip when one brushes against my bare thigh- before scurrying back to Azriel in surprise. He inhales a sharp breath when his shadow whispers to him, telling him that something is wrong, I was wrong.

"I know you've been spending time with the girls," Azriel continues slowly, his voice tentative and soft as I move to the other side of the bed, furthest from where he stood. "I just feel like I haven't seen you at all... I miss you, sweetheart."

Sweetheart.

A sob threatened to rip from me at the name, so soft, so endearing on his lips and it took everything in me to not fall apart at that moment, to not crumble under the weight of it all. I shake my head, my back turned to him now and he watches as I tug back the duvet, my actions angry now.

"It's only been a week Azriel," I breathe through my clenched teeth, my tone so at odds with his and my body locking tighter at the sound of his impending footsteps. "Sometimes space can be good, it can be eye-opening, show us things we don't want to admit but know deep down."

My words hit him head-on, like a slap across the face- I don't need to see him to know it, I can tell just from the stillness in the room, the silence, so strong that even his shadows have withered.

I clench my eyes at the feeling, at the touch that strokes against my soul, him reaching out to me through the mating bond- and me slamming up every wall I have to keep him away.

"What does that mean?!"

I don't hear him until he's right behind me and when his large hand touches the small of my back, I jolt, stumbling into the bed to get away from it. I turn on shaking legs to face him, and I'm pressed into the mattress to keep the distance.

"What? Y/N-" His face pales, and I see the pain in his eyes, unlike anything I had ever witnessed from him before. It was raw, vulnerable as if five hundred years of existence couldn't hide the hurt, knowing that I had flinched from his touch, flinched from him.

A rejection- something he feared the most.

"Sweetheart, please, I don't understand," He shook his head, his beautiful face twisted into an agonised frown, and his voice trembled, weak, as weak as the hand that now reached for me, shaking as if scared to touch me. "Why won't you let me touch you? Why are you pulling away from me, why-"

He stops, and for a moment I think it's because of the tears steadily leaking down my face, the way my bottom lip trembles with the effort to hold myself together- but it's not. His nose flared, and the hazel in his eyes turned dark, narrowing down upon my hands.

"You're bleeding," He mumbles hoarsely and the pain in my chest triples when his scarred hands inch closer, my eyes fluttering shut the second he touches me, holding my palms in his and examining the small cuts. "What happened, sweetheart-"

"Don't! Don't- don't call me that, don't touch me," I croak out, my voice breaking and Azriel flinches at the cry in my voice, wings rustling when I yank my hands-free from his hold, as if his touch burned me. "Stop pretending, stop making me think you care, just-just stop."

"I don't understand, what do you mean pretending-" He pleads, his voice splintering, and I can see him thrumming with emotion, desperate to reach out to me, to hold me, but trying to respect what I had asked him. "I don't understand, help me understand what I did wrong-"

"I know how you feel about me, a-about us," I sob, my weak hands coming to my face, and I cry into them, so loud that nothing can muffle them, and I feel Azriel's' helplessness down the bond, still reaching for me, "It was cruel, to make me think-to make me think you loved me-"

"I do love you!" He snarls and my eyes snap open when I feel the familiar roughness of his hands against my wet cheeks, his grip unrelenting and needing as he draws me to him- and I don't have the strength to fight him. "Of course, I love you, why would you say that?"

His thumbs brush away the tears that won't stop leaking from my cheeks and somehow my fingers have found purchase in the material of his shirt, nails digging desperately, clutching him as tightly as he held me.

"You said it was wrong," I whisper, the words slurring in my throat, and I force my heavy eyes to his, force myself to look into those teary hazel eyes and confront him, with the burden I had been carrying alone this whole time. "You said that we were wrong, that the Cauldron was wrong."

His forehead creases, lines forming between the thick, dark brows as he peers down at me, and his hands don't release me, if anything they draw me closer.

And I see the moment realisation hits him, like ice-cold water seeping through his veins.

"I heard you talking to Rhys and Cass, you said we were proof," I gasp, feeling his shadows curl and wreath around my wrists and fingers, as if afraid to let go, as if trying to comfort me as I sniff. "You said we were proof that the Cauldron could be wrong, so wrong."

"I didn't mean you, Y/N, I would never mean you," He beseeches, his breath caressing my face, my lips and his eyes are so intense, so vibrant that I can't look away, "I didn't mean you, I meant me, I'm wrong!"

I suck in a harsh breath at his outburst and I feel it then- the self-deprecation, the vulnerability, the fear, it was all aimed at himself, it was all about him.

The silence stretches on as we stare at each other and my face must hold every ounce of my surprise and confusion, because he sighs, his forehead resting against mine. I see his wings sag behind him, as if defeated.

"I don't know how much you heard but I did not mean that the Cauldron was wrong to pair you with me," He mutters, his words unsteady, and my eyes flutter shut at his words, "I meant that the Cauldron was wrong to pair me with you- the Cauldron has blessed me but forsaken you."

"Azriel-" I gasped, and it was now my hand that lifted between us, my hand that cupped his stubbled cheek, forcing his eyes to mine. "That's not true, I'm not forsaken, I'm blessed, I'm Cauldron-blessed, Mother-blessed to have you-"

"Y/N you deserve the world, the sun and the moon and the stars," Azriel's voice breaks, a sob gurgling in his throat as he nestles against my palm, now wet with his tears. "I have spent five hundred years being unworthy of anything, and now that I have you, I will spend the next five hundred being unworthy of you."

He felt unworthy of me, he thought that he did not deserve me.

"Don't say that don't- you've given me the world and more," I shake my head, forcing every inch of surety and strength into my voice, "I love you, so much, so much that the thought of you thinking we were wrong, it killed me Az, because you're all I need."

He shakes his head against my hold, but his hands slip down my back, down my waist and to my hips and thighs, fingers digging into my flesh, holding onto my meat for leverage and pressing my soft body against his firm one for dear life.

"Not once did I ever think you were the problem, I thought it was me," His brow furrows deeper at my words, and I see the denial in his eyes, in his face, "I see a male who is beautiful inside and out, who is powerful and skilled, who has been a saviour to this Court in so many ways and I can't come close, I can't ever be equal to that Az."

"Y/N, no-" He growls, nails carving crescent moons into my flesh.

"I'm not a warrior like Nesta or a ruler like Feyre," I continue, and I open up the walls I erected to keep him out from my soul and mind, letting the mating bond flow freely again- to let him see all I had thought these few days. "I'm not beautiful like Elain... I'm not enough."

"You are everything," He hisses, and I can feel his overwhelming pain as sure as if it were my own as he graces over my feelings and thoughts- as he takes in every disgusting, horrific thing I had thought about myself, about my body. "You are everything and more to me, Y/N."

Power flashes through his eyes and then his head ducks toward me, capturing my lips in his.

Time seems to slow when his lips meet mine in a gentle collision, the kind of impact that steals the breath from my lungs, the kind I can't get enough of. Azriel grumbles at the taste of wine on my mouth, his tongue lapping at mine as if devouring the sweetness.

"Azriel," I sigh, like putty in his capable hands, and like always, he's skilled with how he handles my body, so easily turning us so my legs hit the mattress, my body weightless as he lifts me to sit on the edge.

"I have seen you navigate politics and arrogant High Lords in a way that has us all on our knees," He mutters against my lips, and I croon at the feel of his hands languishing up my thighs and hips, squeezing the flesh, his eyes dark with desire now.

His nose brushes against my cheek, so bare, as he kisses and trails his tongue along my jaw, moving down my neck and I can't do anything but moan softly as he lies me flat on my back, his powerful body towering over me, covering me wholly.

"I have seen you cut down soldiers triple your size as if they were little more than weeds in a field," His canines scrape against the racing pule-point at my neck and my eyes flutter, neck exposing for him and back arching when his hand cups my breast over my shirt.

He settles between my thighs, and he groans when his hard length brushes my wet core, the smell of arousal heavy in the air, the kind of stimulation that made us both dizzy with need. I arch my hips up to meet him, needing to feel something, anything from him.

"And I have seen males and females alike marvel at your beauty, at your body, desiring to see you without a scrap of clothing on," Azriel's voice turns furious, dark, as if the mere thought of someone else seeing me naked made him violent, honed to kill.

"Az, please," I mewl, fingers clawing at his back, feeling the muscles ripple under my touch, his shadows in a frenzy, caressing and dancing and wreathing around my body, feeding off every moan that escaped me. "I need you Az, please."

He presses long, wet kisses against my jugular and I sigh in relief when I feel his body shift, hips lifting and the sound of a belt clinking as he unhooks his slacks, freeing his hard length from within.

"I love you, sweetheart," His head lifts, face tight with sincerity and I can feel the thumping of his heart against mine, those intense eyes capturing me wholly. "I love all of you, I love all that you are-"

"Body," His fingers hook into my underwear, and I gasp as he tugs the wet material to the side, fingers brushing my clit.

"Mind," Our sounds meld as he rubs the tip of his cock against me, parting my folds, spreading my arousal from my entrance to my clit, and his breathing deepens as I whimper.

"And soul." He pushes into my entrance, stretching me just from the tip and automatically, my thighs clamp around his hips and my back arches at the feeling of him.

"I love you, Y/N," He pushes in until his long, thick length hits my cervix and my cunt is stretched thoroughly, throbbing around him. I trace my hands up his arms, nails scratching along every muscle, every strong, lean plane of him.

"I love you too, Azriel," I whisper back, and when my eyes flutter open, I see him above me and I know that nothing else, no one else could feel this right.

He doesn't move, merely staring down at me, his eyes burning like embers- feeling the thought as intensely as I did.

The Cauldron was right, so right.

----------------------------

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onsomenewsht · 2 months

Text

'cause everybody knows something I don't wanna know

About when, despite the victories and the defeats, you still talk a bit too much, but all the questions are answered

《 read part 1, I just wanna feel something, tell me where to go

》 Alexia Putellas x fencer!Reader

》 words count: +4.5k

》 move mountains [idiom]: to do something that seems impossible, particularly when love or belief makes one feel determined to succeed in something incredibly difficult to achieve

“En garde!”

The weight of the blade in your hand is familiar, well balanced as you adjust the position of your feet on the piste.

“Prêtes?”

A cocky smirk appears on your opponent’s face, somehow not disguised behind the mask tinted with the Hungarian flag. It just sparks more determination inside you, fuelling a fire that will burn ‘till the very last point.

“Allez!”

You know she’s coming even before her body moves in a leap, the sabre twitching to surprise you with a low line attack. A quick step on the side is enough to gain the space you need for a clear defense, deflecting her blade away from the target and sliding your own on her back.

A red light turns immediately on, firing up your side of the fencing piste.

The referee gestures in your direction to confirm the touch, the score is now 10-13.

With not much time left to catch up to your opponent’s advantage before the end of the second period, the need to start another assault overcomes the joy of the successful hit.

Three points behind, you can’t concede anything, you know that, but every single person in the arena thinks you’re desperate to land as many touches as possible.

However, you’re not desperate.

You’ve never been desperate in your entire fencing career, and you’re not tonight, at the dusk of your Olympic experience.

For once, for this last dance with the gods and goddesses of the sports, it’s all about being present and enjoying every moment.

“Look, this could be us if you let me take you out on a date”

Barely awake to register your words and definitely not enough to deal with your overexcitement this early in the morning, Alexia just takes the phone you unceremoniously put on her face as soon as you spot her eyes opening.

The article on the screen reports about "the 9 couples who competed at the Olympics together and won" with great details and pictures. She’s definitely not going to read it.

“We don’t play the same sport”, she states.

“Not the point of the article”

“We don’t even compete for the same country”

“Still missing the point”, you roll your eyes unimpressed, knowing she’s once again just avoiding the topic.

Or trying to annoy you for the abrupt wake up.

“We’re not together–”

“Yet!”

The footballer isn’t able to hide the smile that rises on her lips, yours is always so contagious. She hands back the phone, turning on her side to face you properly. The light sheets now barely cover her body, exposing a couple of darkening marks.

Not letting your gaze wander is, ‘till this day, the greatest display of strength and self-control you had to perform.

And you came back from the Olympic Games just a couple of months ago.

“We’re not together yet ‘cus you don’t let us go out on a proper date!”

It’s Alexia’s turn to roll her eyes, but the redness that tints her cheek is much more difficult to hide than your disappointment.

The two of you meet a few times since the Closing Ceremony, both with medals hanging from your necks and a strange force in your chest pulling one towards the other – despite everything.

Despite the older woman insisting it can’t work.

Taking advantage of a moment of distraction, you push her back onto the bed, sliding one leg over her body and successfully holding her hands above her head. The blush spreads on her face and your grin grows, but when you find her eyes, you make sure she knows you deeply mean what you’re saying.

“I just need a chance, Alexia”

“I’m–”

“Just give us a chance”

Fencing is a strange combat practice.

“En garde!”

Doesn’t matter how many times, how hard, or where you’re hit.

“Prêtes?”

You’re immortal.

“Allez!”

The only touch that kills you is the 15th one.

You launch yourself at the Hungarian girl, knowing that to win the game she just needs to land two more attacks or rely on your mistakes. She’s pushed to the very end of the piste, her sabre desperately circling around yours to defend her target, while her foot is moving quickly to avoid a step behind – a step that could mean one more point for you.

An idea comes up as you intentionally let your attack fall short, fooling your opponent to advance. Her front leg extends in a forward motion, pushing with the back foot to create more energy and gain space from the end line.

She’s exactly where you need her.

With a clean parry, deflecting her blade away, you successfully withdraw her line and gain right-of-way to attack. Now vulnerable and off balance, you just have to press the tip of your sabre on her shoulder.

The piste lights up with a vivid red and, a second too late, bright white reports her no valid touch.

11-13.

In your corner, your maestro is nodding his head slowly and suggesting you the next move with rapid motions of his hands.

Not a man of many words, someone could say, but you like him like that.

He knows exactly when to spur your competitiveness and hunger to win, when to keep your feet steady on the piste, and when to let you be.

“You know, I think I wasted my entire life”

Alexia moves her hands from your back to your shoulder, raising a sceptical eyebrow at your statements but now used – and resigned – to your questionable sense of humour.

“I’m made to be a wag”

As her head drops down and her eyes light up with pure amusement, you can’t help but think you want to be able to do this for the rest of your life. Managing to make her laugh so openly and carefree is still one of your biggest accomplishments.

“I have to say, you do look good”, the footballer points to the jersey you’re wearing, blushing a bit at the thought of her name on the back.

She can just hope you will not notice, blaming the effort the past 90 minutes demanded from her.

“Better do, I don’t know how much longer I can keep rocking Barça merch for”

“Good for you, there’s only one game left”

“Bold to you to assume I’m stopping at the Champions League, Putellas”, you reach out to drop one arm around her shoulders to hold the Catalan in an embrace you’re now really familiar with, “There’s a World Cup title to defend next year, I’ve already cleared my schedule”

Coming from a family of respected and accomplished athletes of the sport, the road ahead of you is marked out with the characteristic arch of a fencing blade since you’re old enough to hold the weapon properly.

Probably even before that, knowing your parents.

“En garde!”

The techniques of parring and thrusting, the movements of feet dancing on the piste, the special feeling of the blade as an extension of the body. You master all before you’re actually ready to admit the desire to make fencing a living, not just a passion passed on or a demanting hobby.

Hating the sport could have been so much easier, blaming the ‘nepo baby’ status either you succeeded or you turned out not to be up to it.

“Prêtes?”

But you love fencing.

“Allez!”

And you’re damn good at it.

A couple of steps into the assault, you take advantage of a moment of hesitation in the Hungarian’s preparation to perfectly timing your next move. Pushing from your front leg with impressive force, your body flies high to quickly cover the gap that divides the two of you. The jump allows you to deliver the attack slightly earlier than expected, striking your sabre against your target with no mercy.

The red light turns on as the crowds erupt in cheers, 12-13.

“Shouldn't I be the nervous one?”

Alexia’s hand finds yours before you’re even able to register her comment, stopping you from biting your nails off. She pulls it away and kisses your knuckles, keeping her eyes on your tense body.

The drive through the countryside’s streets is slow and calm, giving the footballer the time to appreciate the view but also a clear idea of how little you want to arrive at your parent’s villa.

A summer break under the Italian sun looks like a great idea, taking your girlfriend to your favourite hidden gems all around the country and finding together new places for new memories is just what you two need.

And it’s perfect, until your mother calls to invite you to spend the weekend with them.

“It can’t be that bad”

“You know my parents”

“I don’t, actually”, she argues, honest but not unkind.

It’s not like you don’t want Alexia to meet your family, she had bumped into them on several occasions and had brief conversations with them when their paths collided in your life.

A formal meeting though? Two entire days with your parents at their summer house? Sounds like hell to you.

“They’re going to be obnoxious and stern without reason”

“I can deal with them”

You stop at the side of a deserted road, too close to your destination for your own liking. Needing some time to prepare yourself and your girlfriend for the upcoming and unnecessary drama, the unplanned break looks like the best compromise over turning the car the other way altogether.

“I know you can deal with them, I don’t want you to”

That sounds wrong.

Alexia’s face contorts slightly, even if you’re perfectly aware she’s trying to understand you without just assuming you don’t want her to enter your family’s bubble.

“I’m not making any sense”, you state, taking a long breath in and relaxing at the feeling of the Catalan’s hand still holding yours.

“We don’t have to go if you don’t want to”

“No, I– Ale, my parents aren’t bad, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they are good. I told you what my childhood looked like. I had everything I’d ask for, and I’m grateful for that, but–”

When you meet her eyes you find complete support and desire to know how to take this pressuring weight out of your chest.

You never felt more cared for in your life.

“I met your family, I’ve been in your house. It feels like home, warm and lived, and– I can’t explain, but your family feels like a hug. My family?”, you scoff, trying to find the right words, “My family feels like a distant pat on the back on the good days. I don’t want you to feel like that, I want you to feel all my love”

She doesn’t let your hand go to gently hold your face with her free one, her thumb wiping away the traces of tears from your cheeks.

She makes sure to have all your attention, she makes sure to convey all her love for you.

“I’ll be your hug”

The protests of the younger opponent are cut short by the referee, who gestured for the two of you to take the centre of the piste.

“En garde!”

An old maestro, one of the unfortunates who had to train you when you were an annoying and reckless teenager, demanded from you absolute control of your reactions every time you landed a hit.

“Prêtes?”

You used to never celebrate any point but the last one.

“Allez!”

You don’t hold back anymore.

The Hungarian’s steps are now more calculated, jumping forward every now and then but keeping a fair distance from you and your sabre.

Fencing has taught you a lot about discipline and respect, you’re grateful for how much you’ve grown thanks to the sport. It was a long way from a tiny hyperactive kid, who just wanted to win and couldn’t accept any decision against it, to where you stand now.

Sometimes you still feel like that kid.

You hold your ground, you don’t rush the action just for the sake of it. Keeping up the pace of the assault, your blade finds the opponent’s one in rapid motions of attacks and responses without any real commitment to push for the point.

Other times you wish you were still that kid.

Suddenly, you both launch forward – aiming for a different target but with the same purpose. While she uses her front leg and an elusive movement of her arm to find your shoulder, your back leg slides and your body extends lower, trying to catch the other fencer by surprise.

The blades collide several times in a rapid succession of parries and responses until the piste lights up and you both pour out in celebration, claiming the touch.

You don’t hold back anymore, you have nothing to prove.

You don’t have to prove you’re worth your family’s name, you don’t have to prove you’re good enough to compete with the bests of the world in the biggest stages.

You don’t have to prove anything to anyone but yourself.

When both signals indicate the hit, it rests upon the referee to decide which fencer scores the point – retracing the entire action and giving their interpretation of it.

If they say the point isn’t yours, you have to accept the decision.

It goes without saying that you are not happy with it when the referee indicates your opponent when conferring the point.

12-14, it doesn’t look good for you.

Your pacing around the rooftop is frenetic, quite comical if seen from outside.

A gust of wind makes your exposed skin shiver, blowing your hair and completely ruining the intricate style you spend almost an hour on. It could also be your nervous hands making, but you’re not going to blame yourself for that too.

“Can you just stop?”

“No, Alexia, I cannot!”

The footballer covers the distance between the two of you in a few, determined steps. Her dress moves in a way that perfectly highlights the curve of her body and the definition of her muscles.

You could be fixed on your fiancé, devoting your attention completely to her, if you’d not be too preoccupied with freaking out.

“It’s not working”, you state.

“You really think that?”

Another shiver runs through your back, this time caused by the thought of the ending of your relationship with Alexia. Do you really think it’s over?

“We’re planning a wedding and we’ve never been in the same city at the same time for more than three consecutive months”

“Since when has that been a problem?”, she asks, holding you by your arms and never dropping her gaze, “We deal with the distance just fine. We go on dates and spend time together, we communicate and we are honest, we are there for each other when it matters”

“I want to be there when it doesn’t matter too”

“What does that even mean?”

The desire of stability and an everyday life that can grow into a future is something you both crave but are too scared to admit to the other.

“I want to be there when you’re back from training and you just want to watch a wild nature documentary, I want to be there for the daily and boring errands like doing the dishes or going to the supermarket just because we’re out of toilet paper”

It’s difficult to build your lives together far away from each other, to then meet and intertwine your paths, just to say goodbye and start all over again.

But the life you’re building is so beautiful.

A life that now looks like a carefully planned date in a stunning location, set up months in advance, or like a spontaneous surprise just because you have a free weekend and a pull from your heart that cannot be ignored.

But a life that soon will look like a walk out with a dog in the middle of the night because you forgot to do it after dinner, or like a weekly double date with your friends at the same restaurant.

A life that now looks like expensive gifts and flowers sent from a different country, but a life that soon will look like an electric bill with both your names on it.

A life that now looks like a shared calendar to make sure you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be, exactly at the right time.

But a life that soon will still look like a shared calendar to make sure you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be, exactly at the right time, just for completely different reasons.

A life you are already building, already living.

“Do you remember when you asked me to give us a chance? Well, now is my turn”

“Alexia, I–”

“Just give us a chance, amore mio”

“En garde!”

As a smirk reappears on the Hungarian’s face, you take a deep breath and remember your journey to this very fencing bout.

Your fourth Olympic Games, your fourth Individual Final for a medal.

“Prêtes?”

This could be a poker of victories or a bittersweet send off to the biggest sport stage.

“Allez!”

Sabre is the fastest and most aggressive of the three fencing disciplines, both parts rushing their opponent from the moment the referee commands to commence action. Just to secure a touch as soon as possible.

That’s why sabre fencers purposely take the defensive approach just in really particular situations.

You make a couple of steps forward, faking a lunge, as the young girl let her blade circle around yours without a real intention to engage. The exchange goes on like this far longer than you wish for, you know it’s a matter of moments before someone has to stir the combat.

Learning to understand when to attack and when to wait has been a challenge your entire life – not just professionally-wise. A maybe too talkative kid, a maybe too reckless teenager, a maybe too presumptuous woman.

Always maybe a little too much.

There’s a fairly big distance between the two of you, the Hungarian’s back leg shakes in subtle desire to close the gap and take the initiative.

It’s the hint you need.

Learning to understand your feelings and your emotions, accepting them as they are, doesn’t matter how strong or uncomfortable, has been the real challenge.

A battle you still fight against yourself, against your own mind. A battle no one can really see or comprehend.

You accelerate and move forward, stamping your front foot to the ground and extending your hand, both fainting an attack and disguising your defence stance. The motion is quickly followed by your opponent’s launch, but, tricked by the fast movement of your blade, she completely miscalculates the actual distance between your bodies.

She falls short, and, without time to recover, she has to take your punishment.

A battle you face with yourself, but with people in your corner ready to cheer for you despite the outcome.

Once again, the only light turning on is the red one – the score is now a compelling 13-14.

“Oh”

Looking up from the paperwork you’re proofreading, you notice how Alexia stops in the middle of your bedroom with a cup of coffee in one hand and a startstrucked gaze fixed on her face.

“We have to make another one!”, she whisper-shouts as she doesn’t seem able to look away from the baby currently sleeping in your arms.

It’s not the most comfortable position, but it’s too early for you to deal with your six-month old daughter’s fussing and your wife’s quite emotional state.

“We make another one”

“No, now hand me my coffee, please”, you lay the papers on the bed to make some grabbing gestures towards the cup – still in her very still, very far away hand.

“We have to replicate, we have to make another one”

“No, we really don’t”

“Look at her!”

You don’t look at her, finally reaching for your coffee as Alexia comes sitting next to you to gently caress the little girl’s face.

A smile rises on your lips, the picture of your growing family is always able to warm your heart and make up any doubts in your running mind.

Being loved and taken care of is not as hard as you thought it’d be.

It’s simple, it’s comforting.

It’s the hug she promised you, and you feel it wrapping all around your body when you need it the most, and also suddenly, out of nowhere and for no reason at all, in mornings like this one.

“She’s like a white rhino or the Amur leopard”, she doesn’t need to look at you to feel your raised eyebrow, “We fell asleep watching a documentary about the rarest and most critically threatened animals on the planet”

“I can’t leave the two of you alone unsupervised, never again”

“She’s rare, amore mio. We need to create more so the world could be a better place”

Holding back your laughs is getting more and more difficult, restrained just by the idea of waking up the baby still fast asleep. At least the Catalan is keeping her voice down as her enthusiasm runs wild.

As soon as she starts kissing her cheeks you know you’re done.

“Leave her alone, let her sleep”

“I can’t, look at her!”, she pumps your daughter’s nose with a finger, making her steer in your arms with a too-cute-for-your-own-good face.

She’s always reacting to Alexia’s soft touches and whispers.

Your wife’s basically tearing up at this point, too overwhelmed by the moment. At least you can blame the post partum hormones for your now emotional state.

The happiness you feel all around your home? That’s all Alexia’s making.

The crowd is loud and beaming, excited for the last tale of this fencing Individual Final and to see who will come out as the winner.

“En garde!”

A quick look at your maestro, he nods with his arms crossed. That will do.

“Prêtes?”

Breathing in and out, you savour every second of this as you find your position. A good preparation means everything in fencing. It’d make the difference in any moment of the assault, in any moment of the entire bout.

