#none of these are solid ''this is this'' answers though

[sinisterexaggerator]

Hancock x F!Reader [ A03 ]

Summary: You are important to John Hancock; there is a radstorm brewing. As a skilled and reformed scavver, you’re after a part for a decommissioned lounger—it belongs to Doc Amari’s famed Memory Den.

Hancock's tense; he should have gone with you, but it’s not too late to search you out. He would be glad to have you home safe in his arms, only things don’t always go as planned, nor do you go unpunished for your negligence.

Explicit: NSFW / 18+ for PWP, PiV sex, fingering, cunnilingus, dirty talk, whump / hurt and comfort, angst, gun violence, light bondage, praise, light sub/dom undertones, edging, use of chems, alcohol, foul language, and canon-typical violence and behavior. Other worthy mentions include fluff, romance, a worried and protective Hancock, and love confessions.

Notes: I am normally a Star Wars writer. This is my first time writing for Hancock, and my first fic for the Fallout fandom. I see Hancock as multifaceted, which I am having fun exploring. I have many ideas, but one fic can only contain so much! I used a few lines of dialogue from the game because they stuck with me T__T. I will also most likely try my hand at Nick Valentine at some point, (and maybe even Coop), but this ghoul stole my heart.

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Feedback appreciated. Like? Reblog! <3 Requests accepted!

Eyes as black as tar pits searched the ground at his feet, though no answers would present themselves, the cold, grimy filth of the Commonwealth something he could relate to on an atomic level. Flecks of barren soil and bits of detritus vaulted upward in a stagnate aggregate of dust, cavalier leather boots—having seen better days—leaving a swirl of varied particulates in their wake.

Hancock paced, the Mayor of Goodneighbor impatient as a hungry mole rat, the man left to stalk before the door that led to the Financial District. A dreary, dark green pall signaled to anyone with brains that there was a storm looming on the horizon, and yet you had not returned.

“Where the hell is she?” a raspy voice asked its sparse audience, two ghouls dedicated to his cause doubling as bodyguards, though if he felt safe anywhere, it was here among his brethren.  Besides, it wasn’t his safety he was worried about, it was yours, and he wasn’t afraid to convey his feelings to the whole of town.

“Startin’ to get antsy. Gotta hand it to her, she’s got me sweatin’ like a whore in church over this. Hope she’s havin’ fun at my expense.”

Scavenging was lucrative, or it could be if you managed to score the right loot. You had to know where to look, or where not to look; danger was always in the cards. It was a game Hancock didn’t like to play, and especially not now, not when lightning streaked the sky, rain clouds pregnant with radiation threatening to burst open like a feral’s head looking down the muzzle of a sawed-off shotgun.

He knew what it was like to be forced to scour the bare bones of buildings, filching anything that was ripe for the picking. A single find could feed a man for weeks, and places like Goodneighbor just didn’t just build themselves. People needed things. Lucky for them, Hancock was able to provide. It was his one claim to fame—his rep was solid—but he didn’t look down on you for being one to scout for buried treasure.

“She’ll turn up,” one of his companions offered. It was a piteous attempt to console him, Hancock all but ignoring his dismissive comment. He felt his concern was obvious, yet his bedfellows were none of their business. Either way, he brushed it off like a decent man instead of snapping like he wanted to—the guy’d done nothing wrong.

Thunderclaps echoed through town, the first of many droplets pelting his marred face, the ghoul’s faithful tricorn not doing much in the way of shielding him from the dirtied water that had begun to trickle down onto its weathered surface.

He rued allowing you to go out on this wild-mongrel chase to begin with, not to say that you weren’t capable. What he might say is that you’re too good for this world, too good for him, but that hadn’t stopped him from falling head over heels.

You weren’t anti-social like most of your kind; you had a good heart, gave paying customers fair deals, and somehow you had kept the ruins from tarnishing your cheerful outlook; you sported a chipper disposition even at the worst of times.

In other words, you were his little ray of sunshine; Hancock had no qualms with telling you that to your face. And things as precious as you were to him? They needed protecting. It was becoming more obvious by the minute that he should have done the job himself.

“If this is her definition of ‘fast,’ we’re going to need to have a little chat to clear a few things up. Should have fucking gone with her, don’t know what I was thinking,” fried vocal cords scratched out, words tinged with worry as he made his way to the reinforced slab of steel that was Goodneighbor’s single entry point, not counting the alley behind Rexford.

“Maybe you weren’t thinkin’ at all, John…” that little voice inside his head nagged at him, reminding himself at every turn of the ways he’d failed, this on the verge of being one of them.

“Want us to look?” the other rejoined, aware you had been sent out on a job to find a replacement circuit board for Doctor Amari, as one of the memory lounger’s had been marked out of service. The doc would pay you well; everyone’s gotta eke a living somehow. Hers was made by sellin’ a man’s own memories back to him, and yours was made by sellin’ spare parts.

Didn’t mean he couldn’t have skipped out on his Mayoral duties for one evening, Hancock mentally scolding himself, his sentiments leading him toward the need to kick his own ass.

Quick, adept and clever, he had no doubt you could pull it off, but you were used to traveling in a group, used to back up and a lookout. You had willingly ditched your crew and settled here for him, making Goodneighbor more or less your permanent home. He couldn’t help but feel like he was ultimately responsible for you and your well-being—so far, so good. He’d be damned if anything happened to you on his watch.

The coming radstorm was starting to sound like a stampede of angry Brahmin. Not even those of his ilk should be out in this mess. Technically immortal, sure, but not immune to accumulating all that bad stuff brewing in the atmosphere; he was comfy right where he was, but not without his lady by his side.

Their self-elected leader ignored the question, reaching into the confines of his red frock coat to unveil the firepower hidden just out of sight. His break-action, double-barreled 12-gauge had most of its stock removed for easy concealment; he knew better than to step foot outside Goodneighbor without packing heat.

“No, you might say this is a personal problem. Not to say she wouldn’t make a damn fine Ghoul,” he stated with deadly calm, kicking the door open with reckless abandon despite his unflappable demeanor, not caring what awaited him on the other side.

“I’m going with you, ain’t safe,” words spoken over harsh winds, a breeze not in the least bit refreshing having descended upon the Commonwealth as Hancock slipped out into the mounting tumult, both men following close behind. Truthfully, he was grateful for their loyalty.  

“Suit yourself, but don’t go gettin’ yourself killed. Would defeat the purpose of a search and rescue, ya feel me?”

A question not needing a response, he ventured forward, running headfirst into the growing tempest, chaos reigning overhead in the form of a blinding light show.

Hancock called out for you, yelling your name over the deafening commotion that was going to get worse before it got better, not about to go home empty-handed, even if it took the whole damn rest of the night. He hoped you were smart enough to know when to quit, or that you’d taken those Mentats he’d stuffed in your pocket on the way out.

“Get back here, scavver!”

Footfalls echoed in the dark, brisk in pace, inky, depthless eyes narrowing as the ghoul searched out the source. He had taken no more than half a dozen steps before he was forced to witness you at a full-fledged run, two burly raiders belting out insults and expletives hot on your trail.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion, but he was stone-cold sober, time standing still as you dove into Hancock’s open arms.

“There’s my girl,” the scoundrel purred into your ear, sinewy limbs enshrouding you as the sound of gunfire and discarded ammo casings nearly went unnoticed. Hancock let his own weapon fall to the ground to accommodate you, your pursuers dispatched like the trash they were. The members of the Neighborhood Watch who had accompanied him outside the walls made short work of both men; they deserved a drink and some chems on his dime.

“John,” you breathed out, smiling up at him, eyes sparkling with mirth as you held up that piece of scrap you were so proud of. His name off your tongue was musical, a warm sensation spreading through him like wildfire, better than drugs—it was a high he would never come down from.

“I—I got the part,” you spoke softly, your tepid breath tickling the remnants of a disfigured ear.

Hancock almost shivered.

But oh, no. He wasn’t about to let you off that easy, not when he’d felt that pang of anxiety and the sickening feeling in his gut like someone had shanked him with his own knife. He held you back by the shoulders, breaking your embrace, his face taking on a displeased, stern shade.

“What’s wrong with you, huh? Makin' me all kinds of nervous. Scarin’ me half to death. And some might say I don’t look too far off.” He breathed in nice and slow, exhaling through exposed nasal cavities, Hancock emitting a sigh to emphasize his disappointment. “Can’t be doin’ things like that, or you’re liable to give this old ghoul a—”

“—Sunshine?” His heart sank, as if the universe was out to prove he had every right to worry, Hancock’s attention inexplicably drawn to the red staining your fingers—it neared the color of his coat. You only now seemed to notice, that radiant light swept from your beaming face as you acknowledged the presence of your own blood on your hands; no wonder it had been so hard to take those last few steps.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered, eyes blown wide as you apologized for upsetting him. You would collapse into a heap, the adrenaline that had carried you home seeming to dissipate all at once—at least your fight-or-flight response had done its duty.

---

“Move over, out of the way. I ain’t askin’ twice,” Hancock seethed, the distraught man’s threat to bowl over anyone who stood in his way not to be taken lightly, though his tone was traitorously even and his despondency well-masked. He stormed the Old State House, ascending the spiral staircase to the second floor, carrying your limp body to a tattered red couch.

Refuse and empty Jet inhalers, along with half-drunk bottles of alcohol and boxes of Mentats, were all swept aside, Hancock throwing open cabinet doors and dislodging drawers in his haste.

“Oh, you’re really in it now, aren’t you, sister? Just had to make a few extra caps!” he chided, the ghoul’s husky voice rising in volume as he took to another part of the room.

Having not yet succumbed to blood loss, you were barely cognizant as you fought to stay awake, your beloved Mayor nothing more than a blur of motion and splotches of red as he systematically searched every nook and cranny for the syringe that would save your life.

“Hang on, dollface, you’re not dying today. Not if I have anything to say about it—and you know how much I love to run my mouth.” Hancock spoke to reassure you and himself, filling the silence with something other than the curses he wanted to dish out every which way to the wind. You couldn’t help but to smile again despite your predicament, eyelids drooping as you thought about the idea of sleep.

“There you are,” he growled, your vision starting to glaze over, though you were aware Hancock had come back to your side. His scarred, yet deceptively handsome face hovered inches above your own; it was an acquired taste you had no trouble in accepting.

“This is gonna hurt, but it’s better than the alternative,” he provided in short warning, withered fingers fumbling to unbutton your top, exposing first your sternum, your ribs, and then your belly.

“Shit, they got you good,” Hancock grumbled, your hand rising to cradle his jaw as he had peeled back the flaps of fabric to inspect the wound in your side. You were surprisingly calm, thinking that if today was your last day on Earth, at least you had been blessed to experience his company. 

“I’m glad it’s you here with me,” your voice, meek and mild, declared. Hancock hesitated for one precious second, caught off guard, but pleasantly so.

“Don’t go gettin’ sentimental on me! Ain’t like these are your final moments or nothin’,” he assured, an audible tremble causing his words to waver, voice rising in pitch. He went on to stab you without ceremony, the needlepoint of a stimpak and its revitalizing medicine at once injecting itself into your damaged flesh and pulsing through your bloodstream.

You moaned in pain, hips arching as you lifted slightly up off the cushions before you settled once more, allowing yourself to finally relax as Hancock watched the regenerative process take hold, much to his relief.

---

You awoke, finding yourself supine atop a mattress, with Hancock crossed legged on the floor beside you. He had brought it down from upstairs, wanting you to have somewhere more comfortable to recover; the drifters weren’t using it, but he was sure he could scrounge another one up should the need arise.

The door was shut, the rest of the room empty, the man teetering off the edge of a high he wished he could prolong; he had pumped himself full of all those things that made him feel better. Riddled with guilt, he had imbibed both chems and alcohol, his body slightly swaying from left to right as he could not sit entirely still, yet he was too far off in his own head to notice you had come back to him.

You shifted, realizing he had draped his frock across your body to act as a temporary blanket. This simple gesture caused a flutter behind sore ribs, biceps activating so that you might push up and rest on the flat of your palms.

John was idle, near-dead to the world, eyes closed as he kept up that gentle rocking, back and forth, as if lost in music or in deep meditation. You only desired to watch him, studying the intricate, striated patterns of his ravaged flesh, gazing over the hollow of his once human nose, and admiring his sullied, foppish tunic that was a part of his infamous ensemble.

While some might consider him a monster, he was a being of light. He had superficial, obvious flaws, but he was no more guilty of sin than anyone else in this day and age. He was a beautiful soul, inside and out, and your opinion was the only one that mattered to you. Hancock always tried to do the right thing—it’s what drew you to him—even if that meant taking out a few loose ends. 

Your heart stirred, natural chemical processes taking hold that would prompt you to touch him, your hormones dictating that you wanted this man carnally.

The ghoul’s eyes bolted open as you shuffled forward on your behind; you set his coat aside almost reverently, folding your legs like his, knees brushing as you leaned forward to kiss his wiry lips. Soft flesh against textured skin, rough in comparison, felt no less wonderful, Hancock groaning out a throaty sound of appreciation as he slowly shut his eyes again.

That was all the encouragement you needed, pressing closer, crawling onto Hancock’s lap as his hands found the meat of your ass to give it a squeeze. “Someone’s feelin’ better…” he quipped, allowing himself to lie back on the floor. His smile was lackadaisical and content, his touch roving to your thighs as he gazed up at you, noting you were tugging off your already unbuttoned top to reveal your shapely breasts.

“How’d a guy like me get so damn lucky…” he drawled, Hancock’s normally assertive way of speaking temporarily replaced by a calming cadence—it was dreamy—his indolent tone arousing your most base instincts.

You didn’t answer at first, thinking you’re the one who’s lucky. You had wanted and needed a change of pace, not happy with the way your business partners were operating, willing to bring death to others in order to get what scrap they could. You only took things from the ruins, or from those who deserved to be robbed, the idea of senseless violence proliferating thanks to people like your ragtag group something you decided you couldn’t live with.

You’d come to Goodneighbor looking for work; Hancock had been willing to give you a chance, and you didn’t disappoint. After a few heady conversations and risqué flirtations at the Third Rail, you had wound up in his arms—a place you found yourself never wanting to leave.

“I could ask you the same question,” you finally muttered, grazing his mouth, kisses repeating, small pecks placed from one side to the other in a physical show of adoration. The ghoul laughed a wry, salacious little laugh, head turning to allow for this impromptu bout of affection, stretching one arm out behind his head to act as a pillow as he relished the attention.

Then, his smile faded, the chem’s effects lingering like background radiation, less intense than before—the high lasted mere minutes if that, his faculties gradually returning. The hand left free gingerly touched your side, just below where he had administered the stimpak hours earlier. Concern was apparent in glistening eyes, so dark and lovely, starry pupils reflecting the faint luminescence of his surroundings.

“Not lettin’ you out of my sight again,” he promised, every shred of levity fleeing to be replaced by austerity, low, somber notes causing a visceral reaction as the onset of something warm and fuzzy spread throughout your core.

“Bein’ out here with me? Means you don’t gotta work, but I should have had your back, sunshine. Ain’t got no excuse.”

“You can have me on my back,” you playfully retorted, the simple suggestion unleashing a purr from the bowels of the ghoul’s throat. The idea of being a kept woman pleased you, but you were more interested in pleasing him.

“You better watch your mouth, or I can’t be held responsible for all those things I’m going to do to you,” Hancock countered. He talked big game, but he was still feelin’ shook. He didn’t want to risk getting too frisky on the off chance your body needed more time to heal; you were only human, after all.

“I’m shaking in my boots,” you simpered. Hancock was quick to snark back.

“I know that’s a lie, ‘cause you’re not wearing any.”

You gasped as Hancock flipped you without warning, pinning both your wrists to either side of your head. He drank in the smooth, supple flesh of your curves, hungry eyes making damn sure to get their fill.

He couldn’t stop himself, exploring the swell of a perfect tit, Hancock’s mouth becoming newly acquainted with the sensitive flesh of your nipple. He flicked its pert tip with the point of his tongue; you brazenly rolled your hips as you tried to contain the lewd sound that threatened to escape you.

“I double dog dare you, ” you tempted, not in the least bit afraid of what he might have in store.

Hancock didn’t take the bait.

“Don’t want to hurt you, love, but let’s say I give it to you nice and slow… Or as slow as I can give it; hard to keep promises, lookin’ the way you do,” he argued, ruined lips applying pressure as he began to suck, his growing erection gently grinding into the meat of your thigh.

“You won’t hurt me.” You shuddered as he pulled back, gazing into murky, otherworldly eyes, their glow hypnotizing. You half-assed a struggle, wanting to pull your hands free if only to touch him, Hancock chuckling mildly at your efforts.

“Don’t be so sure, ‘cause I got a hankerin’ for human,” his voice dropped emphatically lower, toying with you, his dire inflection sending tingles down your spine. Coming from a ghoul, most people would run the other way, but you knew from experience, Hancock had a twisted sense of humor—it was something you loved about him.

“Eat me,” you jeered, snapping your teeth playfully like some creature that roamed the wasteland, Hancock pulling his head back just enough to satisfy you, as if he had a nose to bite off to begin with.

“That’s the plan, sister,” he snickered, finally releasing his grip on your arms.

You took the opportunity to take hold of Hancock’s already tousled vest, guiding him down to meet your lips. Your fingers busied themselves with its unbuttoning as the ghoul had his hands full, cradling the plump, healthy tissue of your blushing cheeks in the crooks of his palms.

Hancock fed a grating moan into your mouth before asking a pointless question he already knew the answer to, not one to miss out on a chance to have his ego stroked. “Somethin’ about me.. turnin' you on? Don’t know why you’d go for this ugly mug,” he conceded, fishing for a compliment. 

“You. You turn me on,” you whined plaintively, “everything about you,” you confessed, furling your tongue around his, willing him to shut his trap long enough for you to kiss him properly. He aided in the undressing, whipping his sash off in one fell swoop, an idea blossoming only to come into fruition shortly thereafter.

“That why you’re actin’ so desperate for me?” Hancock laced that bit of ragged flag around both your wrists, constricting them once more, his own arm extending to tauten its hold. He wouldn’t give you the chance to kiss him the way you wanted to, cinching its loose ends around the legs of the coffee table just behind your head, giving it a good tug to make sure you couldn’t break free.

In reality, it would have been easy to wiggle loose, but he knew you were the type to play along.

“What are you doing?” you asked, feigning alarm. The ghoul only grinned a shit-eating grin, crawling backward across your lap to adjust to a better position for his next course of action. 

“Makin’ sure you can’t skip out on me,” he said matter of fact, a mischievous lilt to his voice, “gonna have to punish you for all that worryin’ you made me do.” 

“But, Hancock—” you protested, realizing he was barring you from the one thing you wanted—full access to his person, unable to grope and caress all those parts of him you were so eager to touch and kiss.

“—Hmm?” he hummed, the bastard having the nerve to stand. He left you in a recumbent position with hands tied, unable to do anything but gaze up at the seductive set of motions he was now subjecting you to.

The ghoul painstakingly unfastened the remainder of his buttons, wizened digits fondling each in turn, his manner suggesting something that for now would remain unspoken. Then, Hancock shrugged his vest off, allowing his arms to hang as the garment dropped silkily to the floor. It was followed by a festooned shirt, leaving the man bare chested and amused; he wasn’t sure you had blinked even once.

“Like what you see?” he asked lazily, tracing a line across his gaunt pecs toward his navel with the curl of a finger, black eyes glinting impishly at the sight of you jostling your wrists as you failed to liberate yourself.

“Yes,” you breathed out shamelessly, unable to deny the effect his little striptease had on you. This in and of itself was torture, finding his brand of punishment entirely unfair.

“Good,” Hancock crooned, doing the unthinkable as he vanished from view. He even went so far as to walk beyond your peripheral vision. Instead, you were reduced to listening out for him, the ghoul shuffling around somewhere behind you. 

“John,” you whined, sitting up and scooting back against the coffee table the best you could. You endeavored to crane your neck, hearing the clink of glass preceding other innocuous sounds, the gentle thud of Hancock’s boots echoing across the rotting floorboards as he made his way back around. 

“You can say my name all you want to, princess, but it ain’t gonna change a damn thing,” Hancock stressed, words clawing their way out of cracked pipes as he nudged your knees apart with his foot; he knelt between your legs, a dispenser of Jet in one hand, and a dose of Rad-X in the other. “Open wide,” he instructed. 

You should have known what he’d been after, the drug-addicted ghoul popping the lone anti-radiation capsule inside his mouth after dispensing a heavy spray of the illicit substance into his lungs; its potency was limited in his case, but you were easily susceptible to its high. 

You gratefully obeyed, wanting any excuse to be close to him, Hancock’s silver tongue molesting you as easily as it had persuaded you to listen. He deposited the pill into your mouth, kissing you deeply, your beloved Mayor giving you a shotgun of thick, odorous chems without so much as a single protest on your part. 

Your heart thrummed, Jet leeching its way into your bloodstream to trigger a bodily response via your nervous system. In the meantime, you had almost forgotten to swallow your dose of Rad-X, Hancock prompting you by trailing the full length of your throat with a single, sallow finger. 

He massaged it down, feeling for the activation of those muscles that would help ferry it along, his thoughts drifting to the memory of his cock once upon a time being slopped on by the wet whorl of your tongue. His prick had throbbed almost painfully, sequestered snugly inside your zealous gullet, the powerful suction of your hollow cheeks threatening to wrench his soul from his body, or it sure as hell had felt that way.

He was drawn back to the present moment by the look in your eyes, your pupils dilating to rival the circumference of dinner plates. You gazed at the man before you; Hancock pulled back the edge of your bottom lip, exposing your gumline, the ghoul snaking another of his fingers inside your partially open mouth. 

The slender extremity would bypass your blunt teeth, saturating itself in your saliva. Even in this state, you had the wherewithal to pucker up, intaking that explorative digit to the knuckle, your plush maw behaving like a deluxe pre-war vacuum cleaner. 

The ghoul shuddered, though keeping his cool intact, lost in the depths of your unwavering stare. He slowly slipped back out, releasing your lip for it to snap gently back into place, Hancock satisfied with the knowledge you had swallowed the pill.

“Look at you, bein’ such a good girl for me,” Hancock praised, speaking in a low, sultry whisper. You did not reply, your desire for the man at its all-time high, that warmth in your belly having spread to complement the unparalleled ache of your loins.

“Hancock,” you whimpered, once more tugging at the cloth that bound you. You felt delirious with longing, your heart racing as you saw stars, euphoria overtaking all of your senses. You pushed forward, halted partway by that fucking flag that had you fettered like some common criminal, too blazed to even think about squirming loose. 

“Please,” you begged, lips reaching for his. Hancock evaded you, trailing a divot devoid of cartilage across your sateen cheek, directing it toward your lovely, intact nose. 

“Please, what, sister?” he ruthlessly teased, watching as your tongue tried to skirt his teeth; its vertex barely met its goal. Still, Hancock would return the gesture with a sweep of his own, flitting his against yours, inhaling deeply the scent of Jet off your breath as he was suddenly consumed by an almost feral need to taste your neediness—it was nearly palpable. 

“Please.. touch you? Please kiss you? Please.. fuck your pretty little hole?” he asked in a derisive tone, though his movements were languid, Hancock in no rush to oblige you, even as his veiny hands glided over every inch of your sleek skin.

“Is that what my little ray of sunshine wants?” the ghoul taunted, moving to unbutton the clasp at the top of your pants, then pinching the pull of your zipper, teeth parting to reveal clean cotton. You were nearly embarrassed by how damp your panties were, the chems only making your arousal ten times worse; Hancock wasn’t helping matters, a lecherous moan reaching your ears as the man slid back and realigned himself, bending forward to bury his face in the moist outline staining your skivvies.

“Shit, you’re so fucking wet—” he marveled breezily, “—is it all for me?” Hancock rasped, nipping you through the fabric, a desiccated finger tucking itself into its elastic hem. Hancock dragged it down just far enough to expose your sweet-smelling sex, the ghoul’s tongue slithering easily between slick folds. 

You inhaled a disjointed gasp for breath, voice cracking as you cried out in ecstasy, Hancock having barely swiped your thrumming clit. That alone was almost too much, your hips bucking beneath him of their own volition as you pleaded with him to keep his promise.

“Don’t tease,” you sighed, naked breasts rising and falling with every labored breath. Hancock’s eyes traveled up your fine as fuck body before meeting your gaze, a twisted hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his ghoulish mouth. 

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” he snickered, fingers grasping the entirety of your waistband to help you shimmy off your bottom layer of clothes. Your hips wriggled all too desperately, overjoyed to finally be free of their constraints. 