You learnt that a good preparation means everything in life too.

“Allez!”

The younger girl moves fast, launching herself forward as soon as the referee gives the go. But you’re prepared.

A good preparation gives you time to watch your opponent, ready to move in either direction you need to. You’re ready to move forward or take a step back, you’re ready to jump or to slide low. You’re ready to do everything you need to not get touched.

You’re prepared for this to be your last time fencing at the Olympic Games, you’re prepared for this to be your last time fencing all together.

The Hungarian tries to take you off balance with a quick sequence of attacks, going for the high hit and then aiming at your exposed target. You parry every single one, predicting her movement with impressive precision.

There are different ways to prepare – the posture, the speed, the steps can be varied, depending on the style of the fencer and on the opponent. There’s no right or wrong way. But you’re prepared for anything tonight.

When you see her going deep, you know how to move to anticipate her blade, rotating yours against it and leaving her target open just enough for you to breathe out and press the tip of the sabre in the middle of her chest.

The red light turns on before the green one, the score now announcing a draw at 14.

“This one looks comfortable”, you tap Alexia’s foot, waking her up efficiently from the nap you find her taking.

How can she manage to fall asleep in the most unhinged positions, it’s something you ask yourself to this day. Your daughter takes after her, obviously.

That’s how you find the two of them on the sofa with a National Geographic’s documentary on.

At least the girl immediately stirred up at hearing you coming back home after a couple hours out to run some boring errands.

“I was just resting my eyes”

“Sure”, you bend down smiling, kissing her forehead, “You have training in an hour, coach”

“Plenty of time”

A firm hand finds the back of your neck, holding you in place for a proper kiss. Alexia’s lips are soft and taste like fresh tomatoes and kid’s chapstick – the latter probably your daughter’s doing.

Said daughter now alone and unsupervised in the kitchen.

You reluctantly pull back from the Catalan, leaving a light peck at the tip of her nose as soon as she frowns unhappily about the loss of contact.

“You used to like me”, she complains.

“Good old days, mi amor”

Eleven seconds left may be the entire time of a race or may count nothing in some other sports. In fencing, eleven seconds may be the longest time ever or not quite enough at all for a point.

You’re not going to drag this into the final round.

“En garde!”

Breathe in.

“Prêtes?”

Breathe out.

“Allez!”

Smile.

As soon as the referee gives the go, you rush forward with your hand held back – quite a vulnerable move if not for the four metres distance the starting positions guarantee. You bounce a couple steps, staying very high against the Hungarian’s low stance, building speed and momentum to lunge upwards without giving her any clear clue of what type of attack you’re going to choose.

Your blade slides on the target before she has time to realise where you actually hit.

There’s no doubt, no hesitation.

The red light turns on in what feels like the longest time ever, the crowd erupts in cheers, and the mask falls off your head as you celebrate like never before in your entire career.

Taking the centre of the piste, you point your sabre in a really specific direction, aiming at a very specific person.

Two, actually.

You mimic a bow and the audience goes wild.

It’s for none but the two people you can’t keep your teared up eyes off.

After that, it’s all a blur.

Saluting the opposition and the referee is a natural gesture. You manage to give the younger fencer your sincere compliments and some words of advice she takes more gracefully than you could have ever done at her age.

Your maestro holds you in a big hug, he says it’s been an honour, and you will not start doubting him now.

Someone drags you for a quick interview, asking questions you have been asked your entire life. You answer sincerely, but the desire to get this over with as soon as possible is clear as the smile on your face.

“It’s a bronze medal, how do you feel about it?”

“Honestly? I think this is the most important and beautiful of them all”, you politely say your goodbyes to run in the opposite direction.

Finding Alexia has always been easy, your eyes lock in the middle of full rooms despite everything and everyone. A warm hug envelops your body when you’re close enough to fall into her open arms, feeling tiny hands holding onto you at the same time.

“We’re so proud of you, amore mio”

“Thank you, for the chance”

fine.

#alexia putellas x reader #woso x reader #woso #alexia putellas #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso community #ap11 #here we go again #espwnt #spain women's national team #sefutbolfem

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azrielsdove · 10 months

Note

Ive been loving all the fics youve been posting. I had this lil idea that hopefully sparks joy for you if ur requests are open. Its an azriel x reader. Where reader is very cold hearted and kinda mean almost bitchy like nesta. Hates to be touched eapecially on her back. Azriel hates her cuz she so unpleastant and so incredibly difficult. The bond snaps for azriel and hes so so confused because he for sure thought elain was for him. Reader always looks at azriels hands almost disgusted but the truth is that she had her wings cut off and the stumps burned down to her flesh, so her entire back is scarred like azriels hands. Her face isnt of disgust but since he hides his hands she assumes he'd be disgusted in her. Azriel softens up to her when he finds out she has a soft spot for children, maybe she teaches orphaned children in the city. Idk i just like the idea of a cold hearted reader thats just as scarred as azzy but actually has a soft heart for kids. Or maybe shes always longed for a family of her own but cant get passed her own insecurities. You can change whatever you'd like to fit your writing style. ❤️

Thank you love!!!! I am OBSESSED with this idea and took off with it. I decided to turn it into a mini series, when I started writing the Readers POV it was getting wayyyy long. I hope I have done your idea justice, here is part 1 <3

Cold Hearts: Azriel x Reader

Chapter Warnings: None

Pt. 2 Here

***

Azriel couldn’t stand her. She was nothing but cold and hateful to everyone, especially to him. When she had first come to stay with Rhysand in Velaris, he had tried to be kind to her. Rhys hadn’t told anyone why he brought her, and she certainly never opened up about it.

The first day he met her, she was sitting silently in the small library in the House of Wind. Azriel had smiled at her and given a “Good morning.” She had turned sharply to look at him, her gaze focusing on the hand he waved with. He watched the look of disgust come over her face before she turned back to staring into the fire.

Azriel had been a little taken aback. Sure, he struggled with the way his hands looked, and was no stranger to the dirty looks. The look on her face had been nastier than he had ever seen. She looked at his hands like they caused her pain. He left the library after that, not sure what to think.

Many years had gone by since that first meeting, and Azriel preferred to stay far away from her. No one else wears very fond of her either. He still didn’t know why Rhys had brought her here, nor why he allowed her to stay. She spent most of her days locked in her room or sitting in the library. She occasionally came to meals with the family, rarely speaking. And when she did speak? It was always some cold remark, as if she wanted to be anywhere else with anyone else.

So why did she stay?

Azriel pondered that question far too often. When Rhys became trapped Under the Mountain, he had included that everyone should be prepared for war in his last message. Azriel took it upon himself to train her. He had shown up to her room early in the morning, expecting a fight. To his shock, she willingly came.

She took to training quicker than Azriel had thought. She proved to have some skill under that cold shell she showed everybody, even if it took some coaxing for it to come out. He was impressed. Azriel even started enjoying teaching her, until the day she lashed out at him and declared she never wanted to see him again.

He didn’t know what he had done wrong.

He was trying to teach her a slightly difficult new maneuver. She was struggling to angle her body the correct way, unable to understand how Azriel did it. He had reached out to help her, placing a hand on her lower back and shoulder to move her body into place. She shot out of his grasp like he had stabbed her, whipping around to face him.

“What do you think you are doing?” She had seethed, eyes on fire. Azriel had held his hands up in surrender, confused.

“I was just trying to help-“ He had begun, being cut off by her.

“Don’t. Don’t fucking touch me.” She had glared at his hands, a stare he didn’t miss.

“I don’t understand why you must be so insufferable all of the time!” Azriel had snapped, fed up with the constant negativity and judgement that came from her.

“Maybe don’t be a nasty pig and grab up on any female you see!” She had shouted, turning to leave the ring. “Stay away from me. I don’t wish to see you anymore.”

And that was that.

Cassian had taken over her training from then on out. Azriel was fine with it. She clearly had some sort of issue with him, and it seemed to stem from his hands. His ugly, scarred hands. Were they really so grotesque she couldn’t even stand him touching her?

***

When Rhysand had returned from Under the Mountain, things got better and worse. At first, she had been kinder. Azriel had noticed how she rushed to Rhys before anyone else, how carefully she wrapped him in her arms. The two of them had disappeared after that, not seen until the next day. Azriel couldn’t figure out why the two of them had such a bond, why Rhysand cared for her so much. He had just come back and announced that the human girl - Feyre - was his mate, so it couldn’t be a romantic attraction.

Or could it?

Azriel shook his head, demanding those thoughts the leave his mind. Ignoring the spark of jealousy that ran through him. He didn’t know why he cared so much about her.

***

Elain. There was no doubt in Azriels mind that Elain was his. Rhysand had Feyre, Cassian had Nesta, naturally Azriel would have Elain. It didn’t matter that the cauldron had mated her with Lucien. Three sisters, three brothers. Anyone could read what that meant.

Azriel tried not to notice the way she had slunk into the shadows lately. When Feyre first came to the Night Court, the two had struck up a friendship. Azriel couldn’t believe his eyes and ears when he saw how fun and sweet she was with Feyre. It further confirmed his belief that she was so disgusted in his scars that she couldn’t stand to be near him. She had even started to being nicer to Cassian, her training with him going much better than yours with Azriels had.

Once the bond snapped with Feyre and Rhysand, she had taken a small step back from the both of them. When it snapped with Cassian and Nesta, she had backed away from Cass as well. She barely even had a witty retort anymore, choosing to stay quiet most of the time.

Azriel felt like no one else had noticed the change in her. However, he had to admit, so much change had happened in such a short time that he couldn’t blame them for not realizing.

Why did he realize?

Even as she created small friendships with the others, she ignored Azriel. She only looked at him to stare at his hands. He had taken to wearing his gloves around her at all times, but she just stared as if she could see through the fabric. He had spent decades trying to be nice to her, for nothing. She rarely spoke to him, mostly just gave that look to his hands.

She was always going to be cruel to him.

***

Azriel was trying desperately to find a Solecist gift for Elain. He knew he had a reputation for gifts, and he wanted to make sure what he got Elain was perfect. As perfect as she is.

And he had no idea what that would be.

He was wandering the paths of Velaris aimlessly, peering into the stores as he passed, trying to see anything that seemed like Elain. He was getting worried that he would never find anything, turning away from yet another shop.

He stopped when he saw her.

She was inside a little building, large windows open for anyone to see in. He watched as she stood at the front of the room, facing a small group of…children? He angled his body a little to see clearly into the room, listening to her voice come through the window. Her tone was kinder than he had ever heard it. Azriel watched with wide eyes as she demonstrated a defense move-a move he had taught her.

And now she was teaching it to children.

He watched for the rest of the class, amazed at how well the kids grasped onto the concepts she was teaching. He felt his heart skip when her laughter floated out the windows, a bright smile on her face as she looked at one of the students. He had never seen her like this before.

When the class ended he watched as one of the smaller children ran up to her and threw their arms around her legs. Azriel expected her to jump back at the touch, instead watching her bend down and wrap her arms around them. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He couldn’t believe any of this. He turned and headed back to the House, the gift for Elain long forgotten.

***

He wanted to approach her. He wanted to ask about the children he saw her teaching. He had a sudden desire to know more about her, to see who she may be under that cold exterior.

Azriel should have known she wouldn’t let him.

It was a few days after he had spotted her in town, and he had finally found her alone in the little library. He cleared his throat as he approached her, hoping to get her attention. Of course, she ignored him. He shouldn’t have been hurt by it, but he had been so hopeful after seeing her with the children.

Azriel called her name.

Her head slowly turned to him, eyes blazing. “Yes?” She asked coolly. Azriel have a small smile, refusing to lose his nerve now.

“I saw you, in town? With the children? I-“ He started, cut off by her suddenly standing.

“Spying on me, are you?” She asked, anger all over her face.

“No! No! I was shopping, for Elain, and I happened to walk by!” Azriel was gesturing wildly, not wanting you to think he was following you. “I saw you and then I saw the children and I was interested. You were, nice to them.” He cursed the words as they came out of his mouth, sounding just as sorry as one could imagine.

She scoffed. “Why would I not be? They’re kids.” Her words were sharp and Azriel felt embarrassment creep up his neck.

“Well, you’re not really nice to anyone.” He bit out, temper rising as she laughed.

“You don’t know anything about me.” She said, looking at him curiously.

“Oh? Is that so?” Azriel felt the words coming out before he could stop them, all the things he had wanted to say for years. “Maybe that’s because you don’t let anyone get close to you. I tried to be your friend in the beginning, just for you to be cold and nasty. You are always cold and nasty. I’ve noticed you slowly losing the friends you have made, slinking off into the shadows. Do you ever stop to think that maybe it’s because you’re a cold-hearted bitch?”

She looked like he had slapped her.

“W-what?” She stumbled out, eyes wide.

Now it was Azriels turn to scoff. “Don’t pretend to be innocent now. You rarely speak to anyone except for Rhys, and when you do it’s usually to tell them to leave you alone! Even when I was trying to train you, you lashed out at me for just trying to help. You have always acted like I disgust you, always glaring at my hands. Do they really upset you so much that you have to act like i’m the worst thing you’ve ever encountered? That you have to look at me like that and flinch when I touch you? I tried to be nice to you, just for you to react like that.” He was breathing heavy, all the hurt coming to the surface.

He watched her eyes flash and then suddenly, she was yelling at him. “How dare you? You have no idea what you are talking about. Are you so self centered that you truly believe everything I do is about you? Do you ever stop for one second to think that maybe, just maybe, I have my own shit to deal with?” Her cheeks were colored red, her hands clenching into fists.

Azriel rolled his eyes. “We all have our own shit going on. It doesn’t mean we take all of our miserable feelings out on everyone else!”

“I don’t! I just don’t have any interest in getting close with you. Not everyone has to want to lick the ground you walk on, Shadowsinger.” She spat out the last word like it was dirt in her mouth.

“Why not? What have I ever done that makes you hate me so? What has any of us done? The only one of us you would talk to for years was Rhysand. Did you love him? Are you bitter now that he has a mate and no one will ever be interested in you?” Azriel knew that was a low blow, but his anger overrode him common sense.

“What are you talking about? The relationship between me and Rhysand is none of your business. For a spymaster, you’re truly horrible at reading a situation.” She was angry, angrier than she had been in decades.

Azriel didn’t care. “No one here likes you. They’ve all moved on from their short friendships with you. Even your precious Rhys has found someone else to occupy his time with. Why do you stay here? You have no one.” He felt the pain in his chest at the expression on her face.

She blinked quickly, fighting tears. “You are the cruel one, Azriel.” She turned and ran from the room, leaving him in the aftermath of their fight.

It was the first time she had said his name.

He felt it snap in his chest, the tug to follow you. He could barely react, the shock of it keeping him rooted to the spot. No, he thought. No. Not her. It wasn’t supposed to be her.

The mating bond didn’t care for his concerns.

***

Please let me know how you feel!! Honestly Pt. 2 should be out tonight or tomorrow, i’m pretty far into it. I’m thinking this will be a 3-4 part mini series!!!

#acotar #acotar x reader #azriel #rhysand #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #cold hearts

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anika-ann · 2 months

Text

A Series of (Un)Fortunate Events - S.R.

Part 1 of 2

Type: two-shot, idiots-in-love, feel-good fic

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 7,3k

Summary: It's just a bunch of Avengers and SHIELD agents who often cooperate on missions - hanging out and getting to know each other better on a camping trip. What could possibly go wrong?

A few things. A few things could and they all seem to have you at the centre. Luckily, you have a hero in shining armour to help you in the time of need.

Warnings: allusions to NSFW, minor injuries, mention of misogyny, brief reference to PTSD, language, attempt at humour, FLUFF , Steve being a menace

A/N: written for the Essie’s Summer Lovin’ 300 Follower Celebration. Congrats @bigtreefest and thank you for hosting 💕 I have chosen multiple prompts - in this one, you shall find “why’s it…sticky?” and modified “here, you can share with me”. I hope to finish the second part in time 😁

A/N 2: DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; enjoy y'all 🥰 Several Agent of SHIELD characters are involved - I don't think you need any knowledge of the show to read this

The afternoon North Carolina sun warmed your skin pleasantly, even as you found yourself panting after the having climbed up the hill you. The backpack with an attached sleeping bag and a tent pack was growing heavier and heavier on your shoulders with every step, but the view and the company – most of it anyway – were certainly worth it.

Everyone seemed affected by the fresh air and exercise the Great Smokey Mountains provided, the atmosphere light and content as this was, for most, the first trip in a long time that had nothing to do with a mission.

Sure, one could argue there were some strings attached, as the ‘mission’ was to solidify relationships within the group – several Avengers and several SHIELD agents who were often outsourced for Avengers-level missions – but still: no one was shooting at you. And you wouldn’t have to write a report. That counted for something. For a lot, in fact.

Plus, the path was the goal. The destination, while set precisely according to Steve’s plan, might as well be just about anywhere.

You glanced at him as he walked by your side, smiling absently. The corners of his lips only twitched higher as he noticed you watching him, his gaze flickering to you as well.

He looked as if he was born to do this. A halo of dark blond hair around his head ruffled by the wind, sunlight painting them almost golden. The heaviest backpack of all sitting on his wide shoulders, straps around his broad chest and thin waist. Legs clad in light track pants that hugged his thighs and ass in the best way possible, a downright magnetic sight--- no.

Uh-huh, no.

No thoughts of that sort. You had forbidden yourself from that, at least for the duration of this trip, because you had known Steve would be a literal walking thirst-trap, the sheer happiness surrounding him making his glow ten times brighter. You had forbidden yourself from thinking like this, because this was not an appropriate observation to make about a colleague, a superior no less, even as everybody else probably thought along the same lines.

It didn’t matter that you wanted to throw hands at the mere idea of someone else making that observation as well. You didn’t exactly have the right to do that and it was a lost fight before it even started. Steve Rogers was simply too beautiful and essentially perfect in all his imperfections, and god knew that those imperfection had nothing to with his body. Ass included-

Gaze quickly snapping up back to his face, you found him smiling at you warmly, a soft dusting of freckles adorning his cheeks from the prolonged exposure to sun. The same phenomenon could be observed on his bare arms; a constellation of freckles, where angels had kissed their kindest, prettiest and most loyal creation; a constellation of places where you’d love to press your lips and linger, breathe in the scent of his skin and taste it.

God, he was breathtaking and all kinds of alluring. The nature around you was too, sure, the smell of pines and sandy rocks whispering of vacations and good times, but the way he-

“Whoa!” you yelped as you suddenly found yourself tumbling towards the ground, foot having slipped on a rock, you supposed.

Hands outstretched, you had no chance to break the fall, only to slow it, the burden on your back completely changing your momentum.

The second your palms as much as brushed the rocky floor, you were being held by your waist so firmly that none of your actual weight landed on the ground. You would recognize the arms holding you anywhere – just like the scent of sandal wood, musk, man and comfort, suddenly wrapping around you.

The safest place on Earth.

Steve’s arms.

Your stomach made a little flip-flop as his hands squeezed you gently and helped you up, only releasing you when his eyes found yours, silently asking if you were okay.

You responded with an embarrassed smile.

“Whoa, you okay?” Daisy rushed to your side, bless her, breaking the brief moment you had allowed yourself to bask in the sweet worry in Steve’s gaze and in the heat his body was radiating, despite the fact you could feel everyone staring at the newly nominated klutz of the group of superspies. You.

Heat of embarrassment flooded your skin under everyone’s scrutiny – and more so under the judgement in Agent Hopkinson’s glare, the jerk. Then again, you could hardly blame him for looking down on you right now.

Allegedly one of the deadliest agents known to the world; bested by a few rocks on a hiking trail and Steve Rogers’s smile.

You chuckled self-deprecatingly, quietly thanking Steve and turning to Daisy to assure her that besides your pride, nothing had been seriously wounded.

“I’m fine,” you said, scratching your forehead with a poor attempt to hide your embarrassment. “Must have missed a step, I don’t even know how…”

You did know how. You knew it precisely. You hadn’t been watching your step, too mesmerized by the beauty of your favourite Captain – and favourite person in the world. The man with the most honest, goodest, fiercest and most beautiful soul you had ever met, your closest friend.

“I do,” Agent Melinda May commented dryly, a pointed look aimed at your feet, revealing the culprit – and making you wish the Earth could swallow you, especiallysince it was her, the second in command at SHIELD – and one of the most admirable women in history of anything. And she had just seen you, an agent for both Avengers and SHIELD, a master of martial arts, to trip on nothing like a five-year-old. For the same reason too. “Your shoelaces are undone.”

“…thanks. And sorry. Go ahead. I think I can tie my shoelaces on my own,” you chuckled again, swallowing the shame even as you were among friends. Albeit some of them more reluctant than others.

“Clearly not,” Agent Hopkinson remarked, not missing the opportunity to belittle you, making you sigh as you crouched down, taking extreme care not to as much as wobble despite the heavy backpack.

Case on point, you supposed.

Having worked for SHIELD for years now, acting as the main liaison for situations where Avengers needed help, be it due to too many hostiles or the nature of the job leaning more towards spy-work that alien-invasion-work, your general experience was that tolerance and cooperation were the way. Some people were less pleasant than others, that much was true, but one should handle disagreements, various personality traits and different views on life. You certainly could; your approach to conflict, your supposedly calming presence and search for harmony in a team and the calm composure you maintained under pressure to quickly weigh your options, had even earned you your codename, Libra.

You genuinely believed tuning down an attitude for the sake of the mission was the custom, the golden rule.

And then you encountered Agent Martin Hopkinson. He was the exception. And a pain in your ass.

He got along alright with most people despite his arrogance; but you and him were a trainwreck happening in slow motion. He did not like you. Whether it was jealousy of your position, misogyny, or both, or something completely else, you wouldn’t know. But he was bitter and biting, always looking for a flaw, always making snidey comments.

You could handle that – an insult here, a mean comment there. After all, you could take a punch, a stab, a gunshot wound. You could take down men twice your size with your bare hands and just a little wit, if you tried hard enough. You had faced soldiers, rapists, murderers; Agent Hopkinson was but a small hindrance, annoyance on legs. But by god, your fists itched whenever he opened his mouth. And the feeling was mutual.

However, as a professional, you worked hard not to reciprocate his aggression, even as it only ever remained verbal; the same could not be said about him. And he didn’t care zilch about who heard him be ‘smart’ with you either, which, in turn, led to several reprimands; and on one delightful occasion, to Steve almost breaking his jaw when he heard him utter a comment about Coulson pimping out the pet agent again, clearly meaning you. The wrath Steve had showed was nothing hort of holy, and holy was the miracle that Hopkinson was still alive; the fact he barely toned down his attitude was just idiocy.

But had you mention Steve was an angel? A fiercely loyal protective friend, a gentleman, who might swear on occasion and be a little shit par excellence, but god should help anyone whose behaviour towards others offended him. He might be an angel, but was an avenging one.

A caring one too.

As soon as you stood up again, Steve was carefully cradling the backs of your hands, examining the teeny scrapes over your palms with about five droplets of blood in total, frowny gaze flickering to your knee which you hadn’t even realized you had grazed too.

“We should disinfect that.”

“Steve, I’m fine,” you laughed, even as you let him examine the barely-there bleeding, knowing there was no use trying to resist. “Thank you for caring, but it’s literally just a scratch… I’ve had worse.”

He shook his head, his expression darkening a bit. “That’s not comforting and you know it. And any wound, if infected, can be dangerous – I know I don’t have to tell you that.”

You knew instantly what instance he was referring too, a small shudder running up your spine. Yet, the rational part of you argued that there was no comparison, even if the cut on your arm over a month back had not been all that deeper and wider than this.

“That was literally a poisoned blade, Steve-“

“We were about to take one more break before reaching the destination anyway,” he interrupted you, unrelenting. “Let’s head up to that clearing and we’ll rest for a bit. I’ll take care of it, okay?”

“Steve-“

“I’ve got the first aid kit,” Bobbi uttered nonchalantly as she passed you, joining the others who had gone ahead already.

You sighed. Bobbi Morse – an agent with a clever sense of humour, sharp tongue and no-nonsense attitude, a good friend – and she was using all of her powers against you. Wicked.

“It’s just a-“

“Captain’s orders,” she almost sing-sang, earning a grin from Daisy who only shrugged, as if to confirm her words.

You sighed, rolling your eyes; acutely not aware that Steve was still holding your hands in his and your body was heating up from inside at the prolonged contact – particularly your chest and something deep within your belly.

You looked up at him, mildly annoyed and rather amused at his insistence and protectiveness. And even though you wouldn't admit that out loud, touched.

“You’re overbearing. You’re lucky I like you,” you scolded him in a whisper.

He only grinned, his worried gaze clearing and lightning up at your feigned outrage, and squeezed your hands before letting go.

“I love you too. Let’s go.”

You bit your cheek as you nodded, reminding yourself for at least the tenth time since you had set off hiking: friends. The keyword of this trip was ‘friends’.

It was just really hard to actually remember that when Steve looked at you like that, talked like that, and you could still feel the warm imprint of his hands on yours.

Steve Rogers was a man impossible not to fall for; from almost absurd handsomeness to even more absurd goodness he lived by, from his sharp wits to effective moves, from the crinkles in his eyes when he smiled to the tenderness in his touch. His sense of humour equalled to the one of duty, his drive and determination in leading interlacing with a soul of an artist and a simple man who appreciated the most ordinary things.

You had clicked instantly; your friendship bloomed almost effortlessly, working alongside him making for many opportunities to spend time together. Despite barely having met about three months ago, the times you owed him your life for were numerous; and the few times he owed you his, even as there was no such thing as keeping score, only strengthened your bond. Moments where you thought you wouldn’t make it out. Long nights at motels or in a stake-out cars, filled with mindless chatter, profound talks and comfortable silences. His goddamn smiles alone, always feeling a little warmer, fonder, when directed at you.

The fact he had quickly slipped into a habit of calling you Lee, a nickname derived from your codename with a wordless implication of you being his refuge, with that damn smile on his plush lips, was making something in your ribcage tremble with affection.

You had fallen hard. But who wouldn’t? You were only human.

And his proximity, his friendship, his affection, they were most precious to you; no matter which form they’d have, you’d take it.

Even if it meant inappropriate thoughts and your heart racing fast enough to collapse from exhaustion when he cleaned your scraped knee and palms with such care and focus one might believe they were fatal wounds.

Your heart would tremble less if he hadn’t kneeled in front of you as he did so, but you supposed Steve Rogers was just that kind of deadly. He cradled your hands in his huge ones as if they were as fragile as butterfly wings, smiling when he was done; and grinning when you said Thank you, nurse Rogers, the words carrying both humour and respect for his late mother.

His smile resembled the sun so much you almost missed how the actual sunrays grew less and less warm. It was only a few minutes later – every one of them making you aware of the either knowing or incredulous looks following yours or Steve’s every move, almost enough to make you self-conscious when snacking – when you realized you were getting cold.

The solution was easy; and despite how effective it would have been in chasing away the cold and lifting your spirits, it did not involve hugging Steve. Instead, you dived your hand down your backpack through the layer of snacks and other small necessities towards your clothes for the occasion.

And your hand reached something it most definitely shouldn’t have.

“What the-“ you murmured, still acutely aware of all the gazes on you, now joined by Steve’s. “Why is it… sticky?”

Puzzled and horrified – and suspicious, because Hopkinson might have never played a prank on you, but lines always had to be crossed for the first time someday – you threw out the things from the top, pulling out what was normally one of your favourite sweatshirts.

Fairly soaked in a rusty-red oily substance that now resided in your luggage.

Not that it hadn’t been there before – but before, it was safely stored in a Tupperware container along with the thin marinated steaks you had been tasked to carry for the team’s first dinner above fire, Hunter carrying the grate.

“What is it?” Bobbi asked, frowning at the poor article of clothing you had intended to wear.

You didn’t have to sniff it to answer; mostly because the scent of spices was strong enough to answer for you.

“It’s the… marinade from our dinner,” you informed her with a grimace, a small whine escaping you as you went to inspect the rest of your clothes with dread and irritation rising. Because you already knew that the sweatshirt would not be the only thing having been hit. There had been enough to marinade to drown Steve and Bucky in – that was why you had triple-checked it was secured when you had pulled the straw for carrying it in your backpack. “How is that even possible?! I swear I checked it at least five times! I used rubber bands and a plastic bag and- ugh.”

“It probably gave out with all the moving around,” Natasha said, compassion evident in her voice. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you sighed.

And it was. You were only just beginning to feel the mountains part of your destination. You weren’t even shivering – and god knew you had been exposed to much worse conditions with fewer clothing. It wasn’t even raining. You had been through much worse – this was but an inconvenience.

Kinda like Hopkinson himself.

Your gaze flickered to him as he himself put on a thin hoodie, your gaze narrowing in subtle suspicion; but there was no way. He almost looked as if he was pitying you. Genuinely. Though not enough to share his clothes; not that you’d accept if he had offered. But that was beside the point. The point was he probably wasn’t to be blamed for your current misery. Not where marinating your clothes was concerned anyway.

It was probably all on you. It seemed your Tupperware skills still needed some work. Goddamnit.

“It is fine,” you spoke to yourself more than anyone else. “I’ll walk the cold off and then stay close to the fire-“

Your heart skipped a beat as you felt a presence by your side, a large navy-blue hoodie entering your sight; it was as if talking about your potential inconvenience summoned him.

An angel by your shoulder.

With a soft frown and a welcoming smile, he set the hoodie next to you as your hands still held onto your tainted clothes.

“Hey… here, you can have mine.”

You opened your mouth to protest, the words dying in your throat when you met Steve’s gaze. The golden hour had arrived, highlighting the freckles and the god-like warm glow of his smile. Your fingers reflexively twitched in the fabric of the t-shirt in your hands as the urge to run them through Steve’s hair instead hit you like a sledgehammer.

Friends, you reminded yourself again. FRIENDS.

He was offering a friendly gesture. It was no different than borrowing boxing wraps from Hunter for training if yours had torn, borrowing a dress from Natasha because none of yours fit the theme of a party, or borrowing heels from Daisy because they matched better than anything you owned. There was nothing special about this and no one would think twice.

Yet, it was a gesture you had to turn down, no matter how gentlemanly it was – no matter how at home you knew you’d feel in that hoodie. The idea alone was tickling along the most sensitive parts of your body and for that alone you should refuse.

“Thank you, Steve… but that wouldn’t be fair,” you said. “You shouldn’t be cold because of me.”

Plus, I know this one is your favourite, you wanted to say, but bit your tongue, aware that the scene was already out-of-chart intimate as it was. It certainly felt like it.

“I won’t. You know I run pretty hot…”

You are hot, you wanted to say – but a little choked noise from Hopkinson and Bucky had you quickly set your mind straight.

Until Steve pulled out the big guns – rather literally. Long fingers wrapped around your bare forearm, goosebumps erupting on your skin despite the nearly burning sensation, breath catching. It did not help the situation that something you didn’t dare to identify for the sake of your sanity flashed in Steve’s eyes when he touched you.

Friends. Friends, friends, FRIENDS-

“See. All warm. And it will stay that way even without a hoodie. Take it. Please,” he added. And soon, a content smile appeared on his face, because he recognized the signs of you yielding.

A girl had to pick her battles. Arguing with Steve was not one of those which you had no chance at winning – it would be like trying to move a ton-worth block of concrete with bare hands. You had enough experience with that – fighting with Steve on the matter of your comfort, not moving concrete – and there was no winning. He respected your choices, yes, but he’d fastened straps of a parachute on you himself if it came to it, even if it meant he wouldn’t have one himself; he was a sweet hypocrite like that.

“Fine,” you sighed, smiling just a bit. “If you insist… thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

You would swear you heard at least three people mutter under their breath: I bet.

Thoroughly warm and comfortable despite the numerous miles in your feet and tens of pounds on your back, you trailed behind Hunter and Bobbi, who were fighting animatedly – and most lovingly – about which European brand beer was the finest. For a couple who had been married and divorced, once talking about each other in not so nice terms including Bobbi being called ‘a demonic hell-beast’, they sure appeared very much in love – but every bit professional when it counted. They were lucky to find each other again, that was for sure. It made one long for a love like that; explosive as they were, you wouldn’t shy away from calling them soulmates. They belonged with each other; they were lucky to have find one another.

As you tugged at the sleeves of the hoodie you were wearing, long to easily hide your palms, you wondered if you were being lucky or cursed on this trip so far. Tripping. Spilling sauce onto your clothes. Withstanding Hopkinson’s moody glares of which exactly one resembled a shred of compassion and only lasted until you put on the hoodie of the Captain America himself. And yet, surrounded by colleagues, friends and Steve, on a trip with a sun that had slowly begun its descent at your back, you had to count your blessings.

Lucky. You were luckier than most.

Daisy had joined you for a bit, walking side by side with you when the path allowed it, meaningless chatter altering with meaningful; a natural course of conversation between close friends who were together for a few hours with nothing else to do but take it step by step, literally, admire the nature and talk.

Steve had promised it would only take less than an hour and you’d make it to where you were supposed to set camp. He had fallen behind, walking with Natasha and Bucky, who, judging by his tone and Steve’s groans, roasted the team captain about something with Natasha’s occasional but effective help.

Now, about what you assumed was twenty to thirty minutes later, the last challenge of today’s journey awaited you; fording a river.

A rather cold river.

The weather was nice, sure, and you were having a good time; but the idea of warding through water reaching your thighs was not all that alluring.

But of course, Steve Rogers was the man with a plan.

Walking down the river and finding a relatively shallow section of the river with several large rocks, all you had to do was to step from one slightly slippery stone to another without face-planting or letting your heavy backpacks break your balance. Easy – or it should be for a group of athletic agents.

Yet, Bucky and Steve were discarding their shoes in a blink, rolling up their pant legs, ready to dip in and get wet so other wouldn’t.

Your heart skipped a startled beat, a lump growing in your throat, as you watched Steve regard his friend, already knee-deep in water, with the tinniest bit of hesitance.

Cold water. Cold water.

In the early June, the water couldn’t be colder than fifty, fifty-five degrees; but if the supersoldiers planned to stand there until all of you crossed the not-so-unsignificant distance while they’d assist, they would certainly feel it. And while history taught you both Steve and Bucky could clearly take the cold better than anyone, the idea of being the person knee-deep in the water was anything but pleasant.

Especially to someone who had already laid his life by diving a plane into icy waters of the North Atlantic.

Without a second thought, you left the line forming at the best crossing point, walking down the bank to crouch at Steve’s side.

He noticed your presence in an instant, snapping his head to you, an all-easy smile forming on his lips. As if you couldn’t see the brief flash of anxiety before he hid it. As if you couldn’t see his carotid pulsing wildly. As if he, the supposedly fearless man to all, could hide the one flicker of apprehension he allowed himself to feel from you.

“Are you sure about this, Steve?” you asked, voice as low as possible as not to attract attention.

As you met his gaze, understanding flashed in his eye. A silent conversation; he knew why you came to him, where your concern came from.

And in a very Steve Rogers fashion, he ignored it. He just gulped and squared his shoulders and rose to his feet, suddenly towering over you again.

“Of course I am.” Of course he was. “It will be much easier than all of us fording through.”

You sighed, looking at him pointedly as you swallowed your irritation – and worry. That was not what you were questioning and he knew it. And you weren’t questioning his dedication or his ability to help either; just the decision to put himself through discomfort anyone else could have taken upon themselves, when it meant more hardship for him than others.

“I know. It just… it can be literally anyone else-- hell, I can do it.”

You could. You’d warm up after soon enough, judging by the terrain awaiting you. It was a better option that him going in there to freeze his toes off at and bring him back to--

To prove your point, you reached for the backpack buckles on your belly to take it off.

Steve’s hand was on your forearm stopping you before you could undo a single one, squeezing.

As your head snapped back to his face, there was a little crack through the mask he had put on, showing just the slightest hint of anxiety now. But there was a fresh wave of warmth in his expression too; gratitude lit up the blue of his irises the way the sun lit up the summer skies, dreamy and sweet.

His thumb pressed into your forearm gently, stroking, reassuring. You felt the tension melt from your shoulders faster than a butter on the stove, something stirring deep inside your bones as you took a shaky inhale.

“Thank you, Lee, but I’ll be fine,” he said, one of his eyebrows arching, a little quirk to his lips. “And we don’t want to undo the work the hoodie has done on you.”

Right. The hoodie. His hoodie. Yes, you were very much aware you were still wearing it, while he remained in a t-shirt that was at least one size too small for him and did all things delightful for his already insanely impressive physique.

Not the point.

You opened you mouth to argue, only to be interrupted by a shout from behind you.

“Oi, punk! You gonna help or just stand there enjoying the view?”

As you both turned to Bucky, you could see him helping Agent May cross the river, already halfway through.

Steve let go of your forearm, smiling at you once more.

“At least take the hoodie,” you insisted. He shook his head, your mouth opening on empty, deeming your effort fruitless.

“I have a jacket if I want… don’t need the hoodie,” he assured you, his grin earning a glint of danger that made your stomach flip-flop funnily, the heat in your abdomen burning hotter. “Plus, it looks much better on you.”

With that, he set off, jogging towards the water, and leaving you stand there with cheeks exploding with heat.

Damn you, Steven Grant.

Shaking your head, you returned to the line, anxiously watching Steve climb down into water, a shudder running down his spine.

“Come on. I saved you a spot,” Daisy said, gesturing for you to stand in front of her, earning an eyeroll from Hopkinson who stood behind her. “Everything okay with you and Steve?”

The phrasing had your head snap up with a startle, heart speeding up.

“What?”

What did she mean by that?! You and Steve?

No. There was you. There was Steve. Two separate entities. Friends.

Checking up on each other. Wearing each other’s clothes. Typical friends.

You relaxed when all you found in Daisy’s gaze was genuine care and curiosity, no trace of implying anything. Right.

You smiled back. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

Hunter and Bobbi followed after May; then it was your turn. The sight of the river, while beautiful, got a little less pleasant as you stepped on the first stone, testing just how slippery the surface was. It wasn’t awful – you could handle that, even as you felt the extra load on your back disturbing your balance.

But hey – the worst that could happen was you taking a cold bath. Just another inconvenience, right?

Yet, you didn’t have to worry. You didn’t even make it to the second large stone when a familiar pair of warm hands wrapped around yours, offering a gentle but firm support.

You met Steve’s reassuring gaze, a message without words: I’ve got you. You’re safe with me.

You send one back, squeezing his hands: I know. You makeme feel safe. You okay?

A tiny nod on his part and then you were on your way, careful taking step after step, always testing the surface first, making sure your every move was secure before shifting your weight. From one to another, you made it halfway to the deepest part of the crossing without any issue, actually enjoying the little adventure – which had obviously nothing to do with Steve’s touch, because you were not at all disappointed to see Bucky heading back from the other side of the river where he had left Bobbi to take you off of Steve’s hands. Not at all.

You were just stepping on the next stone when you felt a sudden drop in weight on your shoulders and back, an embarrassing yelp erupting from your throat as you scrambled for balance.

A fleeing thought of this trip being cursed for you indeed flashed through your mind as you braced yourself for the impact into cold water despite still trying not to have it come to that.

And it didn’t.

A splash sounded next to you, a few drops cooling your ankle, but that was it; you stood tall and firm on the irregularly-shaped stone, a hot vice of a grip on your hips, your hands having found purchase on just as hot and solid surface nearby.

Steve’s hands securely holding your hips.

Your hands on his shoulders.

Attentive blue eyes looking up at yours to assure both you and himself that you were okay.

Your face heated up, but the rest of your body was set on fire; indecent images of a wholly different situation with Steve’s hands having a steel-like grip on your hips and his eyes boring into yours flooded your mind, a wildfire of visceral need spreading through every single cell of your body and lightning it up. Steve was all about touch. Steve was all about eye-contact. You knew with absolute certainty that he’d never once let his gaze wander from your face when he’d sheathed himself inside you, feasting his eyes, because he lived for capturing images of beauty and he was a giver, the pleasure of people he loved being his own--- and you wouldn’t dare to look away. Your eyes might flutter shut at the sensation of utter-

Forcing yourself to snap back into present – into reality –, looking everywhere but at Steve as your whole body burned, a floating object caught your eye behind Steve’s back. A dark prolonged object, neatly packed, carried away by the stream.

Your tent. The thing that had fallen into water and nearly knocked you off balance was your tent, slowly sinking lower and lower as it slowed down its path down the river.

Great. Really great.

You were fucked.

How did it even-

“I got it!” Bucky hollered, changing course, heading to retrieve what was supposed to be the roof over your head for the next three days.

He’d get it; you weren’t worried. It was fine.

And the tent would be fine too. It was in the waterproof case. It would--- it would be absolutely soaked, because it was sinking. The entirety of the tent had gone under water, including the protective layer that was meant to save you from rain should it come to it.

There was no cloud on the sky but you had a feeling there’d be water dripping on you all night anyway.

How could it have fallen off? You had secured it with the buckled straps to the bottom of your fairly new backpack, checking repeatedly – every time before you put the backpack on again – that it held.

Then again, maybe you hadn’t done that after the fiasco – and the lovely result of it – with your marinated clothes. So you might be cursed, but by your own fault, really-

A squeeze to your hips brought your attention back to Steve, making you realize you were still standing in the middle of the river, stalling.

“I’m sorry, moving on, moving on,” you babbled, only to have him still your movements, eyes scrutinizing your face.

“You okay?”

Funny you should ask.

“Are you?”

You reciprocated the scrutiny; eyes roaming his handsome features, you searched for any signs of discomfort – not from having to hold you, but from still soaking his legs in the cold water. All you found was a reassuring smile; and yet, you couldn’t but brush your thumb inconspicuously over Steve’s shoulder in an attempt at comfort, incidentally along the hem of his t-shirt. An emotion flashed in his irises, eyes darkening a fraction, the grip on your flesh turning almost bruising before he began to release it, taking one of your hands again and then the other. You licked your lips – and you’d swear Steve’s gaze flickered to your mouth at that – standing up straighter.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Bucky dropping your tent on the bank of the river.

“Thank you, Bucky!”

“No problem, dollface. Get moving though, my old knees aren’t built for this cold anymore,” he said, causing you to glare at Steve accusingly.

He had lied.

Of course he had fucking lied.

And he had the audacity to grin when you looked at him with accusatory and genuinely worried eyes.

“Let’s get you to the other side, shall we?”

“I packed your favourite snack, but I just decided I’m gonna eat it alone,” you threatened your vengeance for him for not being honest.

Steve feigned hurt so well you might as well believe it; but the hold on your hands remained gentle and secure as he helped you continue the path. “That’s cold, Lee.”

The corners of your lips quirked up.

“I know it’s cold. Now was it so hard to admit it?” you questioned as you beckoned to the water – causing Bucky to chuckle and Steve to deadpan when he instantly realized your trickery.

“You should be around more often, dollface,” Bucky said, approaching you and taking up on Steve’s task.

Steve just grunted and made his way to help Daisy. You felt your face heat up further at Bucky’s remark, grateful no one else could hear the exchange.

…were you though?

“I’ll take your words for it… and Steve?” He glanced at you over his shoulder, clearly not really offended. “Thank you for catching me.”

His smile, no matter how small, said it all and felt like the softest blanket to wrap around you on a cold winter morning; I’ll always catch you.

Always.

Just as you had expected, once you all made it through the river, you reached the camp spot in no time; and just as you had expected, your tent was a lost cause. You could build it, hoping it would dry out overnight at least bit, but actually sleeping in it was out of question unless you wanted to wake up soaked up and sneezing.

In a brief moment of self-pity you granted yourself, you planted your butt on the ground, laying the drenched parts of your tent next to you, taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it as you stared at the traitorous pieces of equipment, including the buckles that had been meant to hold the package to the backpack but had given out.

While everyone busied themselves with unpacking their temporary shelters as well – Natasha with Bucky, Bobbi with Hunter, May, Daisy and Hopkinson each on their own in the lightest and therefore smallest tents possible, Bobbi took note of your state, smiling compassionately.

“Are you okay? The water really did a number on that thing, huh?”

You reciprocated her smile wryly, no less grateful for her care.

“Yeah… But you know what? I win. Sleeping outside? I can stargaze. I’ll be fine,” you said, shrugging and rising to your feet to get to work. You could build the tent to have it dry out at least and wash your clothes in the lake you had settled at. “I’m just… gonna sleep by the fire under the open skies, in… borrowed, non-marinated clothes and with no sleeping bag, because with my luck, it’s probably full of bugs or itching powder or something. It’s fine. God knows I slept in conditions a lot worse than that.”

And wasn’t that the truth. You had slept in much better conditions too, but that was beside the point. You tried to summon the memories of horrible nights spent in damp clothes, freezing, teeth clattering so hard the sound made it impossible to fall asleep; unbearable heat, loud noises, even just annoying persistent chatter. Sleeping under the open skies was practically a blessing in comparison. A dream.

And you did not want to remember nights that had been very different, because that would only make you miserable at your predicament.

“Yeah, not on my watch,” Steve called out lowly, placing another hook in the ground, using his foot to step on it and dig it deeper. “Not when the solution is obvious.”

Your heart skipping a beat at the obvious solution, you barely had time to breathe in to respond when someone else did – in an extremely irritated manner.

“Seriously?! What, you gonna lend her your tent too?” Hopkinson spat, rising from where he had been crouching by his tent. “Maybe even keep her warm through the-“

Steve lunged his direction so fast you didn’t even have time to be offended by the implication.

But Bucky, the supersoldier he was, was much faster; his metal arm stopped Steve in his tracks, palm pressing against Steve’s chest before he could make the almost-breaking-Hopkinson’s-arm a pleasant memory for the man.

Still, Hopkinson had enough wit to shut up and step back hastily, raising his hands defensively. His face turned white as a sheet of paper; good. He had some brain left then, it seemed. How he had survived for so long you had no idea.

Gulping – and shamelessly satisfied at the fear in Hopkinson’s eyes, because Jesus he did not just say that, even as you had thought about exactly the same – you turned your gaze back to Steve and Bucky.

And something in your core exploded hot, a tug so violent and visceral it was almost painful.

If Steve had looked at Hopkinson like he could break his arm all those weeks back when he had made his stupid comment, now he looked like he could break every single bone in his body, snap the guy in half and enjoy it. And he’d enjoy doing it for you. To defend you.

Steve’s smile was always a beautiful sight and so was the softness he could look at you with at times; but the rage in his face now, the fire in his eyes, on your behalf, were nothing short of breathtaking.

Avenging angel indeed.

He might not be carrying a flaming sword, nor had his shield on his arm, but that made him no less menacing, no less divine; and no less beautiful.

“Do we have a problem, Agent Hopkinson?” Bucky asked calmly, despite the clear effort with which he was holding Steve back still, even as Steve visibly didn’t move a muscle.

You were barely moving at all too; your chest was heaving, the rest of your body strung tight with effort not to let show just how affected you were by Steve’s near literal white-knighting.

“No, sir,” Hopkinson saluted, nodding stiffly, before he scrambled to finish building his tent.

“Good.”

Few seconds of deafening silence was only interrupted by the scrape of shoes against ground as the camp slowly came back to life again. Bucky shot Steve a look before he let his metal arm down, watching Steve avert his still flaming gaze from Hopkinson with shoulders remaining squared; and so alluringly wide you just wanted to run your hands over them, just as breathless at the sensation as you were now-

“I mean, makes sense you’d share,” Daisy broke the silence, everyone visibly relaxing. “It looks like your tent is pretty big, eh?”

Your eyes went wide.

Loud cough erupted from Hunter’s direction as he spitted the water he had been drinking; Bobbi patted his shoulders, amusement clear on her face. Bucky’s face twisted in a questionable grimace; Natasha pursed her lips, seemingly one second from making a comment. May bit back a smirk; Hopkinson was only showing his back, but he clearly froze in his movements.

Steve just looked shocked – shocked enough to snap from the anger that had overtook him on your behalf.

You would think it would take Daisy a few seconds to realize how she had worded her statement, accidentally referring to a figurative ‘tent’ men grew in certain situations – but judging by her seemingly innocent smile and the sparkle in her eye, she knew exactly what she had implied. And she had done so on purpose and with delight.

She was right, however. Steve’s temporary dwelling was probably the biggest one at your site and it even included a vestibule, where all the equipment which was meant for everyone was to be stored. His tent had the most space for the reason he could put his backpack to the vestibule alone.

Steve cleared his throat, taking a few steps to you, a relaxed smile having found way back to his face.

“…are you comfortable with sharing a tent with me?”

You reciprocated his smile, shrugging, even as you had to work hard to swallow your amusement at Daisy’s comment. One that was very much on point.

Yes. You were very comfortable sharing a tent with him indeed. More than, actually, but not everyone needed to know that; and you could feel several knowing gazes on you as you answered as levelled as possibly.

“I mean… we have shared a room before for a mission. I’m fine… are you? Comfortable with that, that is?” you asked, perfectly polite, considerate and friendly, even as your heart was racing in your ribcage.

There was no reason for the racing heart though. Because this was okay for friends to do. Absolutely. If you having shared the room sometimes included sharing a bed, which had naturally resulted in cuddling, body heat searching body heat, no one needed to know – especially not Agent Asshole Hopkinson. What happened in a motel room stayed in a motel room. Always.

A cute crinkle appeared in Steve’s eye as he gave the answer you already knew.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t. Of course, it’s fine.”

More than, whispered his gaze, so you averted it and busied yourself with gathering the wet parts of your tent, clearing your throat.

“Good… that’s good. Thanks. I really appreciate it, Steve.”

“Any time, Lee.”

You could feel his gaze on you, the warmth of his smile like a soft blanket on your back. It was going to be a long, long night.

Part 2

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helen-with-an-a · 5 months

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You always have an excuse pt 2

Hi. So I got a request for a pt 2 of You Always Have An Excuse. This is a little angstier than I thought it was gonna go, but I really like it.

Barça Femeni x Reader

Part 1 : Part 2

Description: R realises what she's been missing out on

Word Count: 3k

After the final, when you had come clean about what was truly going on in your life. You hadn’t expected much to change. Why would you? You had once told a teacher, back when you were still in primary school, that your parents weren’t home much and that you hadn’t seen your mother in a few days. She had smiled and said that it was normal for parents to be working hard – it was how you could afford nice things – and she was sure you’d see your mother again soon.

When you landed back in Spain after the whirlwind of a weekend, you had pulled out your phone to order an Uber (you had decided to treat yourself rather than forcing all of your bags onto a very busy public bus and metro system) when a gentle hand came to rest on your shoulder.

“You’re on our way home; let me take you.” Ingrid smiled at you, sunglasses perched on her forehead, a very tired Mapí leaning heavily into her.

“No, it’s ok. I’ll just get an Uber,” you gestured with your phone.

“Mete tu culo en el auto.” Mapí grumbled, snatching your phone out of your hands and making her way to the car.

“Sorry, Søta, she can be a little grumpy when she’s tired. But she’s right. Go get in the car; I’ll bring your bags.” Ingrid chuckled, taking your bag from you without giving you much of a choice.

It felt nice being dropped off at your house rather than lugging your bags through the busy Barcelona streets. You waved goodbye to Ingrid and Mapí, thanking them profusely for their kindness and went inside, once again being met by a silent house.

“Mum?” you shouted out. “Dad?” You double-checked all the rooms after being met with complete silence. You checked the notepad they usually left by the kettle. They sometimes wrote notes for you, explaining where they were going and how long they were gone. Nothing. You checked the fridge—empty. You guessed they were going for a while, then.

You really wanted to just collapse on the sofa and let the events of the weekend catch up to you, but you had washing to do, and you really needed a shower. It was now that you really wanted a parent – someone to give you a massive hug, wrap you up in their warm, strong arms and kiss the top of your head, telling you how proud they were before guiding you into the bathroom as they stuck a towel in the dryer to warm up a little. But you didn't have that. Instead, you had an empty house, a mountain of sweaty clothes and an aching body. You hadn’t noticed the tears rolling steadily down your cheeks until you tasted salt.