“But that’s not fair!” you entreated, unabashedly spreading your legs in the hopes of providing him a suitable meal, ready and willing to be devoured if you could only convince him to take the plunge.  

“And why not?” he asked in all seriousness, nuzzling into the lush flesh of your labia as his silky tongue entombed itself, gathering your moist heat from its source. He dipped back out to your chagrin—you had inhaled sharply in preparation only to be left disappointed—Hancock licking a stripe to the cusp of your throbbing bud. 

“Because I’ll die,” you replied, overexaggerating, writhing in bliss, albeit temporary; Hancock seemed out to drive you mad, retracting once more to glance back up at you, reedy lips downturned in a disapproving frown. 

“No, you won’t,” he asserted, voice taking on a sobering, sincere quality; even if you were being hyperbolic, after the events that had just transpired, Hancock didn’t find it funny, resolving to dine on you good and proper, as if it would be the thing to save your life. 

“I—” You were cut off mid-thought, lightning crashing thunderously outside, the ghoul introducing two coarse fingers into your clenching cunt as the radstorm raged on. Hancock’s neck sank low as you arched your hips, the flat of a thick tongue bringing you toward rapture as he succinctly lapped your clit in delicious combination, playing you like some Old World violin. 

“Aren’t you glad you’re trapped in here with me instead of out there cookin’ alive?” Hancock asked offhand, digits curling to find the seat of your pleasure, warm, wet muscle dancing slow, precise circles across your sensitive nerves. You halfheartedly yanked at your bindings once more, wishing for nothing more than to ravish him like a woman starved, deprived of sustenance. 

“Yes, yes— please, just like that,” you answered, urging him on, the man encouraged to keep at it, long, languorous strokes titillating you toward release.

Then, he simply stopped, fingers glossy upon exit, Hancock sucking your slick clean off with a scarecrow smile, tilting his head like a curious animal as you bemoaned your plight, left to suffer on the edge of an orgasm. 

“Relax, I ain’t through with you yet,” Hancock remarked, lifting himself up to a seated position on his knees. You whined indignantly, made to watch as he unbuckled and unzipped his own pants.

The rogue stood completely, giving you another show, kicking one boot off after the other before slinking out of the rest of his clothes. 

You took a moment to admire him, skin pockmarked with scars, deep pits of tissue missing where cells had inevitably healed all too quickly, John a mosaic of gnarled, misshapen flesh and keloid. Yet he was so handsome, charming, and cavalier, the man leaving nothing on but his tricornered hat, returning to his previous enterprise by way of interring his roiling tongue into your aching center. 

“Oh, John,” you murmured, voice hushed, the man’s thumb working itself concentrically atop your little pearl. 

For once, he was quiet, his strokes inside you meticulous, the nearly silent room filled with a plethora of obscene sounds as he feasted on you like a Yao guai over a fresh kill. Just a little attention was all it took, nails digging into the palms of your tied hands as you twisted beneath him, vocalizing loud enough you were sure the whole State House would hear.

A shiver rocked you to your core, riding out your climax for as long as you could stand it. You were unable to push Hancock’s head back even if you wanted to, the ghoul finding a new way to punish you, continuing to stimulate your already oversensitive clit. 

“Hancock, please—” you begged him under different circumstances, the ball of your foot gingerly pushing against his blatant hard-on. The ghoul finally let up just enough to chortle dryly, obviously nonplussed.

“Done already? Thought we were just gettin’ this party started,” he flouted, sitting up properly, probing fingers caressing the curve of your slit as they trailed upward, ghosting over your navel to tweak your nipple. They didn’t stop there, reaching just behind you to nab a cigarette off the edge of the coffee table, your expression giving away your confusion as he struck a match to ignite the end.

“No, John— you’re supposed to fuck me!” you berated, another devious little chuckle let loose from wilted lips. The ghoul inhaled a deep drag of nicotine laced with radiation, though the amount contained therein was so trivial he didn’t bat a lash—not that he had any.

He gazed at you through a thin veil of smoke exuded from eroded nasal passages—a short burst of pressure from his lungs propelling it outward—a freakish sight to some, but you had grown accustomed to it. 

“So, that is what you want,” Hancock digressed, snubbing the end of his cig on the floor after a few more laggard puffs. The Jet was wearing off, Hancock having already sobered completely, its side effects leaving you feeling used-up and exhausted. Hancock had forgotten what it felt like to come down from such an intense high; you pouted pathetically up at him.

“Baby,” you whined, immediately capturing Hancock's attention. He dropped the act, eyes softening around the edges, colorless voids somehow the most expressive you had ever seen them.

“What is it, sunshine? Feelin’ all right? Need somethin’ to take the edge off?” he asked gently, concern present in his tone, the ghoul finally being kind enough to reach over your head to free you from your bindings. 

“I need you,” you implored, your speech sounding childishly irritable, tired, heavy arms lifting to wrap themselves around John’s neck; you couldn’t help yourself, having been prohibited from touching him for what felt like hours, when in reality it had only been a short length of time. 

“I’m all yours,” Hancock vowed, whisking a stray strand of your hair away. A soft kiss was pressed into even softer lips; the man was two sides of the same coin, like night and day. Part of you prayed you would never cross him, his temper volatile, like an active volcano lying dormant until such a time the right conditions were met, inevitably causing an eruption. 

But he was also kind, genuine, and a good person, only wanting to make the Commonwealth a better place; he held within him a righteous anger, and for good reason, determined to stick by him through thick and thin. 

"Nice and slow?" you asked, bringing the conversation full circle, ushering the ghoul down on top of you as you laid back, gazing up with heavy-lidded eyes. He searched your face, as if double-checking for something, needing to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that nothing was wrong—you were only sulking. 

“You got it, sister,” Hancock replied coyly, the fullness of a finger returning to you as he tested the waters; you were still so unbelievably wet. It was a stark contrast to the dry, desolate landscape that stretched for miles just beyond his little town, the ghoul humming in gratitude as you kissed him once again. 

You wasted no time, slipping your hand between the depression of your bodies where hip meets hip, his weight a warm, inviting presence that comforted you like nothing else. Your fingers toyed with his variegated shaft, thumbing a bead of loosed pre-cum to moisten its tip; Hancock moaned lustfully as he buried himself deeper into the column of your throat, teeth raking tender flesh, barely withholding the intention to bite.

“I’m thinkin’ you must be the single best thing to ever happen to me,” Hancock confessed in a dulcet whisper, voice quavering with emotion as you carefully escorted his cock inside you, one delicious inch at a time. Jagged breaths found their way into your ear, distorted, ribbed flesh, more than adequate in length and girth, stretching you open, a subdued sound of longing and relief birthed from parted lips. 

“I love you,” you blurted out, unable to keep your feelings at bay, any and all movements ceasing before they had wholly begun.

You had closed your eyes; they fluttered open, fear wheedling its way inside your heart as Hancock gazed at you in silence. You cursed yourself, having never before expressed such a sentiment out loud, unsure how the man would take it, or if he even felt remotely the same—all signs pointed to yes, but you refused to be presumptuous. 

Then, he pushed up into your tight cunt with one slow, smooth stroke of his cock along your anterior walls, stimulating your G-spot. Pleasure radiated through you as you emitted a stilted breath, Hancock cradling your cheek, resting his forehead against yours to stare penetratingly into your eyes.

“Took you to be smarter than this, but I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear you say that,” he breathed against your lips, slipping a motile tongue into your mouth, wanting to desperately deepen your connection. 

You readily accepted, your own tongue writhing and contracting in unison with his, heart beating fervently behind a wall of blood and bone. Your fingers clawed and grasped at his narrow shoulders and the tendinous flesh of his back, exploring every inch of your ghoulish lover, from head to jutting hipbone.

Hancock drove his cock into you, back and forth, keeping a steady, equal rhythm like the beat of a drum. “Why now?” he asked, voice tempered, each pump of his thick prick inside you unhurried and sensuous.

“Nearly dying may have had something to do with it,” you jested in-between indecent, muted moans, Hancock’s deliberate pace driving you toward orgasm. The arm not supporting his weight curled tightly around you. He clutched you to his chest, and you wrapped your thighs around his waif thin waist in return. 

“Mmn.. that it?” Spindly fingers moved to grip the back of your head, digging into tufts of your hair; your back bowed to support you in joining with him more fully, Hancock massaging your scalp as he massaged your insides, debauch, rich sounds filling both your ears.

“And because I have nothing to lose,” you reluctantly answered, breath picking up speed as you pushed back against firm, rawboned pectorals with the palm of your hand; you had the intention of arranging yourself at just the right angle to please— a simple slant of your hips would make things all too easy.

Within moments, you came, pinpricks of light overwhelming your senses. You were elated, as if your consciousness had been overtaken by a nebulous cloud of love and electromagnetic radiation, a soul set adrift in a swirling haze of thoughts, feelings and emotions that would amalgamate into something beautiful—it caused you to cry out a sound of intense, heartfelt bliss. 

Your mind went blank, only registering that John had simultaneously shared in the experience. It would take you both a moment to calm.

Then, you squeezed Hancock tightly between your legs, a signal for him to not withdraw, but to stay awhile, the tension in your body settling as you laid back down.

“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart.” Hancock would smother you with his scant weight, caressing the point of your chin, his thumb snaking across your bottom lip. He gave a faint exhalation of breath, the concave outline of his nasal cavity grazing the convex shape of your nose; it tickled.

“Nothing to lose but each other.”

[pilferingapples]

I was just reading the "Enjolras and his lieutenants" chapter and I noticed that Enjolras used the informal you for both Courfeyrac and Jehan, but not for Feuilly. Would you happen to know the historical/language reasons as to why that is? I thought it may be because both are students and where I'm from, students use the informal you, even if they don't know each other. But Bossuet addressed Marius with the formal you when they first met, so I'm not sure if that really is the reason for that. Does it mean that canonically, they aren't as close as Enjolras is with the others or could there be another reason for it? Also, do you know why he still only adresses them by their last names, even though he's using the informal you?

Nonny you are asking me about one of the Great Questions of the Novel: what the heck is going on with Feuilly and the t/v distinctions?

I am not going to dive into the weeds of standard t/v use,but --along with all the usual applications, in canon era and especially the kind of social circles that Hugo knew best and is setting up for the Amis, " tu" seems to have been common for young men to use together (a) with friends from childhood (b) among certain groups of Romantics , Because Romantic Friendship (c) particularly relevant here , among certain republican groups, because of the implied equality of everyone using it. Cosette will reference this use later:

And obviously all of this only makes Enjolras vous-ing Feuilly weirder!

And complicating the theorizing, Enjolras does use Tu for Feuilly later on, during his big barricade speech:

 Écoute-moi, toi Feuilly, vaillant ouvrier, homme du peuple, hommes des peuples. Je te vénère.

I have no solid answer, only theories! Theory 1: Feuilly is, somehow, fairly new to the group in Lieutenants. Counterargument: then why is he already one of the Lieutenants? And in what seems to be a particularly Secret secret meeting with ONLY the Lieutenants in attendance?

Theory 2: Maybe Feuilly's much older than we generally estimate , enough to make the Tu seem less automatic? The later use of tu at the barricades seems to argue against that, but maybe that's a special " we're all fighting and about to die" level of intimacy, since Tu does seem to be in general use there? Counterargument: hugo refers to them all being Young so very, very often, and ok that seems to include Up To Maybe 35, but still. Feuilly's part of their age cohort by all other signs.

Theory 3, Not Very Satisfying but Realistic: Hugo's bein' weird. Hugo personally used Vous for almost everyone, unless they were either direct family or , to be blunt, someone he was having an affair with. He definitely used Vous in friendships most anyone else would have considered a definite Tu situation. Maybe Hugo had an idea about it that he didn't flesh out; maybe he just wrote that and didn't catch it in edits; maybe his handwriting there was just really especially awful and whoever did the Clean Copy that day * didn't transcribe it right and no one later down the line saw it as a typo. Mundane, unrelated to the narrative reasons.

Counterargument: none ,really, except it's kinda boring.:P

Theory X (silly fandom only theory) : Enjolras and Feuilly are trying to act like they are on more formal terms , for shenanigans reasons. Maybe they're working on their Cover for a Secret Mission. Maybe they're trying to hide the fact they've started dating.

As for the Last Name thing, it's just how some people , especially men, are? I don't know that it really needs more explanation, but by all means tell me if you've got a theory! Personally I've always liked " Everyone is named Jean (so they default to last names) XD

usually, but not always, Juliette Drouet

[transingthoseformers]

Shattered glass Froid and Sunder, folks,

Froid's so damn confused but rolling with it

Sunder's having a bit too much fun living out his favorite novels

[no-one-hears-me]

wow I really am terrified of gaining weight

[the-modern-typewriter]

I’ve not seen any starved touched hero stories so may I request a starved touched hero and the villain finds out and helps them. It’s fine if not:)

"Tell me," the villain murmured, as the hero's breath came out quivering. "When was the last time that someone touched you?"

It wasn't what the hero had expected.

"People touch me all the time."

"Kindly."

"You're not kind."

But the villain's touch was such a gentle thing; the hero's brain refused to register it as cruelty, even as the villain's fingers were curled around their throat. They didn't squeeze though.

The hero should have pulled back already. They should have shoved the villain away. They did none of those things. They leaned limp against the wall, almost hypnotised by the back and forth sweep of the villain's thumb brushing sweetly against their pulse point.

It was pitiful for a nice threat to feel like affection. They were pitiful.

The villain's gaze was intent.

"What are you doing to me?" the hero whispered.

"I'm not doing anything." The villain's powers worked with touch, but they had never touched the hero before. The hero had always been too quick. The villain had managed that time though, advancing, shoving the hero to the wall and then - then this. The villain had touched their skin and then they'd gone perfectly still for a few seconds. The villain could expose all secrets with a press of their fingers, do all manner of things, but...

The hero swallowed, eyeing them. They genuinely didn't think the villain was doing anything.

Each second that ticked by seemed a confession, a betrayal, a plea for something.

The villain's hand slid slowly to to cup the nape of the hero's neck. "You didn't answer my question." The villain pulled the hero a step closer, dragged them flush. The villain's other hand wrapped around the hero's back.

They were being hugged.

A confused, entirely too soft sound left the hero's throat. Questioning. A little choked. It felt like a trap and it felt entirely too desperately lovely.

The villain tightened their grip, tucking the hero's head against their shoulder.

"Skin hunger," the villain said, softly. "Touch starvation. You are a famine, love, I can feel it."

"I-" The hero didn't know how to finish the sentence. The villain was so warm against them, a solid and reassuring presence. That couldn't be right. "What?"

"It has been entirely too long, hasn't it?"

"You're not doing anything?"

"I'm hugging you."

"Your powers-"

"-Mean I know exactly how you are feeling. How much you need this. So are you going to be good and shut up and let yourself have it?"

The hero choked out another gasp of air.

Was that was why the villain had stopped? Why they'd seemed to switch gears so abruptly when they could have finally won? The hero swallowed and shut up, even if it was a bad idea. Inch by inch, when the villain did nothing more but hold them, the hero relaxed. They melted.

"Why are you doing this?" the hero managed, pressing their face against the promise of the villain's shoulder.

"Kindness?"

"You're not kind."

The villain huffed, breath rustling the hero's hair. They pressed a kiss atop the hero's head. "Mm. Temporarily benevolent. No strings attached, pinky promise."

It was definitely suspicious, but it really did feel so unbelievably good. The hero felt like they'd settled into their bones for the first time in years. Maybe longer.

They really couldn't remember the last time someone touched them kindly, for an extended period of time. A brush of accidental touch in a crowd. A hairdresser's clinical contact. None of it was anything like what the villain gave them.

"That's better," the villain said, with a sigh. "Your nerve endings have stopped screaming at me."

"S-sorry. I-"

"It was merely an observation. You don't need to be sorry."

The hero expected the villain to get back to it, or step back. They didn't. It was probably the longest hug in the world.

Finally, the hero let themselves reach out, wrapping their arms around the villain in turn.

"Good," the villain said.

"Are we still...I shouldn't let you touch me. I'm not stupid."

"No."

"Are you going to let go of me?"

"When you actually want me to, sure."

"And you can...feel that?"

"Yes."

The hero squirmed with embarrassment. The villain tightened their grip again. The hero went still.

"Years," the hero whispered, finally. "It's been years. I can't remember the last time."

"Mm." The villain nuzzled into them. "That's not going to happen again. I don't believe in torture."

Neither of them much felt like fighting when they finally broke apart.

[zombiefiilm]

Next to You

spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: sharing a room with the person in the bau that hates you the most makes you go through more emotions than you thought possible

warnings: kind of enemies to lovers, arguing, crying, no use of y/n, smut, nsfw - 18+ only, apology sex, soft sex, fem oral, protected p in v, praise, typical criminal minds death and unsub mentions

word count: 2.7k

Last minute cases in desolate towns in the midwest often meant that there was nowhere for the team to stay. It wasn't uncommon for you to have to pair or group up with other team members in dodgy motel rooms.

The most recent investigation had brought you all to the middle of nowhere in Nebraska, a long day ending with a drive to an motel that housed 7 rooms in total.

You, Reid and Rossi were the last to arrive so when Prentiss handed you a room key and told you that you would be sharing with Reid, it was already too late to complain.

"It's for your own good" she she grinned, picking her go-bag off the floor beside her.

"I hate you" you sighed.

"Sure you do" she was already walking off. You've been face to face with serial killers regularly, and this was just surviving a few nights in the same room as Spencer Reid, you could do this.

You walked back outside to find Reid standing in the dark by the car, right hand in this pocket and his left leaning against the black SUV.

"Looks like you're with me, Reid" you announced and the way that his face instantly dropped almost knocked you over. It was almost like you'd told him you were about to kill him.

"Come on" you began walking down to room 4, Spencer following shortly behind as you unlocked the door.

Being met with just one double bed though was enough to bring tears to your eyes. The couch looked like it had been through the war and there was no way on earth you were even touching it. And the sigh that Spencer let out made you want to rip your own hair out.

"I'm gonna sleep in the car" you quickly turned around to walk out of the door.

"You're not sleeping outside with a killer targeting women the exact same age as you on the loose" he stopped you in your tracks. He was right. "I can take the couch".

You were a little surprised at the chivalry but thankful none the less. "Are you sure?"

He didn't answer, instead dropping himself onto the couch.

Feeling content with his actions, you dropped your own bag on the floor beside the bed and told him you were going to use the bathroom before cleaning yourself up and changing into the oversized t-shirt you were using as pyjamas.

Coming out of the bathroom again, you were going to tell Reid that he was free to use the bathroom now but he simply glared at you.

It was as if he wanted to make your life hell. He always scowled at you, made snarky comments on little details about you, gloated whenever you got anything wrong. He always drove you up the walls, since you first started at the BAU, and you never knew why.

It's not like you had done anything to him, from what you knew at least. You smiled and shook his hand when you met him and even thought he was cute, you treated him just like you did with everyone else on the team, but you quickly noticed how differently he treated you.

You gave him plenty of time to warm up to you before you let yourself develop any solid opinions on him. You were warned about how he took to knew people, and you were understanding at first. But after you were several months in, and now years, and he still treated you like an outsider, you were no longer shy to expressing your dislike for him.

Other people on the team noticed it too, you, JJ, Garcia and Emily often discussing it with each other, but if one of them ever mentioned Spencer's attitude to himself, he'd deny everything and brush it off.

You really tried to not let it get to you, especially with the support from others, But man, did it upset you.

Spencer eventually got himself ready in the bathroom and came back out, silently setting himself up on the couch as you sat in the bed and did some research. There was a nice silence for a while, and then:

"Could you stop turning the pages so loud" he sounded irritated already and you hadn't even spoken to each other in the past 30 minutes.

"What?" you matched his tone, was he really trying to start a fight with you right now?

"I can't even think with how much noise you're making"

"I'm not making any noise, Reid, what's wrong with you?"

"You're flicking the pages, I can't pay attention to anything else"

"Oh so the sound of paper is able to stop boy genius in his tracks?" you mocked, pissed off at what he was choosing to do do.

He glared at you in response, he looked like he was about to blow a fuse.

"I don't know how to help you here, Reid, I'm trying to work on the case"

"Yeah, trying, it's not like you've ever actually done anything important for one" his voice had raised slightly.

"What?"

"You're practically incompetent, how you got recruited to the bureau, I'll never know" you hadn't even noticed him standing up, but it suddenly made you feel uncomfortable so you got out of the bed too, standing on the opposite side of the room.

"Excuse me?" you were completely shocked now, how had he gotten so far.

"You heard me. You have no place on this team. All you do is mess things up, you can't figure anything out and then you go and let our unsubs go"

Oh

You knew exactly what he was talking about. During one of your first cases, you had unintentionally informed an unsub that the FBI were searching for him during an interview with his wife and he got away. He was dangerous and you had never forgiven yourself for the people who had died before he was finally caught.

You just broke down in tears after that. It felt like he'd re-opened the wound right there and then.

"Fuck you" you spat through tears. You couldn't even look at him now, turning your back to him to sit on the bed.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry" it was like he had suddenly snapped out of the unexplained rage he was just experiencing.

You felt the bed dip as he sat down behind you, and then a hand rest on your shoulder.

You were edging on losing the ability to breathe. It wasn't even just remembering the worst experience you had on the job, it was the fact that Spencer had used it against you just to get a reaction out of you. You wouldn't have even expected that from him.

He just sat behind you as you attempted to regain some sense of composure, not saying anything else. Was he finally feeling some sense of remorse for how horribly he had been treating you?

Once he noticed that your breathing had slowed, he called out your last name, your work name. It felt so impersonal in that moment. Not that you'd ever been on a first name basis with him, but you gave no reaction to him.

He tried again, squeezing your shoulder this time. You gave him nothing.

But then he whispered your name. Your first name. It was quiet, apologetic.. desperate.

You sniffled, wiping the tears from under your eyes before you turned around to look at him. He was sitting right behind you in the bed now, his big brown eyes practically burning a hole in your head. You knew you probably looked like a mess now, face red and wet, eyes puffy, and hair mangled.

"God, I'm sorry" his hand reached up to wipe a stray tear from your cheek "I'm such an idiot, I can't believe I said that".

You flinched at his touch, not saying anything back to him.

"If I could take that back I would, I did not mean it. It was just in the moment" he tried to hold your face in his hand but you avoided his touch.

"In the moment?" you repeated "What even was that moment. It's like you wanted to have an argument with me for fun".

"I don't want to argue with you, I just.."

"You just hate me" you finished.

"No! I don't hate you, I'm just stupid and don't know how to deal with how I feel about you"

You looked directly into his eyes, eyebrows furrowed. "How you feel about me?"

You managed to catch his gaze as it briefly flicked down to your lips. It felt like something was drawing you closer as you moved towards him.

"Please, let me make it up to you".

"No. Are you saying you've treated me like this because you can't figure out what to do about your feelings for me? What are you? Twelve? You've made my life miserable."

The tears spilled out again, what was he even saying?

"Please, just let me show you how sorry I am"

His voice was laced in what could only be described as desperation, it was making you want to hear him out, forgive him, and you didn't quite know why.

"Please" his voice was on the verge of breaking.

Your walls were crumbling down, it was like he'd cast a spell on you

"please"

You only nodded, allowing him to to lean in closer to you, finally cupping your head in his hands and softly pressing his lips against yours.

It was like he was purposefully avoiding any roughness as he gently kissed, from your lips down your jaw and then down your neck. He looked at you then, his eyes meeting yours in a silent question. And you nodded.

He loosely grabbed the hem of your shirt, and you let him lift it up over your head.

He didn't touch you yet, kissing your lips again as he began to slide your underwear down. You manoeuvred enough for him to take them off you completely. He was so gentle that you didn't even think of feeling self-conscious being completely undressed in front of him.

He urged you to spread your legs and quickly laid down on his stomach in between them.

You barely had time to blink before his lips were on you, kissing up the inside of your thigh. as his hands wrapped around you, holding you down.

Then, he was softly licking up your cunt, softly moaning to himself as he tasted you. He avoided your clit, dragging his tongue everywhere except where you needed him most.

"Spence" the nickname drove him crazy, he finally felt like maybe you could be his.

He finally flicked his tongue over your clit and you couldn't help but push your hips against his face, a whine slipping from your lips.

He only egged you on, using your legs to pull closer to his mouth. He kept circling your clit, increasing the amount of pressure he used as your squirmed under him.

Every few moments, he'd bring his tongue down again, dipping into your hole gently, gathering your slick, before suckling at your clit again.

Slurs of his name, swears and a few 'oh my gods' were the only coherent sounds that could leave your mouth. He had gotten you incredibly sensitive and you felt like you could tip over the edge at any moment.

Spencer himself couldn't stop himself from moaning at your taste, your sounds, how your skin felt under his hands. The vibrations pushing you further.

He suddenly sucked a bit harsher, almost nipping your clit before going back to his previously gentle movements.

The contrast between the rare harsher movements and his gentle attention had you bucking into his face, only to be stopped by his hands pushing you down.

All of a sudden, you felt your release. You moaned much to loud as you writhed under Spencer's mouth, him carrying you through your orgasm.

Just as you felt yourself come down, you went to pull yourself away from Spencer, but he refused to let you, keeping you pinned down to the bed as he let himself taste your release.

"Spencer, please" you were so incredibly sensitive at this point, your body jolting at every small movement. You had to bite the side of your hand to stop yourself from yelling out from the pleasure.

He suddenly pulled off of you with a soft *pop* ad sat up, quickly kicking his trousers and boxers off as you reached forward and loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt.

Now that he too was undressed, you felt more equal, it was almost metaphorical as if he was agreeing to end the weird tension between the both of you.

He sat between your legs again, lifting your legs around his hips. You hadn't noticed the condom he had taken out from his pocket until you heard the crinkle of the foil as he opened it.

He quickly rolled it down his shaft as you finally got the chance to look at him. You felt yourself clench in anticipation.

He finally lined himself up and you were subconsciously pushing your hips down towards him.

"Please, Reid" you practically begged as he leaned forward but he stopped at your words.

You looked into his eyes, pleading for him to fill you up, but he didn't.

"Spencer" you whined, and he quickly rutted his hips into you.

"Thats it, good girl" he praised as the air was knocked from your lungs.

He started slow, using one hand to prop himself up and the other to finally caress your skin. It was like he was trying to memorise the curves of your body with one hand. He grabbed at your hips, held your waist, squeezed your breasts, as he slowly picked up his pace.

He couldn't get enough of feeling your body as he pinched your nipple, marvelling at the way it hardened further.

"God, you're so beautiful" his hand finally fell down to your clit, rubbing small circles in time with his thrusts.

You couldn't even get a single word out at this point, too tired and desperate to say anything.

"I'm so sorry baby" if he didn't have your attention before, the name had definitely gotten it now. "I'll be so good for you from now on" you could tell he was close from the waver in his voice, but you too felt your 2nd release approaching.

"You're so perfect" his rambling was interrupted by groans, "never want to leave your side ever again" his thrusts had last there rhythm as he circled your clit quicker, desperate to get you to cum before him.

It didn't take long for the coil in your stomach to snap, vision blurring as he continued his thrusts. Not much after, he plunged into you one last time. You could feel him coming inside as he filled up the condom, his chest now flush against yours.

You both laid there for a few moments, enjoying the hot, sticky embrace as you caught your breathe.

Silently, Spencer pulled out, taking off the condom and throwing it in the trash before pulling his boxers on. He then got you cleaned up, helping you put on your own underwear afterwards, before you got into the bed.

He tried to walk over to the couch but you were not letting that happen. “Get in here Reid" you muttered, laughing quietly as he practically jumped in beside you.

As he faced you in the bed, he brushed a stray hair behind your ear. "I'll make it up to you, I'm sorry, about everything" he kissed you once more, it would take more time for you to forgive him, but for now you let yourself fall asleep in his arms.

[alleiwentcrazy]

Eddie hates it when people don’t answer his calls. He hates it with passion.

It reminds him of too many things. It reminds him of manhunts and abandoned sheds, and no one on the other side of the line. It reminds him of cold, clammy hands, of hunger, of fear. Breaking bones and eldritch horrors he’d thought existed solely in cheap movies, not in real life, until he was brutally made aware of the fact that when people say everything’s possible, everything is possible.

Every time someone doesn’t answer the phone when he calls, panic starts to boil inside his veins and his brain immediately makes at least a dozen painful scenarios for him to dwell on. He knows that technically, they just don’t know that it’s him. But it doesn’t make him worry any less, so everyone’s learned to respect the rule. They just have to pick up. No matter what. Or he’ll freak out, drop everything he’s doing and come unexpectedly to check if everything’s alright.

There hasn’t been a single situation when things were actually bad—people go get groceries, take solid, deep naps, or they’re simply too lazy to pick up sometimes—but he always does that. Always.

Especially if it’s Steve who doesn’t answer. What if he fell? Or someone mugged him? Or he got into a fight? This brain can’t take any more damage. What if he’s in the hospital now, waiting to be anesthetized before surgery, and no one’s called Eddie yet, because to society they’re just some dudes living together?

There are too many options. Eddie doesn’t like taking chances anymore, so he slaps the “I’ll be back in a few” sign on the door, closes the shop and speeds through the town like he has nothing to lose. (And it’s quite stupid, because he has too many things to lose now—but he’s allowed to freak out once in a while.)

When he gets there and sees Steve pacing and gesturing animatedly in front of the window of their tiny but awfully cluttered kitchen, he finds out exactly what it means to have the whole world on your shoulders. Or, rather, to be finally freed from the pressure it creates.

It’s okay. It’s just a stupid phone call. It wasn’t even important, anyway.

Despite that, he takes his helmet off. Won’t hurt to remind Steve of the rule. And maybe kiss his pretty face a little while he’s here.

He doesn’t even have to enter their apartment to know that Steve’s not alone. First off – if Steve’s pacing and rambling, an anxious trait he’s picked up from Robin, wasn’t a hint enough – it’s loud. Their paper walls can barely hold back a normal conversation, let alone something resemblant of a heated discussion. Honestly, Eddie has no idea how their neighbors can stand them sometimes, with his metal, their late-night conversations and non-conversations alike, with the kids visiting so often. Although Steve is optimistic (they have some lovely neighbors, like sweet Gran Fran, but don’t ever let Eddie express his opinions about that old hag from across the hallway, Miss Hermans), he’s still waiting for that complaint to be filed.

Second, he smells coffee. Steve never makes coffee for just himself.

Eddie opens the door gingerly, remembering how easy it is to completely unhinge them by accident, and is about to scream something about getting home, when none other than Dustin Henderson cuts him off with a shriek.

“—because it’s actually pathetic, that’s why! Get a grip, man, just do it!”

“Oh, it’s so easy for you to say, because you’ve never actually tried—”

“And maybe I never will! If you won’t do it, how can I learn how to do it myself? You know that you guys are the closest thing to father figures!”

“Hey, don’t make it about yourself for once, maybe? Some humility?”

Dustin’s quiet for a second, but Eddie knows he’s not about to admit full defeat. “Yes, sorry,” he chokes out, finally. “But you’ve tried so many times, you should know that it doesn’t get any easier on another try. Just do it, it doesn’t matter how.”

“It does, though! To me, it—it does. It matters,” Steve mumbles back, and Eddie can picture his face in perfect detail. It’s Steve’s small voice, which means he’s worried about something, even though his worry doesn’t make any sense in everyone else’s eyes. He’s unsure: his brows are pinched, lips pursed, stare skittering around the room, never focusing on anything. Dustin knows this face too, because his tone gets softer.

“Okay, then walk me through it.”

“What?”

“Walk me through it. You’ll know what you want, how you want it, when and where, and it’ll be easier when you try it next time.”

“Dustin, I really don’t—I’m not sure it can get easier, ever.”

“Because you’re scared.”

Steve sighs deeply before he responds. “Yes. Because I’m scared.”

“It’s been eight years, Steve. What are you scared of?” Dustin’s voice is gentle, curious. He’s not judging, he genuinely wants to know the reasons, and so does Eddie. He leans against the wall, trying to sneak a peek of the kitchen unsuccessfully, and listens. A while passes before Steve speaks again.

“I think—There are so many things I’m afraid of. But the main one… It’s still rejection. Not being enough. Because it’s not like it’s anything formal, right? It’s only a promise, and if it ends up turned down…”

Chair legs scrape the floor and Eddie can hear two soft slaps – hands on shoulders, probably.

“Steve Harrington. Calm down. You know it’s not going to happen—no, don’t argue. I know it, and this alone should be enough. You are an amazing person. You’re great with people, you’re bright, you’re sweet, caring, you have so many talents. I love you, Steve,” the pause that follows is filled with something so heavy there’s a shift in the air. It has a different smell now. A little salty, a little warm. “And he loves you. More than you can imagine, probably. So just pop the question, Steve. And don’t back out with some stupid excuse like this morning.”

“Pop the question,” Steve says, his voice firm, only a little timid. “Yes, I think—I think I can do that.”

Eddie bounces off the wall and takes quiet, slow steps backwards. He can’t hear anything else, even though the conversation continues. He bites his tongue hard enough to make it bleed a little. A coppery taste floods his mouth as he closes the door.

Oh, it’s just so, so stupid. He would have said yes. Each and every time, he would have said yes.

*

Later that day, when they’re lying in bed together, with the sheets rumpled, their bodies warm and mushy from the nap, with Eddie’s lips on Steve’s and Steve’s hands in Eddie’s hair, Eddie remembers the overheard conversation.

Well, no. That’s a lie. Because he hasn’t stopped thinking about it ever since.

Every single second of what, at first, seemed to be yet another annoying Monday, has been filled with reverie and anticipation. Dustin’s right – Eddie loves Steve. He loves him enough to risk hell for him, enough to argue with anyone who’s in any way mean to him. Enough to take his hand and say “You don’t have to be afraid when I’m with you”, even though Eddie’s the biggest coward in the whole wide world.

Eddie loves him. Loves his goofy smiles and scrunched happy faces, loves his moles and the uneven mustache he grows out sometimes when he’s bored. Eddie loves how gentle Steve is, how thoughtful and kind-hearted he is. How he helps Gran Fran replant her flowers each month with more enthusiasm than Eddie’s ever shown to anyone. How he talks to children, how much respect he has for those undermined by everyone else.

Eddie loves how he’s learned to stand up for himself. He’s proud of Steve, of how much he’s grown, of how he knows how to express what he needs and what he wants now. Eddie’s loved him for ages, maybe even longer than he’s aware of, but every single significant and insignificant change in Steve’s behavior and point of view makes him fall a little bit harder, every time. In any shape, in any form, there’s one constant in Eddie’s life: his love for Steve.

He likes to think that they do that to each other, both of them. That they help each other through inevitable changes, painful regressions and euphoric victories alike. He likes to think that together, they make one, healthy, living being – and apart they’re good, because they’ve grown to be good people thanks to the connections they’ve made overall. He likes this idea of just being good, together and apart. And he loves Steve for giving him the opportunity to be just that.

Eddie wants it to last. Desperately, intensely, madly. He wants it to last and he needs it to keep happening – he knows that, and he knows he has the capacity to do that. To be there, to stay. His hands touch Steve’s thigh, not in the slightest covered by those silly Hawkins Tigers shorts he’s kept, then they touch Steve’s soft, scarred belly, then they touch his chest, where his heart is beating steadily and peacefully, and he keeps kissing him and Steve keeps clingling back to him, and Eddie’s so sure.

He wants this. He wants to experience growing old together, he wants them to get all wrinkly and bald together, he wants the fights over who gets the most comfortable chair in their grandkids’ living room. He wants them to experience the highs and the lows of the family that they already have, and the one they’re going to build someday.

Eddie wants this. He wants Steve. The whole deal; the promised forever. And he doesn’t want to wait another second.

“Steve,” Eddie says, cutting the kiss short so suddenly Steve actually pulls him closer, chasing after the warmth of his lips. “I’m saying yes.”

“Mm. Okay,” he mumbles back, too kiss- and sleep-hazy to catch Eddie’s intention right away. He tries to bump their noses together—which is adorable, really, but Eddie can’t let him hijack and self-sabotage this proposal too.

“No, Steve,” he squeezes Steve’s side until he looks at him properly. “I love you. I’m saying yes.”

In awe, Eddie watches as Steve’s face goes through confusion, true bewilderment, a bit of fear and fleeting exhilaration, to finally settle on disbelief.

“How did you—”

Eddie laughs a little at that. “I called and you didn’t pick up.” Steve makes a little oh sound, already looking like a kicked puppy. “But it’s okay, doesn’t matter, not the point,” Eddie jumps in, anticipating an unnecessary apology. “The point is, I love you, and I’m saying yes.”

Steve stares at him for a long second, his eyes wide and earnest. His fingers slide from Eddie’s hair to finally settle on both of his cheeks, cradling them lovingly. Eddie kinda wants to cry.

“You’ll marry me?” Steve asks, incredulous, his voice only a bit louder than a whisper. The way he accentuates the word “marry” gives yet another layer of meaning to such a simple question. You’ll love me? Forever?

“I’ll marry you,” he replies without hesitation. “You’ll marry me?” You’ll love me? With my flaws?

“I’ll marry you,” Steve says back. Then he grins with his eyes glistening in the bedside light, and squishes Eddie’s cheeks so hard it squeezes the unshed tear right from his eye. “We’ll get married!”

Steve giggles happily, and Eddie laughs with him. There’s so much joy inside him—them, the whole room seems to get bigger. “We will,” he adds through a smile, already peppering his fiancé’s face with kisses.

“Oh gosh, I have to call Robin,” Steve manages through his giggles and Eddie loves him so much. “And Dustin!”

So, so much.

[writingsbychlo]

UNWIND | azriel

summary; azriel is caught up in his head, and needs to fuck out his frustrations with the woman he loves.

word count; 8543

notes; I can’t tell if this is hot or pure shit so lmk because this is a little more than my usual smut levels. also, this is a vague follow up to ‘focus’ but very very loosely. can totally be read as a stand-alone fic.

The lights were flickering in the halls as you walked along, the steady bursts of uncontrolled power bursting throughout the House of Wind, thrumming like an irrational heartbeat. The closer you got, the stronger the pulses became, the more frequent the flickering was, and the thicker the air seemed to get. 

You’d known Azriel for decades now, long enough to have seen these moods before. It wasn’t the worst one, not by far, nothing compared to the night Rhysand found himself trapped, or Feyre was taken back to Spring. Nonetheless, it didn’t make it any better. 

Cassian had fled after dinner with Nesta in his arms, the Townhouse looking like a very appealing prospect to visit for the night, and you knew that even though the ripples of his errant power never reached as low as the library, even the priestesses would be on lockdown from Azriel’s mood tonight. 

He’d never lay a finger on anyone, he never had, but it didn’t make the tumbling stones shaken loose from the mountainside any less scary, or the mass of writhing shadows and rage any friendlier.

It felt like plunging your head under water as you stood outside of his bedroom door; breath held, utter silence thick around your ears, heart beating so hard it was resonating audibly inside your skull. When your fist tapped against the wood, you barely heard the echo. A steady thrum of power was all you got in response. A warning, a threat, a question of who had dared come close, you weren’t sure. 

No more came. 

The bursts of power seemed to simmer, to become like a crawling, bubbling mess, so close to boiling over, spitting around your feet instead of steady pulses. The door finally creaked open, when you’d just about given up, wood scraping across the stone tiles to reveal the chaotic darkness inside.

As soon as you had cleared the entrance, the door slammed shut behind you. Only through the flickers of wild shadows could moonlight filter through, all of the lights on but none of the glow reaching you, and it was only by the one velvety shadow curling affectionately around your wrist that you were able to find any guidance through the onyx tornado at all. 

The shadow at your wrist dipped down, twirling between your fingers like the phantom touch of another’s hand in your own, leading you in slow stumbles through the room. The cold of the night hit you before any moonlight did, and it was only when you stumbled through the streams of shadows like a curtain that your lungs let you take a deep breath once again. 

Chilled, cold air wrapped around you like a blanket, bursting through your senses and renewing your mind once again. The touch at your wrist slipped away, a rogue tendril that rejoined the frenzy now that you were safely through the storm, and Azriel stood before you. Hunched at the waist, forearms braced on the stone balcony railing as he stared out at the endless distance. 

He was tense, built like stone and mountains, walls of solid muscle pulled so taut that his wings didn’t even touch the ground. His bare feet clung to the stone, skin pebbled in goosebumps everywhere except his covered legs, swirls of ink over his shoulders disappearing into the night sky. 

Tonight, Azriel wasn’t as flirty as he normally was. Tonight, he’d shut down entirely. That line that had been crossed weeks ago in the training ring felt like a million years ago now as he shut you out. He was so caught up in his own head that you weren’t even sure if he knew you were here. 

“Azriel?”

An answer to your question, as he jumped in shock, straightening to his full height, and twisting to face you. His eyes were dull and yet burning with rage, face contorted into a frown that you weren’t used to. Normally, he offered you a sweet smile, a smirk or a wink. A soft kiss to your forehead or cheek, a brush of one scarred finger over your blushing cheeks. 

None of it came now.  

“What are you doing here?”

You swallowed thickly, throat like sandpaper as you tried to form a response, to form words under the ire of his glare, but refusing to back down. He may be terrifying to the world, but he was the world to you. “Your shadow came when I knocked. I assumed you sent it to open the door.”

His gaze flickered angrily over his shoulder, like in the swirling mass he’d be able to pick out the traitor precisely, a snarl on his lips before he was looking back to you. “I didn’t. You shouldn’t be here.”

It was a dismissal, one he punctuated by turning his back on you and resuming his lean against the railing, breath clouding in the air as he let out a world-weary sigh. “Azriel…”

“Did you not just hear me?” His fingers clenched on the stone, so firmly that his knuckles turned white. The mountains practically shook again with his shout; “Leave!”

That power thrummed out again, heavy bursts that hummed over the building and rattled the glass windows as you stepped closer, flares of glittering blue from his siphons where they sat in a pile, useless to the rippling power now on a table beside him. Daring to take another step closer, he stiffened again.

You moved, closer and closer until you were within reaching distance, the space between you both swallowed up, but you didn’t dare to touch him. His wings twitched on either side of your body, tightening in like they did when he was preparing for a fight. Instead of reaching out, you cleared your throat softly, letting him know just where you were behind him.

He growled, turning slowly, cautious to ensure that no part of him touched any part of you, and the air was all but crackling with unshed tension around you. Insults, curses, harsh words were conveyed in his gaze, everything in an attempt to get you to leave that he had yet to say. 

Before he could say any of them, you raised your hands slowly, making sure he could track every movement as his eye widened, like taming a beast instead of a man. When your palms settled over his cheeks, the preternatural stiffness and stillness he’d taken on melted, his shoulders began to slump, like he was being dragged down into the very earth itself, even as he still towered over you. 

“Az, sweetheart…”

Still, he did not touch you. Even as the anger in his eyes only softened to pain, and the clench of his fists smoothed his hands out from fists by his sides. “You shouldn’t be here.” It wasn’t a threat this time, but instead was a plea, begging you to leave with a tenderness you were familiar with from him.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” You murmured, voice unable to reach above a whisper in fear of shattering the fragile peace. Sweeping your thumbs over his cheekbones, his throat bobbed, eyes held steady with your own. “Let me be here for you.”

“You can’t be here, because I’m not okay. If I hurt you, I don’t think I could ever forgive myself.”

Your heart shattered at the admission, his shadows pulling in closer and closer to you both, no longer afraid of their master but seeking to comfort, a blanket wrapping around the both of you at the base of your legs. 

You didn’t reply verbally, instead, you gave him every chance to pull away, to stop it, as you leaned up, taking your time as you rose, until the breath was shared between you both, his steady breaths now shallow pants. 

Your lips met his jaw first, just to the left of his chin, a soft kiss that wasn’t nearly enough. Another just a fraction higher, and another, until your lips were pressed to his cheek and he was letting out a shaky breath by your ear. 

“Baby…”

“Do you really want me to leave, Az?” Your lip skimmed over his, reciprocated by his pucker but you didn’t give into it just yet, sliding one hand to the back of his neck and the other up over his cheek. Slipping your thumb between your mouths, you stoked over his lips once, his haze fixed. “Tell me you don’t want me here and I’ll go. But, I don’t want you to be alone, when I’m here for you if you want me. I’ll always be here for you.”

The message was clear, and you gave him a single and fleeting kiss to his lips, tearing away from his space and falling back to the flats of your feet. One step back, just enough to think. 

Your foot lifted, never making it as far as a second step away, before he was finally reaching out. His hands gripped at your hips, yanking you forward roughly until you were falling into his body, colliding with cold skin and solid walls of muscle. 

“I don’t want you to go. I just want you here with me. I always want you here with me.” The confession sounded like it pained him, hoarse on a throat yelled raw already, the Azriel you know fighting the darkness enough to break through to you for a moment. “I don’t know if I’m ready to show you this part of myself, I don’t want you to be scared of me. I can’t lose you.”

The hands settled on your hips flexed, like he was trying to be gentler but they came back just as tight, spaces where there would be bruises in the morning. He’d tried so hard to resist touching you at all, but now, you weren’t sure you’d be able to break free even if you wanted to.

Tracing your arms over his arms, back up to hold his face, this time, he tipped into your touch, lashes fluttering shut for just a second as he sucked in a breath. 

“You don’t scare me, Azriel. No part of you scares me. Not your shadows, not your knives, not your moody scowl. I know every part of you, I care for every part of you. This isn’t about me, I’m not the one in need.” You weren’t sure what had happened in Hewn City, only that it must’ve been bad. Whatever he’d seen, whatever he couldn't stop, it was dragging him down into despair and rage. “So, tell me, do you want me to stay or do you want me to go?”

His forehead came down, leaning on your own. “I want you to stay.”

Your noses bumped, a smile forming on your lips as he nuzzled in as close to you a she could get, his arms wrapping around you and holding you firmly to his chest, until your heartbeats echoed together. “You didn’t come to dinner. I was worried about you. Maybe we should get you some food?”

“I don’t want to eat,” He whispered, the words like ice over you as the softness dropped from his tone once again, the wild animal rampaging in his mind taking over once again. One hand was sliding up from your waist now, loose enough to travel over the expanse of your body, across your torso and over your breasts until his fingers were flexing once again, but this time around your throat. 

In one swift movement, you were being spun, back pressing into the unforgiving stone of the wall railing, cold spreading along your skin as your shirt rose behind you. His eyes were darker now, the pretty caramel shade you loved so much almost swallowed entirely by the dark, his lips forming an equally dark smirk to match. But he waited, he was like a predator waiting for the prey to give permission to be hunted. 

And you did. 

A single nod was all it took, until he was surging forwards, lips crashing into your own, a kiss so urgent and fierce that the breath was knocked from your lungs. The implication was clear, everything about Azriel was an open book tonight, unlike his usual way of hiding his emotions. 

He didn’t want gentle, he didn’t need soft. What Azriel needed most was to let out this energy, to use it for something other than self-destruction and hatred, to burn off every angry part of himself in a way that would make him feel good. He’d once told you that your mind was unfocused, on everything but where it needed to be, and he’d helped you clear it with his fingers between your legs. 

His mind needed the opposite, needed to let go of what he was clinging to, to release it. He didn’t need to focus, he needed to let it all go. Perhaps a mindblowing orgasm would do the same for him.

His lips were unyielding against your own, a scrape of his teeth over your lower lip until you yelped, and his tongue plunged into your mouth at the opening. The hand on your neck flexed, your whimpers cut off by his lips and you had no chance at all, drowning in everything front he feel of him to the taste of him. Stolen kisses had nothing on this, this crescendo of overdue emotions and pent-up feelings, and despite it all, there was still a reverence underneath that told you your Azriel was fighting all the while to hold onto you.

Through every gasping breath you managed to take between assaults of his lips, you got less and less oxygen, vision spotting until you felt almost delirious from the burn of your lungs. When his hand loosened just fractionally, his mouth torn from your own only to leave wet marks across your jaw and neck, you heaved in breath while you had the chance. 

“Azriel, let me touch you. Let me help you, make you feel good…”

“Oh, you’ll make me feel good, baby. Don’t worry about that.” His voice was sharp and lethal, like a blade slicing across your skin where he mumbled it into the juncture of your neck. His teeth followed, a bite on your skin, your head tossed, back arching until you were dangling over the balcony, his hand at your neck all that kept you stable. 

You were on the tips of your toes, bared for the man he pulled back, licking over kiss-swollen lips and using a half-lidded gaze to take you in. 

“So fucking beautiful. Inside and out. So kind and sweet and godsdamned perfect. All for me.” He whispered, your heart skipping a beat in your throat because, despite the fire in his gaze, there was honey in his voice. “I hate myself for how much I want to fucking ruin you.”