This wasn’t you. You didn’t cry. You didn’t. You couldn’t. But after the final, you had experienced so many functional families that it truly showed you what you were missing. Alexia had brought you straight over to her Mami, where you were engulfed in one of the best hugs you’d ever received. She had kissed your forehead, telling you all about how well you had played and how you must come with Alexia for the next family meal. From there, you were passed to Ona’s family, then Keira’s, then Lucy’s. Almost every family had embraced you – squeezing you tightly as you melted into their arms. Was it a skill you developed when you became a mother that you automatically gave fantastic hugs? Maybe you were just so touch-deprived that you would relax into anyone who offered you a warm place to rest for a moment?

You were on autopilot as you went through the motions of getting ready for bed. You were methodical yet unthinking as you washed your body, hardly noticing the too-hot water and bruises littering your skin. You were going through the motions as you shoved your clothes into the wash – the dirty fabrics being shoved in without distinction. As you pulled on your pyjamas (really, it was a ratty old Manchester City shirt you had snuck from Lucy during her first season at Barça during an away match and a pair of La Masia shorts you think were Patri’s once upon a time), you longed for a hug. Something warm and comforting, but you had to settle with your bed. It was comfortable; the mattress was something you had forked out for when you received your first paycheck. The softness was something you usually welcomed – the high thread count sheets that cost you an exorbitant amount of money typically aided in your relaxation after a hard day at training. But today, they did nothing but highlight just how lonely you felt. You had been given a snippet of what you were missing, and you wanted … needed … more. The bed was too cold, the pillows were too soft, the room smelled like laundry and general cleanliness rather than comfort.

Your night was filled with tossing and turning – leaving you even more tired than when you had gone to bed. Just like last night, you were on autopilot. Turning off your alarm, having a shower, making a cup of coffee, eating a piece of toast – none of it you consciously did. You made your bed like you did every morning; you gave the house a quick once over – triple checking your parents hadn’t come home in the night; you sat down at the table, pulling out a piece of paper to make a grocery list when you heard a knock on the front door. You considered ignoring it – you weren’t expecting anyone. But it wasn’t going away. The banging got louder and more insistent the longer you left it.

“Sí, puedo ayudarte?” You said monotonously as you yanked the door out of your way.

“Cariño?” Alexia asked, concern seeping into her voice.

“Ale?” Your brows furrowed in confusion.

“Can I come in?” She asked, not really letting you answer as she pushed her way into your house. Alexia took your hand as she passed, the warm seeping into your bones, leaving a gentle tingle in its wake. You were dragged into the living room, Alexia pushing you to the sofa as she sat next to you, never letting go of your hand. “Your parents aren’t here, are they?” She phrased it as a question, but you knew she knew the answer. You sighed, shaking your head and shrugging your indifference.

“They’re never here; it’s no biggie.” You smiled meekly at her.

“No, that’s not true. It is a biggie. They should be here for you. You are a child; you need your parents. Parents give you hugs and tell you everything is ok. Parents tell you they’re proud of you. Parents don’t ignore their kid to the point where they don’t even know what sport they play, let alone that they have just won one of the biggest competitions in Europe.” She was ranting now. “Parents don’t leave the country without telling their kid. Parents look after their children.”

“Well, I’m not a child!” You shouted, interrupting her tirade. You also pulled your hand out of hers – ignoring the fact that every fibre of your being was screaming at you not to. Alexia looked at you, confusion evident in her expression. “I turned 18 last week.” You added quietly. That was a secret you had hoped not to spill. You hadn’t had to work too hard to hide your birthday; not even the Barça admins knew the day had passed. You made the mistake of looking at Alexia. You really, really wished you hadn’t. The hurt that flashed across her face did more to break your heart than anything your parents could (or couldn’t) do to you.

“We missed your birthday?” She asked so quietly you struggled to hear her.

“I didn’t tell anyone. You technically didn’t miss anything if you never knew.” You avoided her gaze, fingers coming together to fiddle nervously on your lap. Alexia stood up sharply, her unexpected movement drawing your attention once again.

“Stand up.” She instructed.

“What why?”

“Pack a bag, you’re coming home with me.” Her tone left no room for argument, yet you still tried to.

“Wha-why? No, I’m fine. It’s ok, honestly. It’s nothing. I promise I’m fine.” Your voice crack gave you away. You so desperately wanted to go with Alexia, to have her take care of things for you, to have her give you the warm hugs and soft smiles you had seen her give Vicky and Martina. You had always shied away from her contact, though, chalking it up to disliking physical contact. But now, after the weekend of hugs and kisses from loving families – you knew it was your subconscious protecting you from something you knew you wouldn’t receive regularly.

“Pequeña. This is not up for debate. Either you pack a bag and come with me, or I move in here with you. And I have a feeling that your parents, whenever they do return, would not want a 30-year-old woman living in their house uninvited.” She quirked an eyebrow at you, daring you to go against her again.

“I can’t,” you squeaked out.

“Why not?” Despite her firm voice, you could tell she wanted to figure out why you were so reluctant to leave this life behind. This was all you’d ever known. The isolation, the self-sufficiency, the hiding, and the lying. You didn’t know what would happen if you let yourself fall into Alexia’s open arms. What if she left again, too? There had been rumours swirling all over the internet. You couldn’t let yourself be attached to a singular person. It would hurt far too much if they left. You were fairly sure you wouldn’t be able to be fixed.

“I can’t,” you settled on instead of explaining the whole truth to her.

“Why not?” She asked again, the firmness gone as she saw your composure start to break.

“I …” The lump in your throat prevented you from speaking any more. You took some steadying breaths, willing yourself not to cry. Alexia crouched in front of you, ignoring the slight ache in her muscles as she ran her fingers up and down your bare thighs in soothing, repetitive motions. “If … if I let myself become too reliant on people … on you … and you don’t want me anymore … I think I might break.” You spoke so slowly, so softly, that Alexia had to strain to hear you.

“Oh, querida. No,” she surged forward, her strong arms wrapped around you, her warm scent invading your senses. "We will always want you. I will always want you.” She said so absolutely, and you had no choice but to believe her.

That was all you needed to hear for the dam to break. Tears bubbled over your carefully constructed walls. You sobbed and sobbed, her grip on you only getting tighter.

“But … wh … ho … I …” you blubbered, the tears getting more and more frantic.

“Shhhh, it’s ok, cariño. I’ve got you.” Her comforting words made you cry harder. You were limp as she rearranged the both of you, settling you against her chest as she sat back against the couch.

She let you sob into her chest for as long as you needed. She rocked you gently from side to side, her fingers scratching at your scalp as her heartbeat provided a soothing rhythm for you. Eventually, you calmed down, slowly drifting into a much-needed sleep.

Alexia could tell you weren’t at peace as she watched you sleep. Your eyebrows were scrunched, your mouth a firm line. Your fingers had wrapped themselves in her shirt so tightly she wondered if there would be a hole in the fabric whenever you eventually let go. She wished with her entire being that she could take your pain away. How could someone do this to their child? How could a parent look at their child and not want to love them the way they should be? How could anyone look at you and think you don’t deserve the world and more? If your parents weren’t going to be there for you, she certainly would be.

It was gone lunchtime when you finally woke. Alexia hadn’t moved an inch – it didn’t matter that her arms were sore or her legs had gone numb; you were comfortable, and that was all that mattered.

“Ale?” You croaked, your voice hoarse from crying.

“Sí, cariño?” She hummed, her thumb running gently over your cheekbone.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t …” you flustered a little, scared of her reaction after you had finally broken down on her.

“Hey, no … shhh. Está bien. Estás bien.” She rocked you again, much like a mother would rock her upset child. It was slightly awkward, given your size – but it was nonetheless comforting. “I still want you to pack a bag,” Alexia said, pushing some hair off your face. “You don’t have to come with me,” she added quickly, sensing your reluctance. “But I don’t want you here alone.” You sighed, knowing there was no way you would negotiate your way out of this one. “You could go to Keira’s, but she can’t cook very well, or Ona’s...” she mused "although you might have to put up with Lucy,” she added in a conspiratorial whisper. This made you laugh, a loud, weird huff that brought a similar smile to Alexia’s face. “I haven’t told anyone what you told us at the final. That is your information to share as, and when, you want to.” She implored. “But Mapí and Ingrid will take you in, no questions asked. As would Marta and Caro, Paños, Irene … any one of the girls will take you in. I promise.” You readjusted yourself, drawing back from Alexia’s chest in order to look at her. This was a conversation that needed to happen face-to-face.

“Is it … can I … stay with you?” You asked nervously.

“Absolutamente.” Her hand reached out for yours, her grip so tight it almost hurt.

“What about Olga?” You were reluctant to impose yourself on another adult’s life when they might not want you there.

“She already loves you, and she’s technically only met you, what? Twice?” She teased, her head dipping down to catch your eye. “She wants you there as much as I do. Prometo.” You took a deep breath, allowing yourself to feel the warmth of Alexia’s skin permeating into yours.

“Ok,” you breathed out, watching Alexia’s mouth spread into a wide, genuine smile you didn’t see too often.

------

Moving in with Alexia was the best thing to have ever happened to you. Long gone were the days of rushing for the metro and figuring out where your next meal would come from. Olga had embraced you with open arms – greeting both you and Alexia with identical hugs, forehead kisses and cups of tea as you made your way into the kitchen after a long day at training. Alexia had dragged you along to her family meal; her Mami was insistent on making sure you were well-fed and looked after properly. Alba had smacked Alexia around the head for not bringing you sooner but offered you a warm smile and asked about your week.

Ona had been informed of your situation that afternoon. She quickly showed up with a bag piled high with sweets that definitely broke your diet and demanded to know the Netflix password as she settled down on the sofa, bringing her arm around your shoulder and whispering a promise not too dissimilar to Alexia’s.

Keira had hung around after training one afternoon, offering a tight hug before telling you that her spare room was always open, and you just had to ask, and Narla would be all yours for however long you wanted her. That made you laugh, especially after hearing Lucy’s indignant ‘Oi’ from the showers as she heard Keira’s promise.

Eventually, you did tell the rest of the team about your parents. Jona was the first to know officially. As manager, he needed to know the situation as soon as possible. Alexia had been by your side the whole time, her hand in yours, and she sat with you, stepping in to explain things now and then when she sensed you were becoming overwhelmed. Mapí had wanted to kill your parents – threatening murder and retribution on them for doing this to her ‘niña preciosa’. Ingrid had been just as angry, although she had the forethought to contain her anger. She had pressed a long kiss to the top of your head as she engulfed you in a hug, insisting you come round once a week for a movie night and sleepover.

Slowly, you learned that it was good to rely on people. That it was ok to need help and have that safety net below you. The heartbreak you felt when you thought about your parents would probably always be there, but you learned that you didn’t need them. You had the team … and even if they left and moved away, they would always be there for you. They were one phone call, one plane, train, or car journey away.

Your biological family might have been shite … but you didn’t need them. You had your found family.

I hope you enjoyed it <3<3<3<3

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trashmouth-richie · 2 months

Text

vitiosus + deliciosus [vicious + delicious🥀] || pt 2 of dulcis ut rosa

emperor geta x reader || things progress for geta + his little gnat || 4k

18+ smut, oral: female receiving, choking, slapping, biting, spanking

pt 1: dulcis ut rosa m🥀 || pt 1 ½: dulex🥀 || pt iii frangere me

You didn’t know what was to come of you after tonight’s rendezvous in Geta’s chambers. You could hardly sleep, your body sore in places you didn’t think were possible, but not in a discomforting way.

The pain was more of an ache, a pulsating want for the time spent in his bed. You daydreamed of his strong hands pressing bruises into your hips, of his mouth hot and wet all over your skin, the bitter tang of your own blood on his lips as he licked the bites better.

Geta was a force to be reckoned with. Dominating both outside and inside of his chambers. All of Rome feared him. A flutter filled your stomach at the mere thought of those dark eyes seamlessly devouring you when you worked up enough courage to look into them. No, you wouldn’t sleep at all tonight.

—

Caracalla carried on the next day pretending the previous night hadn’t happened. As if his miniscule brain shut out what he had done, carrying on with the daily run of nonsense. He smiled like a gleeful infant who had just discovered his toes at the first meal of the day. Gnawing on ripened fruit and leftover pork, he looked like a wild animal.

As if he had vanished with the night, Geta was nowhere to be seen.

During prandium, you asked a woman from your village as casually as you could manage if she had seen the missing Emperor.

Prisca turned up her nose at your question, questioning why you so desperately needed to know. Replying with a tone that matched her own, you very carefully articulated how Caracalla had asked you to find out. Ending the conversation with a clipped lip, reminding Prisca of your status to the Emperors, and hers with the lowest of soldiers ones missing limbs and their gift of sight.

Geta didn’t show for any of the day's events, giving Caracalla a taste of running the empire solo, a smear of greed on his protruding crooked nose. You were the only one to notice his absence and if the entire palace didn’t seem to take note, you’d act the same. Deciding to leave it alone, remembering the virtue in patience, you’d wait until tonight to catch his eyes in yours once again.

The sun seemed to taunt you all day with its beautiful rays, staying longer than it had the day before, never quite ready to go to sleep. The shimmering heat laughing at your dismay as you waited for the moon's powdery face to finally clock in for her shift.

You could hardly stand being in Caracalla’s arms as he held you close to him, his breath stinking of an ungodly amount of wine, making you promise that you would never leave Palatine Hill. Pleading that you’d stay with him forever until his dying day. Agreeing like a dutiful servant, you hoped and prayed that that day would come sooner than later.

—

Geta couldn’t pull himself out of bed the next day. Palace servants came and went, offering to move the drapes, karting in mountainous plates of food, but he had refused everything. Only barking orders to bring as much wine as they could carry.

Drowning himself in rivers of wine, he couldn’t remember a single time since infancy that he felt completely worthless. He was an Emperor for fucks sake. Others may succumb to feelings but not him, never him.

Maidens fell at his feet, begging for his attention. He called the shots, fucked them stupid then tossed them away like scraps. Not once had he let any of them get to a place inside of himself he couldn’t pinpoint.

He couldn’t get away from you. Your scent surrounded him, the jasmine perfume of your hair lingered on his sheets. A subtle hint of sugary sweet honey was still on his skin. He hated himself.

Loathed the love sick pup he had become in the twilight hours as he gazed at the ceiling, still tasting your core on his lips, his rings sticky and coated with it. Unwilling to remove them in fear that the tiny bit that belonged to you, created by him, would wipe away.

His hair was still askew in the same fashion you had rung it around your fingers. Cock hard again remembering the way your body felt in his hands, how that sweet little cunt gripped him tighter than anyone before.

The sheets blushed a crimson that neither of you had noticed that broke from your body. He smirked at the thought of his brother unable to make an untouched woman bleed. Clearly he was less than endowed, his size comparable to that of a dangling beetle.

Geta laid in the stains from the two of you, a complete and utter mess of a man unable to forget the sweet little gnat. No longer buzzing in his ear, but pulling at his mind, suffocating every other thought. The gnat wormed her way down into the cavity of his chest, laying against the pinky ventricles cozying up to the dying organ, coaxing it back to life.

“Cupid’s fool,” he spoke aloud then, as if he confirmed it to nobody but himself, “body and soul.” A small smirk on his lips as his feet swung from his bed heading to the bathing room to wash himself before the moon peaked in the onyx painted sky, and he met you in that corner corridor.

—

You traced the stones down the hall as you walked until the pads of your finger went numb. After not seeing or hearing from Geta all day, you questioned your sanity as you approached your typical spot as you always did night after night for months. Would he even show?

Caracalla was exceptionally gleeful this evening, an odd thing considering most of the time he cried like an infant throwing tantrums like a toddler.

Your heart raced at the possibility of seeing Geta. You’d never taken into account how handsome he was, and now without seeing him for a full day, you found yourself almost missing catching glimpses of him.

He had two looks that he offered to everyone else. Either sheer and utter boredom, fiddling with his rings in a lazy fashion— or his eyes narrowed into slits, nostrils flared and a twitch kissing the corner of his eyelid, that permanent scowl rising on his top lip.

When he entered a room, he demanded attention in just his body language, shoulders square and broad, chin held high and his jaw tight. Generals rose for him, servants leapt out of the way to avoid him until needed. He was a brute of the highest power.

But in the months of meeting him in the darkness, you had gotten to know how Geta operated. What made him tick, the fatigue wearing on his face after stressful days. The crease between his brows when you told him of Caracalla’s movements—studying, brooding.

It gave you a sense of power knowing that you were seeked out by him. Even if only for information and a wet mouth, you could feel it emanating from him to you when he came. It started roughly. But lately it was almost as if it could be intimate at times. And you weren’t sure what that meant. Either way— with Geta, you knew you were safe.

Darkness enveloped you on your blind approach to the infamous corridor. For a second, you thought possibly you were lost, somehow turned around until you heard a throat clear, and the handsome Emperor appeared before you, having been blocking the open window from view.

“Emperor, my apologies for keeping you waiting,” your lips fumbling as you bowed before him at the waist.

A chuckle rumbled from Geta, “you aren’t late, I am simply early,” he said, scratching at his chin, “I’ve been roaming around since the light left.”

“Oh?”

He simply nodded then, twirling a ruby ring around his finger, “…I have received word that Caracalla is becoming more and more delusional. He has increased his staff, begging our mother to supply a general outside of his door while he sleeps— you’ve probably noticed Acacius following him, yes?”

The ruggedly handsome salt and pepper haired soldier flanked the aforementioned Emperor all day, but you never gave it another thought— your mind busy on Geta’s whereabouts.

“I haven’t trusted my brother since we were young boys using sticks as swords, and the older he gets the more his brain stays in our childhood.” He spoke softly then, “it is only a matter of time before your movements after leaving his chambers are tracked… and I can’t have that. This will be our last meeting.”

You nearly shouted in his face, telling him that these nights were the only thing worth being stolen away from your village. Months you have done this and now it is gone because he was… worried? About Caracalla finding out?

Geta pushed off from the wall, standing with his usual confidence—his jaw tight, a strange look on his face. “What Caracalla does not know— is that Acacius has been loyal to me for years, and has been providing me with information about him for nearly as long.”

Your eyebrows crease as you try to unravel the thread he’s woven, and a small smile ticks at the corner of his lips as realization spreads across your face. Mischievous Geta, always a step ahead.

“Join me?”

—

Geta was approached by Acacius when leaving his chambers this evening.

“Emperor,” Acacius announced, bowing his head in honor, “I’m sorry to disturb you so late.”

Geta pulled his chamber door shut waving his hand in dismissal, “nonsense General, whatever it is it must be important for you to seek me out, what is it?”

“This is not easy for me to say.. I feel like a traitor to you. to these walls—”

“Out with it,” Geta pressed, irritated.

“It’s Emperor Caracalla… your excellency, I have been summoned to be posted outside his quarters and provide security for him during the daylight hours.”

Geta rubbed at his chin, a twitch in his eye, “I know you’re not one to joke on a serious matter Acacius, however this seems quite juvenile, even for my brother.”

“I assure you, he has been increasingly suspicious over the last few months, ever since that travel wagon arrived with the Virgines from Valleventus.”

Acacius gave Geta a knowing look, one to convey that he knew what happened in these walls at night once Caracalla’s whore left his chambers.

Geta smiled then, unable to hide it, his face relaxing as he clapped the General on the shoulder, “you are a great confidant, Acacius— I will take this into great consideration.”

—

The two of you strolled the corridors in silence, his knuckles grazing yours, your heart pumping wildly in your chest. You were certain that if the two of you were caught you’d be killed on sight, tossed in a deep grave without a second thought. But with Geta… you couldn’t find yourself to care about any of that. Did he?

You knew you were walking a thin line, and it got thinner the more time you spent with him. But if he was willing to walk it as well, you’d risk it… same as he was

After a few minutes, you broke the silence, “may I…ask you something?”

Geta tilted his head towards you, “yes.”

All day he had been gone, and your curiosity finally got the better of you. “Where were you?”

He smirks and your insides melt, “were you looking for me, little dulex?”

You turn away from his gaze, fumbling with a loose thread on your tolsa, “n-no. Caracalla had asked me.”

A laugh bubbles from his chest, “I am not fond of being lied to, try again.”

Sweat drips from your hairline, “He…well, he inquired about it...”

“Ah, so you were only wondering about my whereabouts when Caracalla finally noticed I was missing?”

“Yes.”

He stopped before a large set of doors and pushed them open revealing a large room, suffocated by darkness. You felt him leave your side to cross the room, and suddenly it illuminated by a candle he had lit. Gently tipping the flame into a massive candelabra, each wick of the candle igniting like a little orb, throwing shadows across the room.

It was one of the many rooms you’d never seen before.

A single staircase wove upwards with great iron detailing to a room above, a desk as large as a wagon was centered in the room, pictures of faces you didn’t recognize flanked the walls, the floors were spread of mosaic tiles: shaped and colored to resemble a salmon colored sunset. An open area let in a small breeze that trickled out into a luscious garden where a fountain could be heard bubbling, brought in by the wind. Luxurious armchairs were tucked into corners.

This room shared the same color of draperies as a room you’ve only been to once before. The dark hues set a mood that belonged to one singular man. This was a private area that even the highest generals weren’t even allowed in. Geta’s study.

He came back towards you, grasping your wrist, his thumb pressing into your beating pulse, his eyes lit like a roaring fire, “last chance, to be honest, were you the one looking for me?”

Hesitating with your breath caught in your throat, you peered into Geta’s seemingly soulless eyes, whispering, “yes,” as a heat rose on your cheeks.

A smirk pulls on his lip, and a dimple you’ve never seen appears, “oh, my puella dulcis,” he purred, shaking his head, those dark eyes hungry as he looked you up and down, “you’re in trouble.”

He pulled you to him, his large hands on your waist leading you further into the room as he walked backwards. “Do you know the pure agony you’ve put me through?”

“Me?”

Geta nods, pushing the straps of your tolsa away from your shoulders, admiring the marks he had left on your skin.

“Yes. You.” he says, rubbing the column of your throat with his thumb. “It is nefarious the hold you have over me. I’ve never felt anything like it. Death would be easier on me. A sword between my ribs to puncture my lungs, the festering boils from a plague, an arrow through my eye— anything and everything would be better than what you do to me.”

His hand clasps tight around your neck, the gasp you let out trapped in your throat.

“So, what am I to do with you? What am I to do with someone who keeps causing me this much trouble? Who risks herself being caught by seeking me out? Who is, dare I say, worried about my well-being?”

He slides his hand up and down the length of your neck, his other stroking your cheek resting his thumb on the crease of your lips.

“I punish my soldiers for much less, and as any great warrior, I shall be fair by keeping all of my subjects to the highest of standards, you unfortunately, are not exempt.”

One minute you’re standing in front of him the next you’re being yanked by your wrist as he stomps towards one of the large chaise lounges, he sits abruptly and pulls you into his lap. He’s hard, the feel of his erection making you whine pathetically.

He holds you by your hips and twists you around, until your face is level with the ground, your ass resting over his knees.

The sound of unbinding thread pops in your ears as Geta rips your tolsa away from you, leaving you bare, your ass on display like a holiday feast.

“I’ve never gazed upon an ass as round and fat as yours, and believe me when I say this my puella dulcis, I will thoroughly enjoy watching it burn in scarlet as it bounces beneath my hand.”

You don’t have a second to comprehend his words before a large ringed hand is slapped hard across your backside, causing you to shriek in surprise and pain.

“Fuck,” Geta spit, “we’ve barely just begun, you should be pissing with glee that I don’t keep my horse whip in my study.” Two more licks rip out and you moan.

He laughs wickedly, his sultry voice shushing you as he rubs his hand over the globe of your ass. “Enjoying this are you? I’ve heard stories from soldiers and even my own father about the whores during their time, how they begged, fucking pleaded to be hit on the ass by a man.”

Geta slaps his hand down hard more and more until you’d lost count. That same scorching feeling in your lower belly and the wetness between your legs just like last night came back, and you moaned.

Humming between your lips, you relished in the ache in your back as you tried to hold yourself up. Trying to wiggle forward so maybe his hand would slip and miss your ass but touch down where you needed him most.

But you didn’t need to ask, Geta laughed through his nose before slipping his thumb through your wet cunt, groaning at the heat of your arousal on his fingers again.

“What a tight fucking cunt you have,” he grunted before rubbing your clit, “ filtjy girl—looks like those legends were true, weren’t they?”

“Please,” you begged, trying to swallow his fingers with your dripping pussy.

Your small pleads tore through him, his cock answering with a twitch as it leaked. He brought you up your throat, holding you in place and moving your hips along the stiff ridge of his length.

Geta sunk his teeth into your bare shoulder as you moaned, “can you feel what you do to me?” he whispered, “the torture you put me through, the hours I spend like this with nothing but you trapped in my head. It’s murderous.”

Purring his name he groans, licking sweat from your neck. “I haven’t had a single hour since the first night we met without having this happening without needing to release myself. Do you think I can be a leader to my people with such indecency? As if I’m a young boy discovering his own body and the feel of his hand again. You’re a snake, filled with poisonous venom to come here and kill me.”

He rips your clothes completely off, wiggling his middle finger against your clit, praising the gods at the angel like whine that whispers from your lips.

“… and like the gnat, the snake has bit me, feasting upon my flesh, constantly hungry. But it is I who is left hungry by your tormenting ways,” he whispers in your ear, licking the shell of it, “and right now, I’m starving.”

Geta hoists you up in his arms, kissing your neck and squeezing your skin wherever he can reach as he walks to the enormous desk full of scrolls. With one mighty hand holding you, he swipes the desk clean, tossing everything that was once organized onto the floor.

He lays you down on the wooden top, your bare back riddling with goosebumps from the cool hard surface. Looking up at him this was the first you’ve seen his face since first entering his study.

His eyes were black, wide and wild, the candle light throwing shadows onto his face making him look monstrous. Like a creature straight from the dark world, one from a story told to children at night to scare them enough to not leave their beds.

Anyone else would run at the sight of such a man. Scream and claw their way from him, but not you. You simply opened your knees wider, showing the dripping wetness to him, what he did to you.