“I want nothing more than that,” Your promise made his head snap up, his admiration and longing taken over by raw desire and anticipation. Once furrowed brows smoothed out, relaxing enough for him to raise one in solitary judgement. 

“You’re going to regret saying that, sweetheart.” Unlike when you’d said it, the pet name was laced with venom and rough promises, coated in something that made your skin break out with a shudder once again. He closed in on you, even closer, until your toes were hardly touching the floor at all, dangling at his mercy entirely as he hummed to himself, eyes scanning along you as he considered to himself just how he wanted to proceed. “I bet you’d do anything I asked of you right now, wouldn't you? Would you get down on your knees for me, pretty girl?”

“Yes.”

“Would you let me fuck your pretty mouth until I was satisfied?” Your legs clamped together, one of his fingers dragging your lower lip down, biting his own eagerly, before he was slipping two fingers into your mouth, cutting your answer off. His smirk told you he already knew the words you’d have uttered, anyway. “Show me. Show me how good you’d be if it were my cock in there, instead.”

Your lips sealed around his fingers, your tongue dragging along marred and ridged skin within your mouth, as far as you could go until your eyes watered and you were suppressing the urge to gag. His lips parted, gaze fixed on where his digits disappeared between your lips, the thrill of it sending a shock of electricity down your spine, coiling at the base of your stomach with hot need. 

The look on his face was nothing short of worship, even if he was in control, you still held the power. 

Lapping at the skin, you grazed your teeth lightly over his knuckles as you pulled back, his soft growl your only clue of his reaction before bobbing your head back down again. Before you could repeat the motion, however, he was tugging his fingers back, a wet pop and a trail of saliva snapping, and the hand on your throat tightened to lift your head up for him again. Your sights clashed, and he already looked about as ruined as you felt. 

He was shaking with need, you could see the vibrations in his shoulders, the hum of the occasional shadow that darted up high enough to dance over his shoulders, before joining the pool at your waists. 

Those two wet fingers dragged down, a shock of coldness over your bare skin before his fingers were snapping the elastic of your leggings against your hips. He only chuckled at your gasp, before his hand was dipping under this time, fingers teasing down between your legs until he was dragging a moan from you at the featherlight touch over your clit. 

“Oh, look at that. You didn’t need to get my fingers all wet for me after all, you’re fucking dripping for me.” Swirling two digits through the wetness already accumulated, your head fell back, a whimper of his name carried away on the winds. 

“You once told me that I was too in my head. You helped me focus, just like this. Let me help you unfocus now. Let me touch you, let me make you feel good.” One hand gripped at his forearm around your throat, gentle but firm, holding you secure where you all but balanced over the edge. The other reached for his hand, hidden under your leggings and the swirl of shadows as he dipped one finger into your core, sinking it slowly into you. “Az…”

“Making you feel good, sweetheart, watching you come undone is what’s going to help me. I want you to scream my name so loud I can’t hear any of the bad thoughts, just you.” As he spoke, he pulled his touch back, only to snap back in with both fingers instead of one, and your back arched again with a cry of his name. 

Again and again, his fingers dragged over every spot within you that made yous hake only to snap back against you, not letting the limits of your clothing stop him at all. Then again, it never had before, either. Just like in that training ring, he started to tease. The palm of his hand over your clit, grazing with each thrust that was never quite enough. Your hips rolled down to meet him, scrabbling, desperate for more, and his condescending laugh was hidden in your skin, but you felt every piece of it. 

Heat flooded your skin, the begging you were rapidly approaching sitting like bitter acid on the tip of your tongue. Your fingers scratched anywhere you could reach, clinging to him while demanding more, thanks and request all in one. You could feel it, the whisper of pleasure over your nerves, so close but not enough, and a sob fell from your lips as his taunting. 

He knew exactly what he was doing.

With a simple flick of his wrist, he was twisting his hand, reaching deeper, using all the things he’d learned about you like muscle memory to find every spot that he needed to.

“Please, Azriel!”

“Please, what?” He echoed, pulling back enough to set his forehead on your own again, lips brushing, feeling your pants wash over his face, letting him taste everything he did to you from your needy whines and gasps. “Tell me what you want.” He threw your own words back in your face, you’d made him ask you to stay, and now he wanted you to ask him to make you come. 

Your lips stopped the words, another cry of his name, shaky and pathetic as he held your orgasm just out of reach, his fingers slowing to almost a stop, barely moving at all, and your frustration was so palpable you felt like electricity was jumping from your skin to his own, every hair standing on end. “Azriel! Please, please, let me come!”

“There’s my good fuckin’ girl.”

With the perfect crook of his fingers, Azriel had you shaking, hurtling towards an orgasm that would leave your mind spinning, head empty when that was what you were supposed to be doing for him, but the pleasure was too heady for you to care. 

His fingers buried deep in your cunt, his lips on your neck, tongue and teeth stinging and soothing as he marked you, mumbled praises interspersed with filthy promises, it was all too much. With a heavy swipe of his thumb over your clit, his name finally fell in a true scream from your lips. 

He didn’t let up, not when your clit began to throb or walls pulsed. Not until you were shaking so hard through your orgasm that you were all but crawling up and over the edge of the balcony did he stop, leaving you unable to breathe for an entirely different reason as he wrung your body out for pleasure.

His hand finally left you, catching you at the waist when your knees buckled, his fingers tucking into his mouth to suck the taste of your from them, a lewd act that had your cheeks flushing with heat and your stomach tingling with need again already. Clinging onto him, your nails left crescent moons in the exposed skin of his chest, red marks on his forearms where you’d clawed at him, but he didn’t seem to care. If anything, he looked wilder now then he had before. 

“That… that was even better than last time.” You panted out. He’d used all those tips and tricks he’d learned about your body from the last time to play you like his favourite game this time, driving you to an earth-shattering orgasm with a few touches and buttons pushed, knowing you too well.

Your only reply was a harsh kiss, his tongue forcing its way between your lips to let you taste yourself as he held you solidly to him. Your lips were slow and languid where his were hurried and desperate, mind still working far too quickly, still holding onto so much, the night nowhere near over if he hadn't started to let it go. 

A shadow swiped across the back of your legs, your body sinking slowly towards the ground as this time he doesn’t bother to correct you, this time, it was intentional. Your lips are torn apart, your knees meeting the stone as he sets you down, with enough care that your teeth don’t clatter and your knees aren’t cut, a flash of your love in there despite the monster taking over his body. 

“Gods, I knew you’d look good on your knees for me. Always so pretty, baby. So fuckin’ pretty.” He swept your hair over your shoulders, a finger under your chin to tip your head up, shadows so high around you that if he willed it they’d go over your head entirely, smothering you within them and taking you prisoner. “Bet you’d look good if your mouth was stuffed with my cock too, huh? Shall we find out?”

Your legs clenched at his words, a dizzy wave of arousal slamming into you at full force. You’d thought about Az bossing you around before, the voice he used at training or on missions, hoping he’d one day turn it on you between the sheets too. This was so much colder and crueller than that, it was almost mocking, like he truly was taking you for the toy you’d offered yourself up to be, his to use for the night until he felt better, and he wore that role like a second skin.

His leathers sit low on his hips, sharp hipbones exposed to you along with the deep dip of his muscled stomach, trailing down with a patch of hair from his navel to disappear between the laces. Leaning in, you left a light kiss over the soft hairs just above the hemline, a hiss on his lips as he watched you, and you watched him through your lashes.

Another kiss, this one to his hipbone, and then to the other, his hand clenching and unclenching by his side as you left scattered kisses along the base of his stomach, tongue occasionally flicking out to tease. When he’d seemingly had enough, his hand settled on your head, fingers weaving into your hair, gathering the strands up threateningly in his fist but not tugging yet, just making his presence known, taking back every shred of that power. 

Sliding your hands up his legs and over the front of his trousers, he let out a low moan at the pressure of your palms, his hips rolling into your touch as his erection strained against the fabric underneath. Your fingers toyed with the ends of each lace holding them shut, barely managing to contain him now. 

“Go ahead, pretty girl.” His words were powerful but his voice was straining, watching through hooded eyes as you undid the laces slowly, unable to hide the smirk on your face as you teased him. Inching them down a little at a time, more and more of him was revealed to you, until the leathers were tight around the middle of his thighs, his cock red and angry, standing tall before you, shining with the smears of precum that already escaped him. 

When you leaned in, hands still clasped at his thighs, only to leave a tantalising lick from his base to his tip, he growled. You did it again, enjoying the way the danger of riling him up anymore seemed to make you tremble with want. You cleaned the taste of him from his skin, salty and rich, merely a hint of what he’d truly taste like and yet your mouth was already watering, begging for more, needing it more than you needed air to breathe. 

Another lick, and his restraint finally snapped. A shocked sound left your lips as he yanked your head back hard by the first in your hair, taking his cock within his other hand, and slapping it against your cheek. “Open up, before I fucking make you.”

Your jaw fell open of its own command, lips parting and tongue sitting flat, and there was far too much pride in his gaze as he grinned down at you, letting the head of his cock hover millimetres from your lips. 

“Say please.”

“Please.” You were breathless, the word rushing from you, and the grin on his face was wild enough that your stomach felt like you’d fallen through the sky. The same flipping and turning that Azriel would do when he carried you through the air, just to get a rise out of you. Somehow, he managed to do the same thing when you were on the ground, too. “Please, Az, let me make you feel better.”

“Alright, baby, I’ll let you help.” With that, he was pressing himself between your lips, hot skin sliding across your tongue, the taste of him the only thing you could focus on as he slipped into your mouth. He didn’t stop, not until he was tapping against the back of your throat, a deep moan falling from his lips as he struggled to keep his eyes open, to keep his focus on you as your lips sealed tightly around him. “Fuck, sweetheart. I’ve always dreamed about what your mouth would feel like, but this is so much better than all of it.”

Your moan was muffled around him, tongue tracing the throbbing vein along the underside of his cock, and the hand in your hair tightened until tears were lining your eyes. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” His hips rocked a little, pulling back only to push back in, setting a slow pace, fucking your mouth a little more each time. He built back up again, his smirk growing with every gag you gave him. He was teasing himself and you, never daring to push any further but showing exactly what he wanted, exactly where he wanted to be, and with another sharp pull of your hair to angle your head up for himself, he took it. 

Pushing himself in, he kept going, until your nose was brushing against the base of his cock, and breathing became impossible. Choking around the thick length filling your throat as he held you there, his other hand came to cup your face, squeezing roughly until he was pulling out entirely, giving you a few seconds to gasp for breath, lungs burning and head spinning.

“Is this what you wanted, huh? When you offered to help me? Wanted to cry, choke on my cock in your pretty mouth?” He was trying to scare you, to see if it was all too much, to see if you would go back on your words and leave him. His face was like stone but he couldn't hide the flash of insecurity in his eyes, and you shook your head. This time, you moved before he could control you again. 

Surging forward, you pushed past everything you knew, nails digging into his thighs and his knees shaking as you caught him by surprise, burying his length down your throat once again, and the stream of shaky curses left his lips. With a weak growl, he scrabbled to regain control, to think around the smooth of your tongue at his base, the lips sealed tightly, the tight swallows at his tip as salty precum filled your mouth. 

Tugging on your hair, the muscles of his legs tightened, all the way over his ass and up to his wings as he pulled them taut to his body. Stroking his thumb over your cheek, he pressed against himself through the skin, holding you in place even as you tried to pull back. “Shit, sweetheart, look at you. You even look pretty when you cry.”

Catching one tear with his thumb, he raised it up, licking it from his finger and allowing you to pull back, to free one hand and stroke his spit-soaked length as you caught your breath. ���Just for you, Az.”

Your voice was rough, croaky as you tries to speak around the dull ache so worth it, when he looked down with heat in his eyes and parted lips in shock. “Better be. You’re my girl.”

You lapped at him, using your fingers for everything you weren’t mouthing at, alternating between teasing his head until his legs shook before working your way back down, until your tongue was smoothing across the tops of his balls and he was letting out breathy sighs of your name, only to repeat it all over. Again and again you went, until a steady line was flowing from his tip, every drop being caught as he leaked, your scalp stinging from the grounding grip he had on you.

He was growing more and more impatient, no longer the patient man you fell for as he tried to guide you to where he wanted you, adoring gaze turning wicked once again. “I’m gonna’ cum, and if you keep teasing me, you won’t be getting the same pleasure again.”

You stilled, the promise in his gaze of more was enough to make you give in, the tone of his voice a dark threat underneath. Remaining still, your lips parted, tongue hanging a little before him and the widening of his eyes was enough to show his arousal at your obedience. With a single move, he was back in your mouth, fucking at a sloppy pace as he chased his high, your nails clawing at his thighs to keep him in place, your name an endless moan on his lips, curses and praises thrown in as his head fell back. 

Once taut wings were now hanging loose, his entire body shaking, before he came; “Don’t swallow yet.”

Hot bursts of cum coated your tongue, and he held you in place, his body jerking through the intensity of his orgasm, until it was all too much, and he was pulling back. The last of his release spattered across your lips, sitting heavy in your mouth as he panted. The hand in your hair finally slipped out, your eyes almost crossing at the relief of it, and his hand slipped down to rub at the pearly beads coating your lips, pressing them into your skin before tipping your chin up.

“Let me see it.”

Parting your lips, he let out a broken moan at the sight, the coat of his release over your tongue, and nodding his head. His cock twitched, never softening but only bouncing more, an angry red beginning to take over as his need still recessed evidently, watching you swallow before helping you to your feet. 

As you stared up at him, he smiled, dipping down to kiss your sticky lips, licking the taste of himself from them as you panted against his mouth. He said he wanted to ruin you, and yet you’d never expected this. You were taken apart, piece by piece until you were nothing but a shattered mess in his hands, and he was all that was holding you together. 

Your thighs were slick with your arousal, rubbing together unashamedly as he kissed the taste of himself from your tongue, a soft contrast to the bruising grip he’d had on your hips, your neck, your hair, only moments ago. His mouth trailed up, a sweet, wet kiss left on each cheek, before his nose was coming back to bump with yours. 

“You’re so fuckin’ perfect.” The words came with a sharp smack across your ass, the skin stinging, threatening to leave a mark there too, and your body jolted into his. “Since you’ve been so good, I’ll let you choose how you take my cock first. You’ve got one minute, and I expect you naked on my bed, in whatever position you want it.”

Another smack, and you were being dismissed, stumbling over shaky legs as excitement coursed through your body. Stripping your shirt off and over your head, you left a trail of clothing as you went, bra next, then your leggings, shoes and socks gone and panties last, until you found yourself at the baseboard, staring at the large bed designed for maximum Illyrian comfort, threatening to swallow you whole when you crawled onto it.

Shadows swirled around you, traces up your legs until you shivered, a cool swipe over your heated core, through your messy hair, tweaking at taut nipples until you whimper, mind a frenzy as you tried to work out what to do.

Azriel moved like water in the night, silent and invisible, until he was pressed up behind you, one hand splaying over your waist and the other shifting your hair over one shoulder. A disapproving noise left his mouth as he lowered it, pressed a kiss to your skin, and your head fell to the side to give him more space, eyes fluttering shut.

“What did I say?”

Your lips fell open to respond, to explain yourself, but all that came out with a surprised cry of his name as his teeth clamped down against your skin, pain and pleasure blurring into one. He licked across the mark, before doing it again, never enough to break the skin, but enough to leave his imprints on you. Marked, bitten like two wild creatures in the heat of it all, and that was exactly how you felt. Trembling in his arms, he shushed you quietly. 

“I told you where I wanted you, you didn’t listen.”

“I couldn't decide!” His lips were skimming your skin again, the other side now, teeth grazing, but pausing at your words. “I’ve thought about you so much, about this, I didn’t know what I wanted most.”

He pulled back, kissing his way back up your shoulder until he was nuzzling a hot kiss into the skin of your neck, your panting the only sound to fill the room as he turned your face towards him with one finger. A soft kiss was placed on your lips, no tongue or teeth but full of emotion, and he barely even pulled back to speak, “I love you.”

Your eyes snapped open, meeting his as a cold shock broke through hot, hazy lust, but he wasn’t ready to linger. The darkness still had a tight grip on him, those few words breaking through didn’t stop the tidal wave of need, because your mind had yet to catch up before your cheek was pressing into the bedsheets, hips being pulled up as Azriel manhandled you to the centre of the bed.

Your fingers grasped at cotton sheets, knees digging in for purchase on the soft fabric, as he layered himself over you, kissing at the top of your spine and surrounding you entirely. His wings were like a blanket, covering you on either side, his arms on your hips, gripping tightly. Now, you could feel all of him. He must’ve shed his clothes when you did, because that thick length was pulsing against your core, pressed up and rocking in slow motions as he created the most delicious friction, your eyes rolling.

When the head of his cock bumped against your swollen clit, a pornographic sound left your lips, something sinful and dark, and he chuckled as he left little nips along your skin as he shifted back. 

His slap across your ass was electricity sparking over your skin, continuing to abuse your clit while giving you nothing at all, clenching emptily as he left a matching spank to the other side. “You look so good decorated with my handprints.”

“Azriel, please, stop teasing, I need you.” Your cries only made him laugh, holding you firm as you rocked back to meet him, desperately seeking something more, and embarrassed heat flushed over your cheeks, blending into tear-soaked skin and pretty love-bites. 

“You don’t need me, you need this,” He taunted, lining himself up and fucking into you with one quick thrust. A scream left you as he did, stretching you so perfectly that your eyes crossed at the intrusion, a burning as he let you settle, to adjust to his length, that left you squirming, hips rubbing against his as he sat at full depth. “I bet you feel better now, sweetheart, full of my cock. Does that make you happier?”

“So, so happy…” Your babble was senseless, tailing off into more pleas of his name as he set a steady rhythm. 

The last of that feral anger came through, unhinged and needy as he fucked out every bit of pent-up anger. His thrusts were brutal, hips snapping into yours hard enough that you were pushed up the bed, gripping at the bedsheets to hold steady. Everything else in the room, in your mind, slipped away, until you could only focus on the sloppy rhythm of his pounding into you, every connection, every thrust as he hit spots inside of you that made you see stars. “So godsdamned wet for me, so warm and soft. If my heart gave out from fucking you, and I’d die happy.”

“Oh, gods…” 

“No gods are watching over you now, my love, just me. If you’re gonna’ moan anyone’s name, I want it to be mine.” Your toes were curling with the pleasure, the knuckles in your fingers aching as you clung onto the sheets for strength, body shaking. He left kisses up and down your spine, bites and spanks until every part of your body felt like it had been touched, been played with, another part taken away only to be put back better. 

He was breathing just as hard as you were, moans of your name coming out in broken sighs, his hand closing over your own as he fell atop you with the sheer intensity of it all. Your bodies were moulded together like you were made for it, his face tucked into the crook of your neck, skin covered in a light sheen of sweat that made everything so much more erotic. 

The scent of him overwhelmed you, stronger and deeper with his arousal, the smell of sex in the room thick and heavy, and you cried out his name as it all blended into something indescribable. 

Reaching his other hand around you, scarred fingertips skimmed over the apex of your thighs, a few messy circles was all it took to send you spiralling over the edge. “Oh, fuck, Az!”

When you came, it was like a storm crashing onto the beaches, your body spasming until not even your knees could hold you up, collapsing down into the bedding and freeing yourself of his movements for only a second, before his body was following you down. His hand, still trapped under your body kept going, until moans turned into cries and sobs, pleasure you couldn’t take anymore, it was so good. 

Your body was lax, pliant in his arms as he flipped you over, his for the taking as he pried your shaking thighs apart to bare your sopping cunt to himself again. 

“Need y’to give me one more, my love. Can’t get enough of your pussy, can you give me another?” His lips closed over your own, and his tongue playing with yours could barely count as a kiss, your mind hardly worked, just a filthy collision of his lips with your own. “One more, yeah?”

“Yeah, Az, I can do it. I want it…” Lifting up your legs to latch at his hips, your heels dug into his firm ass, pressing him forward again, and he took the hint. In one easy movement, his hips were cradled between your legs, his hands on either side of your head and he was sheathing himself inside of you once again. 

Your back arched, a scream in his ear as his head fell forwards, damp foreheads pressing together as he dove back into a messy pace. What had already been uncontrollable before was now a chaotic mess, jerks of his hips as he frantically followed his own high, curses spilling from him and muscles tense.

When he couldn't hold himself up anymore, he dropped to his forearms, putting everything he had into those final movements, the grinding of his body lighting you up. Your nipples scarped his chest, the base of his cock thumping your clit with every sporadic movement, and your screams became silent as white-hot bliss flooded your body. 

He gave your front the same treatment, teeth and lips leaving no spot untouched, committing you to memory with his mouth as he left stains and splotches across your skin with his rough touch. 

“Azriel, Azriel, Azriel!” Like a chant, you were incapable of saying anything else, even your own name escaped you as you focus on him, the vision of him before you, jaw clenched and eyes sparkling, never looking away from you for even a second. Your body was utterly boneless, your finger shaking as you reached up over his shoulder, clamping your teeth down against his shoulder the same way he had done to you, and brushing your lips down over his wing.

That was it, a soft stroke and a cruel bite, and he was shattering above you, a burst of power unlike any of the others, the door rattling and the winds trembling as he came. An explosion, the feeling of his heat filling you up sent another orgasm cresting through your body, shuddering up your spine until your head was pressing into the bed, his head in your neck. He never stopped moving, riding both of you through your peaks until it was too much, finally coming to a stop, still tucked deep inside of you, and his body collapsed down on top of yours. 

His head remained where it was, breathing evening out as he took steady breaths. His heart was pressed to your stomach, the beat of it synching to your own as both of you began to even back out. The chill from the open patio doors finally started to take effect, swiping the heat from the room and taking the intoxicating smell of sex and your combined scents with it, leaving only the palpable tension between you both. 

Your body was still trembling, still spasming with the occasional twitch, a feeling flooding your body that you knew would take hours to go away as you pulled yourself back together from the way Azriel had torn you apart. 

Your fingers were tracing up and down his spine when you felt him stiffen, when the shallow breathing that had almost convinced you he’d fallen asleep was a ragged gasp. He lifted his fingers, pulling back a fraction only to push your jaw to the side, tracing across your skin slowly, from one patch to another, the more he distanced himself. 

Rocking back onto his knees, his length finally pulled from your sensitive core, a sound of true pain now leaving you as the soreness began to kick in, and he winced as he settled into with one hand holding him up above you. He didn’t look down, not for a second to the seed of his own dripping from you and ruining the bedsheets, but instead, an anguished look took over his face as he traced softly over your skin. 

Propping yourself up weakly on your arms, you watched him, brows furrowed in confusion as he became more and more hurt. 

“Oh, fuck, baby. I-I’m so sorry…”

Now you understood, watching him trace the tip of his index finger over a bite on your shoulder, down to a bruise on the side of your breast, made by his lips in the throes of passion. “Azriel-”

“What did I do to you?” His voice cracked, the spiralling already starting, and you freed your arms, collapsing back into the bed only to pull you with him, ignoring his resistance and tugging his body back against your own. 

“You didn’t do anything I didn’t want you to do!”

“I hurt you!” He sniffed, the outburst watery and broken, and your head shook urgently, leaving kisses dotted along his cheeks when he pulled back enough to look at you.

“Stop it, stop it right now, Azriel.” You rarely took such a tone with him, the pain on his face only worsening with confusion as he stared. “You didn’t hurt me. You gave me every chance to leave and I chose to stay. What we just did was fucking fantastic, and even if you were locked up in your head, you were here with me the entire time. These marks mean nothing, because every touch was so full of love, Azriel. I could feel it. These marks don’t mean you hurt me, they show me just how much you love me.”

His lips were pursed tight, still attempting to pull away, and you had no choice. Using all that training he’d put you through, in the midst of his distraction, you flipped him over, cautious to avoid catching his wings, and leaving him sprawled out on his back. Settling into his lap, your hands found his shoulders, pinning him to the bed and pressing your forehead to his.

“I love you, Azriel.” His eyes widened, swollen and kiss-bruised lips parting, and a smile finally tugged at your own. “I love you. I love you so much, and I wanted to be here for you. If you don’t stop, you’re gonna’ break my fucking heart, because it’ll mean you don’t trust yourself for me, to know what we need.”

“Of course, I trust you.” His whisper came immediately, setting hesitant hands over his marks on your waist, holding you reverently instead of demandingly now, tugging you a little closer to his chest. “I just… fuck, seeing you like this at my doing-”

“I think I left my fair share of marks on you too.” You dragged one finger over a scratch on his bicep, a hiss through his teeth as he looked down at it. Looked down at all of them. His marks would be gone by morning, that Illyrian healing already kicking in, but the look of awe growing on his face would never fade.  “This one,” Tracing your finger beside the scratch instead of over it, you drew his attention back to you, “I gave you this one because I love the way you smile at me.”