Geta simply watched. Watched and breathed heavily like a predator before leaping to attack his prey. He stared as you sucked a finger into your mouth, he almost flatlined as you brought that spit soaked finger down the length of your body, your nipples pebbling.

He swore he met death when you slipped that glorious finger into your cunt, and gently pumped it in and out.

“This,” you murmured weakly, unable to contain your moans, “is what you do to me.”

He groaned, practically drooling at you laid out before him. You tipped your head back as a small gasp rippled through you. Lifting your shoulders from the desk you looked him in the eyes, “I guess we are both demented, enjoying the torture from eachother.”

“I didn’t want to admit it,” Geta blurted, his dark eyes piercing the night, scaring away the shadows. “All day I wrestled with it, how you could make me quiver like a lovesick boy. I turned away meals, laying in the darkness, surrounded by your bewitching scent.”

“If you’re so hungry,” you whisper seductively, opening your legs wider, your arousal shining in the candlelight as you remove your fingers from inside of yourself, “then by all means, eat.”

Geta didn’t wait another second before pulling you forward by the crook of knees, your welted red ass skirting across the desk. You giggled as he feverishly lowered himself and held your thighs wide, “keep these open for me.”

His tongue was like an eel.

Geta flicked his tongue at a dangerous pace against your clit, groaning into your sex as you whined his name again and again. His licked and sucked your cunt as ravenous as a truly starved man, his moans vibrating your walls, sending your nerve endings into a liquid fired frenzy.

You’d never experienced anyone’s tongue between your legs, but this was better than anything you’d ever imagined, nothing compared to the way your body electrified beneath his hands, his mouth.

Geta’s nose rubbed against your clit as he lapped up your arousal. The burn in your belly seared and unraveled as you screamed out his name, your body rigid and then uncoiling as your muscles spasmed and quaked.

Your hands wrapped in a death grip in his hair, holding him tight to your pussy as you came, Geta encouraging you through the pleasure.

“Fuck, look at you,” he said, admiring the way you leaked and dripped on his desk, “taste so fucking good, this cunt belongs to me,” he breathed.

It was lust and vicious desire emanating from him as he spoke. and you melted at the desperate way you craved him. Grabbing him by the nape of his neck you pressed your lips to his, tasting your arousal on his tongue, you felt drunk

He hauled your weak body up in his arms, murmuring something about wobbly legs. Geta kissed your forehead as he climbed the spiral steps that lead straight into his chambers. His bed was made, but the smell of sex was still lingering from the night before.

Geta laid you down on his massive bed, careful of the marks on your backside from his hand. You watched as he undressed, his arms showing protruding veins like a river in the fallen snow. A deep scar you didn’t recognize before on his torso, identical to the one on his neck. His eyes seemed to look softer, a deep honey simmering, catching the light.

When he spoke it wasn’t with malice it was with truth, “you are mine. Understand? Not Caracalla’s, not anyone else’s, I will slaughter any man who challenges that.”

Your heart races as you stare at him, rising to your knees in front of him, “promise?”

“Meus amor,” Geta speaks, holding your chin with his finger, “that is my veritas, I give you my word.”

You stroked his hair as you pulled him down to the bed on top of you. Pressing his curls back into an unruly position, you admire the handsome Emperor. Your Emperor.

Pressing your lips to his, you pull him deeper, swirling your tongue with his in a frenzied tango. His hips respond to your open legs and his cock slides in with ease, fitting like a sword in a sheath.

“You are a wicked one, my dulcis.” Geta pants in your ear as his hips pick up a butchering rhythm. Your combined breathing is ragged, choked and gasping.

Biting his ear he hisses, but you lick it better, the same as he did to you last night, only a drop of his blood on your tongue as you whisper, “then we are one in the same, destinatum ease, destined to be.”

With that he flips you both over, guiding your hips up and down, forward and back as helps you ride his cock. When you both cum it’s loud, skin slapping skin, your arousal pooling around his cock, his fucked deep inside of you.

Laying in the sweaty, sin stained sheets, you twirl a finger in Geta’s hair, his head laying on your bare chest between your tits, his hand holding your ribs. “Tomorrow I will have the servants change the sheets while I bathe you in my private pool.”

“Is my Geta turning sweet?” you tease, “what will Rome think?”

Turning his head those ravenous eyes were painted in the midnight onyx that they usually were, returning with mischief laced in the irises, a devilish smirk on his lips.

He moved like a serpent, biting your right nipple between his teeth and tugging, causing you to squeal in a pleasured pain that is snuffed out by his large hand around your throat.

“Do not be fooled pretty girl,” the villainous flames flickered again in his eyes, a feral twitch on his lips that made you wet between your legs, “malevolence coats my veins thicker than blood.”

—

latin translation:

vitiosus + deliciosus — vicious + delicious

prandium— lunch

puella dulcis— sweet girl

meus amor— my love

veritas— truth

destinatum ease— destined to be

☻ taglist: @joejoequinnquinn @fallout-girl219 @hellfireadmin @all-will-be-well-love @anythinggoesemily

@eddiesguitarskills @prestinalove @palomahasenteredthechat @wiltinglovers @razzeith

@workingwndrz @probablyin-bed @songforeddiemunson @avobabe87 @creative1writings

@liminalpebble @screaming-blue-bagel @spookyquinnbie @thewondernanazombie

#emperor geta x you #emperor geta x reader smut #emperor geta smut #geta x you #emperor geta x reader #emperor geta fanfic #geta fanfic #gladiator 2 fanfiction #joseph quinn

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thisblogisaboutabook · 3 months

Text

Baby Mine - Part 2

I Don’t Dance

Azriel x Step-Daughter/Daughter, Azriel x Reader (his mate) - fluff and parenting - family dynamics

This can be read as a stand-alone if you imagine a situation where Azriel and Rhys are in a healthy co-parenting relationship. Rhysand is the biological father but Azriel is mated to the mother and, with her, raises their daughter as his own. I highly suggest reading Baby, Mine for their story though.

Baby, Mine - Part 1

I'll never settle down, that’s what I always thought

Black hair, hazel eyes, a smile that turned his heart to mush. Entering the room, her little hand gripped her mothers. Her eyes shone brightly, taking in the splendor of the grand room. Sure, she’d been in the House of Wind countless times but Starfall was always spectacular.

His daughter. Not by blood, but by heart and soul. Six years old and the most precious thing he’d ever beheld. Equally tied with the babe nestled in his arms at the moment, little wings tucked in tightly as he snoozed.

They’d thought this one would be a girl. Six-year old Azure (Azzie, for short) was certain that she would have a little sister but was completely enamored with her little brother from the first moment she lay her eyes on him. She’d almost forgotten about her wish to have a little sister, that is until the slight swell of her mother’s stomach recently appeared and she found she was going to have another little sibling to dote on.

Gods, Azriel was a lucky male. His mate, his children, the love and joy they brought into his world would never be lost on him.

“Daddy!” Azzie shrieked, barreling for him. Her little legs bounding through the room as quickly as they could carry her. She looked lovely, wearing a cobalt blue tulle dress that flared at the waist and shimmered throughout the skirts. And his mate, her dress was the cobalt blue equivalent, except it hugged her body all the way to the floor with a slight flare as it met her knees, the peek-a-boo fabric forming a deep “V” at her chest. At one point, the cleavage would have had his cheeks warming into a blush, but now they reddened as it pointed right to where their newest little love was growing.

“You look beautiful, little star.” Azriel crooned, kneeling down as his daughter flung herself into an extended arm, careful to keep the sleeping babe tucked in tight to his other. Her scent so familiar to him that sometimes he forgot that it was a combination of Rhysand and his mate’s and not his own.

It never bothered him though. While the dynamic was peculiar, it worked. He loved Rhys, Feyre, and Nyx as his own family. Rhys always respected Azriel’s decisions when it came to Azzie, while still loving her unconditionally.

Azriel looked to find Y/N’s eyes twinkling as she took in the three of them, love flowing freely into him through the bond. Her hand settled on the swell of her abdomen. He couldn’t believe they were fortunate enough to have gotten pregnant again so soon, though it was perhaps less of luck and more of his lovely wife’s nymph heritage. But to him - it felt pretty damn lucky.

It was then that the babe started to fuss.

“My sweet little Illyrian baby.” Y/N cooed, extending her arms, as Azriel carefully handed their son over. The babe instantly snuggled into his mother’s warmth, his cherub face turning toward her fabric covered breast, rooting for milk. With a soft smile and a playful roll of her eyes, she excused herself and the baby, heading down a quiet corridor where she could nurse him in peace.

I don’t dance but here I am, spinning you around and around in circles.

Azriel looked down to find Azure looking up at him in question. A familiar tempo filled his ears, the soft melody reminding him of days past. He looked down at his daughter, marveling over how much she’d grown over these years. He’d spent over five-hundred years in this world, lost but finding solace in his found family and then Rhys brought home Y/N from under the mountain, turning fifty years of peril into the most bittersweet blessing of his immortal lifespan.

There she had been, his mate, carrying his brother’s child - and he didn’t give a damn about blood. Azure and Y/N were his to cherish and love. And the added element of Rhys? It only solidified that his found family, was his true family.

It’s not my style but I don’t care, I’d do anything with you anywhere.

Y/N sat in a quiet room at the house of wind, the babe was almost asleep, he’d just needed her warmth and comfort to soothe him. She relished this moment, because though her breast was an instant pacifier, Azriel was typically the one to settle the children. The hum of his shadows and his presence, somehow iron-strong and yet, warm and safe, a beacon of comfort.

Tonight, she was the one to comfort the baby and she made certain to relish the moment, these days were fleeting, passing far too quickly for her liking. She needed to wean him, was in the process of it, but she had to admit that it felt nice to be needed.

Seated on a plush ottoman, she leaned her head back against the wall, closing her eyes as visions of Azriel, of their family danced through her mind. Azriel, her best friend, her strength, her sword, her shield, her everything. The protector of peace and love in their family. She hoped he knew how much he meant to them. She needed to remind him. She would tonight. He’d been her rock through everything. Not everyone would have taken to their mate carrying the child of another with such acceptance and devotion, yet her Shadowsinger had taken it all in stride. He’d never been jealous of her friendship with Rhys, he’d never belittled her for her past, he loved her through and through. He was the glue that held them together.

When Azzie was born Rhys came by the house with gifts and sweet praises, but it was Azriel who had held Y/N’s hand through each hour of grueling labor, through each painstaking contraction, each bitter curse through the pain.

When Azzie broke her arm at the park in Velaris, it was Rhys who took her for ice cream to lift her spirits. It was Azriel who had gently washed off the dirt and the tears from her eyes, spirited her to Madja’s without a second thought, and it was Azriel who rocked her until she fell asleep, spending the night on her floor in case the pain woke her up.

When a kindergarten bully made fun of her wings, Rhys reminded her how beautiful and strong she was. It was Azriel who decided then to stop holding back on teaching her to fly. They spent all weekend working on wing extensions and proper maneuvers for lifting off the ground.

And his girl? She was a natural. Azure quickly realized that her wings were a gift, she’d heard the song of the wind and how it called for her. She hadn’t viewed any snide comments as a slight since.

Y/N’s heart swelled at the thought of her mate and the life they’d built together.

You took my two left feet and danced away with my heart.

Azure looked up to Azriel. “Daddy, it’s my favorite song.” A smile curved his lips. A heartwarming memory of humming the same melody to her when she was the same age as her baby brother came to mind. He’d held her to his chest, allowing Y/N the much needed rest she deserved after weeks of colic-ridden nights. Poor Azzie had struggled so much, and Y/N had been so overtired, she’d tried so hard. In the end it was his shadows, the same shadows that soothed him during the hardest nights of his childhood, that began to hum the melody. He hummed along with them and Azure was out in moments.

That was his first dance with his daughter.

I don’t dance but here I am.

He’d never been one for dancing. He’d of course learned what he needed to for courtly affairs, it’d taken Mor 400 years to get him to go out to Ritas, he’d danced with Nesta once in the Hewn City to save Cassian’s ass after an impulsive move. He’d danced with Y/N in front of the fire in their living room on several occasions, and every Starfall since. Until his girls, he’d never felt the need to dance before an audience, but he’d do anything for them. Hell, he may have been a bastard for it but he even took an infinitesimal amount of pride in the world seeing that the stone-cold Shadowsinger was more than just a weapon, he was more than capable of love and, after much patience and understanding from Y/N, knew he was worthy of being loved in return.

So, Azriel took Azzie’s hand and let her lead him to the dance floor. He got lost in the music, the feel of her small hands holding onto his much larger, scarred one. She didn’t see the blood they’d elicited, the internal scars that haunted him, she saw the loving hands of her father that held hers when she needed comfort. She saw the gentle male at his core, the same gentle male that her mother had fallen in love with, that he’d found a life of bliss with.

I’d do anything with you anywhere.

“Dad?” A female’s voice stirred Azriel from his sleep. He opened his eyes to find a strong, confident raven-haired angel before him. His daughter. How fast life had gone.

“It didn’t take THAT long to curl my hair.” She snickered.

“Cut me some slack, Azzie, I’m six-hundred years old and your mother was up fretting over today’s details all night.”

A soft smile curled her rosy lips. It was so similar to Rhys’ but those hazel eyes of hers, gods, they still shone just as brightly as they did the day she was born. His eyes. A gift Y/N swore was granted from the mother herself, Azriel was inclined to agree.

Azure stepped forward, brushing an out of place lock from his forehead. “You ready?”

Azriel huffed a sound that fell somewhere in the range of chuckle and exasperation. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Striding arm and arm out the door, they walked in companionable silence down the hall of the temple. His little girl had grown so fast and today he’d hand her over to her own mate. The moments blurred as they met up with Rhys at the doors to the main hall of the temple, his violet eyes misty, much like Azriel’s.

You’ve got me in the palm of your hand.

The males escorted her down the aisle, reveled in the vibrant smile she flashed to her mate, the words of love and adoration they shared. Azriel only grieved how quickly time passed but he’d found joy that today they officially welcomed a new member to their family. Not that her mate hadn’t already been accepted by the entire inner circle, but today it was official.

The moments flew by and before Azriel knew it, the small audience of friends and family were gathered to witness the father-daughter dance. A mortal tradition that some fae had adopted. Azriel’s heart swelled as he and Azure stepped onto the dance floor, drifting into fluid graceful movements. She’d reserved this moment just for them. There was no bitterness from Rhys as he watched proudly from Feyre’s side as the father who raised Azzie handed her off from their dance, to her mate.

And then, Azriel sauntered to his own beautiful mate. The one who taught him that hope can be found even in the darkest of places, the one who showed him what unconditional love could do for a soul, the one who he’d built a family with. Extending a scarred hand that he no longer was ashamed of, he took her hand and swept her into his arms, dancing the rest of the night away with his mate, his home.

I don’t dance.

—————————————————

I hope you all enjoyed this follow up and that the timeline jumps made sense. Thank you for reading, I adore you all!

Tags

ACOTAR General: @lilah-asteria @thecollegecowgirl @mochibabycakes @nickishadow139

Thanks to whomever submitted this request for inspiring me to write a follow up 🥰

#acotar #sarah j maas #a court of thorns and roses #azriel #a court of silver flames #a court of frost and starlight #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #Azriel x daughter #azriel’s daughter #azriel fluff #Shadowsinger #coparenting #step parent #adoption #acotar fluff

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sarawritestories · 8 months

Text

Unwavering Presence Chapter 1

Cassian X Archeron Sister (Reader)

A/N: Hi, I am so excited to share this first part with you! I wanted to point out that I am following major plot points in the books, however, this is in the Reader's perspective so some of the interactions may not line up with the text exactly but the major plot points will be there.

Content warnings: Nightmares, Grief, mentions of death, mentions of trauma,

Summary: Y/N accompanies her twin sister to the Nigh Court after Rhysand crashed Feyre's wedding. Where the reader finds herself lost in the memories of under the mountain and finds herself in the company of a Hazel eyed stranger

Word Count: 3.1k

tags: @hellodarling1357

If you want to be added to the tag list for this series let me know!

“Hello, Feyre, Darling.”

My head whipped toward the end of the aisle; the High Lord of the Night Court was flicking an invisible piece of lint from his dark lined suit. My gaze moved to my sister who before his arrival, had looked like she was ready to bolt from Tamlin. Lucien’s casually stepped closer Feyre as the Violet Eyes meet my own, “Y/N.” His gaze lingered on my long sleeve pink tulle gown, “You look healthy.”

I straightened my posture and tried to hold the arrogant air that would make Nesta proud, “Rhysand,” His gaze lingered on my long sleeve pink tulle gown I responded, trying to move toward my sister, a firm hand keeps me in place causing me to still completely.

Tamlin’s voice roared in my ear, “What the fuck do you want, Rhysand?” The High Lord of the Spring gripped my arm too tightly and I clenched my jaw to prevent a wince.

Rhysand did not miss the little action and tucks his hand in his pockets, “I am here to collect Feyre and Y/N. Unless Feyre Darling wants to go back on her end on the bargain.

I grimace as the memory of Feyre making that bargain:

I couldn’t keep my body from trembling, I knew I had a fever and Feyre was trying to bring my temperature down by putting a soaked piece of her shirt and pressing it on her forehead. Amarantha had split up the challenges between the two of us. Taking the first challenge, The Middengard Wyrm was more challenging than I had originally anticipated. When we were living in the human lands, I would occasionally go out hunting with her and she would teach me a few things and those skills came in handy when going up against the Wyrm and was able to slay the beast.

It wasn’t until we were back in our cell that I was aware that I had the gaping wound. It only took a few days for the infection to seep into the wound and my fever spiking. “You must hang on just a little bit, Lucien will come and help. You just have to hold it out for a little bit longer.”

Steps could be heard down the hall from our cell and the grating of our cell door creaked open and Rhysand stepped in. Feyre covered me with her small frame, “What do you want?”

The Violet eyed male simply ignored her question and made is way to my side. I was to weak to cower away his presence alone was intimidating. He reached out his hand about to touch my wound when it was whacked away by Feyre, “Do not touch her,” she said through gritted teeth. The High Lord gave my twin a playful smirk in response.

A groan of pain escaped my lips as a violent tremor tore through my body both Rhysand and Feyre gazes meet mine, “I’m only here to help.” Rhysand says.

“We don’t need your help.” Feyre spat, tucking me closer to my chest always the protector.

Rhysand’s face began to blur in and out of focus but in a brief moment of clarity I saw his face hold a cool indifference as he met my stare. “Would your sister agree with you, Feyre?” In a fever haze it sounded as though he said her name like a prayer. “She will die if you don’t act quickly. Make a bargain with me and she will be safe.”

Feyre took her bottom lip between her teeth as her eyes met mine, I gave her what I hoped was a smile but was probably more of a grimace as a coughing fit erupted from chest. Feyre’s grip on me tightened as tears welled in her eyes. She looked up at Rhysand, “We were told not to make bargains with fae.”

I closed my eyes listening to his voice, “And yet you still made one with Amarantha. If it wasn’t clear she’s dying.”

Feyre shook her head, “Lucien will be here, and he can help us, I trust Tamlin.”

Rhysand sighed and I opened my eyes, my lids feeling heavy, and I used most of my energy to keep them on the former High Lord. “Lucien could get here tomorrow, or five days from now,

I gripped my sister’s hand and gave it a weak squeeze, “Feyre,” My voice cracked my throat and my mouth extremely dry from dehydration. “I trust him.” My gaze met Rhysand’s and I could have sworn there was a flicker of stars in his gaze I reached out my hand to him, he quirked his brow, but my hand met with Calloused ones. “I trust you,” A fit of coughing took over and there was a brief squeeze of my hand from his almost comforting.

“What do you want?” Panic laced Feyre’s voice as my eyes began to flutter shut, loosening my grip on the High Lord’s hand. Rhy’s grips may have tightened but my mind was in a haze.

“I heal her, and you come and spend two weeks in the Night Court with me.”

“No,” Feyre said her voice strained. “I won’t do it.”

My eyes creak open slightly, as the feeling of soothing circles are brushed against my wrist. “Well, that’s a shame,” Rhysand released the grip on my wrist and rose.

Feyre shrieked and amplified my already pulsing headache. “No wait!” Feyre’s eyes meet my gaze tears are brimming, “Five days. I will give you five days, but my sister has to be with me.”

Rhysand scoffs, “Bargaining?” There was a pause, “10 days.”

Feyre countered, “one week.”

Rhysand hummed for a moment, “One week it is. You have a bargain.”

There was a flash and I slipped unconscious.

I met the stare of the High Lord of the Night Court, and he looked as though he was recalling that memory as well. As Tamlin snarled, “You cannot take them,” His grip on me tightening to the point of eliciting a small whimper that caused Lucien’s head whipping over to mine. A scolding look to his friend caused Tamlin to release me as I moved swiftly to my sister as I lace my fingers with hers.

“You want to wage a war on interfering with a bargain that Feyre willingly agreed to than by all means Tamlin be my guest.” He approached my twin and I and held out both of his hands with the palm. “Ladies, if you don’t mind.”

Feyre looked at me, fear extended to her features I gave her hand a comforting squeeze and a nod of my head that seemed to put her at ease. She reached out her free hand and I followed suit. Rhysand grips our hands and before Tamlin can make a beeline toward us, we were consumed by darkness and landed on a balcony and Rhysand ushered us inside to a large dining room area with dark red and black décor.

I looked back at the balcony ignoring Feyre’s bantering with the High Lord. Where we were, was on the side of the mountain and the scenery was breathtaking, the sun glinting off the snow on the mountain. The sun is beginning to set in the sky turning to hues of pink and purples painting the sky. I wish Feyre would take in the scene in the hopes that she would find inspiration to paint again.

Rhysand yelp of pain pulled me from the beautiful seen to see that he was rubbing the back of his head. Feyre has her second slipper in her hand, “Don’t you-“Rhysand growled as she threw the second slipper at him and the High Lord catches the slipper and smirks.

Feyre just scoffs, “Just take us to our room.” Tapping her now foot impatiently the way she crossed her arms I could have almost mistaken her for our eldest sister.

Rhysand’s lips formed a tight line. Crossing his arms in answer to hers, and I had to cough to cover up my laugh. The High Lord’s eyes twinkled with amusement and in a blink, it was back to normal, and he was scowling at my sister. “Follow me.”

Rhysand walked away not waiting to see if we were following him, I began to follow him and a small hand gripped mine. I paused and looked at Feyre her eyes were sunken, and her face had thinned since we came out of Under the Mountain, “I don’t like this.” Feyre whispered, “When we get home, I’m going to see if Tamlin can break the bargain.

I gave her a comforting squeeze giving her a warm smile fighting the disgust at her calling the Spring Court home. “Keep an open mind, Fey.” You paused, “He did save my life,” I looped my arm into hers, “Come on.” I dragged my sister into the hall and rushed to catch up to the High Lord who was leaning against a set of double doors.

“I figured the two of you would want to share a room.” Rhysand smiled and pushed off the door, “Does that work for you?”

I was shocked as I thought back to when we were taken to the manor in the spring court.

Feyre and I had our hands intertwined, the only thing preventing them from shaking, as we followed the High Lord of the Spring court through his manor. Tamlin, as we found out his name, was on our journey to the fae lands. The blonde fae male paused at one of the doors and opened them, “This is where room for either of you. Which one is up to you, of course.”

Feyre and I exchanged a look of pure panic, Feyre was the one to speak first, “Can’t we stay in the same room?”

Tamlin bristled, “You have spent the last few years in a room sharing a bed with your two other sisters and you still want to share a room?”

I glowered, “Well maybe, we’re in a strange place, with strangers and strange creatures, and maybe we seek comfort in each other’s company.”

Tamlin returned my glare and through gritted teeth, “You have two separate rooms, use them or don’t, I don’t care.” Tamlin walked past the two of us purposely bumping into my shoulder. “Dinner will be ready in a couple hours. Feel free to join.”

“Prick.” You muttered. As you and Feyre walked into one of the bedrooms.

“Y/N?” Feyre’s voice pulled me from my thoughts, bringing you back to the hall, Rhysand’s brows furrowed in what looked like concern. “Are you alright?”

I nod and give a smile, “I’m fine, are you okay with us staying together? I know that our ‘arrangement’ is different back in Spring.”

“You can call it home,” Feyre straightened, as if she realized who was standing and listening, “I’m fine with sharing a room.” She once again gripped my hand and dragged me to the room and slammed the door, not even muttering a goodnight to our host.

“My home is the cottage in the human lands, Feyre, considering,” I tuck my hair to reveal my round ear, “By their standards, I shouldn’t be here. The only reason I’m here and tolerated is because of you.” Feyre flinched at the confession. I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Look, I don’t want to fight. You asked me to stay with you and I will, but please let me adjust at my own pace.”

Feyre nodded and, in a flash, she grabbed you and embraced you in a hug, “I love you, Y/N,” you wrap her arms around your sister and squeeze. “Thank you, for everything.”

“Of course,” you pull away and flick her nose, “Alright let’s get you out of this hideous dress.” She laughed and nodded. As if on que the doors of the wardrobe opened and there were two-night outfits. One was in a beautiful violet that looked too small for me and one in a ruby red. “Well, that’s convenient.” I mutter as I pull out the red shirt and pants, running the cool silk through my fingers. “I have to say,” Feyre blue eyes, met mine, “The Night Court has style.”

We changed into night outfits, and I grumbled over my exposed mid-drift and how they accentuated my curves but overall, they were comfortable. I took a glance at Feyre and my heart ached. I could see her ribs protruding, I knew she was having a hard time, but every time I would ask her about it, she would brush off my concern, tell me that others had it worse under the mountain. Tamlin could barely look at me most of the time, so I was never able to bring it up to her betrothed. Lucien made himself scarce ever since Ianthe came to stay on the property, so no one was there to help me help her. Feyre smiled at me, “Shall we get some rest? It’s been a long day.”

I nodded and we crawled into bed and cuddled close together and fell asleep.