You moved to another, tracing a bite on his shoulder where your teeth had sunk in to hold back a scream. 

“I gave you this one because you never let me feel sad or alone.”

“I gave you this one,” He cut off, voice a little shaky as he tried to rewrite hatred to love, running his thumb over a kiss by your nipple, but never dropping your gaze. “I gave you this one because I love how brave you are.”

You smiled, his own smile coming back, as you looped your arms around his neck. “See? These are not marks of hurt, they’re marks of love. They’re called love-bites for a reason, you know?”

He only chuckled, tracing his fingers over the reddened skin of your ass, still raw from his palm. “I gave you these spanks for making cheesy jokes.”

“You love them.”

“No, but I love you.” He spoke, catching your lips a second later in the gentlest kiss yet. He leaned back, taking you with him, his mouth never leaving your own as he settled back into the pillows, shadows closing the balcony doors and settling like a blanket around you both. “Thank you for being here for me.”

“I’ll always be here for you, Az.” You shifted, settling your cheek on his shoulder, and pulling the real blankets across your bodies for warmth, his arms curling protectively around you to hold you there. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. I don’t want anything like what happened to ever touch you.” His lips brushed your forehead, and you pressed a little further into his embrace. “I feel better, though. So much better, just for having you here in my arms. I don’t want you to ever leave them.”

“I guess I could stay for a while.”

“I want you to stay forever.” His mumble came through a lazy breath and the cloud of sleep hanging over you both, exhaustion weighing in at last, but you smiled despite it all.

“Forever it is, then.”

[awfcspencer]

Steal Your Heart || alessia russo x reader

prompt: Loosely based on this request

warnings: None!

Stepping on the Arsenal training pitch, you were greeted by the familiar sounds of football, shouts and laughter echoing across the field, and the thud of balls being kicked. You couldn’t help but feel a mixture of excitement and nerves, a sense of anticipation in the air. As Arsenal’s newest transfer during the January window, you were eager to prove yourself on the pitch and cement yourself as a vital piece to North London. Having recently arrived at the club after a particularly rough break up, you were determined to focus solely on your football career, swearing off love in the process. 

Your attention was soon drifted away from your thoughts to a familiar figure of Alessia Russo, one of Arsenal’s beloved strikers and England’s star girl.

“Did she just trip over her own two feet?” You questioned to Leah, the blonde center back who was put in charge of showing you around the Arsenal facility before training. Pointing to the slightly taller blonde who seemingly tripped over thin air and fell roughly onto the pitch. She ungracefully pushed herself up off the ground, wiping her now pitch-stained knees, and shuffled around to act as if nothing happened. 

“She probably did. That is Alessia, most of us call her Less though. She will most likely be the clumsiest person you will ever meet.” She explained to you as your mouth curved into a small smile. Her cheeks were rosy, most likely from embarrassment, but you found it adorable. 

She then led you to a man in unusually larger puffer jacket and several of Arsenal staff members you had met earlier in the day. 

“Welcome to the Arsenal. We are thrilled to have you here.” The Swedish man told you, reaching out to shake your hand. The weather in London was much colder than you were used to, but you didn’t suppose a sunny day like today warranted such a big jacket. You had to carefully stifle back your laugh and cover it up with a warm smile as you shook his hand. “Hope Leah was sufficient in her tour.” 

“Yeah she was great! Showed me the important stuff and introduced me to Win.” A dimpled smile as you remember the chocolate lab who you gave several scratches on the head to, and then she rewarded you with a few licks to the face. 

“Great! Girls get in partners, and we will begin training.” He yelled out.

Most of the girls already had their designated partners, quickly picking each other and heading towards the pitch, so you were left stumbling to find someone to partner up with. A tap on your shoulder and a slight swivel of your head you were met with the familiar figure of the blonde from before.

“Partners?” 

“Sure…” She had yet to properly introduce herself directly.

“Alessia, but most people call me Less.” She responded quickly.

Kicking the ball back and forth warming up the legs, you and Alessia fell into a comfortable conversation. She had a particularly bubbly personality and seemed interested in the answers you had given to her questions. You couldn’t help but feel drawn to Alessia and her awkward charm.

“How are you liking North London?” She sent you a solid pass to your right foot as you kicked it back to her.

“I landed only a few days ago so I haven’t really had the time to explore yet.” Apartment hunting had taken a majority of your time, but you were dying to experience what this side of London had to offer. 

Fortunately, your sister lived in London, and you were able to crash on her guest bed before you had the time to sort out an apartment for yourself. She was there for you over the phone to pick up the pieces of your broken heart when rumors of cheating flooded into social media after your ex was caught bringing another woman to your shared home when you were on national team duty. The Arsenal bid came a few days later and you gladly accepted, fleeing the city in which haunted your memories.

“I get that. There is a coffee shop right near training grounds that has coffee to die for. You have to give it a try sometime.” She suggested. 

Weaving in between agility poles interlocked with your teammate’s hands was not initially how you thought today’s training was going to go, but the blonde’s angelic laugh behind you as you pulled her hand to follow in your trail was all worth it. Especially when she had been moving so fast to keep up with you that by the time she left the poles she stumbled out tripping over her own feet once again.

“Less you might be the clumsiest person I have ever met, and we just met. That is what, the second fall today?” Alessia’s infectious laughter filled the air.

The flush of her cheeks you assumed was from her second wipeout mixed with the sun beating down on her during training. Nonetheless, you found her little blush cute and as cliché as it sounded, small butterflies filled your stomach. Quickly you let those thoughts flee your mind, you were here at Arsenal to focus on football. 

“Oh whatever.” She giggled, gently brushed your shoulder, pushing you forward on the pitch. Her touch was electric, sending little chills down your back. 

Despite your initial nerves, training was well underway, and you felt confident. 

“Nice pass!” Alessia exclaimed, a wide smile lighting up her face as she received the ball. She had a smile that you felt could light up even the gloomiest of days.

“Why thank you Miss Russo,” you replied, returning Alessia’s smile with one of your own. 

As the two of you trained together, you couldn’t help but draw near the girl and be amazed at the way she moved on the pitch. Her movements were graceful on the ball but as soon as she wasn’t doing something football related, she immediately acted as if she had two left feet. She was captivating in a way you couldn’t explain. 

----------

It was a few weeks later and you had fully set into your place at Arsenal, making solid connections with a majority of the girls and finding success on the pitch. One specific connection with a certain blonde striker who felt like a beautiful ray of sunshine who made you question several things. Alessia and you had solidified each other as designated partners for training. The two of you had formed a close bond, she was calming to talk to, and her puppy-like personality made her warm to be around. 

“Team movie night at my house tonight, attendance is mandatory.” Leah yelled throughout the changing room after training. She used her fake stern voice that she typically used during pre-match huddles to let everyone know she was serious about the event. 

Turning to look at Less, “Are you going to go?” Her cubby was to the left of yours which meant every day you would return home with her vanilla scent cemented in your nose. 

Looking up from mindlessly scrolling on her phone, she met your eyes, “I’ll be there if you will.” Sending you a cheeky wink, returning the smile you had sent her. 

Overhearing your conversation Leah yelled “You both better be there. No excuses.” 

Mimicking her attitude and batting your eyes to Alessia which only caused the two of you to break out into laughter. It was a typical scene your teammates had come to realize. The two of you in your own little world, most of the time giggling at some sort of joke one of you had made. You and Alessia had become close very quickly and there were some lingering thoughts of a possible relationship with the striker, but each time you forced the thoughts out of your mind. 

Your sister had thankfully drove you over to the England’s skippers’ home, you had stopped on the way at the store and grabbed a couple bags of chocolates to share with the team. Secretly, the chocolates you had picked out where a favorite of Alessia’s that she had mentioned one day during training. 

Inside Leah’s home, a few team members had arrived before you and were grilling Alessia for not making a move on you yet. They watched the way the two of you interacted, and the way Alessia suddenly became a bundle of nerves around you. 

“Come on Less, you’re in love with her. I’ve never seen you so nervous to just be around someone, and I’ve known you for years!” Lotte told Alessia, Leah, and Lia who were sat around the kitchen island. 

“She just got out of a relationship and who knows even if she feels the same way?” Alessia had been secretly falling for you, but she had trouble figuring out if you had felt the same way. You confided in the girl about your last relationship and your solemn swear to focus on your professional career. 

A knock at the door brought them out of the conversation as Leah opened the door and allowed you in. 

Leah’s living room was transformed into a cozy area with blankets and pillows spread out wide and popcorn at the ready. It was a challenge to fit almost twenty women into a room, but the greatest challenge was trying to figure out a movie that everyone could collectively agree on. 

You found yourself slotted next to Alessia on a plush cushion as you let the girls around you argue about what they wanted. Thankfully, Leah made an executive decision, declaring that since it was her house meant that she had final say, and turned on a rom-com. Every so often your shoulders would brush against the blondes in the dim light. Despite every intent you made to remain guarded and build a strong wall around your heart, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of comfort in Alessia’s presence. 

As the movie played on the screen, you learned against the blonde, her warm seeping into your skin with a small blanket over the two of you. A feeling of contentment washing over you as you watched the movie together. Even in the low light, you could see Alessia’s crimson red cheeks.

When the movie came to an end far too soon for your liking, Alessia and you had yet to move until your phone began pinging. Your sister had been called into work and was unable to pick you up. You first thought about taking an Uber home, not wanting to inconvenience anyone, but you decided to ask first. 

“Hey, can anyone take me home?” you asked.

 “I can, only if you want though. I’m sure anyone could,” she mumbled out, her voice was soft and gentle.

“I would love for you to be my chauffeur Less.” Quickly accepting the offer with a shy smile and a small flutter of excitement in your chest at the prospect of spending more time with her.

The streets of London were quiet as Alessia drove you home. You found yourself stationed in her passenger seat opening up to her in ways you hadn’t with anyone else. Sharing stories and dreams as if you had known each other for years. You both shared your hope and dreams, your fears and insecurities, and once again you couldn’t help but feel a sense of a deeper connection growing between the two of you. Your conversations flowed effortlessly, each word building a bridge between you two, it was something you usually found difficult, but with Less it was always easy.

Before you knew it, you had arrived home. Ushering the girl a handful of thank you’s and sealing it with a side hug. But before you could say goodbye and exit the car, Alessia grabbed your wrist. 

“Hey, would you like me to drive you to training tomorrow morning? We can stop at the coffee shop I told you about? It is cool if not, no worries.” Alessia said softly, her voice was filled with nerves.

Your heart soared at the invitation and eagerly accepted the invitation, “That sounds lovely, see you tomorrow Less.” You were secretly counting down the hours until you could see Alessia again.

The next morning, Alessia arrived right on time and drove the two of you to the coffee shop. In the car, Alessia even let you play your music, something you knew was not allowed to many of your other teammates because everyone knew Alessia’s car was like her baby. Alessia’s eyes sparkled in the soft morning light as she drove.

Alessia ordered her drink and yours and you tried to hand the blonde your card to pay but she insisted she would pay. 

“Less please let me pay, as a thank you for driving me yesterday and today,” shoving the card more in the striker’s face. She simply resisted, handing the barista her card as a loud huff left your mouth.

“You can pay for the next one.” She told you, sending you a wink.

“Who says I want to get coffee again?” Pretending to be upset, crossing your arms and turning towards the window.

She quickly became nervous, mumbling out words you couldn’t even begin to depict. 

“Less. Less, I am just joking with you.” A fond smile tugged at your lips.

“Right. Yeah I knew that.” Her fake confidence only made you laugh. She handed you your drink as your fingers brush, its quick but it lights a familiar fire in your stomach. A feeling you were beginning to have around her often. As you arrived at the training ground, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were exactly where you needed to be- with Alessia by your side, making you laugh and smile like no one else could. 

----------

The first game you would be playing in the Arsenal red was against Watford for the FA’s Women’s Cup. You had a clear prematch routine, one that always ended with braiding your hair. In the changing rooms, you were nearly finished with the last section of your hair when Alessia walked in. 

“I like your hair.” She complimented. She carefully watched in a slight trance.

“I can braid yours like mine if you want?” You asked, a playful smile tugging at your lips. Alessia looked up at you, eyes widening at the offer.

She nodded eagerly, stationing herself bent in front of you, allowing you to gently gather her hair in your hands. You watched in the mirror as Alessia closed her eyes, relishing the feeling of your fingers weaving through her hair. You finished the braid relatively quickly as Alessia had shorter hair, securing the braid with a small hair tie. 

“All done.” Admiring your handywork in the mirror. “You look beautiful Less.” You couldn’t help but admire her beauty as well. The way the sunlight caught her hair on the pitch, the curve of her jawline, or the softness of her lips. 

Alessia looked at herself in the mirror, a smile spreading across her face, “Looks amazing, thank you.”

She sealed the deal with a quick peck to your cheek, and a hug that lasted a little longer than it should, leaving you a puddle as she left. You couldn’t help but feel the warmth that lingered in your chest, a feeling that perhaps there was something more than a friendship blossoming between you and the striker.

----------

Maybe you should have followed in Jona’s footstep in wearing a large puffer because several days later you found yourself sick. What made it worse is that you were supposed to be going out with the team to celebrate the next international window break. You had been looking forward to celebrating the evening but now found yourself bedridden and alone.

You quickly sent the group chat a message saying you would not be in attendance and found yourself cuddled up on the couch with piles high of blankets and reruns of Love Island on your television. 

A knock on your door surprised you. You blinked in confusion, wondering who could possibly be visiting you. You dragged yourself from the couch and made your way to the door.

Alessia stood on your doorstep with a worried look on her face. In her hands, she held a steaming bowl of soup covered with a lid.

“Less what are you doing here? You should be out celebrating?” Your voice thick with surprise.

“I heard you were sick,” Alessia said softly, her voice filled with concern. “My mom used to always made me this soup when I would get sick. She says it’s her secret recipe for curing colds.”

There was a rush of gratitude that washed over you at Alessia’s thoughtfulness. Stepping aside to let Alessia in.

“Thank you Less,” your voice soft with emotion. “That is really sweet of you.”

“It is no problem really,” she said. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.

She followed you to the couch, settling back into the warm cushion as Alessia took a seat beside you. She placed the bowl of soup in your hands and encouraged you to try some. It was delicious and you could see how it always did the trick. For a while, you and Alessia sat in comfortable silence, the only sounds in the room were the television and the metal hitting the bowl each time you brought the spoon to the bowl.

“This was really sweet of you Less.” It was like a tidal wave of emotions, the surging thoughts you had desperately tried to keep at bay so long coming to the forefront. Sat on the couch as your hands with the striker interlocked, both of you kept silent at the action. 

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you were about to say. “Less,” your voice barely above a whisper. “There is something I should tell you.”

Alessia turned towards you, “What is it? Is the soup not good? It’s okay I can make a different one if you would like?” she asked, her voice laced with concern. She even made movements to leave the couch, but you grabbed her hand and ushered her back down.

“I can’t pretend anymore. You need to know that I have grown to care for you, deeply.” You explained to the blonde. “I know it is kind of crazy given we’ve only known each other for a short time but I can’t shake this feeling.”

Alessia’s eyes widen with shock, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly as she struggled to find the right words.

You felt a surge of panic rising in your chest. Had you made a mistake? Had you ruined the friendship with the reckless confession?

Alessia reached out and took both of your hands in hers, her touch was warm and reassuring. “It’s you. It’s always been you. Since the day you stepped on the pitch on your first day.”

There was a surge of joy welling in your heart, a feeling of pure joy. Without another word, you leaned in and pressed your lips to hers. Your heart soaring as you felt Alessia’s strong arms wrap around you.

[averageallogene]

Lyney ♡⊹˚ His lucky charm [NSFW]

✧˖°. Summary: Before his most recent shows, Lyney seems to have some nervousness regarding his abilities as a magician. Thankfully, his lovely girlfriend is always there to ease his mind beforehand, providing him with the luck her magician boyfriend needs.

fem. reader (3rd person) ; this is basically smut with little more than an intro to it, so beware. Also SPOILERS for ACT I of the first Fontaine Archon Quest. 

5k words.

notes. Hi yes hello I am back, I have played the two Archon Quests, and after working a little for my thesis I decided to write something by my own volition <3. I’m not sure if Lyney here might be portrayed accurately but nonetheless I really wanted to write a smaller piece for him before doing it for other characters! He’s adorable :( ♡ Enjoy ✧˖°

By clicking on the “expand”, you are hereby agreeing to view NSFW content. PLEASE if you are under 18, DO NOT INTERACT. 

PLEASE do not report, as this is my warning to those who do not wish to view NSFW. I, like most writers, work hard on each piece we choose to publish, and reporting it will decrease the number of readers it reaches... Thank you for understanding ✧˖°

Magicians have no need for something many folk cling onto - luck. After all, every trick they perform is something they study, polish, rearrange, rehearse. Everything is staged to the finest of details, leaving no room for unpredictable variables to enter the equation. Every performance is acted out accordingly, a mental checklist going on inside the performer's mind as each prop is placed and moved about, each line is repeated from the rehearsals, each movement in one’s body is carefully played out. Everything is a carefully crafted performance, and what need do they have for luck? None.

To Lyney, such is the truth. Well, at least this philosophy held itself rock solid, up until the incident that nearly landed him a guilty verdict. Despite his confidence in his abilities to wow the crowds, even before there would always be a small but ever present pitter patter to his heart, a quiet reminder of his own nervousness before the show would begin. He would usually handle himself most well, though through the eyes of those closest to them, the normal feeling of “performance jitters” wasn’t all that well hidden. Well, and if that were the case, more so after things went back to normal.

His breathing would be a little more unstable, his fingers would fidget with one of his cards as his eyes darted about his changing room. He would fiddle with his exquisite hat, rebraid his hair while trying to ease himself. Things had gone back to normal, their scheduled shows were once more popular and always fully booked. Yet still, there always was this sense of anxiety deep in his stomach, never truly going away as he quietly wondered if the show would go as planned. 

Well, thankfully he had someone to help ease his mind each time. And as if right on que as he brooded over the upcoming performance, a knock to his dressing room was heard, the door opening to reveal the loveliest of sights. At the door stood [F/N], his lovely girlfriend who would always visit him before he went on stage. 

“Hi Lyney! Hope I’m not intruding?” She asked sweetly, smiling his way which only helped to ease his worries.

“You never are, my love. Come in!” He breathes out, the eagerness to have her close not quite passing unnoticed to her. He extends his arms before fully taking her in his embrace, sighing deeply as he inhales the familiar perfume she would always wear. His favorite. 

“How are you feeling?” [F/N]’s voice grows softer, her arms resting around his lower back as she smiles his way. The silence that follows is enough of an answer, her magician simply distracting himself with playing with the tips of her hair. “...Nervous?”

“...Hah, why it seems nothing really blinks past you. I may have taught you… Too well…” He jests, the smile on his face betraying him before it drops slightly. It reveals some of his vulnerability for her, his violet eyes locking with her own before he speaks up again. “I suppose it’s just some performance jitters again, nothing new...”

“It’s okay Lyney. You’ll do great, I know so.” Her smile shone brighter than the very sun, beaming with warmth that was only cast to him. It comforted his very being, filling his conflicted heart with sugary sweetness that only soothed him in a way no one else could. And if that wasn’t enough, the next few sentences were the ones that would always, always seal the deal for him. “Everything will go well, and everyone will be wowed by your hard work. I’m proud of you.”

It was as though his heart was struck, pierced with cupid’s arrow as he couldn’t keep up the calm and confident act. Lyney’s body visibly relaxed, a content snicker escaping his lips as his arms brought her closer. His lips were quicker than his words, filling her face with brief yet lovely kisses, watching with glee as she giggled as a response. Amidst each kiss he whispered words of gratitude for her support, his hands roaming throughout her lower back as he yearned to feel her closer and closer. 

“Lyney… You didn’t even let me finish!” She laughed, her words being cut off with a deeper kiss as his lips found her own. She could feel his smile against her lips, the magician quite literally stealing her breath away before finally pulling away. 

“Oh, I’m sorry dear. I just can’t contain myself, you’re just too adorable for me to!” He sighed, the flamboyant hum in which he spoke glittering the otherwise full truth she very well knew. “To think a professional magician would be wowed in such a way, you’ll be the death of me…”

“You almost make it sound like I’m such a bad thing.” [F/N] rolled her eyes playfully, her fingers carefully adjusting his hair before inspecting to see if his braid was well done. 

It was in small moments like so that Lyney would cease to speak, allowing his beloved to do as she pleased. His eyes would focus solely on her, watching how her expression would shift, her eyes roaming about to ensure he looked his absolute best. He could feel his heart beating hard against his ribcage, no longer solely because of the nervousness he would feel before each one of his shows. The mere sight of his girlfriend was enough to blow away the growing blaze of anxiety, leaving it only in embers that with time would cease. Her mere care, her mere nature, her beauty inside out… 

It was enough to leave Lyney riddled into little more than a lovesick puppy, the loopy smile upon his pretty face being reserved only for her. 

“Lyney?” [F/N] called for him once more, watching as he finally seemed to come back to. His hands were roaming around her hips, carefully circling around her figure as he finally let out a soft hum for her to continue. “You’re a little too quiet… Everything okay?”

“I’m so lucky to have you, [F/N]...”

It was her turn to be left speechless, her face morphing to surprise as their gazes locked. He watched as the loveliest shade of red adorned her cheeks, the flusteredness he’d often cause on her never failing to amuse him. Still, despite so, he hoped she knew just how sincere he was with his words. 

“Oh Archons… What’s gotten into you?” Her voice whined a little lower, her eyes turning away to avoid him for a mere instance in which her flusteredness was still far too raw. She could feel how his lips chased after her skin, peppering her with light and soft kisses by the corner of her mouth. 

“Nothing.” He responded, his usual flair dropping to soft whispers as he carefully turned her around, helping her have a seat on his vanity. Between fleeting kisses, Lyney took the opportunity to bring himself between her legs, his hands never letting her stray far from himself. “I just wish to remind you more often, because it’s the truth.”

“Well I think it’s the other way around, you know… I’m the one that’s lucky here.” [F/N] smiled softly, her hands finding rest on his shoulders before gently massaging his tense muscles. Her boyfriend leaned back, his eyes gleaming with a twinkle that seemed familiar, one of challenge and mischievousness that would often leave her questioning before finally realizing what he’d plotted. 

“My my, is that so?” He hummed, head tilting to the side while his grip on her tightened ever so slightly. “If that’s the case, how come each time you visit me beforehand, every show I perform runs far better than what I expect?”

“Oh, you’re really running with that?” She giggled, music to his ears. “Only because I kissed you that one time, telling you it would bring you good luck?”

“And did that show not go beyond amazing? In fact, I do believe that was the peak in my career thus far.” He reasoned with a nod to his head, kissing her deeply before resting his forehead against her own. “Therefore, I’m the lucky one here, and you my dear [F/N], are my lucky charm.”

“Oh Lyney…” She sighed softly, stroking her hand through his blond locks slowly. “I didn’t know that tonight my magician was planning to turn me into putty in his hands.”

It was his turn to laugh, quietly, yet full of warmth and endearment. “It’s what you get for stealing this magician’s heart long ago.”

“Ah! I’m gone. Goodbye Fontaine, I am melting from my boyfriend’s words!” [F/N] leaned back dramatically, Lyney catching her before she would fall too far and hit her head against the large mirror of his vanity. The pair laughed in unison, fingers interlacing as he brought her close to himself once more.

“You’ve definitely gotten that dramatic flair from me.” He pointed out, his free hand now resting firmly on her thigh. He watched with hearts in his eyes as she giggled at his comment, shrugging her shoulders before bringing him closer with her legs. 

“I love you.” [F/N] whispered, leaning forward before it being her turn to steal a few kisses for herself. 

It never stopped after that though, one going after the other, kisses lingering longer before them turning into a longer makeout session. The way her lips were always so soft, so warm, the faint taste of her favorite chapstick melting against his own, it never failed to leave Lyney yearning for more, his whole being focusing solely on his lover whilst everything else blurred around them. His tongue carefully peeked through his own lips before swiping across her own, the grin being felt against her mouth as he felt her jolt slightly from the antic. Giving him permission to continue, Lyney carefully led the dance, his tongue meeting her own as they both ignored the need of air, muffled breaths fanning one another as their hands held the other closer, tighter. Before he knew it he was leaning himself forward and her backwards, a little more, his body pressing against her own before they were practically bent with her head touching the mirror behind them. Her legs were pressed against his sides, never letting him stray too far, her hands stroking through his back and hair, sending shivers down his spine as sparks ignited deep within him. 