Tears were falling down my cheeks as I watched Amarantha raise my sister’s body off the ground and throw her down like a rag doll. I was ready to run up to her, but Lucien pinned me to his chest concealing me from Amarantha’s sight. Feyre’s mouth moved and the rage on the red haired fae’s flared in her eyes. Amarantha smirked, “Well you figured it out, but you failed to be specific of when I free you.” Rhysand lunged at Amarantha and with a flick of a wrist he was flung against the wall.

Crack

The tether to my other half had snapped, and Lucien gripped me tighter as I screamed, my sobs uncontrollable. Lucien was whispering in my ear, but I couldn’t discern what he was saying, past my screams. I didn’t even notice how he stilled as the power shifted, and Tamlin unleashing his full power on Amarantha. “Feyre,” you whimpered as Lucien returns to consoling you as Amarantha was torn to shreds. Lucien let me go as I crawled to my sister; her limp body unresponsive. “Feyre, wake up, please wake up.” I sobbed leaning over body sobbing into her should, “Come back to me. Please I can’t do this without you.”

I jolted awake from the nightmare of a memory that plagued me every night these past three months. Sweat coated hair clung to my forehead as I turned to find my sister sleeping peacefully beside me her now pointed ears, proof that she was alive. It should have been me. I thought to myself. I shook the thought, knowing I had to be brave for her. Knowing she needed me to be strong enough to help her through this. I silently slid off the bed and snuck out of the room, knowing full well I would not be able to fall back asleep I figured I would explore our home for the next week.

My feet pad across the carpet and wander through the hall, as far as décor goes the halls are bare. Though the walls are dark the fae lights create a comforting ambiance. A door creaks open that catches my gaze, and I press myself against the wall hoping the shadows conceal me though no one ever came out. Deeming it safe to peel myself from the wall I walked toward the open door and my eyes widened. I stepped into the room and was mesmerized by the books lining the walls and the fireplace sending warmth down my spine. A window showcased the night sky, the room was breathtaking, and I began tracing the tomes with my fingers.

Nesta and Elain sometimes would pull me aside and teach me how to read when we had spare time. Though I could never read books at the same rate they do. Some words were still hard, and my understanding of the words sometimes went amiss so by the time we lost our fortune I had given up on it entirely. Though I always loved the idea of reading to get lost in a story and transported to far off places.

“Someone having a hard time sleeping?” The deep voice that could cause anyone’s toes to curl, caused me to jump and I spun to find the source of that voice. My eyes met Hazel ones and I came face to face with the most beautiful male I had ever encountered.

The male was tall my head barely met his chest, dark raven hair the same as Rhysand’s fell to his shoulders his face was one blessed by ancient gods his chiseled jaw line and sultry lips. He wore red jewels on his chest and atop his hands and I gaped as I noticed his wings were tucked tight to his body as he leaned against the door frame. His face showed concern. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” He spoke again. “Are you Feyre?”

I shook my head words lost on me, I shook my head and continued, “Afraid not, though I am her sister.” I picked up the book that was in my hands and put it back on the shelf, “I’m so sorry, I just couldn’t sleep and the door kind of opened on its own I was curious.”

The male raised his hand, “Rhys wants you both to feel comfortable while you’re here. You are more than welcome to be here.” He walks in deeper and faux whispers, “I technically shouldn’t be talking to you right now?”

You take a tentative step closer to him and faux whisper back “How come?”

He gives a wolfish grin, “He doesn’t want us to scare you away.”

I quirk a brow at him, since he made his presence known I’ve only felt this overwhelming comfort. “Are you someone I should be scared of?” I asked.

His hazel eyes glance at my night ware and it’s then that I notice that the color matches his rubies, interesting. His eyes linger on my exposed stomach that I wrap an arm around feigning a chill. His eyes meet mine noticing the shift and gives me a full smile showing his teeth, “Here? No. On the battlefield? Absolutely.”

I laugh, a sound I haven’t heard out of my mouth in a while. “I don’t think I’ll be on the battlefield anytime soon, so I’ll have to take your word for it.” You noticed how eyes are bright, “Well, it’s late and I don’t want to deter you from whatever it was you were doing.” I walk around him as he straightened, “It was nice meeting you.”

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” He asked right as I reached the door. He turned to face me.

I shrug, “What keeps anyone from sleeping? Nightmares.” I give him a small nod, “Goodnight…”

“Cassian, my name is Cassian.”

“I’m Y/N. Sweet Dreams, Cassian.”

I leave and I could have sworn before I did, I heard a soft, “Sweet Dreams, Princess.” Before bolting back to my room to my twin.

Chapter 2

#cassian acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar #cassian x reader #rhysand x reader #cassian x fem!reader #feyre archeron #feyre x rhysand #cassian fanfic #cassian imagine #a court of thorns and roses #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #rhysand acotar

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changisworld · 4 months

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Baby fever

Husband!Chan x reader

word count;3,200

Summary: Your husband, Bangchan has finally decided that he too wants a baby, after you constantly pestering him & getting it into how good parents you would both be.

-just HAD to write this after I got an ask about & then having my amazing 🪫 anon AGREEING which has now encouraged me to write this heheh,

18+, MDNI, SMUT WARNINGS UNDER THE CUT

main masterlist here

SMUT WARNINGS: PIV, oral(f rec), B R E E D I N G kink, creampie, lactation kink if you squint, nipple sucking, slight dirty talk, channie is BBBIIIGGG, bulge kink, body worship, marking, lovemaking, praise, aftercare but more off screen, 99% smut 1% backstory :3

You & your husband, Chan are just strolling around Walmart, doing some grocery shopping for your fridge & cupboards & you both end up walking past the small clothes section & your eyes land instantly on the cute newborn baby onzies & cute baby packs of socks.

"Channieeee, how can you even look at this n not want a baby? the clothes are so teeny & adorable!" you cheer, looking at him with a big smile & doe eyes on your face & chan just looks at you & rolls his eyes, smiling at you as he reaches out to touch the baby clothes, looking at all the cute patterns on them.

"Shhh! It's not that I don't want a baby, It's just scary! You say the exact same quote every time we walk past anything to do with babies I can rehearse it!" He giggles before putting his hand up & splaying it across the little onzie, comparing the size to it.

"I know but I'm just dyyying for a baby! Would you prefer a boy or a girl? & you've been saying you'll 'think about it' for monthhhs! We'd be the best parents on earth n you know it, I've seen you with kids & you'd be the best dad evverrrrr!" you cheer back, reaching out to ruffle his soft black hair & he kneans into your touch.

"I wouldn't care if about gender as long as I got a mini us & I knowww but still! You've came off the pill so now we just gotta see if it happens, can you get us some tomatoes? We forgot to pick em up." He questions you, putting both hands back on the cart & giving you a kiss on your cheek, making you blush.

"Doesn't mean much if you pull out Channie! I'll grab five." you sigh as you leave your husband & walk to go get what he asked you to. Chan watches you leave before he looks back at some of the cute baby clothes & he picks up three different onzies in different stripes & also polka dot patterns, he also picks up a cute little white baby hat before he buries it underneath the small mountain of items still in the cart before making his way to the checkout, texting you to just put the tomatoes back & meet him at the car.

⭑･ﾟﾟ･:༅｡.｡༅:ﾟ::✼✿　　✿･⭑✼:ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ

"I didn't even realise that you'd asked me for tomatoes but while I was there I remembered you don't even like tomatoes!" You whine as you buckle in your seatbelt, turning to look at the man beside you, now laughing as he turns the key.

"I just wanted to see if you'd remember! You failed the test." he chirps back & you swat him on the arm jokingly & he just laughs at you again before driving back to your shared home.

The rest of the day goes without a hitch, Chan insists on putting the items away & you don't complain, deciding to just tidy up your shared bedroom instead, reorganising the room & making the bed before deciding to just do some laundry since you have the habit of letting it pile up.

You are sorting out your jewellery box, using your shirt to make each piece shinier before replacing each part, fully rearranging the box in front of you when your bedroom door opens & Chan enters the room, hands behind his back.

"Ah, what ya doin babe?" he questions, looking a bit antsy. "Just tidying, why? Wha'cha hiding?" you reply, your head nodding towards him, referring to whatever he is holding behind his frame.

"well eh, I couldn't decide if I was gonna hide it for a while longer or if I wanted to lay it on the bed with rose petals or something, make it all romantic but you caught me, can I do that or are you gonna be stubborn n make me show you now?" he hums to you & you frown your eyebrows at him, chuckling as you try move your head to see what is in his hands, but he is quicker & keeps moving his frame.

"You know me too well, I really am that stubborn, show meeee." you reply as you do as he asks of you anyway & you stand in front of him before closing your eyes & cupping your hands in front of the both of you.

He takes in a deep breath & you just know his hands are shaking behind is back. "Just know y/nnie, no pressure! I don't want you to feel like I'm putting you on the spot." he says in a soft voice as he places something in your hands.

You open your eyes after nodding at his words & look down & what is it you see? A few of the tiny baby onzies you were dreaming over just a few hours ago & an adorable tiny tiny baby hat laying on top of them.

You look up at Chan, nerves smeared all over his features, his adams apple moving through his throat as he swallows, not taking his eyes off you as his hands cup themselves over the outside of yours, his thumbs caressing your hands.

"Is this what I think this means, Channie?" you ask, your mind going at a million miles an hour & the butterflies in your stomach being that crazy you're convinced they're about to fly out of your mouth.

"Uh.. yeah, I've had my mind up for a while, just got a bit scared to directly say it I guess?" he replies, his cheeks a shade of rose pink as you can feel his hands slightly shaking & getting warmer against your as he keeps his on yours.

"Channie, you're so silly, there was nothing to be scared of when I've been begging you to knock me up!" you joke as you softly throw the small fabric on the chest of drawers beside you both before practically throwing yourself at him, connecting your lips together, he freezes for a second before melting into your touch & kissing you back passionately.

He ushers you towards the bed & you lay down once the back of your knees hit the edge of your bed & chan follows right behind you, putting his hand & forearm on the bed beside your head to hold up his weight as his tongue begins to break past your lips, tasting you deeper, which you have no problem reciprocating.

You worm your hands beneath one of his usual black shirts & you feel over his chiselled abs, making him squirm. "You really are desperate, aren'cha?" he teases as he takes the three seconds to take his top off before getting back into the same position he was in before, taking the time to admire your slightly reddened & spit glossed lips.

"Well why waste time when I've been begging for so long?" you chirp back as you wriggle yourself up the bed, making chan follow not long behind you.

Your husband just smirks at you before kissing the tip of your nose. "I love you, soooo much, you mean the world n more to me." he murmurs in a sweet tone to you before he begins to kiss your jawline before making his way down to your neck, nibbling on different spots of your neck before lightly suckling on the exact same parts of skin, leaving four dark red marks on the right side of your neck.

Chan bunches your shirt up at the top of your chest, not bothering to take it off as he wriggles himself downwards just an inch & begins to fondle your tits over your bra as he kisses the parts not covered by the fabric & you sit up just enough to unclasp it for him & he lets out a hum of approval before taking a look up at you, the both of your eyes completely full of lust, pupils blown out & your stomach does a flip.

He cups your right tit in his hand as he starts to tongue your left nipple, your nipples perking up even more than what the cold air caused. He takes it in his mouth & suckles on it, making your back arch off the bed & you let out a small hum as you let your fingers find their way into his hair, playing with it.

"Your tits are so perfect, can't even imagine these filled with milk, try save me some, alright?" he says, more to himself but he still takes the time to look up at you, his fingers not stalling on your right nipple before reattaching his pretty, pink, puffy lips to your nipple, sucking on it as if it's the last time he will ever do so.

"Channie with a lactation kink? who woulda guessed." you chuckle at him as he switches tit, repeating the action & you close your eyes, simply taking in the feeling.

He then stops his motions & gives yet another hickey to your left tit before kissing all the way down your stomach before pushing your shorts & underwear off your smooth legs without much struggle.

"How do you blame me, have you seen you?" he remarks back at your words, not even looking up at you this time as he now settles down at your legs before pushing them open, now looking at your pretty, now glistening cunt & he sighs, a dreamy look painting his features & your heart melts.

He wants to tease you but his own patience is wearing thin so after a few kisses to your thighs, working his way inwards, not missing the way you squirm & twitch beneath him as your thighs rest on his broad shoulders & he licks a long, slow stripe up your cunt which makes you shudder.

He uses the tip of his tongue to slightly tease you but mostly to get a deeper taste by licking the outside part of your folds before using his tongue to part them further before he works his way up to your clit & begins kitten licking it.

"Chan, like that, fingers please." you request, sucking a breath through your teeth, trying your best to stay still for him. "say please n I will" he teases to you before moving away from your clit, much at your disapproval & begins teasing your now leaking hole.

"Pretty pleaseee, Channie, please." You beg as you try push your hips towards him, giving him that little bit extra of your cunt on his lips & he obviously can't help but let out a muffled groan as he starts to grind his hips against the bedsheets, trying to ease even a tiny bit of the pressure in his cock as he listens to your pleas & enters his middle & index finger into your pussy, a small squelch being heard.

He picks up the pace on your clit as he begins to suck & nibble on it, not caring about how much spit is escaping his lips as his fingers match the same speed, doing a 'come here' motion & you begin grinding against his face, your hands reaching down to twist your nipples in your fingers as you begin to fall apart.

"Gonna cum channie, don't stop." you basically demand as your eyes scrunch closed & your legs close in on his head, but he doesn't budge & continues at the same speed, smirking into you & humming & moaning into you & your orgasm bubbles over not even five seconds later, moaning his name non stop.

He lets you ride out your orgasm on his tongue & fingers as he slowly slows down his movements until you begin to whine & he knows your body well enough to know it's the overstimulation setting in.

He pulls out his fingers & puts them up to his mouth & sucks the orgasm you just had off his fingers & groans to himself before licking his lips & then making his way back up to you & kissing you, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue & you whimper on his lips.

"Taste as good as always, do you still wanna do this Channie? You can still pull out if you have any doubts." you reassure him, cupping his cheek with your hand & moving your thumb back & forth, giving him a warm smile. "I'd never back out babe, especially now that it's out in the open, lemme put this baby in you, mkay?" he chirps, nuzzling into your touch before allowing you to sit up so you can take your top off & he strips too, his cock slapping against his lower stomach as he helps manoeuvre you towards the edge of the bed & stands between your legs, jerking himself a few times, his tip already shiny with the amount of precum that has been leaking for the past twenty minutes or so.

He gives you a warm smile & he reaches down to hold your hand, your wedding rings beside one another as he begins to slowly push in, knowing he can't go too quick as he is aware how big he is, he knows he needs to allow a lot of time to stretch so he doesn't make it hurt any more than needed since no matter how much prep he gives you, it still makes you hold your breath for a second.

He buries himself to the hilt & he pauses, letting you get adjust as he kisses your ring finger, making you both blush as you look at each other, nothing but love & adoration in both of your eyes.

"You can move, 'm ready." you softly speak & chan hums as he moves his hips before softly moving them forward again, both of you letting out a moan in unison. "you're so tight, y/n, I'm fully convinced you're made for me." He says in a hoarse voice, biting his bottom lip, making you clench around him.

He begins a medium pace, hitting your G-spot each time & you can barely catch your breath as you both make eye contact, not one of you daring to break it as you can both slightly hear the wet, squelching noises of your cunt wrapping around his cock over your shared moans.

"Chan-nie, you're in my s-stomach, fuck." you yelp as he changes his position slightly, hammering into your spongey spot & kissing your cervix in a painful yet addicting way.

"Hmm yea? I can tell, look at it sweetie." he groans back, slightly breathless as he stands up, pace not slowing as he takes the hand which he is still holding & placing it on your lower stomach & you can't help but get giddy as you can feel his cock in your pelvis, making you clench around your husband more than you already were, making his pace falter.

"Taking me so well, babe, see? too bad we won't get to see it in your pretty belly once my cum sticks, can't say I-I'd complain though." he basically whimpers as he leans back over you, taking your lips in his own as he continues to destroy your poor hole & you yelp into his mouth with how deep he is.

"C-I'm gonna cum, gim-gimme it." you shriek as your hands reach onto behind his back & you dig your nails into his back, refusing to let go & chan just groans into you as he kisses you again, muffling both of your moans but only slightly.

You begin clenching around his cock & he stands back upright to be able to take in the whole sight. He reaches down to rub your swollen button with his thumb & you don't even have the right mind to even be able to warn him before your second orgasm hits you like a brick wall & your legs begin shaking as your back arches & you let out a shriek as you cum, this time all over his cock, your orgasm so strong it almost pushes him out of your hole.

He doesn't falter his pace this time & continues at the same speed & rhythm, throwing his head back but not for long as he feels his own orgasm starting to bubble up.

He looks down at your pretty, reddened face, a small shimmer on your skin, your tits bouncing along with his thrusts as you pinch your nipples again, not breaking eye contact with you.

"Cha-channie, s-so big I-I swear to f-fuck, please c-cum in me, gim-gimme your baby." you whine up at him, trying your best to ignore the overstimulation he is giving you for the sake of his own release & mostly focusing on just trying to push the simple sentence out.

"Wou-wouldn't dream oth-otherwise, beautiful, your pretty belly gon-gonna be so full for me, I know it's gonna s-stick, you're t-too good for me, my angel." he says, breathless & he takes your left hand in his again & he sucks on two of your fingers as he lets his orgasm take over, having to use all his strength to keep himself standing as he lets his cum coat your walls, you taking in the feeling of it too.

Chan lets his own orgasm come & then pass before he slowly pulls out, not failing to notice how his dick is so shiny you'd think he put lube on it & he uses the rest of his strength to help you lay at the top of the bed & he rests his back against the pillows, letting you lay between his legs, your back against his chest.

He grabs the bottle of water from his side of the beds bedside table as he always insists on having water there & feeding you it as he kisses the top of your head.

"Did so well for me hunny, you not sore or anything? I love you sooo much. want me to run you a bath n make food?" he questions softly as he reaches down with the hand not holding the bottle to rub over your stomach.

"I'm fine, more than fine actually, just daydreaming about out future bundle of joy! Just wanna lay here for now but yes, we can bath n eat soon, just lemme melt into you a bit more first." you half joke as you turn your head way from the bottle, indirectly telling him you're finished drinking & he just half laughs as he puts it back where he originally found it & cuddles you.

"Just gotta think of baby names don't we? It can't come soon enough, you can choose food since you'll complain if I order something for us if you give me the freedom to choose." he jokes & you just 'tut' at his words, smiling as you rest your head on his arms.

->Taglist:open!

->Anon list:open!

#bangchan x reader #bangchan fluff #bangchan smut #bangchan #bang chan #skz smut #kpop smut #smut #skz fluff #fluff #oneshot #skz oneshots #skz #skz scenarios #straykids x reader #straykids #stray kids

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jellys-compendium · 17 days

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Dragon!Nanami Headcanons- Pt. 1

Dragon!Nanami who is the stoic and highly revered guardian of the people in his territory. He resides in the tallest mountain to the south, preferring to spend most of his time in comfortable solitude rather than being smothered by well intentioned but exhausting accolades from the villagers.

Dragon!Nanami who feels fortunate that he rarely needs to demonstrate his prowess in battle. The rumors of his strength and the crushing fire he breathes are enough to keep the other fantastical creatures who would cause his people harm at bay.

Dragon!Nanami who insists that the land's subjects need not pay him tribute, but finds himself inevitably burdened with surprise visitors at the mouth of his cave. Typically these visitors bring with them unwanted words of worship, handfuls of gold, and miles upon miles of fine silks (which Nanami elects to pile into a massive mound at the back of his cave, as stereotypical as that may seem). On one particular evening however, the villagers bring Nanami something entirely unexpected.

Dragon!Nanami who is shocked to see you (a human he’s never seen before), blindfolded, gagged, and helplessly tied to the back of a cart. His fury sparks and blazes as he watches you fiercely squirm against your bonds, shouting muffled obscenities at the village men and women as they push you further into the mouth of the cave.

Dragon!Nanami who fueled by the sounds of your terror, unleashes a terrible roar that shakes the heavens and cracks stone. Sparks crackle between his bared fangs as he chases the band of miscreants away, snarling a warning that if they value their lives, they’ll never return.

Dragon!Nanami who feels a deep sense of guilt as he carefully works to untie you with his claws and fangs. Although indirect, he is the cause of your current plight and he knows he owes you an apology. But the words die in his throat when Nanami feels your body subtly lean into his cautious touch. The fire in his belly grows, smoke pluming from his nostrils, when he feels your heart dance beneath his teeth as they brush against your skin.

“It’s alright.” He softly reassures, swallowing, his own pulse soaring. “No harm will come to you here.”

Dragon!Nanami who becomes starstruck the moment that tattered blindfold falls from your face and your eyes meet his for the first time. Lightning jolts up Nanami’s spine, nailing him in the back of the head and rendering him paralyzed when he realizes the gravity of just who you are.

'Mate. My mate.'

Dragon!Nanami who forces himself to stay absolutely still when your small human hands reach up and run along the scales of his snout. He quietly basks in your attention, drinking in your wide eyed wonder as your fingertips trace along the blue and gold scales that make up his hide. Nanami purrs deeply when he hears you whisper, “You’re my mate, aren’t you?”

Dragon!Nanami who welcomes you into his home, insisting that you do whatever you need to make the place more comfortable. He regrets that the only thing that he has to make a suitable bed for you is a collection of fancy silks, but you smile and reassure him that it is more than enough.

Dragon!Nanami who the next morning shows up with pelts, sheep’s wool and enough blankets to fashion you a comfortable bed a hundred times over. A little flustered that he went through all the trouble, you ask him where he got it all, but when Nanami nuzzles against you reassuringly, you realize that he’s unlikely to give you a straight answer.

Dragon!Nanami who comes to the realization that he had in fact been so terribly lonely before you came along. Nanami quickly comes to relish the time he spends with you. He loves walking with you through the forest at the foot of the mountain every morning. He loves the sound of your voice. He loves to see you smile, to listen your stories and ask you questions, all while answering your own inquiries in return.

Dragon!Nanami who has a knack for noticing when you grow tired on those long walks. The moment he sees you start to struggle, he lowers his massive head to the ground beside you, encouraging you to get on and carrying you the rest of the way home.

Dragon!Nanami who helps you overcome your fear of heights by taking you on nightly flights. Each time he takes you into the sky your nervous shaking becomes less and less. Nanami will always treasure that night when he saw you close your eyes and savor the night breeze gliding over your skin for the first time.

Dragon!Nanami whose deep, rumbling purr shakes the earth and rock beneath your feet every time you gently caress his scales. From the corner of your eye, you catch those golden eyes of his admiring you, lingering on the softest parts of your body. Is that hunger or desire? Being that Nanami is a dragon, you cannot say for certain.

Dragon!Nanami who is fiercely protective of you, especially when you’re in the presence of other dragons. He is not above shielding you in the folds of his enormous wings the moment he spots another of his kind approaching on the horizon. You notice that Nanami becomes particularly irritable when a certain dragon with snow white scales pays the two of you a visit.

“Dragons”, he later explains, “are greedy and possessive by nature. They are known to covet the treasures of others on a pure whim alone. I won’t allow him or anyone else even the slightest chance to take you for themselves.”

Dragon!Nanami who one day overhears your whispered longing for the human world you left behind while you sleep. It dawns on him then how blindly selfish he’s been in the last few months, leaving you bereft of human contact. Yes while he cared for you and protected you, he also smothered you in the same vein. Nanami knows he has to remedy this, for the sake of your happiness.

Dragon!Nanami who a few days later nearly gives you a heart attack when he reveals his human form to you for the first time. He smiles the most handsome smile as you gawk at him, slowly taking him in from his glorious blonde head, all the way down to his—oh….uh, his toes.

“Well, what do you think? Do you like it?” “Um—” Your cheeks burn as you avert your gaze. “I think I’d be more at liberty to admire you if you put on some pants. Nanami blinks, his head tilting to the side. The magnificent horns that still decorate the top of his head catching the sunlight as he moves. “Pants?”

Dragon!Nanami who after procuring a pair of pants takes your hand in his and places it on his chest. He presses a gentle kiss to your head, the first of many.

“My mate. I only wish for you to be happy. Tell me, what is it that you desire? Whatever it is, we will find it. Wherever it is, we will go.”

A/n: Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed these dragon!nanami hcs. A spicy part 2 of this series is on the way!

If you're interested in more Nanami fics, you can check out my masterlist here.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu nanami #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk nanami #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you #nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami x you #jjk au #jellywrites

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octoberautumnbox · 5 months

Text

Discordant Waltz: Adrenaline

Oh Sieun (Former IZ*ONE/Soloist Jo Yuri) & Male Reader

Categories/warnings: smut, clothed sex, oral, feet?, friends with benefits, doggystyle

Word count: 4.2k

| Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 (coming soon)

a/n: this took a while lol anyways! april release is here, tried something different again for now. as always, stay tuned for the next!

“I don’t care where you are or what the fuck you’ve been doing this entire time. Just please come to the convenience store by the river and meet me.” Sieun's voice, you're sure it's Sieun's voice, is mixed with a garbled tone through the phone.

“Okay, but-” And the line cuts. You shuffle your cellphone defeatedly back into your pocket and start towards your newly-mandated meeting place.

You’ve only begun putting two and two together: The person you were just with wasn’t Sieun, even though she looks exactly like her. That person wasn’t like Sieun at all, especially not in the way the two of you had sex. It was so different, and the nagging feeling in the back of your head that something was wrong only grows clearer.

A blaring horn unfreezes you from the middle of the street. You step out of the way and onto the sidewalk, and the truck’s irate driver brings the hulking machine past your point in the road. You watch it drive off, leaving a cloud of dust behind its wheels, and for what seems like a minuscule amount of time, you unfreeze yourself off once more from staring at the now-settled dust on the asphalt.

It dawns on you: you’ve slept with the wrong woman. It wasn’t your Sieun you just had sex with. The girl you just fucked wasn’t the girl you were supposed to fuck. But no matter how you say it, no matter how many times you think it in your head, it just doesn’t make sense. How could that not have been Sieun?