“L…Lyn-ney…” She murmured between breaths, him finally tilting his head so the two of them could breathe. The way her tongue stuck out of her mouth as she breathed heavily seemed to only entice something further deep within him. “W…What about your show?”

“Worried about that?” He inquired, the clear endearment for her concern being evident in his tone of voice. He leaned closer, voice whispering as he slowly licked the strand of saliva that had dropped down her chin. “We still have time, if that’s what’s troubling you dear.”

“H-Hah…” The words seemed to get stuck on her throat as his hands maneuvered around her frame, carefully parting her legs a little more to give him better access. His fingers quickly grabbed a hold of the hem of her dress, lifting it up slightly before resting his palm on her warm thigh, his lips still remaining close to her own as his very being craved more of her.

“Do you want me to stop?” Lyney softly asked, leaning back as his own breath grew uneven. His face too displayed a lovely shade of pink, his lips redder after the relentless kisses she’d given him. His eyes were glittering with excitement, half-lidded with pure love as he waited for her response. His thumb was caressing her skin softly, the circular motion he did easing her more than arousing her as he searched for her honest answer.

It was embarrassing to admit, but [F/N] absolutely did not want to stop. Her body felt far too hot for her to go back on it now. “I… N-No.”

“Are you certain, dear?” He leaned closer, eyes squinting softly as his breath fanned her face. His hands slithered a little more upwards, giving her goosebumps as they traveled up to her hips. “I don’t want to put you in any situation that might be even a little uncomfortable… I will understand if this is-”

“N-No Lyney, I’m okay.” She nodded her head to reassure him, her hands gripping his clothing tighter as if not wanting him to move an inch away. “I admit, it’s… A bit nerve wracking, given the place but… I still don’t want you to stop.”

He bit his lip, smiling with both excitement and apology. “I’m sorry love, I always seem to get carried away when it’s about you.”

It definitely was the truth, especially given with the way his hands moved around her body. There was always a certain kind of care in each movement, his grip upon her skin tight and loving, as if reassuring himself she was there, with him. Lyney was both selfish and giving when it came to his beloved [F/N], always wanting more for himself, yet always wanting to reassure her she felt properly adored.  

“We’ll have to be-” He kissed her again, followed by another, her lips trying to keep up with his own as he gave her fleeting kisses. “Very quiet- Okay?”

“M-Mhm.” She nodded her head, her face blushing a deeper shade of red as his fingers finally lifted her skirt up. Her own hands helped him hold it up for him, watching him as it finally dawned on her, his figure getting nice and cozy in between her legs before he kneeled down. “L-Lyney?”

The grin he gave her was enough to make her lower region throb. 

“I’m craving a taste of you, baby. Could you please indulge me?” He whispered, his hands parting her legs before resting securely against them. His head turned to her left thigh, leaving a trail of small bites and kisses as he came closer, delighting himself in every reaction she offered him, every gasp and jump, every attempt at caging his head in between her legs. 

“J-Just- Don’t tease me, please.” [F/N] outright pleaded, earning herself an honest nod of his head as his eyes sparkled in anticipation. 

Carefully, her eyes jumped back at the closed door before going back to him, her breath trembling as she breathed out from her parted lips. Whilst one hand held her dress up, the other slowly lowered, helping him to remove the lacey underwear that hid his most wanted prize away. And with a lift of her hips, they were off easily, hanging by her ankle as Lyney’s gaze focused solely on the erotic view before him. His [F/N], holding her dress up for him, sat on his vanity as her chest rose and lowered irregularly, her pussy in full display for him alone. It was enough to get him aroused, the fabric of his own clothes becoming far too constricting as he felt his boner raging to be freed.

His experienced hands crept closer, thumbs slowly hovering her juicy lips before deliciously parting them. He could feel his mouth go dry in an instance, the view of her leaking pussy outright hypnotizing him as she let out a quiet moan. He couldn’t help himself but play around with her pussy lips a little, after all, how could he not? The way her pretty hole would throb in want, leaking out her nectar only for him, dripping down her skin and onto his table, the squelching sounds being nearly enough for him to lose all sense of control. He couldn’t help himself but stare, watch in lust before her soft moans and whines became a little too loud, all the while still arousing him even further.

“Lyney!” She pleaded in a whisper, the pout she offered him sending his heart racing. 

“Yes, you’re right baby… I’m sorry.” He hummed, leaning forth before finally giving her heat a long, slow and deep lick. The vibrations from his hum resonated with her pussy, sending pleasant shockwaves throughout her body as she shut her lips right before moaning. “We’re gonna have to be quieter, love. Can you do that for me?” 

It was difficult to hear him when he was practically squishing his face against her pussy, yet from the mere fact he’d stopped, [F/N] had been able to deduct what he wanted from her quickly enough. She nodded her head eagerly, blushing even deeper as she bit her lip.

“Mhm… ‘M sorry…”

It truly divided Lyney’s heart in two, for he absolutely adored hearing every sound [F/N] would bless him with. Her voice already was pure melody for his ears, all the more when she would be moaning due to his administrations. However, the pure excitement of their ordeal, having a chance of being caught, it was enough to keep him going, to entice him to lick more, to lap around her clit again, to suckle on it whilst plunging one of his fingers deep inside. The way his beloved would instead jolt more often, writhe above him, attempt to suffocate him as her legs tried to close around him, all to not be as vocal, it all had him entranced. 

"You taste so good…" He groaned against her folds, his tongue practically spelling out his love for her as he ate her out with such passion. The groans and sighs that would escape him would only please her further, sending [F/N] closer and closer to her own release as she practically bit down her tongue to quiet out her own moans. Lyney simply couldn't have enough of her taste, lapping every last drop to his greedy tongue as he yearned for more, fingering and licking it out of her as he could feel her gummy walls throb against his fingers. "You're so wet, too… So dirty, my angel."

"L-Lyney…" She mumbled, her erotic whine finally pulling him out of his trance to look her way. By that point she'd already held her fingers around his hair, him not even noticing up until that very moment. 

His light eyes glanced up, for a moment the magician forgetting how to even breathe. It felt as though the wind was knocked out of him, staring up to see his beloved gazing down at him with such a needy look. Her cheeks were flushed, the thin layer of sweat visible on her forehead as her grip on his hair tightened softly. Her teeth were by that point gritting tightly against the hem of her dress, it being her faint attempt at keeping her noises down to a minimum as he ate her out to his heart's content. The view was dirty, marvelous. The dress was lifted to such a way he could now see part of her tummy as well, her body lined with sweat as it reacted to every little touch he gave her. 

It drove Lyney over the edge. He couldn't wait any longer. The breath finally left his mouth in a shaky notion, her thighs shaking like jello as it hit her bare pussy before he got up. 

"Gods, you're so gorgeous [F/N]." He outright moaned, his fingers carefully taking the fabric out of her mouth. He watched how she heaved deeply, her lips tempting him to latch onto them. And who was he to refuse, but a poor magician whose heart had been stolen by the woman before him?

He leaned in quickly, capturing her lips against his own as they both moaned against one another. Their hands couldn't let go of the other, fiddling with their clothes as they attempted to find the best position to finally get what they both wanted. [F/N] leaned herself to the edge of the table, her legs still apart for him as her fingers now fiddled with his belt, unbuckling it before finally freeing him of his leather shorts. Lyney could feel his cock throbbing already, eager to finally plunge inside of her spongy walls and ease the yearning he so deeply felt. He groaned against her lips as she finally freed his hard length, pumping it for him slowly as it was now her turn to suck on his tongue with her own lips. 

"I need you, Lyney…" [F/N] moaned, helping him to part her legs further as he kept his face closer to her own. 

"I know, baby, I know. It's only fair I indulge you after you've treated me so well, right?" He hummed with a smile, all the while his face indicating just how excited he was. 

He grunted quietly as he carefully rubbed his cock against her leaking folds, the two of them attempting to quiet their moans down to the best of their abilities. [F/N] could feel how the particularly protruding vein on the side of his cock rubbed against her pussy, sending tears to the corners of her eyes as she felt herself closer and closer to her release after being so well tended to by her lover. Lyney in turn kissed her tears away, his lips never leaving her face as he practically gulped down her moans to himself. After coating both her pussy with his pre and his cock with her bountiful juices he stopped, lining himself with her entrance before, with a glance shared, he carefully thrusted himself inside.

His hands gripped onto her knees, his lips shutting themselves tightly so as to not moan out as he often would. The way his eyebrows furrowed as he attempted to not voice much of the obvious pleasure he was feeling was a delightful view, [F/N]'s face blushing madly as she brought him closer. Her arms wrapped around him tightly as she hid her face against his neck, her lips pressing against his skin as she quietly whimpered in pleasure. 

"Ah, Lyney!" She moaned quietly, her nails digging into his shoulders as his own sighs of pleasure hit her ear. 

"You're so tight, baby-" He in turn hissed gently, feeling how her spongy walls swallowed him whole as he finally bottomed out. His own hands were gripping harshly against her skin, the two of them sharing moans between one another even as his tip hit her deepest part. "Fuck, you're so wet. It feels so good."

"Please Lyney, give me more…" [F/N] pleaded to him, her eyes wide and glistening with pleasure as she leaned back for an instance. At that point she was once more leaning back against the rest of his vanity, granting him access to pound as deeply as his heart desired. The mere sight of her in such a way was enough for him to derail. 

"Archons, anything for you [F/N]." The magician grunted, his hands leaving her knees as his lips latched onto her own. 

By her own she was able to open her legs as widely as possible, the hem of her dress covering everything from the mid-thigh up as her hands were far too busy around his body. They wrapped around him tightly, effectively caging Lyney in between her much to his contentment. His own hands were busy holding her as close as possible, resting on her hips securely as to not knock her or anything else out, the items on his furniture tumbling slightly with every thrust he pounded into her needy core. With each time he bottomed out Lyney reached deeper, the tip of his cock effectively kissing her cervix as he molded her walls to his shape. He drank her every moan as if he worshiped all sounds she offered, his lips sucking on her tongue in such a lewd manner that he couldn't help but grin over how she squeezed him harder over it. 

"Hyaahhhh, Hinhey…" [F/N] attempted to moan his name out, her puffy lips parted as his own toyed with her tongue to his pleasure. 

He could feel the way she was milking him dry, her juices thoroughly coating his cock generously as her pussy practically praised and outright worshiped him. Her walls throbbed deliriously, sending him closer and closer to his edge as he fucked her through what he very well knew was her approaching orgasm. 

"Is my baby- Close?" He leaned back to speak, humming quietly while licking his own lips eagerly. He watched as she nodded her head quickly, her fingers combing through his hair slowly, deeply. Just how he loved it. "Here, cum for me will you? You can take me like this as you do, right baby?"

[F/N] bit her lip, nodding her head again. She watched how one of his hands left her hips, holding it up for her to take it. His girlfriend took it without thinking twice, their fingers lacing together before Lyney held them against his mirror, his pace quickening up. Once more he glued his lips to hers, never quite truly satisfied with her kisses just as much as he never quite got enough of her pussy. Her breath against him grew ragged, her moans growing ever louder, all while trying to suppress them in what he could only find the cutest whines. He bent her more, held her tighter, he pounded deeper into her. He could feel her moans vibrate against his mouth before she finally gasped, a high pitched sob being all she could muster before her inner walls violently spasmed around him, creaming his cock bountifully as she rode her high. Even still, just as he'd asked her to, Lyney continued to thrust, still as deeply albeit slower, letting her savor her release just as he quickly followed with his closing one. 

"Gyah, L-Lyney-!" [F/N] moaned against him, he in turn shushed her in understanding. "Mmm, t-to much!"

"I'm so close baby, so close…" He whispered, his thrusts a little less rhythmic as he tried to focus. His eyes opened to gaze deeply into hers, the sight of her red cheeks and unfocused eyes only edging him further deep into the abyss of pleasure. "Can you please take it just a little more? Just like this…”

“Mhm…” She eagerly nodded her head, the tears of overstimulation streaming down her face sending a long shiver down his spine. His free hand came to rest upon the side of her face, thumb clearing the tears away as his grip on her other hand tightened. “I-Inside, please.”

He bit his tongue gently as he smiled, nodding his head before pulling her head closer for a deep kiss. “Anything for my lovely lady.”

Against him she moaned, him in unison as he felt the knot deep inside himself finally snap. Lyney felt his eyes shut, a deep low grunt leaving his throat before he finally felt his release wash over him. He thrusted deeper still, his pace finally slowing down as thick ropes of seed flooded over [F/N]’s inner walls. Her womb was eager to receive the abundant load, being painted white from inside out as it overflowed whilst he still remained sheathed inside. Whilst their fingers were still locked she brought him closer, holding him tightly as her body shivered with the overstimulation. Lyney could feel his breath finally begin to slow down, a few final slow thrusts of his hips following as he moaned quietly, ensuring he was milked for all he was worth. He held his [F/N] close, as close as possible, their bodies finally relaxing as they rested atop his vanity, her body welcoming him closer as his seed leaked down and dropped onto the ground.

Even as she still regulated her breath, lips puffy and red and mascara slightly smudged from the sweat and tears, Lyney lunged forward, capturing her lips for the millionth time. Never satiated, like the greedy man he was at heart, he smiled against her as he enveloped her closer, relishing a moment longer. The silence that followed felt comforting, the two of them sighing in bliss as he felt her arms around his figure. 

“Sorry… It must’ve been uncomfortable to sit like that, on such a surface.” He stated, eyebrows furrowing softly as his thumbs cleared her smudged makeup as much as he could. Lyney dared not move, still not even wanting to pull out. It wasn’t as though he could anyway, for the way [F/N]’s legs captured him definitely sent a message for him to stay a little longer.

“Mhm, it’s fine… I enjoyed it all the same.” She smiled sheepishly, relishing in his soft touches as she in turn rearranged his side swept bangs. 

“I’m glad.” He sighed in relief, the pair too engrossed into one another to even notice how some bottles had tumbled over amidst their frolicking. “Still, next time I’ll be sure to make up for it, for all of it.”

“Lyney, truly it’s fine!” [F/N] laughed softly, finally opening her legs for him to move more freely. She watched in amusement how her boyfriend coughed softly upon noticing how heavy she leaked, rummaging through the room to find a towel he could dampen to help clean up. “Sorry… We might’ve taken too long, no?”

“Hey, if anything it’s my fault… It’s what I get for being so greedy.” He reassured her with a sincere smile, carefully helping her to clean up before dressing her back up. [F/N] watched as he fanned his face with his hand, the blush on his face still evident as she helped him dress up as well, a snicker escaping her pretty lips at the sight. 

“Well… I still… Very much enjoyed it.” [F/N] reiterated, her voice low as she helped him button up his undershirt. His smile was difficult to ignore, especially so as she helped him retrace the tear he would always paint on his right cheek. 

“...I did, too.” He pulled her closer by the waist, smiling in a devilish, albeit inoffensive manner. He pulled her closer, stealing a deeper kiss as he relished on the taste of her lips, hoping to steal some of her chapstick for himself so he could taste it all throughout his performance. As he pulled away, he whispered quietly to her, fingers playing with the end of her hair. “...Maybe next time we do this, I can have you turned to my mirror. The faces you make are simply delicious, my dear.”

The way [F/N]’s face turned to utter surprise was enough of a reaction, the magician following with a sneaky laugh as he pinched her behind as the cherry on top. In turn, his girlfriend gently slapped his arm, huffing as her cheeks turned bright red, his laughter becoming louder as a result.

“Lyney!” She groaned, nearly turning around from him in embarrassment.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry baby! Mostly.” He chuckled, embracing her before kissing her cheek with the usual level of endearment that was solely reserved for her. 

“Hmph…” She pouted, though both knew it wasn’t something to last long. “...Good luck on your show, honey.”

“After this? It’ll be the best show yet…” He in turn whispered, his forehead resting against her head as they quieted down. “I’ll see you after?”

“I’ll be waiting here.” [F/N] smiled softly, them embracing one another before finally deciding to part.

Well, Lyney had always been energetic in his performances, yet there seemed to be an improvement on that particular one. True to his word, that performance definitely did do amazingly well, becoming the talk of the following weeks.

All thanks to his lucky charm.

[togglesbloggle]

Why do you think tumblr will die in only a few years?

Answer with jargon: a strong correlation between recent economic shifts and chaotic choices by major tech companies is most easily explained if the 'traditional' social media platforms of 2005-2020 are mostly a zero-interest rate phenomenon.

Longer answer, with less jargon: Even though Musk's takeover is making all the headlines recently, the last year has in fact seen major shakeups at many social media platforms, so Twitter is actually part of a trend. Almost inevitably, these are cases of social media companies trying to find a way to squeeze more money out of their userbase (Reddit), cut costs dramatically (Twitter), or both. This marks a sudden departure from a much more relaxed attitude towards revenue in the Pictures Of Cats industry, where the focus was historically more on expanding the userbase to a global scale and then counting on world domination to sort of <????> and then the company would become profitable eventually.

We joke, correctly, that Tumblr has never been profitable. But the entire structure of ad-supported content curation between human users is deeply suspect as a business model; IIRC Twitter was never profitable either, and Facebook has been juicing its numbers in very shenanigany ways. Discord was actually making money on net last I checked, at least a bit, so they're not all completely in the hole. But even if you take the accounting figures at face value, none of these companies has anything like the amount of money that their cultural prominence would suggest. Instead, they're heavily fueled by investment dollars, money given by super-rich people and institutions in the expectation that fueling the growth of the company now will pay off with interest later.

So what changed?

I'm not an expert here, but I'll do my best to muddle through. The American Federal Reserve has one mandate that dominates all others (sometimes called the 'dual mandate'), and one primary tool that it uses to enforce that mandate. The goal is to maintain low (but nonzero) rates of inflation and unemployment, which in their models are deeply interlinked phenomena. The tool is 'rate hikes', or more specifically, tweaking the mandatory rate of interest that banks charge one another when making loans.

As a particular consequence of this, hiking the rate also means that bonds start paying out much better. When the rate hike goes through, that affects people who let the government borrow their personal cash- that is, people who buy bonds- as well as institutions like banks that lend to one another. A rate hike means that you, personally, can make a little extra money by letting the government borrow it for a while. The federal government of the US is a rock-solid low-risk choice for this kind of moneymaking scheme, so the federal interest rate sort of defines the 'number to beat'; to attract investors, a company has to give those investors money at a better percentage than whatever the feds are offering. Particularly since a company is a lot more likely to go out of business than the state!

To wrap this back around to the Pictures Of Cats industry: the higher the rate hike, the better your company needs to be doing (or the less risky it needs to be as an option) to attract big investment dollars. Very high rates make it very hard to convince people to invest in business activity rather than the government itself, and very low rates put moonshots and big dreams on the table, investment-wise, in a way that wouldn't otherwise be possible. Social media companies were one of these big dreams.

In the great financial crisis of 2008, the Fed took the dramatic step of reducing their rate to zero, trying to juice the economy back to life. And ever since then, they've kept it there. This has produced an unprecedented amount of funding for very crazy stuff; it's part of what has allowed so many weird new tech companies (Uber, streaming services, etc.) to get so much money, so quickly, and use that to grow to massive size without a clear model of how they're ever going to make money. This state of affairs kept going for quite a while, with no clear stopping point; that zero-interest environment has been one of the shadowy forces in the background that shaped fundamental contours and limits in how our Very Online World has grown and developed. Until COVID.

Or rather, the bounce back from COVID: we suddenly saw a massive spike in inflation and an incredibly strong labor market, as employees quit in record numbers, negotiated higher salaries, and found better work, and at the same time supply chain issues and other economy stuff caused prices to climb dramatically. Recall the Fed's 'dual mandate', to control the employment rate and inflation. This was, basically, kicking them right in the jooblies. They responded in kind, finally finally raising their rates for the first time in 15 years. For some of the people reading this, it'll be the first significant shift in their entire adult lives.

The goal, as I understand it, is to fight inflation by reducing the amount of outside investment into private companies, forcing them to hire fewer people and pay smaller salaries, ultimately drawing money out of the working economy and driving prices back down by lowering demand for everything. You get paid less, so you eat out less, and buy at cheaper restaurants when you do, so restaurants have to compete harder by lowering their prices; seems pretty dodgy to me as a theory, but it's the theory. And the first part will almost certainly work- companies are going to see less investment.

For social media companies that are still paying most of their salaries with investor dollars instead of revenues, this is especially catastrophic. Without outside investment, they're just a massive pile of expenses waiting to happen, huge yearly costs in developer salaries and server fees. This is why, all of a sudden, every social media company is suddenly making bonkers decisions. They're noticing that nobody wants to give them any more money! So they're trying to figure out how to live a lot more cheaply, to actually somehow for reals turn their giant userbases in to some kind of actual revenue stream, or both.

Tumblr is kind of the ur-example of this kind of thing, supporting a very large userbase with no coherent plan whatsoever to start paying its staff with our dollars instead of investors' dollars. When interest rates were low and Scrooge McDuck had nowhere else to hide his pile of gold coins, a crazy kid with a dream was the best alternative available to him. But now, unless something changes, he's going to notice he can just buy bonds instead, and that crazy kid can go take a hike.

That's why I think Tumblr is living on borrowed time, though I don't know how much. Like all cartoons, the economy doesn't really fall off a cliff until somebody looks down and notices they've been standing on thin air this whole time. But they always fall eventually; that's the gag.

[sarawritestories]

Unwavering Presence Chapter 7

Cassian X Archeron Sister (Reader)

Summary: Rhys and Reader get into an argument that leads to a moment Under the mountain that Y/N would rather forget. And when things don't go as planned at the prison, Y/N must confront her sister after learning just how much Feyre was suffering.

Content Warnings: our FMC being put on a leash (Literally), mentions of abuse potential abuse to children (there is none! just the idea is brought up) , mentions of suicidal ideation, Nightmares, angst

Word Count: 6.5K

Masterlist Chapter 6

Unwavering Masterlist

After finishing the awkward dinner, I made my way to my room and changed out of my dress and put on my silk pajamas sighing at the comfort. Cassian had walked me to my room in silence though his pinky was still entwined in mine and when he dropped me off, he murmured a good night and kissed my hand before heading to bed. His lips against my skin, caused heat to rise in my cheeks and I found myself quickly hiding in my room trying to settle the butterflies in my stomach.

I walked over to my desk and grabbed my journal from my cloak pocket, ever since Cassian bought it, it has been on my person I never leave it. I took a seat and was about ready to write when there was a knock on my door, “Come in.” Rhys walked in.

He leaned against the door, crossing his arms and his ankles leaning against the dark ornate wood. “Did you have to be so hard on her?”

I closed my notebook and let my fingers graze the leather the indents of the ivy engraved in the leather, and finally meeting is eyes, “She’s acting like a child.” She crossed her arms, “She was also extremely rude, and you and your family didn’t deserve that.”

Rhys smirked, and tilted his head, “You know we have been around a long time we can handle ourselves.”

I shrugged and crossed my legs on the bench. “Just because you can doesn’t mean that a friend can’t come to your defense.” I bit my lip, “Even when she feels guilty of her previous behavior to you and is super apologetic.”

Rhys crinkled his nose and made his face so youthful, something I noticed I didn’t see much under the mountain, and I giggled, and confusion fell over the high lord’s features, “What?”

My giggles softened and I gave him a smile, “I enjoy seeing you outside Amarantha.” I could see him physically restrain himself from wincing at her name, but I continued as I stood and made my way to him, “You look so free. Youthful even.”

Rhys smiled, “Well aren’t you sweet,” He opened his arm and I slid into his side as he wrapped his arm around my shoulders pulling me close. “Feyre and I are heading to the prison tomorrow.” I must have had a confused look on my face because he continued, “The prison is where we keep some of the most ancient and vile fae and magical beings. Under a mountain at the edge of Night Court border.”

I meet his violet eyes, “Rhysand, you’re taking her under another mountain.” His lips were a tight line. “What is in there that is so important?”

Rhys remained silent for a moment, “I wouldn’t ask her if I didn’t think the answer, we could find there were important.” Rhys eyes hardened, “The information wouldn’t tip the scales in our favor for the impending war.”

I scooted out of his grasp and his gaze softened. “Why Feyre?”

“The inmate we would be seeing won’t talk to me, but will talk to Feyre Cursebreaker, that I have no doubt about.”

I Internally cringed at the title, tampering that unprecedented jealousy, the title proved she was important in Prythian’s history. Further proved that I was not. Clearing my throat I asked, “She’s okay with it?”