The walk back towards the convenience store by the river is slow and quiet, but your mind races with these thoughts, calling for just more and more of your brainpower to stay conscious and on track towards your meeting place. Even though you’re sure the initial confusion has subsided, the effect still settles deep within every bone of your body: you fucked another woman besides Sieun.

Before you know it, your feet bring you to the convenience store by the river. Sieun’s eyes meet yours from inside through the window, and she motions you to come in faster. You pull the door open and a cool blast of air hits your face, and Sieun pulls you into the seat beside her.

She fights the noodles down her throat, and after a quick gasp, she starts: “Apologize for missing my calls later. Lemme finish this first, then we go over to your house.” She downs a swig of Mountain Dew and fights back the stinging acid running down her throat.

“My house? But-” she interrupts by bringing a chopstick to your lips. She sucks in air through her teeth, and finally goes back for more of her ramyeon. You note it’s the spicy kind as the heat coats your lips where her chopsticks touched.

“Please shut up while I’m eating. I’ll explain later.” She flashes you the dorky kind of smile that could nevertheless kill and returns to her ramyeon, paying you no further mind.

Despite being over budget, you pick out another six-pack of beer for the two of you and bring it to the registers. She eyes you from her seat by the window and gives you a thumbs up from there. You sigh and wonder how you landed someone as great as her. If only…

~~~

“Wow, nice place.” Sieun's eyes roam across your living room, from your sofa, to the TV, to the coffee table with its remote and mug filled with cold tea from this morning. “Quaint. I like it.

“ What the fuck does ‘quaint’ mean, Oh Sieun?” you tease. Bring an arm around her shoulder and pull her close, plant a kiss on her cheek.

“It just means quaint,” she sighs casually, leaning into your embrace, “no more, no less.”

Both of you take off your shoes and make your way to the sofa. You place the six-pack of beer on the coffee table as Sieun bounces on a sofa cushion, evidently having a good time. You shoot her a look, and you're stopped in your tracks by how her hair falls unerringly into place like it does. She smiles at you again, but you take a seat on the floor in front of her.

“What are you doing down there?” Her giggle rings clear as day as she says it. She picks up a can of beer and pulls on the tab, releasing carbon dioxide in a melodious fizz that eases the tension around you: tension you didn't know was there.

She hands you the beer and you take it carefully, for some reason trying not to mess up whatever it is your body is planning to do next. You feel the cold floor tiles against the palm of your hand, not nearly as cold as the beer in the other, before giving up on both and focusing on the imminent warmth that is Sieun's feet.

Set the beer down and grasp her soles through her cobalt blue socks. Find her muscles, tendons and nerves as you push and squeeze around her delicate feet. Wring out strangled sighs and shushed whimpers from Sieun’s lips.

“What the fuck are you doing…” Her breath hitches before continuing on unsteadily. She unravels, thread by thread, under the changing and shifting pressures you apply on her soles and toes, confusion vying to bubble up to the front of her mind but ultimately getting pushed back down by the attention you give her.

“What’s gotten into you, babe?” She giggles more as you manipulate her body the way you like, and yet you’re pulled into her intensifying orbit. Your… friend… leans forward and takes your cheeks in her hands. She pulls you towards her and kisses you, nibbling your lower lip at every careful squeeze you apply on her foot. Her tongue tries to push past your teeth, and for the first time in a long time, you find yourself hesitant.

“You… must be tired today. I thought I’d be nice.” You try to hide the uncertainty in your voice, choosing to divert her attention elsewhere. You strip her of her socks and toss them in the general direction of your shoes. Continue to rub her feet, and she pulls you in for another kiss.

This time, you accept. Her tongue slips past your teeth and you meet it with yours, swirling around each other as more of her sultry gasps drift out of her mouth. Sieun pulls you even closer, trying to take in more of you, before she runs out of breath and has to break away.

“Whew, that was hot,” your friend sighs as she leans back onto the backrest and breathes deep. Her head lolls back and she stares idly at the ceiling as she tries to catch her breath. “Where’d you learn that, huh, stud?”

Ignoring her, you continue to massage her. Moving from her soles and toes to the balls of her feet, your hands make their way to her heels, then her ankles, and up to her calves.

"Oh, I love how you think, babe." Your hands crawl up her smooth and creamy legs, and she flashes you a smirk. Sieun relaxes with a deep sigh and her eyes shut. Your friend's naughty smile is unsteady on her lips, victim to your sensual assault on her legs.

Stop momentarily, take a beer can from the table. You pull on the tab and release its own pent-up fizz and hand it to her, casually yet carefully. "Take a sip, baby. Let me take care of you."

She receives it with a tiny "thank you" and takes a sip. As you return to her massage, you watch her lips curl around the rim of the can, arousal growing as her tongue wipes over and collects the fluid left behind.

Your hands reach her hips and you grip resolutely. It catches her mid-sip, and it forces her to keep the beer in her mouth for a little while longer. Then, she makes a show of swallowing slowly and licking her lips after once more.

You slip your fingers under the waistband of her PE pants and pull down. With a little help from your friend lifting her hips off the couch, you successfully peel it all off of her smooth legs. She spreads them for you and you’re met with a pair of blue lace panties covering her crotch. The sight of them sends even more blood rushing into your dick, and your self-control dwindles in the face of her needy whines.

“I picked out a cute pair for you today… You like?” Sieun brings her knees up to her chest, letting her feet dangle in the air. She hooks her arms under her legs and starts biting her finger enticingly, communicating what she wants you to do next.

Remember the comfort that is Oh Sieun, how you just get each other so well, how there’s next to no guesswork when it comes to her. You pull her panties to the side, revealing a drenched pussy in need of some love. The sensation of the fabric leaving her core is exhilarating for her, but nothing excites her more compared to what’s coming. She braces herself as you bring your face closer, and finally you drag your tongue up against her clit.

You pepper kisses all over her crotch in between long drags between her puffy lips and dripping cunt. "Mmm, babe…" She leaks more in response, torn between wanting you to go faster and harder or slower and softer, bucking her hips but changing her mind. Her sweet nectar intoxicates you like a love potion, wanting more of it, more of her, that you tighten your grip on her waist and hold her steady to lap up more of her essence. The feeling of your hands imprinting on her sides drives her closer to the edge, and her moans grow in volume and intensity as you continue the hard, hard work of loving her to death.

“Stop… No, not yet… I’m really close, babe,” she whines powerlessly, not knowing the effect it has on you. “Please come up here, I need you…” She unhooks her arms from her legs and draws them outstretched to receive you. In return, you stand over her and make quick work of your belt. She takes the initiative of pulling down your pants once free, and your friend’s delicate fingers grasp your already rock-hard cock to stroke and marvel at.

“You want this, baby?” Your cock twitches between her fingers, telling her wordlessly that you want her just as bad. With Sieun, there’s no need to thrust into her hands: she knows you so well, she’s so devoted to your cock that she learned for herself how best to service you.

“Yes, please…” She brings it down and right against her fuckhole. She teases herself with it; it’s all she could do when you loom over her with authority. She rubs your head on her clit, showing you just how ready she is for you, before tracing the lips of her pussy and smearing her slick all over your tip. “Can I please have it?”

“Do what you have to do,” you command, and she heaves a sigh of arousal before doing her best job. Her hand slithers under her jacket and most probably under her bra again to pull out another condom. She tears it open with her teeth and, this time, places it on her lips. Sieun guides the rubber onto your tip and unrolls it onto your length using only her mouth, taking in more of your shaft as she does. She barely makes it all the way to your base, but a sudden bout of impatience hits her and she plunges herself onto you, taking you all the way and causing her to gag. You feel some of her spit drip onto your calf, so you stroke her hair and let her breathe.

“You’re adorable, you know that? Taking my dick like such a good girl…” Grab a fistful of her hair and slowly pull her off your cock, letting more of her spit fall from her lips to wherever. Her eyes are shut and tears form in the corners, but she doesn’t wipe them away.

You plant your hands on either side of her head on the backrest, still looming over her. She takes your cock in her hands again and aims it at her waiting entrance with a needy look in her eyes. “I can’t wait anymore, please?”

Of course you indulge her. Enter her heat carefully, feel her walls make way for your length. Her mouth forms an “o” as you push yourself further and further into your friend’s core, rubbing against all her good spots, drawing out gasps and little moans from her.

“Babe, your thick cock is so good, please…” Her legs twitch when you hit certain points, letting you know exactly how she likes it. Her toes curl with pleasure as she welcomes you deeper into her sex, just as she searches for your lips to steal kisses from in spite of her eyes that won’t open.

You pick up the pace, spearing into her core faster and faster, as her grip on your shoulders tightens with each of your thrusts. Her forehead starts to form small beads of sweat, as do her forearms and the insides of her thighs. She’s getting restless again, squirming under you as you fuck her, and you place your hands on her hips again to keep her steady, the naughty girl.

“Fuck, babe, please… Please!” She places her hand on the back of your neck to keep you close. Her eyes finally open and you see the fire within her pupils just begging to be doused. You can do nothing else but indulge her, and your friend grows wetter and tighter to accommodate her favorite cock. It only spurs you on further with how pliant, how willing Sieun is. Was she always like this?

On the other end of your mind, a gruesome memory resurfaces. Who was that girl? Why did she look exactly like Sieun? What was she doing in her house?

She pulls you in and captures your lips with hers. Your friend nibbles and licks and grunts throughout the kiss, aligned with every single one of your thrusts into her needy core, all the while trying to hold you tighter so she never lets you go.

Why did she let you in like that? Why did she let you kiss her then? Why is she letting you kiss her now?

“Fuck… Fucking shit! You feel so good inside me, please!!!” Her screams of pleasure snap you awake, and you’re met with the visual of Oh Sieun, your friend, staring blankly into your eyes as you use her tight little fuckhole mercilessly. Her tongue hangs out her mouth and drops of saliva leak down to her chin and onto her jacket. “Please… please babe, I need more…”

You get the message and give her what she wants. Pull out, only for a moment, and let her adjust. She flips over, plants her knees into the seat cushions, places her hands on the backrest. Sieun presents her plump ass to you, and she squeezes her thigh before spreading her legs again to show you her dripping, freshly fucked cunt.

As if hit with another dose of adrenaline, you shove your cock back into her soaked and quivering pussy, hard, causing her to yelp and scream. You grab her slim waist, feeling up her smooth skin just burning to be ravaged, and pull her towards you with every thrust, causing the sofa to creak and groan. However, it's nothing compared to the unholy noises forced out of Sieun's mouth; her lungs burn and her throat sores as she's subjected to more and more of your mind-numbing pleasure.

“I can't… I can't hold it! Babe, I'm cumming!!!” Her velvet walls clench and suffocate your cock, but it does nothing to slow your maniacal pace. Your rough-fucking of her pussy never stops, never slows, and despite the pain she undeniably feels with you abusing her body (you know how sick she is in the head), she nevertheless pushes back to meet your pelvis in what little efforts she could take to bring herself over the edge.

Your orgasm hits you like a train derailed, and despite your weakened state from earlier in the day, you deliver spurts and spurts of your warm cum into the rubber. She feels every twitch and throb of your cock inside her burning core, and it brings your friend over the edge too. Her hips convulse just as the first streaks of her girlcum spray out of her cunt, leaking more and more of her love juices onto the poor cushion underneath her with every jerk of her hips. She screams and wails her pleasure; surely she’s waking up with a sore throat tomorrow morning. For now, her teeth clamp down on the fabric of the backrest, the only thing she could reach with you keeping her firmly in place.

Your respective orgasms start to wind down, and you pull yourself out of her and let her collapse onto the sofa. Take your seat next to her, pick up your can of beer from the floor, lean back like a king. You take a sip, and the alcohol soothes your shot nerves and dry throat.

Sieun cuddles up next to you, leaning on your shoulder and draping one of her arms across your chest. You place your arm over her in response, and she melts again.

“Whew,” she sighs, out of breath and with a noticeably raspy voice, “that was great. Why don’t you fuck me like that all the time?” Her chest rises and falls with every tiny circle she draws on your chest, and you squeeze her closer to you. You’re drawn back into the comfort of just understanding each other, of not needing to explain, of just being you around your friend.

But once again, the guilt bubbles in your chest. You remember: you’ve slept with another woman not even a day earlier who looks exactly like her, and what’s worse, she even felt better than Sieun did. She let you sniff her hair, kiss her neck, fuck her ass. Are you really not going to tell her?

The guilt rises up your throat and drops into your stomach at the same time. It dawns on you again, this is your friend. Your friend, who you drank beer with on a Friday afternoon. Your friend, who begged you to use her like she was yours. Your friend, who keeps condoms in her bra for you and only you. Just friends, that’s all. Are you really not going to tell her?

Suddenly, your view is obscured by her eyes. You find Sieun on top of you, straddling you, as she takes your cheeks in her hands. Her hair falls to her cheeks as she positions her face above yours, and she plants wet kisses and licks on your lips.

“Thanks for today, babe,” she says between smooches. Your hands drift towards her hips again, and once you grasp them, she breathes out slowly and sensually. She breaks the kiss for a bit, but she keeps her forehead on yours. “If you’re trying to tempt me,” she runs her thumbs on your cheekbones, “then it’s working. But not right now, I’m spent.” Her giggles make their way into your ears again, and her gravity strengthens its pull on you once more.

You check the time and find it’s late, much too late for a lady like her to be out alone on a night like this. Wrap your arms around her waist tight, secure the woman of your dreams in your embrace forever. However, you know time is running out and the guilt will only root deeper into your system and eat you alive if you don’t pull it out soon; pull it out now.

“Do you wanna bring this over to the bed?” You try your hardest to be casual about the question, but the way it comes out, shaky and tentatively-toned, makes it anything but. Still, she finds it cute, evidenced by the small giggle that escapes her.

“Sorry, gotta be fair. I kick you out every week, don't I?” Oh Sieun stands up quickly and without any hint of dizziness, landing on her feet gracefully. What’s left of her slick runs down her creamy thighs and the moment you snap yourself out of staring at the lewd sight, you notice she was staring too.

“I need your shower and a towel, never mind if it’s used.” She makes her own way into your shower, but not before opening every closed door and flipping every light switch she could find. Once she finds the bathroom, her head peeks out from inside, and she calls at you:

“Leave the towel and my clothes by the door, I’ll get them when I’m done.”

The door shuts loudly, and you realize you failed. Without much else to do, you gather her things in your arms sullenly and drop them by the door like she asked. You retake your seat back on the couch and ultimately resolve to turn the beer in the can into beer in your stomach.

~~~

Oh Sieun exits the bathroom clad in her perennial PE jacket and jogging pants, with the added twist of your towel wrapped around her hair. It’s the first time you’ve had her like this: squeaky clean, sweet-scented, relaxed like you didn’t just rail each other to oblivion. She’s beautiful, and you can’t even bring yourself to tell her.

“Hey, what’s the address here? I need a taxi.” She plops herself down next to you on the sofa and brings her legs over on your lap. Half of you regrets forgetting to put on pants, while the other half starts to get ideas.

You reach out your hand to take her phone, but while Sieun leans over to give it to you, she notices your cock starting to harden once more. “Something’s up with you today, babe.” The phone makes its way from her hand to yours, and she gets an irresistibly naughty look in her eye again.

Your friend takes your cock in between her bare soles. You feel the damp skin of her feet rub against your growing shaft while you type in your address and book her cab for her.

“Is this gonna be a regular thing with us? Because,” you look over to her and find her leaning on the armrest with her head leaning on her hand, “I dunno. I could get used to this.”

“Could be if you want it to, Sieun.” You hand her back her phone, and she sees the cab on the map, only six minutes away. “I’d rather you not start something you’re not gonna finish, though.”

“Wow, Mister Bigshot. Challenge fucking accepted.” Your friend spreads her knees apart and shoves a hand into her pants. Sieun pulls her feet away and positions her face over your lap. She hurriedly takes half your length straight into her warm, wet mouth, and her tongue glides and rubs all over your shaft wherever and as far as she could reach. You grab her head and force it down to take more of you in, and her hips buck onto her hand the moment you feel yourself hit the back of her throat.

You keep her there for a while, and she never ever stops running her lewd tongue over your dick. The sounds and vibrations coming from her mouth only spur you on further, as does the sight of her fingering herself under her pants just for you.

Just to tease her more, you take her phone and show it to her: one more minute. She tries even harder to suck you off, hollowing out her cheeks and going wild with her tongue. Her moans grow deeper and louder to match yours, and the vibrations that reach your rock-hard cock drive you close to the edge.

“Baby, I’m close… Take my fucking seed in your mouth!” You pull her head down as far as she can go, and amidst gags and glucks your friend never tries pulling herself off, instead choosing to be a good girl and receive everything that’s for her and her alone. Your warm cum shoots into her throat, and despite her gags she never lets up or lets go of your cock between her lips.

Her phone suddenly rings, no doubt the taxi calling to say he’s at the pickup point, and in the closest of calls your spurts come to an end. Sieun raises her head and shows you how much of your seed she collected on her tongue with a smile, and she makes a show of swallowing it all for you.

She gets up and makes for the door, but when you try to follow her out you find your legs are jelly. Instead, she leans over and plants a kiss on your cheek, and as she walks off you hear the sound of your front door creaking opening and shutting quickly.

~~~

a/n: whew that was a wild ride LMAO anyways it was tough working on this throughout hiatus and even now idk if im actually really really back, but nevertheless here u are! once more i hope u enjoy reading as much as i did writing :)))))

| Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 (coming soon)

#girl group smut #kpop smut #izone smut #jo yuri smut #fic box

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xlovellydreams · 6 days

Text

Reuniting 2

˚˙⋆.☾.✮.˙˚ Pairing: Rhysand x Fem!Reader

˚˙⋆.☾.✮.˙˚ Summary: Reuniting with Rhysand after Under the Mountain

˚˙⋆.☾.✮.˙˚ Words Count: 6.1k

˚˙⋆.☾.✮.˙˚ PART 1

Note: Hi guys! Let me say – Thank you so so so so much! I did not expect so much love under my first post, so again, thank you so much!!! Here is part two!

𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 ⟡ ☾ ⟡ 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃

He sat in the bath for what felt like hours. The water was hot. Scorching hot. But it felt good.

His skin was still tingling from the feeling of your touch and his body ached at the loss of your presence after holding you for so long. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily.

Gods, he was losing his mind. Fifty years had clearly not been kind to him.

Fifty years of being Amarantha’s plaything. Fifty years of being forced into submission. Fifty years of watching her, listening to her, touching her.

Fifty years without you. Not having you, not holding you, not being able to listen to you sing or hear your laugh.

Fifty years of her touch, fifty years of her voice. Of being forced to satisfy her. Of being her whore.

Fifty years without you, his mate.

Rhysand didn’t open his eyes again, just exhaled slowly, attempting to calm himself. To push the thoughts of that woman from his mind.

He was home. He was free. She wasn’t here.

You were.

He scrubbed every inch of his skin. Trying to get all the traces of her away from him. He wanted her scent gone, wanted to smell like himself, like you. Reaching for the sweet-smelling body wash you always liked so much, he rubbed it against his skin.

For fifty years, all he’d think about every waking moment was you. Your face, your laughter, your smile, your soft touch, your scent. He had clung on to the memory of you, just to keep himself sane. Just to keep himself alive.

Gods, he was tired. So, so tired.

He pushed that thought away for now. He couldn’t give in to his exhaustion yet. Not when his family was waiting for him, downstairs. And most importantly, not when he owed you a kiss.

A kiss. So much more than just a kiss. He needed to kiss every inch of you, worship your whole body, hold you, touch you. He needed to feel you in his mind again, to be connected with you in every possible way.

Rhysand stepped out of the tub and grabbed a towel, using it to furiously dry his skin. He looked better, that was for sure, but he still looked worn and tired. Grabbing a pair of dark pants and a shirt, quickly threw them on. He ran his hands through his hair, trying to get the unruly locks to stay down. Once his hair was somewhat in order he took another look in the mirror. Deep down he still felt dirty and definitely not convinced that he looked anywhere near presentable. His skin was paler than usual, looking almost sickly in comparison to before he went to Amarantha. He looked like he could benefit from another fifty years in bed.

Rhys felt almost hesitant as he left the bathroom and stepped back into his bedroom. A small part of him was scared that this whole day had just been a dream. That he’d get back into the bedroom and find it empty, or worse, find that witch there. Deep down he was so damn afraid that it is just a nightmare. Another horrible nightmare.

But then he smelt you.

His shoulders immediately relaxed a bit when the scent of you hit his nose. He immediately knew you were still here, waiting for him.

A second later he heard your laughter from downstairs. Rhys smiled at the sound of your laugh, that beautiful, sweet, sweet sound. The idea of seeing you with his family, his Inner Circle made his heart fill with warmth. It just felt right.

𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 ⟡ ☾ ⟡ 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃

The Inner Circle was sitting around the table, as you brought another warm dish, wine already poured in every glass. “Just, don’t overwhelm him too much,” you said, mostly to Cassian, knowing he would be the first to throw punches.

Cassian let out a scoff as he heard you say that. He was already bouncing his leg impatiently, fidgeting eagerly in his seat.

Azriel sat silently, seemingly calm but with a hint of worry in his eyes. He, like Cassian, also seemed eager to see his High Lord, to see his brother after fifty years.

Meanwhile, Amren was quietly sipping on a glass of whatever was in it, seemingly unimpressed. Mor on the other hand was already reaching for another bottle of wine, clearly nervous.

Cassian let out a scoff at your words. “Who, me?” he asked, as if insulted by the fact that you would suggest he would ever do that.

“Don’t pretend as if you wouldn’t be the first one to go and tackle him” Azriel let out a small snort.

“I just want to give him the greeting he deserves!” protested Cassian, his arms out in the air.

Azriel let out another small scoff, clearly not very convinced. “That doesn’t mean you have to literally tackle him to the ground as soon as you see him, Cass.”

“You two behave” you glared at both Cassian and Azriel. “I am being serious here, give him space, as much as he needs.”

That was the main reason you told him to relax in the bath. The main reason you did not kiss him more. He still had his shields up, not letting you in. You had no idea what he had been through and all you wanted, was to respect his boundaries. Give him the space to breathe, and move around freely.

You wanted him to remember, that it was all over.

That he was home.

Both Cassian and Azriel fell silent at your glare. It was clear that you’d have no problem telling them off if they made any unwanted, unnecessary, or overdone gestures toward Rhysand. And the last thing either of them wanted was to upset you.

They both looked down silently, mumbling out a quick “yes ma’am” as if they were scolded children. Nothing new.

The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs drew everyone’s attention, and the air in the room suddenly became thick and tense with anticipation.

Rhysand finally appeared at the door, his eyes darting around the room. He took a deep breath as he took in the sight before him. The table, filled with his favourite foods, his family sitting around it all looking absolutely stunned to see him there in the doorway, alive and well.

No one spoke, everyone was silent, all eyes on him. It was as if they were all too scared to say something, as if they didn’t quite believe that he was truly standing there.

Like one wrong move, and everything would be gone.

Rhysand’s eyes landed on you, standing in the corner. Alive, safe, and unharmed, he thought.

And then, by some weird instinct, you reached, taking the hot soup out of the way, the same moment Cassian stood up, shaking the whole table, already charging at Rhys.

You rolled your eyes, groaning at that.

The movement of Cassian standing up immediately caught Rhysand’s attention. He knew his brother well, and by now, he knew what was coming. Cassian was out of his seat, and charging at him within seconds. And all Rhysand could do was brace himself for impact.

The impact came soon, and Rhys suddenly found his arms full with his massive, buff-ass brother. Cassian slammed into him so heavily, tackling him to the ground. His breath was knocked from his lungs and he let out a groan as his back hit the hard, wooden floor. The other Illyrian was on top of him, pinning him into place. Cassian’s chest heaved with emotion. A strange mixture of anger, worry, and relief.

“Get off!” Rhys forced out, pushing at his brother. But Cass was stronger than him and was sitting firmly on his chest.

“I’m just trying to give you a damn welcome,” he said with a huge grin on his face. “Fifty. Fifty years,” he breathed out, gripping Rhysand’s shirt tighter. “Fifty years you were gone.”

Rhysand felt his anger turn into guilt as he looked at his brother. He had known it would be hard on them when he was gone, when he was under her control, but seeing the pain in his eyes, knowing he was part of the reason for it made his heart ache.

He wanted to push Cassian off, to tell him to get a grip of himself, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Especially not when his brother spoke again.

“Fifty years of thinking we’d never see you again.”

Rhysand felt his heart ache more at Cassian’s words, his head was already spinning.

Fifty years. Fifty years he’d been forced to abandon his family. For fifty years he’d had to act as Amarantha’s whore. Fifty years of pretending to be anything other than free. Fifty years he had spent being tortured, and now he was here, finally here.

Finally home. Finally with his family again.

“Get off of me,” Rhysand grumbled. “You’re crushing me.” He looked up into Cassian’s hazel eyes, the pain behind them clear.

“Hell no,” retorted Cassian, not budging one bit. He was not moving away, not until he’d got that message through to Rhysand.

His breathing was coming out in short pants as he spoke. “How the hell do you think I feel? Fifty. Years. Fifty years I’ve had to deal with Az’s moodiness and Mor’s constant bitching, not to mention Amren. I nearly went insane, you prick.”

Rhys did not miss the tears that started building in his brother’s eyes.

“Cassian” you finally decided to chime in, your voice surprisingly soft. “Get up, food is still warm.”

Your soft but firm voice seemed to get through to him, and he slowly loosened his grip on Rhysand’s shirt. He stood up, not taking his eyes away from his brother, as if he was scared of him suddenly disappearing.

A second later, Rhysand was again a little overwhelmed as his family all stood up, wanting to hold him and hug him. But he allowed them to do so, knowing that they had needed this.

He needed this.

He felt Azriel’s hand on his shoulder, gripping him tightly, as if making sure he was truly here. Azriel let out a shaky breath at the sight of Rhys. “Thank the Mother you’re back,” he said quietly, he pulled him into a hug, his embrace strong.

The second to reach him was Amren, who punched him on the shoulder, clearly trying to keep her facade of calmness together. But he could see the relief in her eyes.

Mor was the last one, hugging him so tightly he was certain she’d suffocate him. She was whispering something in his ear, and he could faintly hear the words, “I’m so sorry”. “Stop apologizing” he mumbled in her ear.

Rhysand felt overwhelmed with emotions. Seeing his family standing around him, holding him, squeezing him so tightly it was as if they were scared he’d disappear.

His eyes landed on you. Seeing you stare at everyone, at him, with a soft expression in your eyes, made his heart pang painfully, and all he wanted to do was to have you in his arms.

But he could wait, he reminded himself. He had waited fifty years, he could wait a few more hours.

Once everyone had finally released him, you gently pulled him to the table, and you all sat down.

Rhysand still couldn’t quite believe this. He was surrounded by his family, sitting down at a table filled with his favourite foods, and he had you with him.

It was so utterly surreal that he almost pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

You reached your hand for his under the table, and he immediately closed his fingers around yours. A simple touch. Rhysand’s body immediately relaxed. He let out a small breath, closing his eyes as he felt the familiar rush of comfort and calm he always felt whenever you touched him.

He gently stroked your skin with his thumb as he opened his eyes, turning to look at you.

“Good?” You whispered, only for him to hear, making sure he was alright.

Rhys felt a small thump in his chest. Gods, he was so in love with you. So in love with your soft, sweet voice whispering to him. So in love with the gentle concern in your tone. Still afraid of waking up suddenly, waking up with that red-haired monster.

Home. He was home. With his family. With you.

He let out another breath, feeling the last of his tension and stress drain out of him at your question. So he squeezed your hand slightly in response, a smile on his face. “Good,” he whispered back, his eyes never leaving your face.

You smiled more, nodding your head as you reached for a glass of wine. He leaned back in his chair, his hand still in yours, as he watched the banter go back and forth between everyone. Watching as they all ate some of his favourite foods. The rich, warm stew you had made, along with a variety of other dishes.

Rhys couldn’t believe he had been the luckiest bastard in Prythian. Getting to come back home and seeing you, his mate, still here, waiting for him. And he’d be damned if he didn’t make good on his promises.

HOURS LATER.

You laughed so loudly, so hard that a few tears rolled down your cheeks. Just because of one of Cassian’s stupid jokes. But you were laughing for the first time in forever. Rhysand couldn’t help but crack a small smile. It was so good to see you laughing again.

His body felt warm, full from all the food, and light after the many glasses of wine he had drank. But more than anything, he felt utterly at peace for the first time in fifty years. There were no responsibilities weighing him down, no Amarantha forcing him to perform. He was simply relaxing, at home with his family, like he should’ve been fifty years ago. There was still a small part of him that couldn’t believe it. A small part of him was scared this was all a dream, or just a hallucination, or something else, and that he’d be yanked back to the reality of Under The Mountain. But the feel of your soft hand on his shoulder, the sound of Amren’s amused scoff at one of Cassian’s jokes, it all felt so real, in a way that could only mean that this was, in fact, very much real.

A small yawn escaped his lips, and he quickly tried to cover it up. It wasn’t that the late hour was affecting him too much - he had been forced to stay up much, much later than this on multiple occasions - but rather that all the food and wine, the relaxed atmosphere, made him feel sleepy. He tried not to let it show, not wanting to break the relaxed mood, not wanting to go to bed.

“I’m glad you find it so entertaining,” came Cassian’s voice from the other side of the table, a pout clear on his face.

Rhysand snorted. “And I’m glad to see your sense of humor is still as bad as ever.”

You giggled softly, shaking your head, “Perhaps we should go and rest,” you said, of course noticing the tired look in his eyes. He felt a pang of affection in his chest as he heard your suggestion.

Of course, you would notice that he was tired, would worry even if he didn’t say anything. You were always so aware of his every need and emotion. And the last thing he wanted was to worry you.

He gave a small nod, a slight yawn escaping his lips.

“Perhaps that’s a good idea,” he said, giving you a small, tired smile.

The words had barely left his mouth before Cassian let out an exaggerated sigh, clearly not happy to hear the fun was over. “Gods, just go make out already,” he said, a suggestive smirk on his face. “We all know that’s all you two want to do tonight anyway.”

You blushed softly at his words, “Cassian!”

Rhysand let out another low chuckle as he saw you blush at Cassian’s words. You were so cute, he thought. He missed seeing you blush.

Cassian let out a small huff at your reaction, his smirk growing bigger. “Oh come on, you can’t tell me I’m wrong,” he said, leaning back in his chair, his arms behind his head, his wings relaxed behind him.

You groaned, looking up to Rhys. He noticed your gaze on him and immediately realised what you were thinking. He saw the blush on your face, and the pleading look in your eyes.

He then let out a huff and looked towards Cassian. “And on that wonderful note,” he said, “everyone out. Go find somewhere else to be for the night.”

He didn’t wait to see if they obeyed. Rhys gently took your hand and winnowed you both back to your bedroom. To the room, you couldn't bring yourself to be in for the last fifty years.

This was the same bedroom he hadn’t seen for fifty years. The same bed where you had both slept peacefully together for so many years. The same room where he had shared so many quiet, intimate moments with you.

His eyes scanned the room as he looked at everything, taking in how much it had stayed exactly the same. It was almost surprising just how much it reminded him of better times. He took a deep breath, taking in the familiar scent of you, of the room. It was all so incredibly you, and it made him feel so at home that his eyes fluttered shut for a moment in contentment.

You squeezed his hand gently, “It was so cold in here without you.”

Rhysand instantly felt his body tense at your words. “Don’t...” he breathed out, his eyes still closed. He didn’t want to hear about how cold the room had been, how cold and lonely you had felt. The mere thought of it twisted his gut unpleasantly, making his heart clench.

He forced himself to open his eyes, turning to look at you. Your eyes had grown slightly glassy as you spoke, the memories obviously fresh in your mind as he saw it. Your shields of course down and you were trying to push the thought of you lying in this cold and empty room away. Of you lying in bed every night, not getting sleep, not getting rest. How you only were able to stay in here for three days until it was too much.

He clenched his jaw as he spoke again, his voice quiet. “I don’t want to talk about how cold you were without me,” he said, reaching to your cheek. “I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to imagine you in here, missing me, needing me…” He took a small step closer, his eyes dark with something. “Just don’t, okay?”

“I am still mad” you admitted suddenly, looking up into his eyes.

A frown immediately appeared on Rhysand’s face. “Mad?” he echoed, his eyes narrowing. “You’re mad?” His tone of voice was almost dangerous, defensive almost. He was not in the mood to deal with his mate being mad at him. Not after everything he had just endured down under that mountain.

“Yes,” you said immediately. “I am mad.”

A small scoff left Rhysand’s mouth at your words. He stared at you, his expression hardening. “You’re mad? You’re mad at me?” he repeated, his voice raising now. Why in the world were you mad at him? He had just spent fifty years trapped in hell, being Amarantha’s toy. What right did you have to be mad at him?

“Did I say I am mad at you?” You whispered, tilting your head slightly.

Some of the anger in Rhysand’s expression faded as he realised his mistake, the meaning of your words finally hitting him. His shoulders relaxed slightly and he let out another breath, running a hand through his hair.

No, no you hadn’t said you were mad at him. You had just said you were mad. He blinked at you, almost feeling silly as he realised how easily he had let himself get worked up and angry.

He paused for a second, taking a deep breath as his heart rate slowed down. He let out a long breath. “Perhaps explain why you’re angry then?” he asked, his voice softer now.

“I am mad at myself” your voice barely above whisper, as you reached for his hand.

Mad at yourself. Not at him.

He took a soft breath as you reached for his hand, and he gently laced your fingers with his, feeling the familiar comfort of your touch.

“I couldn’t help you,” you said, frowning a little. “I should have helped you somehow…”

Rhysand’s heart ached in his chest as he heard your words. So that’s what you were angry about. You were angry because you thought you hadn’t helped him. That you could’ve done more.

“You did help,” he said, his voice softer. He gently squeezed your hand in his, his eyes roaming all over your face.

Your frown deepened, as you looked up into his eyes, slightly confused. Not understanding what he meant by that. Rhys saw the confusion on your face, the furrow in your brow. He realized that you were not grasping what he was trying to tell you.

A smile appeared on his face, the one that made his eyes shine. “You did help me,” he repeated, saying the words slowly. “You helped me every single day that I was away. You gave me hope, a reason to live. Without you, I would’ve lost my mind down there.”

Lifting his hand, he gently cupped your jaw, smiling more. “By the Cauldron,” a sigh left his lips as he rested his forehead against yours “Do you have any idea how many times I thought about you? How many times the memory of you, of your face, your body, was what kept me going?”

“Fifty years,” he said, his voice low and quiet. “Fifty years of living in hell, and the only thing that kept me going was you. It was your face, your smile, your laugh, your scent, your voice, all playing in my head over and over and over again. That was the only thing keeping me sane.”

Tears started to build in your eyes at his words. “Idiot…” you mumbled, sniffling a little.

A soft smile appeared on Rhysand’s lips as he heard the word. He knew you only ever called him an idiot jokingly. And he knew that if you were now calling him an idiot, it was a good sign.

“And yet you love me anyway,” he said softly, his thumb gently caressing your cheek, catching a fallen tear.

You wrapped your hands around his neck, hugging him, as you sniffled again “Don’t leave me, ever again.”

Rhysand’s arms wrapped around your body immediately, holding onto you tightly as you buried your face into the crook of his neck. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling your scent, letting it wash over him.

He let out a sigh. “I won’t,” he promised, holding onto you so tenderly, as if he was scared he might break you. “I’m never leaving you again. Ever.” His hands started to slowly caress your back, gently going up and down, just feeling the smooth skin under them. He took another few deep breaths, your scent, and your body against his almost making him feel dizzy.

Rhys gently guided you backward until the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed, causing you both to topple down onto the bed. He hovered above you, looking down at your face, looking into your eyes. His heart was pounding against his chest, his body almost aching with desire as he took in your face, looked at you laying out beneath him.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, gently reaching out a hand to brush some hair out of your face.

He lowered his head, slowly making his way down to your neck, peppering kisses along your skin.

“I was yelling at everyone” You mumbled, already unbuttoning his shirt. “That we had to do something. Save you.”

Rhysand’s heart thumped in his chest as he heard your words. Despite knowing that you had never given up hope, the thought of you fighting for him, of you trying to save him, was almost too much. He could so easily imagine you yelling, demanding that everyone do something, demanding that everyone save him. He could practically see you standing there, his fierce, tiny, determined mate.

Mate. His mate.

Chuckling a little at your words he shook his head “Of course you were.” His hands were working quickly to take off your own shirt, needing to feel your skin underneath his touch. “I expected nothing less.”

“Oh yeah?” You chuckled too.

Rhys smiled, his lips against your neck. He continued to plant soft, open-mouthed kisses on your neck, leaving a trail of burning kisses up towards your jaw. He couldn’t help himself, couldn’t help the need he felt to mark you, to leave you something as proof of it being real, of him being back home.

“Of course,” his hands were all over you. “You’ve always been so fiercely protective of me,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your neck again. “So very, very protective.”

“Because you deserve it” you whispered quickly. “You take care of everyone. You do everything to make everyone happy and safe.”

It was so true; those were the things that mattered to him. Making sure his people were happy, and safe. And most of all you. His heart clenched, shields still so high in his mind, hiding the memories from you. You still believed that he was worthy of being taken care of, that he deserved to be protected. And as you said the words, he felt his chest ache with overwhelming affection and love for you.

Rhysand felt a lump rise in his throat at your words. He couldn’t believe that you were here beneath him, saying these things to him. Praising him, loving him. It seemed too good to be true.

“Gods, you’ll make me cry if you keep saying things like that,” he said, his voice a bit rougher than usual.

You pulled him down by his neck, your lips not yet touching “But still, you are not being honest with me” you whispered, searching his eyes.

Rhysand let out a soft breath as you pulled him down, your bodies almost pressed together. Gods, he could practically taste you, he was so close to having you.

But then you stopped him from kissing you.

He raised his eyebrows at your words, now looking into your eyes, feeling a wave of uneasiness wash over him.

“And what are you talking about?” he asked, his voice careful.

You sighed, guiding him, so you both were sitting on the bed, still close but you did keep a small distance. “You are keeping me away.”

Rhysand frowned, feeling a pang of hurt run through him at your words. Keeping you away? That’s certainly not what he was doing. He was aching, aching, to have you close, to be with you, to have you in every way possible. He shook his head quickly, trying to banish the hurt from his eyes. “I’m not keeping you away, sweetheart,” he said, trying to find the right words. “I just want to go slow, I want to be careful. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“No, not like that,” your voice was quiet, vulnerable. Raising your hand, you placed it on his temple, “You are keeping me away from you”. Feeling how high his shields were, how strongly he kept you away from his mind, it hurt you.

It hurt, not being able to feel him that way.

He felt his heart stop in his chest as he heard your words, as he felt your hand on his temple. It hadn’t even occurred to him how much you must have missed feeling him down the bond, feeling the connection.

But… he wasn’t ready for you to feel all the pain and fear he had endured, all the trauma from Under the Mountain.

“I want to help you, to give you everything you need. But I can’t do that while you keep me away. Not letting me in” You brushed your thumb over his knuckles. “I want to know, what she did to you. How she hurt you.”

You wanted to comfort him, to comfort and help him. But he felt so broken, so ugly, so used. He was scared, he was scared that you’d never look at him the same if you found out how Amarantha had touched, used him, and made him do those dirty things.

He squeezed his eyes closed as he heard your voice. No, he didn’t want you to know. He didn’t want you to hear about what had happened, he didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want you to know about how weak and broken it had made him, how pathetic he had felt.

“You don’t want to know,” he said, his voice hoarse. “You don’t want to be saddled with the horrors and trauma of it all.”

“Rhys I am your mate-“

“Exactly,” he interrupted, suddenly snapping. “You are my mate. I am supposed to protect you, to keep you safe. To take care of you, not the other way around. This isn’t-“ he stopped himself, pinching the bridge of his nose as he realised that he was being an idiot. He was just feeling so damn vulnerable right now, so damn raw.

You shook your head, pulling him closer, “I just don’t want you to have all my horrors sitting in the back of your mind,” he said, his voice quiet now. “I don’t want that for you.”

“Look at me” You murmured softly “I won’t look at you differently if that is what you’re afraid of” You caressed his cheek. “I love every part of you, no matter what.”

Rhysand felt the knot in his chest tighten as you caressed his cheek, as you spoke such sweet, tender words to him.

And his heart, his heart ached.

He let out a shaky breath, his eyes roaming all over your face as he spoke. “You don’t understand, you don’t… I let her do it. For fifty damn years, I let her use, touch, and hurt me. And I just... laid there and endured it.”

“No, no, no, no, Rhys, my love no,” you shook your head again, searching his eyes, your heart breaking. “Everything you did was to save your family, to save your people, and I would never, look differently at you. You sacrificed so much, so much for other’s happiness” You rested your forehead against his.

Hearing the utter determination, the absolute conviction in your voice, made Rhysand want to cry. Feeling your forehead against his, your soft touch, the closeness.

Those goddamned words. The way you said them so honestly, with so much love, so much understanding.

“I let her use me… for fifty years I-“ He did not want to cry in front of you. “A whore, that is exactly what I am”

You gently took his hand, pulling him slowly, so carefully down, so you could both lie down. In your mind, there were already so many thoughts, as you slowly guessed what he meant, and your heart broke even more.

You felt sick that he had to endure all of that.

“Don’t. Don’t you ever dare call yourself that” you whispered.

Rhysand felt his chest tighten, his body shivering as he followed you. He desperately, desperately, wanted to bury himself in you and simply take comfort in your scent and your presence.

Yet, you did not make that kind of a move towards him. You just pulled him close, hugging him so gently. He pressed his forehead against your shoulder, not being able to look into your eyes. He swallowed hard as the memories assaulted him again, making his stomach turn into a painful knot. “Fifty years,” he repeated hoarsely. “I let her use me, abuse me…”

“One day I felt so bad, that Cassian and Azriel literally dragged me out of my room” You spoke suddenly, stopping him, and changing the subject, just like that.

Caught by surprise by the sudden change of subject, Rhys blinked a few times, “What are you talking about?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowed, not understanding.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, “I did not want to eat, or sleep, or move.” You murmured, playing gently with his hair. “They decided that it was time for me to… pull myself together. So they dumped me into the river.”

Feeling how hard it was for him to talk about what Amarantha did to him, you decided not to push him, to let go. Deciding that, it was not the time yet for him to open up about it, and as his mate, of course, you understood.

A small hint of a smile appeared on Rhysand’s face. The image of you being dragged out of bed by Cassian and Azriel and being thrown into a river was a very fitting one. He sighed softly as you tangled your fingers in his hair, enjoying the feeling of your touch.

“How long did they have to keep doing that?” he asked, now gently caressing your side.

“Two weeks straight” you laughed a little, feeling him relaxing in your arms.

Rhys started laughing too, the thought of you being dumped into a river every single day for two whole weeks was both amusing and amusing.

He was relaxing, but he still felt so on edge. On one hand, he was enjoying this moment with you, enjoying your touch, your laughter, feeling the bond flow through you both. But on the other hand, there was a part of him that was aching with the need to talk, to unload the past fifty years onto you. He did not want to keep hiding those memories from you.

“And then, next month came, the same story. It happened a lot” you murmured softly, nuzzling your face in his hair.

Even though he was enjoying this moment, enjoying your soft, gentle touch and your sweet voice, there was a part of him still feeling so raw, so disgusted with himself. He suddenly let out a soft sigh, his fingers gripping your hip a bit harder. “You’re trying to distract me, aren’t you?”

“Hell yeah, I am” You laughed with a bright smile.

And Rhys couldn’t help the laughter that broke out of him at your words, feeling a burst of warm affection. Gods, he had missed this. He had missed laughing, making sarcastic comments and jokes just like that.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet scent. “Clever girl.”

“When you are ready. One day, I will be here to listen,” you started quietly, still playing gently with his hair, curling the soft strands around your fingers, “But for now, can we just, stay like this?”

Deeply you wanted to know what exactly happened Under the Mountain, what Amarantha did to him. How much he really sacrificed. How broken he really was, and how could you help.

But not yet. Not when you finally could hold him, rest with him, laugh with him. Not when he was so alive, so real, lying next to you, breathing, not a hallucination, not a dream.

As you spoke, Rhysand felt a sense of relief wash over him. The fact that you weren’t forcing him to talk about it now, that you weren’t pushing him to unload all his trauma and pain onto you.

Instead, all he had to think about right now was the fact that he was home, that he was in your arms.

He pressed a few gentle kisses on your shoulder, before he spoke, his voice gruff. “Only if I can hold you like this every day for the next fifty years.”

You giggled softly, “Fifty years is not enough.”

Rhys chuckled softly, feeling a rush of affection towards you once again. Gods, he would never get tired of the sound of your sweet giggles.

“Alright, a hundred then. Two hundred, even,” he murmured, pressing another kiss to your shoulder, followed by a small love bite. “That’s still not enough, though.”

“Still not enough.”

“Forever” This time, he connected your lips in a soft kiss.

“Forever.”

#rhys x reader #rhysand acotar #rhysand #rhysand x reader #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fic #acotar fanfiction #acotar #rhysand fanfic #rhysand x y/n #rhysand x you #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #writings

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hrefna-the-raven · 1 month

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Horror masterlist - Masterlist - Misc. masterlist

RZ Michael Myers x female nurse reader

Part 1 - 2

Words: 1476

Warnings: smut (18+)

Summary: Michael has escaped Smith Grove's Sanitarium...

Reader: short female reader, female genitals in smut scenes

The voice echoing in his mind persisted, urging him to go to Haddonfield but the back door he was sliding open was miles away from it, for today he listened to another power rising from deep within. Stepping inside, he found himself standing in the kitchen, his eyes drawn to the assortment of sweets and candies neatly arranged on the countertop. A faint smile curled at the edges of his mouth, knowing that you had purchased each one of them according to the list. Right next to it, neatly folded, was a black witch costume with a small hat resting atop of it.

You were sitting on the couch, engrossed in the movie "Bates Motel" when a continued cold draft caught finally caught your attention. With a grunt, you switched off the TV and lifted your body from the comfort of the couch, making your way towards the kitchen. Your fingers fumbled in search of the light switch, and as it clicked on, your gaze shot up, landing on the tall masked man standing at the counter, his fingers gliding over the tiny hat from your costume. You immediately recognised deep blue striped pants and the torn dirty gray bathrobe that seemed tiny hanging on his imposing figure.

"Michael!", you shouted in shock and total disbelief.

Your body froze for a moment. It was something else seeing this mountain of man standing in your kitchen, close to midnight, all alone and far away from the security that Smith's Grove provided. How could he even be here? Did he escape? Just as you wondered why nobody had informed you about the escape of the patient you mainly took care of, the sharp ringing of the wall-mounted phone next to you startled both you and Michael. Without diverting your gaze from him, you reached out and grabbed the phone, placing it against your ear and waiting a moment before speaking.

"Hello?"

"Oh nurse, heavens! I'm glad I was able to reach you. Michael has escaped, he killed several on his way out."

There was a pause on the other side as Loomis waited for your reply. Any sane person would have freaked out while being trapped alone in their home with the sanitarium's most infamous patient. The doctor on the other end of the line was you're only chance to call for help and as the thoughts of what any sane person would have done in that moment flashed before your inner vision, your body had its own surprise in store for you. Your hand gestured for Michael to close the door behind him while you shot a warm smile at him before focusing back on the phone call.

"Oh my god, that's terrible! Did someone alarm the police? Do you know where he's headed?"

Michael blinked in disbelief as you faked a shocked tone while the traces of your smile still lingered on your lips. His eyes never left your figure, his hand fumbling behind him to close the door. The enigma that was you continued to surprise him, eluding the expectations formed by the cruel world around him, only to grace him with the kindness he not only thought lost after his mother stopped visiting him. No, you continued to surpass it and as he stood within your kitchen, he almost felt a sense of home, carrying his thoughts to the one he had back then as he briefly wondered where his little sister could be now.

"No I haven't seen him. Why would he come here? Have you checked in Haddonfield where his sister lives now?"

You winked at him, feeling freed from your confidential oath as he was technically, officially, not near you to overhear such information. Michael felt stunned at your response. Back in the sanitarium he had wondered more than once if you'd be able to peak into his mind as you always seemed to understand him so well and now you had answered the very question that had been lingering in his mind. A strange sensation burned underneath his skin as if he wanted to...wanted to kiss you. His breaths grew heavier and his hands pressed tightly against his sides, trying to hide the trembles.

"I'll keep a look out but I'm sure he won't waste any time coming here. You too. Goodnight Dr Loomis."

You hung up the phone and turned back to Michael, taking a few hesitant steps into his direction.

"So...uhm...what brought you here? You could also have tried to find your sister."

A small shivering breath came from behind the mask before Michael slowly pulled it off his face and pointed at you. Your brows furrowed for a moment and you contemplated on the possibilities before answering cautiously.

"Me? You came here because of me? To see me?"

He nodded, placing his mask on the counter beside your costume and sank to his knees, arms outstretched, waiting for you to approach him. He was aware that you probably knew the circumstances that led to his escape, Loomis would have surely informed you how much blood stained his hands tonight. And yet, you chose to send the doctor straight to Haddonfield all the while wearing a smile on your face. You had a choice tonight and you chose him. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes when you wrapped your arms around him, exhaling relieved at the shared closeness. It had been a long time since anyone had chosen him, and now here you were, gently cradling his face, your gaze filled with nothing but affection. His heart ached beautifully as the feeling of home nestled within. He leaned in closer, his lips pressing on yours in a, first, tender kiss that quickly morphed into burning passion he couldn't control any longer. Strong hands slid beneath your butt and you gasped when you were lifted onto the counter. Long fingers wrapped around your shorts and panties, tearing them off with such force that they were flying off to the corner of the kitchen.

"Michael!", you shrieked in surprise but your legs parting on their own betrayed your desire.

Michael groaned at the sight of your wet folds before him. Not only had you chosen him, but you were also willing to surrender yourself to him, to be his. He silently vowed to worship you as the angelic being that you were, grant you the pleasures of the heavens you descended from. Gently, he positioned your legs over his shoulders and leaned forward, his face coming tantalisingly close to your cunt and you could feel his breath fanning over your wetness. A deep, sinful moan escaped your lips as his tongue pressed flat against your swollen clit. His fingers dug deeper into your flesh as your sweet taste began to fill his mouth, igniting a feral hunger within him. His sloppy licks grew faster, sucking at your clit in between before shoving three fingers into your dripping entrance. You cried out in pleasure as he kept thrusting into you, pushing you fast towards the edge of your release. The man between your legs had nothing in common with the shy calm patient from the observation room, the one standing between your legs ate you out like a starved man, worshipping you for the loyalty you showed him. Your fingers entwined in his hair, urging him closer as you bucked your hips and cried out his name, panting and finally coming undone while pure bliss washed over you. Michael mumbled something against your folds before rising and using his sleeve to wipe away your juices from his face. You still breathed heavily, chuckling as you hopped off the countertop, searching for your pants in the kitchen corner.

"That was....wow....I-I should return the favour", you spoke softly, pulling up your pants.

As you glanced up, a short gasp escaped your lips as you discovered Michael already standing beside you, his arms sneaking around your waist as he placed a tender kiss on your forehead.

"Later", he murmured, his voice coarse and deep, "let's sleep."

Those little words, so simple and yet the desire that gave birth to them ran so deep. Michael never truly had someone, his dark thoughts being the only company he ever knew until, one day, you stepped through those doors in the Sanitarium. He had always wondered it how would to be to lie down in bed with someone, not a single worry in his world as only happiness seeped through his body and the warmth of your touch lulling him into slumber. You led him upstairs and cuddled up to him on your bed, slowly sinking into a blissful sleep in the arms of Haddonfield's most feared man. Michael caressed your arm, eyelids growing heavy as he drifted off, one final thought lingering before surrendering to the irresistible lure of slumber. Home...

Feel free to reblog if you enjoyed the story 😊

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