He nodded, “You are an important part of our history too you know?”

I stood up and turned my back to him checking and grumbled, “Get out of my head, High Lord.”

“Your shields are solid, Angel, you wear your heart on your sleeve.” I turned and scowled at him which only caused him to chuckle, putting his hands up in mock surrender. “Feyre may have broken the curse, but no one in that ballroom will easily forget about the human girl who stood in front of those two Fae children and took their punishment for them.”

My heart stopped as the sound of fabric ripping echoed the cavern hall. Amarantha with lethal calm turned to see two small fae girls frozen in place with fear. Their hands clasped together. Terror exploded on their features. Amarantha’s smile was sinister, as she steps down from the dais, “What did you two do?” My gaze drifts to my sister who is on Rhysand’s lap head laying on his shoulder. His arms wrapped around her shoulders as her eyes drift close, probably the effects of the fae wine taking hold of her as Rhysand sipped from his own cup. He had since given up forcing me to drink it after I spit it out on his shoes. Though Feyre doesn’t remember  

Turning back to the young girls as Amarantha was waiting for them to answer the two simply trembled in response a puddle was forming under one of them and my heart broke. The longer the two girls remained silent the irater Amarantha became “You two ingrates ruined my dress! You should haven’t been that close to royalty. Clearly your useless parents didn’t teach you respect. So, allow me.”

Her hand raised up and my feet moved before I could think about what I was doing and suddenly I pulled the girls behind me before Amarantha’s hand collided with my cheek. The girls screamed but I turned to them, “It’s okay. Go find your mother. Wipe your tears and hold your head high.” The girls both did and lifted their chin as they briskly walked to their mother, and I turned to the seething fae female before me.

“You had no right-“

I interrupted her my chin high, “They are children. What they did was an accident. If a punishment must be implemented, I will take it in their place.”

Amarantha eyes flared her stare made me shift the sheer red fabric that shifts to orange at the bottom covering very little of my body moved with my fidgeting. Her eyes then moved to find those two girls, she found them cowering in the arms of their mother, “The cauldron has blessed you both. You should be grateful.” She takes a step forward and her finger touches one end of my collar bone and slides to the other side smearing the paint Rhys’ wraiths painted on me. “Y/N Archeron, twin sister of Feyre.” She circles me like predator waiting for the kill. She stands behind me, her nail grazing the fabric on my shoulder, I fought off a shutter as she faced me again, “You’re a pretty little thing, for human filth. Bold too. Interrupting me not only during my punishment but as I was speaking too.” She tsks as the hand that provided false gentleness collided with my cheek once more her nails scraping skin. She gripped my chin and forced me to look at her, “A foolish human girl, who risked her life for two fae children. What a silly thing to do.”

“Children human or otherwise-“

Faster than a blink a piece of Amarantha’s dress was torn from the dress and shoved into my mouth she worked on getting another stripped around my wrist. “I grow tired of you speaking, girl.” She cinches the fabric against my wrist tightly causing me to shriek in pain. She turned me to face her again and she smiled, “Much better. "Now the question is, what to do for your punishment?”

I tested my binds, and she pressed me to your back. “Hmm I think your punishment will be someone else’s reward.” She looked out into the crowd and I allowed myself to look at Rhysand and my sister. The High Lord’s face revealed nothing but there was a prickle in my mind and his voice filtered in my head,

Breathe. I’m sorry Y/N, I cannot help you.

In the hopes he could hear me, those girls didn’t deserve to see the cruelties of this world just yet. Try to keep their innocence.

To my surprised he gave a curt nod before he drank the rest of his wine and Amarantha’s voice bellowed through the hall, “Eris Vanserra, please step forward.”

I looked out for Lucien and saw his face frown as his eldest brother stepped forward. The male was handsome his tan skin and gold eyes were warm but hardened. Amarantha pushed me forward and I whimpered muffled through the gag as she forced me to my knees, and she gripped the back of my head pressing down until my forehead hit the floor. “Stay there, Pet. Until he tells you otherwise, “her slim hands left my body as she spoke to the eldest brother, “You have done exceptional work, and it has not gone unnoticed. There was a long pause, “As a treat, one of the Archeron twins to use however, you please. You can deposit her in her cell in the morning.”

“Thank you, My Queen. Your gift is beyond gracious. I am truly humbled.” My heartrate spiked, and I tried to shift pain racking in my knees.

Breathe. Through your nose.  Rhys’ voice instructed and I followed his instruction.

A calloused hand hoisted me up to my feet and I looked up to find Eris smirking at me. “I don’t think the gag is necessary don’t you.” I nodded, “Open, Love.” I opened my mouth, and he removed the fabric from my mouth.  I coughed, and he tipped my chin up to face him, and he gave me a cold smile as his toned arm wrapped around my waist, undoing the binds, “I don’t think you need this either. and pulled me close, his breath warm on my ear. The smell of an autumn day filled my nostrils. He whispered low enough that no one could hear, "Y/N Archeron, let’s give them a good performance. Keep your face neutral and do everything I say."

He gripped me tightly, and a gasp escaped my lips as my chest was flushed to his, his lips kissed my ear, “We must make it believable, Love. Say ‘Yes Master’ if you understand.”

“Yes Master.”

He growled in my ear his hand gripped my skin tightly, “Good Girl,” He slapped the bare area of my ass causing me to yelp. He waves his hand and flames circled around my neck, the end of the flame in Eris hands. “Let us do a lap, pet and then we go to bed.” He yanked my leash pulling me closer to him, “Let’s start with thanking the High Lord of the Night Court for dressing you in Autumn Colors.” He looked at me expectantly.

I take in a deep breath, “Yes Master.”

He tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear, “Good Girl.”

Rhysand snapped his finger in my face. Worry written on his features stars were banked out. “What did he do to you, Angel?”

I feign ignorance, “Who?”

Rhys gave me a knowing look, “You know who. Don’t play dumb.”

I rolled my eyes, “Nothing happened worth talking about.”

Rhys growled anger morphing into his face, “I saw his intentions, If he touch-“

I rubbed my temples and groaned, “Fuck No.” I looked at him anger boiling, “I don’t talk about it because he asked me not to.”

Rhys blinked taken aback, “Why protect him?” he crossed his arms.

I gritted my teeth, “Stop pushing.” I walked over to my door and opened it, “Take care of my sister tomorrow. Good night.”

Rhys sighs as he stood and walked over to me. He placed a gentle kiss on my forehead, “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just saying you were just as brave and just as much a victim there as Feyre. Talking about it could be helpful.”

I gave him a hard stare, “I know, Rhys. I appreciate you keeping that door open. I do. You don’t know what happened that night. But trust me when I say that nothing happened that night that I mean it.”

Rhys clenched his fist, “Eris is a monster.”

I bite my lip, “Well, people could and have said the same about you. Yet I trusted you. Good night, Rhysand.” I slammed the door before he could get another word in and locked the door.

I couldn’t sleep that night; I kept tossing and turning. Flashes of Under the Mountain and Amarantha, The wyrm, and those girls, forcing their way into my dreams that I began to sweat. I pulled off my covers and wandered to the family library.

 I rubbed my eyes as I walked in and found Cassian sitting in the chair, a glass in his hand staring at the fire. He was wearing black silk lounge pants and a lounge shirt that hugged his taught muscles his wings relaxed but sprawled slightly, his ebony locks up in a bun. I tried to back away before he could catch me, “Couldn’t sleep either, huh?”  I sighed as his warm eyes met mine, he patted the chair next to him, “Come on, Princess, talk to me.”

I dragged my feet over there and plopped on a chair, “Rhys and I got into an argument.”

Cassian nodded and handed me a glass. I took it and tried to ignore the feeling in my chest when our fingers touched. “Want to talk about it?”

I took a sip letting the burn of alcohol ease down my throat and looked at the fire. “Something that happened when we were Under the Mountain. I don’t want to go into details. He just assumes one thing happened and when it didn’t.”

His hummed, “Would it be about what happened when you saved those girls?”

I turned my head to him, “You know about that?”

Cassian gave me a warm smile, “Sweetheart, a human girl put her life on the line to save to fae children from getting harmed. Rhys may have told me when he got home, because he had never met anyone, a human no less, defend a child while being under there. But when the curse was lifted, everyone brought up about your bravery.”

I bit my lip, “It was an accident they didn’t deserve whatever cruel punishment Amarantha was going to endure. Anyone would have done that.”

Calloused fingers moved my face to meet his eyes slight ire there, “No, Princess, they wouldn’t. They should but they wouldn’t. Especially if that meant you were Eris’ pet for the evening.”

I groaned pulling away from his touch and taking my drink, slamming the rest of the contents in my mouth. “Not you too.”

“He’s dangerous from what Rhys said he had you in a collar on a leash.”

I gritted my teeth, “Drop it, Cassian.”

He sighed, “It wouldn’t be the first time he did something heinous, have you talked to Mor about this?”

“No and I wasn’t planning on it.”

“You should than you would understand Rhys’ concern-“

I stood up, slamming the glass on the table, “He took me to his room, gave me his jacket to wear, and let me sleep on his bed while he slept in the chair. Is that what you want to hear? Because that’s what fucking happened, Cassian. He didn’t hurt me; he didn’t touch me past having a hand on my back. He let me have a good night’s rest. That’s. it.”

Cassian blinked, “The collar. The leash made of fire; Rhys said you had burns.”

“Amarantha had expectations, we met them.” I crossed my arms. “I’m not saying he’s perfect or not a piece of shit. I’m saying that on that evening specifically, he didn’t do a damn thing to me.”

Cassian’s brow furrowed and his lips formed a tight line, contemplating. “Fine, so he didn’t hurt you or force you to do anything why not tell Rhys that?”

“Because Eris asked me not to tell anyone what happened that night and I wanted to honor that not because I wanted to protect him but because I owed him. And given the look you’re giving me. I don’t think he would believe me either.” I bowed my head, “Goodnight, General.”

 I turned only for a hand to circle my wrist, “I believe you, Princess.” I faced him, he rose from is seat and his face held no trace of humor, his form towering over me. “I believe you, and he would to, but I know there is more you’re not telling me.”

“I am.” I didn’t bother hiding it. “But anything past what I already told you is not my story to tell. I hope you can respect that I won’t share it.”

Cassian nodded, “I understand.”

I took my free hand into his, “Why are you awake?”

Cassian sat back down and smirked, “What keeps anyone from sleeping, Princess?”

I blinked surprised by the question I asked when we first met, “Nightmares...”

I released his hand and noticed he flexed his fingers like he yearned for my touch as I sat on the chair across from him. “Yeah, I don’t get them often, but when I do, they’re…realistic enough to keep me awake.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked, his face looked haunted.

“No.” He gave me a small smile, “But thank you for the offer, you should try to go to sleep.”

“You should as well.”

“I’m going to have a hard time falling asleep.” He retorted.

“Me too.”

He chuckled and I stood and held out my hand. “Come on, General.”

Cassian placed his hand in mine and tugged indicating I wanted him up, he stood, his wings rustling. I led him over to the couch and sat patting my lap. “Sweetheart, I would squish you if I sat on your lap.”

“Is it a requirement that to be in this court you have to be a smart ass? I want you to lay your head on my lap, Darling.” His stunned look told me no one has ever given him a pet name before, but he slowly sits and adjusts his wings in a position that is comfortable but won’t hurt me and finally he lays his head down on my lap. His eyes look up to mine and I smile as I pull the tie that is keeping his hair bound.

“What are you doing?”

I smiled, as thoughts from the week before coming to my mind, “I know when I’m not going to win a battle, General.” I wink at him, “I’m compromising.” His eyes twinkle in recognition of my words. He turns his head as I begin running my fingers through his hair he sighs in contentment. “Close your eyes, Cassian.” I watched his lids flutter shut and his breathing deepening as I kept weaving my fingers through his hair and I started to hum a lullaby and in seconds the General was asleep on my lap, and I leaned my head back as the smell of him calmed me and my eyes grew heavy and with my hand through his hair. I drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

Cassian’s POV

I woke up to the sun illuminating behind my eye lids. Though I realized I’m not in my room but the library. The memory of the night before came back to me. I shifted to find Y/N sleeping, her head leaning against the bookshelf. I gently sat up careful not to disturb her, but she stirred as I moved into a seated position. Her eyes lit up by the morning sky coming in from the window. Even as she woke, she was radiant like a gift from the mother herself. “Good morning, did you sleep well?” She mumbled as she tried to blink away the sleepiness from her eyes.

I smiled, “Yeah, Princess, did you? I’m sorry you fell asleep sitting up.”

She waved me off as she took the hair bind, I used to tie my hair and placed her hair in a bun few strands framing her face. Beautiful. “I have had to sleep in worse conditions than this. I just wanted to make sure you got sleep.” Another yawn from her. I stood up and stretched my sore wings.

I grinned at her, and she gave me a lazy smile back, “Thank you, Princess,” I held out my hand to her, “Let’s get you some breakfast,” she slipped her hand in mine, and it was dwarfed in mine and had tiny callouses from hunting, fighting, and training. I help her up and I go to release her hand, but she keeps a hold of mine as we exit the library and head toward the dining room. “Sweetheart, don’t you want to get dressed?”

“No, I want to eat.” She paused and looked at our hands and let go missing her warmth in my palm in an instant, “I’m sorry if you want to-“

I held my hand up, “Not at all, lead the way, Archeron.”

There was a glint in her eyes and her smile was mischievous, “Last one to the dining room has to do 50 pushups at training today.” Before I can respond to her challenge she bolts. I chuckled and waited about a minute before I chased after her. It only took me a couple of strides to catch up with her and past her, “No!” She huffed as I reached the double doors, opening for me and skidded to a halt barely winded as Y/N got there and placed her hands on her knees trying to catch her breath. “Stupid fae speed.”

I laughed and ruffled her hair, and she swatted at me, “Maybe next time I will let you win. However, you owe me 50 pushups.” She groaned, and I placed a hand on her back and led her to the chair where food appeared on her chair. Only then acknowledging the short black haired fae who quirked her brow. “Morning, Tiny one.” Amren glared at me, and I grinned, “She challenged me to a race and lost.” I explained.

Amren snorted sipping her goblet, “Girl, if you are going to survive here, you have to pick and choose your battles properly.”

Y/N stabbed my eggs, “I thought I had a chance.”

Before I could counter Rhys and Feyre winnowed in, Feyre stormed out of the dining room ignoring everyone including her sister. I could see the pain in Y/N’s face as she looked over to my brother. “We need to talk, Y/N.” His face was stony, and I could see the light dim in Y/N’s eyes as she shrunk in her seat.

Rhysand walked over to her and held out his arm. Y/N pushed the plate away, not being able to get a bite and making a note to make sure she ate before we trained. She stood and walked past him ignoring his arm and heading out into the hall.

Rhysand.

My brother paused as I sent my thoughts to his mind. What?

Apologize to her, she told me what happened with Eris. He let her sleep and get a good’s night sleep. That’s it.

You believe her?

I growled at him, Yes. As should you. She has never given you a reason not to believe her.

Rhys gave a nod still not facing me as he walked from the room. Before leaving completely he whispered in my mind She might need you in a few minutes.

I looked to Amren to find her looking at me with her scrutinizing gaze. “What?”

“What’s gotten into you?” she asked her as she took another sip of her goblet.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.” She looked at the door that Rhys and Y/N walked through, “She’s a force even for a mere human. Willing to stand up to her own blood for Fae she doesn’t know well.”

I smiled, “She’s got a warrior’s heart. Someone just needs to remind her that she doesn’t need to take care of everyone else, that she should take care of herself.”

“Hmm someone like the General of the Night Court’s armies?” Amren questioned her red lips quirked up a bit.

I took a bite of my food, ignoring her inquiry, “Mind your business.”

Reader POV

Rhys walked out of the dining room after having a conversation with Cassian and Amren. My mood had quickly shifted with Feyre looking upset and the hard look Rhys gave me after our argument last night. “Follow me.” He led us up to his study, I shut the door behind me and leaned against the door as he sat in the chair behind his desk.

The room had various paintings of maps of not only Prythian but constellations of the night sky, and on a desk flushed against the wall was a model with all the planets. “Please make yourself comfortable.” His voice was formal not teasing like he was the day before. I didn’t move, He looked up and my feelings of his behavior changed must have been apparent on my face as Rhys sighed and rubbed his face with his hand. “I owe you an apology.” I bit my lip and looked at my feet. “I should have dropped the Eris subject last night when you asked.”

I looked at him a steeliness in my tone, “Yes you should have.” He flinched, I walked toward him and sat across from him holding out my hand. “Let me show you.”

Rhys shook his head, “Y/N you don-“

“Rhys just shut up and do it.” He nodded and took my hand and I let him into my mind and showed him Eris giving me his tunic, him tucking me into bed, and him sitting on the chair, eyes watching me as I fell asleep. I broke off the connection. “I wouldn’t lie, Rhys.”

Rhys nodded, “I know, which is why I want to apologize.” He walked around the desk and knelt in front of me. “I’m sorry for pushing. I’m sorry for not believing you. I will spend so many days being sorry so long as you stop looking at me like I am stranger and just your High Lord and not your friend.”

I gave him a smile and I wrapped my arms around him, “All is forgiven, unless you did something to make Feyre so upset. Then I’m kicking your ass.”

He laughed, but his face grew solemn, “Y/N, she needs you.” My forehead creased, “She never went into the prison today she got scared, that wasn’t her fault, but Y/N, I need you to understand just how not well she’s doing.”

I meet his violet eyes his stars gone, “Show me.”

Rhys gripped the back of my neck and pressed his forehead to mind as I let him in and flashes of her throwing up the night before from the nightmares Her screams echoing the halls, Rhys comforting her. He flashes me to the week I hid myself after she accused me of abandoning her and she tells Rhys how nice it would feel to die, and I felt my chest tighten. Rhysand immediately talking her out of that headspace. Her gaunt haunted face through Rhysand’s eyes.

His claws released my mind, but Rhys held me close as tears and panic rose through me. “Y/N, it’s not your fault.”

“She wants to die. How did I not feel that? How did I miss it? I’m a terrible sister.” My voice barely above a whisper as the images whirl around my brain a never ending loop of Feyre’s pain.

Rhys grips my neck tightly, “Stop it.” I met his gaze as he pulls his face away from mine, “Stop beating yourself up. You didn’t know.”

“BUT I SHOULD HAVE!” I erupted causing Rhys to jump back, “I was so mad! I couldn’t even look at her only to find out she has been hating herself.” I stood and began to pace, “I promised my mom that I would take care of her. But I let her go out into the forest only going out with her scarcely, I let Tamlin sink his teeth into her with his sweet words, and soft touches. I let her think I abandoned her.”

“Y/N, sweetheart, please calm down.” Rhys tried to grab my shoulder and I shook him off.

My breathing became short and erratic, “What if she would have taken her life when Tamlin kicked me out of his court. What if she did it and I never apologized.” I rubbed my hand on my chest, “It would have been my fault. Oh gods.” Breathing became difficult and my hearing muffled I didn’t even notice the door open. Strong arms wrapped around me and flushed up against a strong toned chest the smell of leather and sandalwood surrounded me. I leaned my head back as tears flowed freely.

“Come on, Sweetheart,” Cassian whispered in my ear, he pressed his lips to the top of my ear. He led me to the couch to sit and he lightly bended my head in between my knees. “Inhale,” he commanded his voice not that of a general, but I couldn’t place the gentle yet firm tone in it, and I take a breath, “hold it,” I did for a moment, “Exhale slowly,” He exhaled with me his hand rubbing circles around my back. “That’s my girl, again,” He guided me through some deep breaths, and I began to calm down.  I slowly sat up and I met his Hazel eyes his hand continued to rub my back, “Hi.”

“Hi.” I whispered.

“You okay?” I nodded and gripped my chin, “I need you to say it, baby.”

“I’m okay.” I murmured, I leaned my head on his shoulder, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Y/N. We’re not training today.” I tried to protest but before I could open my mouth he said, “Don’t fight with me. You need to take it easy, and by the sounds of it you need to have a talk with your sister.”

I lifted my head, “Okay.” I looked at Rhys, “I’m sor-“

Rhys growled, “Do not apologize for letting your feelings out.” He kissed the top of my head, “You’re scared for your sister and want to take her pain away. I understand. I had a feeling this might happen due to how much you love her. But don’t apologize for feeling these feelings, okay?”

I sniffled, Cassian’s hand grounding me, “Even if I was a contributing factor to her pain.”

“She doesn’t see it that way. When we were outside the prison, she wished you were there. That doesn’t sound like someone who is contributing to her pain.” Rhys said. “Stay here for as long as you need.” Rhys walked away and shut the door the soft clicking felt loud against my ears.

“You don’t need to stay here, Cass,” I said as I straightened my back.

He laughed, “I’m not going anywhere, unless you ask me to. Would you like me to leave?” I bit my lip debating being honest and eventually I just shook my head. “Then I stay.” And we sat like that for a few hours with him rubbing soothingly on my back as my forehead leaned against his shoulder.

When I was finally calm, I parted ways with Cassian, kissing him on the cheek in thanks for once again taking care of me. I could have sworn I saw him blush as he turned and left for his room, but he was gone before I could assess further.

***

Then I changed and found myself outside Feyre’s door, my hand hovering over the wooden panel to knock. Before I could I just hear her go, “Come in, Y/N,”

I opened her door to find scribbling on parchment. I walked in closer and noticed she wasn’t scribbling, she was drawing. Which means she was itching to paint again. She smiled, “I could hear your heartbeat skyrocket in front of my door.

I swallowed the lump down my throat as she put her sketch to the side and faced me.

“I’m sorry.” We both said at the same time we both blinked at each other before we began to laugh.

She got up and pulled me in a bone crushing hug that I returned. “I shouldn’t have blamed you for leaving. I know you wouldn’t have gone willingly. I was just so relieved, hurt and scared that when I saw you I just.”

“Let your inner Nesta out and said things you knew would hurt.” She nodded as she sat back on the bed dragging me with her. “I get it Fey, and I need to apologize to you for my outburst yesterday. I may have been out of line.”

Feyre shook her head, “You weren’t. I was being unfair to them. I meant what I said though.” I frowned, “You seem happier here. Less on edge.”

I nodded my head in agreement, “I am happy.” I smiled and squeezed her hand, “You could be happy here too. They are good Fae either way they are kind, and generous and I think we could fit right in. If you’re open.”

She gave me a small tentative smile, “I can see myself getting to place here. Rhys is not what I expected. He is kind, patient, and sweet.”

I smirked and looked at my nail, “Handsome, charming, alluring,” Feyre shoved me playfully, as I felt what must have been the equivalent to laughter down our bond.

“I mean he is all those things too, but I should have listened to you when you told me to give him a chance.”

“Yeah, probably, but we can’t change the past. We can only move forward, and maybe that starts with us being able to talk again.” I extended the olive branch.

“I would love nothing more, Y/N. I know I have pushed you away, but I have been feeling so lonely and isolated. I want you around.” She looked down at her hands, “I need you around.”

I grabbed her hands and gave them a squeeze, “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere. Until my heart stops beating. You’re my sister. I will always be there for you.”

Tears welled up in her eyes and she gripped me in a hug as she sobbed in my shoulder, “I wanted to die.”

I didn’t realize my own tears were falling as I gripped her tightly back, “I know.”

 “I don’t how to heal from this.” She whispered.

“We’ll figure it out, together.” I retorted.

“You swear?”

“I swear.” We both hissed as light flashed between us and designs of swirls and two hearts intertwining revealed itself on Feyre’s collarbone, her eyes widened when I moved my tunic shirt to see the same design. “Well, I guess you and I have a bargain, Fey.”

I pulled her back into me for another hug, and we stayed like that for a while, nothing but the crackling of the fire. Staring at the fire my brain led me to that night with Eris.

Eris paraded me around the ballroom keeping me on a short leash as his hand sprawled on my back. He reached the Dais where Amarantha and Tamlin stood, his eyes flicked to me and I could have sworn there was a flicker of a smirk was on his face but it was gone as quickly as it was there. “My queen, I would like to retire with my pet at your approval of course.”

Amarantha should me a glare and I just bow my head avoiding her gaze, “Yes get her out of my sight. Enjoy your reward.”

With a tug of the leash, he walked me out and I had chance to glance at Rhysand who was holding on to a dancing drunken Feyre. When we walked down the hall past the sentries Eris removes the leash and collar of flame and holds out his hand. I hesitated to take it and Eris clicked his tongue, “You attempt to flee, my little ember, and I will make sure you are bound to the point of uselessness.”

My hand finds his and finds they are surprisingly warm. He leads me to his chamber and finds that despite it being in the mountain it looks like it could be a room in a castle. Eris walks in and begins to unbutton his jacket and I tense, fear of what he has planned, He looked at me clearly sensing my fear. Not easing my fears, Eris shook off the jacket and walked over holding it out expecting me to put my arms through. Confusion fell upon me as I slowly moved and slid my arms in the jacket. He pulled me close causing me to gasped and he chuckled in response as he buttoned up the jacket, “There better?”

I nodded, the Autumn Court Prince gripped my arms and led me to the large bed on the side of the room near the fireplace, “Sleep.” He ordered and I crossed my arms. He looked at me expectantly and rolled his eyes and with a wave of his hand my dress was gone and so was the paint. My body was cleaned, the only thing keeping me covered was his jacket.

I bit my lip and I sighed, “That’s all you want me to do sleep?” I regretted asking the question.

His eyes flashed with rage, “What? Expect me to want to ravish you. To hear you cry and beg me to stop when I force myself upon you?” I flinched and looked at the ground. “I like my women consenting and moaning in pleasure not whimpering in fear. Only low bottom feeders get off on such a cruel act. My father being one of them.” He stilled and my head shot up at the admission he gave.

“Does he do that with your mother?” I asked clearly not worried about my well being.

“I would NEVER let him do something so heinous to her.” He snarled and I held my hands up in surrender.

“I meant no ill will toward the question.” He relaxed his shoulders, “You don’t like your father?”

He smiled and the expression was cold and cruel, “Do you like yours Y/N Archeron?”

I crossed my arms and looked away from his eyes. “No, I don’t” I answered.

If Eris was shocked by my honesty he didn’t let on. “Then it looks like you and I have something in common,” He had gotten close to me enough his body was radiating heat and gripped my chin, “Now go to sleep, My Little Ember.”

“What’s in it for you? For holding me here as your pet for the night?” I asked.

He sighed and looked up at the ceiling, “You’re a mortal. I should hate you. But I’m vowing you to secrecy, you will not tell a soul, do you understand?”

I nodded my head, “Yes.” He quirked a brow waiting, and I rolled my eyes, “Yes, Master.”

He smiled and kissed my head and I grumbled at the gesture. “Good,” he said, and he leaned in and whispered in my ear and my eyes went wide. He pulled away and patted my cheek, “Now go to sleep pet,” He sat at the chair and opened a book.

I moved to the bed and found sleep the moment my head hit the pillow. It was reckless to sleep with someone as dangerous as Eris near me, but I couldn’t fight the comfort of the bed, the warmth of the fire and exhaustion in my bones. My thoughts swirling of Eris’s plan to become High Lord of Autumn Court.

Chapter 8

Story Tags: @hellodarling1357 @hnyclover @waytoomanyteenagefeels @amara-moonlight @impossibelle @esposadomd @sleepylunarwolf @stressed-reader @kylaisra @marvelouslovely-barnes @magicstrengthandcourage @spideytingley @awkardnerd @donttellthecats @tastydewdrops @vermillionwinter @asweetblueberry2 @bunnyredgirl @homeslices @azriels-mate2 @oksloan3 @wallacewillow0773638 @fandom-crashlanding @writingstreetspirit @hannzoaks @minnieloo @tuggboatfishin @judig92 @atrxidxs @dustyinkpages @secretlyhers @mxblobby @blogforficslol @historygeekqueen @turtleshavesoulmates @scooobies @anuttellaa @earth-to-lottie @slytherintaco @fxckmiup @tinystarfishgalaxy @cheesebookgirl @oucereeng @st0rmyt @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @misslunatic1655

[popponn]

a boyfriend package. [itoshi rin x reader]

summary: itoshi rin is good at soccer. itoshi rin is not good at jokes and cheering up, but for you, he tries anyway. (aka, you are stressed and rin is there.)

notes: this fic had so much thought but the main is "if you have itoshi rin on your side you could probably do anything". to everyone at uni and school, good luck. warning: other than minor curses, none. fluff, reader's gender unspecified, post canon au, reader is a student struggling against exams & essays.

“You are not done yet?”

You, a student who had probably resembled a zombie more at this point, lift your head up from the materials you were supposed to finish within two days. There were certainly other problems you were facing, however, you had no strength to gaze at them at the moment. Instead, you landed your eyes on your boyfriend, leaning against the doorway of your room with two cups of store-bought coffee. Which was hilarious—Itoshi Rin, a solid football career, an aloof reputation which was very true, and no educational deadline because of said football career.

Wait—does Itoshi Rin even drink coffee?

Your brain couldn’t really remember that piece of information.

It could curse out your very lovely and handsome Rin out of envy though. You wished him a very slow internet connection until your freedom next week.

Hearing how the voices in your head had started complete nonsense, you shook your head and returned your focus back to the wall of letters that didn’t seem to have an end in front of you. It would be better for you to save your words and thoughts for this seemingly unending hurdle, instead of using it to say things about the very kind Rin who bought you coffee.

Though, you did remember what one of his friends posted on Finestagram yesterday. A picture of a bunch of guys having fun outside. A hand around his shoulder in an act of friendliness and a very clear time that was spent pleasantly. Without pressure too, on top of that. Fuck—you tried not to cry—you are so jealous of them.

“Hey, did you hear me?”

Oh, right.

You forgot to reply to him.

“Not yet,” you smiled bitterly, “there are still some more left.”

Which was an understatement. Around two thick piles of papers awaited you.

As it was, Rin didn’t even bat an eyelash at your response nor to the faraway look you gave to the tower of books on your desk. He, however, did put a cup of coffee right beside your left hand. On that cup, a smiling mascot with a peanut shape said something about enjoying your time. You didn’t know if the correct choice to that was to bawl or to laugh like a madman.

You were half-asleep after eight hours of cramming and your brain felt like it was burning. In the end, even a tear or a chuckle was a bit beyond your capability at this point.

“…hey,” Rin said again, flatly. A hand awkwardly placed itself on one of your shoulders.

“You sure say a lot of ‘hey’ today,” you noted, leaning your head, slotting it on his stomach. His muscles were hard, but the proximity did comfort you. “…what is it though?”

“…if I drive, and you say ‘stop, deer’,” Rin began awkwardly, out of nowhere with a voice that trembled slightly as if he was under an incredible weight, “I will say ‘yes honey’.”

You stopped breathing at what he just said. No matter how scattered your brain was, you immediately snapped him a bewildered look. You knew you were on the verge of insanity, but Rin—

“What.”

You had been dating him for two years and more and Rin—as much as you love him—is definitely not a joke guy. Did he got possessed? Was it because he drank coffee?

As you ransacked your brain for an answer, you watched an explosion of red on Rin’s face reaching his neck. As that hue stayed on his face, unbudging, Rin’s face turned sour and darkened as he muttered some violating insults that seemed to be directed at Bachira and Otoya.

You raised an eyebrow at that. “Rin. What? Huh?” you repeated, trying to grasp the situation. “Who put you into this?”

You knew you were risking your study in what could end up being a prologue to two murder cases, but that joke was bad enough that it restarted your brain. You would risk a 4-hour delay because honestly what could make Itoshi Rin joke—

Oh.

As the silence between Rin and you stretched, you realized how he seemed to lose the courage to see you in the eye. A red face that was as bashful as it looked like a face belonging to a terrible stomachache patient, yet the comforting pressure Rin gave to your shoulder as he rubbed his thumb—suddenly, it was as clear as day.

This fine dumbass of yours was trying to cheer you up, it seemed.

You laughed out loud at that—perhaps a bit too high-pitched with too much wheezing. However, imagining Rin taking a page from his friends’ books—fuck you hate those words so much still right now but yet—just to cheer you up, it is adorable. And, Rin seemed to accept your ugly chortles as his eyes finally moved to you again.

“Did—” you wheezed again, your whole body still shaking as you pressed your chin to his hip. The smell of Rin’s detergent was your preferred fragrance, widening your smile even more, “—did Bachira and Otoya put you into this? Is that why you cussed them out?”

“Don’t come up with your own conclusion,” Rin scolded with a tone that spelled out relief and fondness.

“Then, what is it? Tell me—you just made a joke. A pun. That’s something,” you teased. In the back of your mind, a heavy static was still present, yet you really couldn’t mind their presence with Rin beside you like this.

Rin grunted and messed up your head, looking down at you with a look that was certainly too soft for his cold & cool guy brand. “Shut up. That’s none of your business.”

“Aw, come on! Tell me!” you protested. Rin shook you off as you started to try and pull his cheeks with your grubby hands. Walking away, he pulled a stool that he had left behind in your room after his tenth visit to your house many months ago.

“No,” Rin said curtly, leaving no room for protest as he tapped your laptop screen lightly. “Now get back to studying.”

At the reminder, it was your turn to wear a sour glum on your face. “Ugh.”

He glared half-heartedly at you. Bumping a knee against your chair slightly. “Don’t fucking say ‘ugh’.”

“But…” you wanted to say that you still wanted to tease him a bit more. You wanted to just do something with him a bit longer. Returning to the passage of curses meant that you couldn’t do that.

Rin looked at you for a moment. You couldn’t fathom what went through in his mind as you glanced at him. However, whatever it was, it pushed Rin to get his face closer to you.

Then, before you could even react to it, Rin pressed a light kiss on top of your forehead.

It was soundless in the way it was surprising. Your eyes were wide as Rin pulled away and returned to his previous position. This time, the red hue and his inability to look you in the eye returned. Looking towards anywhere but you, Rin perched his chin on top of his palm.

“Hurry up and study,” Rin ordered once again. “I will accompany you today, so stop whining.”

There was a prime chance for you to tease him about not practicing instead. Yet, for a solid 30 seconds, all your brain had become was a mush and an incoherent noise. Rin probably should take some responsibility and you should demand so—

Yet, you could only smile and return to your study. Hooking your ankle with one of Rin’s just so you could feel him close still.

“You owe me a kiss and a treat after this.”

“I bought you coffee already.”

“Oh, Rin—come on, I need motivation—”

“Fucking finish it first.”

Afterward, you pulled out a miracle by finishing everything within 3 hours and the rest was history.

[velvetures]

Got Me Snoring pt.2

A/N: I'm so sorry it took so long... I've been doubting doing a part two simply because the first blew up like... crazy... and I'm afraid this one isn't going to measure up to the first. But THANK YOU to everyone for the love on part one... it's wild how much you all liked it. I appreciate all of you thirsty fuckers. Summary: Ghost is set on giving you the same change of perception on reviving head after figuring out just how bad you are at taking care of yourself. T/W: NS/FW 18+ ONLY, cunnilingus, size kink if you squint, spit?, lots of fem! fluids, a little male fluids..., cursing, aggressive tension?, taunting, not proofread, and I'm still terrified this is gonna suck.

You woke up with a sore throat.

No doubt or haze in your mind about how it happened or why. And the only thing you could think was the word big…. big… big…

God, Ghost was so fucking huge. You nearly mistook the images in your mind for a dream. One so goddamn filthy you’d not be able to look him in the eyes. Only one of those big hands was sprawled over your belly. Fingers digging possessively into the little bit of pudge under them. Denting your skin and steadily reminding you of the rest of his body melted against the back of yours. You’d not moved an inch all night. Highly unusual on a normal day, but not with your Lieutenant sharing the bed.

Sharing a seat on the plane home wasn’t familiar either.

He felt inhumanly warm with his arm rubbing yours as the jet stream rocked the cabin of the plane. And the looks shared between the others as they watched the pair of you didn’t make your skin feel any cooler. Gaz staring at the spot where Ghost’s thigh rested against yours nearly made your pants singe. You couldn’t believe Ghost was just sitting there with his head leaning back against the wall. Maybe sleeping… he wasn’t really moving much. But you couldn’t tell. Nor possess enough confidence to look up or nudge him and find out.

Your sore throat ached a bit too. Raw, and making your voice scratchy, it’d been hard to give a solid ‘good morning’ without everyone asking if you’d come down with something. Your only thought was how Ghost came down something… and you had swallowed. A thought that felt good to hear in your own head… at least when Captain Price wasn’t looking at you with sharp, observant eyes.

Surprisingly, Ghost wasn’t the one who made you feel anxious. He’d been… different in leading up to the flight home. Having your bag packed before you’d noticed, getting you up before the others…. ‘Answer their questions later, little one.’ he’d whispered, masked mouth heating up your ear as he murmured so closely to it. Thoughtful… you’d decided. Realizing only after he’d solved the problem that waking up in bed with him would’ve caused a stir amongst the boys. He even made you tea… the way you like it; With some thick honey at the bottom. No doubt for your rasping voice.

No. Ghost was different.

No one had the gall to mention the Lieutenant strangely shadowing you though. Like you’d suddenly gained a massive black phantom tagging alone at your heels. On missions he would linger close by without anyone noticing, but that just felt… professional. Watching his wide shoulders slump towards yours while sitting on a shitty, makeshift, bench in a cargo plane? That was a whole different look. Even Price spent a good half hour chewing on an unlit cigar, trying to work out what you two had talked about the night before for Ghost to act like this. It was clear though. None of them suspected anything close to what actually happened.

Sitting next to him felt surreal. Especially when he’d been the one who silently insisted that you sit next to him. Having snatched you by your belt and tugged you onto the bench beside him instead of letting you find somewhere mushed between Gaz and Soap like normal. A low grunt of a sound and a firm nod pointed in your direction once he got a look at you sitting next to him much more shyly than normal.

You could smell his cologne, and memorize the tattoos peeking out close to his wrist. Feel his leg twitch to steady himself in his seat when the plane shook a bit. Even listen to the sound of his steady breathing. A whole new experience you’d not really thought about trying before. You nearly felt like you were learning Ghost all over again. Taking every small movement and reexamining it. Because… you couldn’t deny that he had readjusted his view of you.

A blowjob shouldn’t have felt that… intimate, you thought. Remembering the undeniably filthy things Ghost had said. It should’ve left you fulfilled… but not like you actually were. Some warm, expanding feeling, filling up your chest and making you want to hide your face and giggle. A grade school crush level of nervous energy you’d never felt towards a man before. Yet here you were, sitting there half-dumbstruck, watching your Lieutenant stretch his long legs and sigh softly as the landing gear rolled to a stop on the tarmac.

“Comin’?” He muttered, voice level. Maybe a bit impatient as those dark eyes settled on you.

Normal… you reminded yourself. He wasn’t talking you differently; No need to over analyze everything. Letting him lead was the smartest thing. The only way, really.

“Yeah,” Your voice makes you hesitate to say anything more. “Just got stuck staring…”

Ghost doesn’t show any real reaction. Just nods, and grabs his rucksack off the floor next to him. Wordlessly taking yours along in the same hand, walking off with -essentially- everything you had. Suddenly motivating you to not only move your ass off the plane, but follow his long strides to wherever it was he was possessed to go. And whether or not the others even noticed, you didn’t have the luxury of worrying about.

The Lieutenant had your weapons… and your only clean pair of pants.

You didn’t have to follow him far though. Only walking a few meters past your own quarters and down a hallway. Staring at the wide gap between his shoulder blades and the heavy sway that rocked the belt clipped around his hips.

He had your bag tossed next to his on a desktop inside his room without a single trace of the fact it wasn’t a habit. Sitting down heavily and reaching over stiffly to tug at the laces of his boots. Toeing them off with small squeaks of new leather and sitting them under the desk. Either purposefully staying silent to listen to your brain working, or totally unaware that you were stupidly standing there, watching your Lieutenant do a decidedly human thing with wide eyes.

“Come’ere…”

Ghost took off your boots just as simply as his own. Quiet, leaned over your foot propped up on his thigh and not even mentioning your hand resting on his shoulder to steady yourself. Feeling him tug the blouse out of your pant legs, and gently squeeze at your ankle to hold your foot steady.

You didn’t know how to feel about it.

Mortified… maybe. For the simple fact that you had worn the same socks for two days and his head was too close for comfort. Touching you. At least, touching you in a way that wasn’t meant for sex. It didn’t feel like you were doing enough. Weren’t providing him anything.

Guilty… yes? This wasn’t something normal in any situation. You hated a return. It’s what made you feel like you were causing a problem. Made laying low and staying quiet a habitual behavior. And Ghost being the one bent over and struggling to undo the tight knots in your laces? Nearly unacceptable. He didn’t need to… shouldn’t lower himself like that.

Ghost noticed it and you tried to beat him to the punch.

“You don’t have to-”

“Look like you’re gonna faint.”

That hand squeezing softly on your ankle tightens a little before releasing, gliding up your calf and patting you softly before guiding it off his leg. Those dark eyes look up and down your clothes, over your decidedly nervous expression, and back down to your boots before sitting them right next to his.

“Don’t tell me…” he mutters, leaning back in his chair, hands resting on his hips. “You’re not a fan of receiving… are you?”

~

The next two days, you leaned quickly that what was his, suddenly had made room to account for you as well. Almost instantaneously you’d been accounted for in just about every single way you could think of. You washed laundry… you found it put away in one of his drawers. You ordered food to base… it was in his room, not yours. Tried to get into your old quarters… the key wouldn’t open it anymore.

How he’d managed it, you didn’t even want to know. But, Ghost effortlessly took into account every single thing necessary to move you into his life without even a single question. And managed to do it perfectly. You couldn’t question it either, since he’d accomplished the endless tasks to such a degree of attention that you weren’t sure a man could even reach.

“Um, have you seen my black jeans?” The question felt a bit odd, and so did standing in the doorframe of his bathroom with a towel wrapped around you.

“Top drawer. In the closet, next to my pants.”

You couldn’t quite adjust this easily. Not that it wasn’t what you wanted per se. You’d enjoyed Ghost’s company more than anyone else the past couple days. And while he’d been accommodating, it wasn’t like he was bowing to your feet. He came and go as he wanted and didn’t crowd you like he was clingy either. However he did make you feel uneasy with how little he made a fuss about doing something for you.

You never asked for him to do anything. Yet he managed to do everything you ‘hadn’t gotten around to’. And worst of all, when it was time to sleep, he wouldn’t lay down until you eventually caved in and crawled under the blankets first. Almost like he was letting you get settled exactly how you wanted before even thinking about moving closer. No sex. No outward attempt at it. Not even a subliminal hint that he wanted more of your mouth, or anything else for that matter.

It nearly broke you. Or, better spoken, broke your perception of how you expected him to act. Which, made sense considering Ghost wasn’t anything close to the men you’d been with previously. They were always pushy… and he didn’t even push you to your side of the bed when you unconsciously wormed your way to his side at night. Your exes treated sex like a favor needing to be owed. And Ghost wouldn’t begin to act like he’d ever thought about the possibility despite having fucked your throat like he owned it.

Your jeans were indeed in the drawer next to his. And he did ask you to grab a pair of his as you retrieved yours, adding on that you’d be leaving in fifteen minutes… unless you needed more time to get ready.

You finished up in less than ten.

A bar on a Saturday night was Soap’s idea. Drinks, a few cigars, and the whole task force was his way of ‘team bonding’ and no one had a good enough excuse to deny him. Especially when there was a new mission lingering in the next couple weeks, and Price already had the files on hand. You thought it was a bit cliché. Sitting in a musty bar, listening to Price talk over the music about terrain, entry points, possible back-up, and the preemptive teams he was putting together.

It seemed his mind had been working just as hard as yours over the past days. Only you were preoccupied with Ghost’s hand firmly kneading at your thigh under the table. His thumb working at a sore spot just up and to the right of your knee. Forefinger squeezing to alternate the pressure and resist from making the movements feel too harsh. Looking far too relaxed while scanning a document and flipping through the pages with his free hand.

You’d resisted for hours at this point. Forcing yourself to stay quiet and not say something about it. Reminding yourself he was just doing it because he wanted to. Not because he thought he’d get something out of it. He wasn’t holding out. Every time his skilled fingers found another sore spot that made you twitch, you needed to physically clamp your mouth shut or take a drink so you didn’t tell him to stop.

“Another round?” Gaz held up a few bills in his hand, looking around the table.

When everyone agreed, you lost the willpower to sit still. Straightening up and trying to scoot towards the edge of your seat.

“I’ll go up since you’re paying.” The rush in your voice was lost on everyone. Everyone but the man who suddenly locked down with a vice grip on your leg.

Ghost didn’t even flinch. Still looking at the file in his hand, but that cold grip on you didn’t hesitate. Gluing you to your seat and enhancing the sudden sensation of his fingertips dipping under the ripped material stretching over your thigh. You couldn’t understand it. Dumbly trying a second time to stand up, only for it to earn you a side-eyed glance and a slight pinch to your exposed skin.

“No.” he muttered, chin jutting out in the direction of the man, already heading towards the table after seeing Gaz pull out cash .“The waiter’s comin’.”

And right on cue, a younger guy walked up and began taking orders. Going around the table, and stopping at Ghost was a very familiar kind of apprehension on his face after seeing that black mask stretched over his face. If only he could see under the table at the way your thigh was shaking from the soft touches.

“Nothin’ for us,” Such a cool dismissal of the guy that you hardly even notice what he said. “Price, leavin’ out.” He added, moving his hand to palm the back of your neck easily. Giving the slightest tug to get you up out of your seat as well.

“Little one’s comin’ with me.”

Not a soul at the table questions it.

~

Against the wall yet again.

Not unlike the first time… Ghost has a pattern. You’re breathless, but much more unaware of how this situation is going to play out. He hadn’t said a word in the drive, and kept the tightest sightline out the windshield you couldn’t even see his irises from your profile view in the passenger seat. The second he could spot the door to his room? His big body bullied yours right where he wanted it. Keeping you pacified by a hand over your mouth and dark, plotting eyes glaring down.

“Why’d you do that?” His question further raised the questions in your head. It’s all you can do to shrug, as if you had much autonomy over the rest of your body at this point anyways.

“At the bar,” The clarification deepens his irritated tone. “Why’d you take orders like that, huh? Like some fuckin’ maid.”

“You all wanted drinks.”

Unfortunately it’s not the answer he wanted, and you’re hauled that much further up the wall. Only now, you’re suspended fully off the ground. Balanced on his forearm jammed between your thighs; feeling his palm flat against the wall. God, it felt fucking ridiculous. He shouldn’t been able to do it, but he wasn’t even shaking. Dead calm and just watching you unintentionally grind down more on his arm the longer you’re forced to stay like that.

“I got my own.”

You nearly catch an attitude. Wanting to mention that it’s just ‘polite’. And for that matter, you’d not paired for a single drink all night. So, naturally it was only fair you go get them… You settle on saying something a bit more safe. Maybe more manageable even with how little your mouth wants to function.

“I didn’t pay.”

Ghost just snarls, head tilted and looming closer.

“I don’t fuckin’ care,” His hips flinch forwards, jamming against you to send the point home. And you’re not stupid enough to ignore that he’s hard. The long, thick line of his cock disappearing under the edge of his belt; tucked safely to have been able to escape the bar without anyone throwing looks his way.

“Stop doin’ shit just because.” He growls out a bit more directly. “Do it because you want it.”

His point skims over your understanding. “I do what I want!”

“Sure, sweetheart.” The dismissal is soft enough you know he’s not totally pissed.

“When’s the last time you made yourself feel good, huh?” He pauses, giving you a glimpse of his tongue licking his lips under that mask. “I think I remember you sayin’ you’ve faked it plenty of times… How many times is that? How many times you ignored that pussy cryin’ for attention?”

You get it. Oh, you finally understand… And damn it your face doesn’t burn hot with the realization that he’d caught on to just how bad you were about prioritizing yourself. Not even the dull, thudding pressure of your cunt sitting directly in his muscled forearm is enough to distract you from it. The mind game over, and Ghost holding yet another victory in his hand.

“I.. I don’t know,” You look away, unwilling to admit it. “A few times.”

“Bullshit,” He grunts, jerking his lower body against yours yet again. “You might not know that… but you do know how many men… don’t ya, sweetheart?”

Chest caving in defeat, you answer. “Five.”

Ghost’s chuckle is almost patronizing. A deep, rumbling one low in his chest that makes chills run up your back. Purposefully his wrist rotates a bit and your clit rolls over a thick muscle. You’re helpless to hide the pinched yelp it earns him, and it only makes him chuckle for longer. If you’d been in any other position, it would’ve been music to your ears. Now it just felt… punishing. Arousing beyond belief, yes, but still a bit of a sting to your pride.

“Five boys…” He muses aloud. “Not a fuckin’ one with enough sense to breathe without thinkin’.”

He stills for a moment, eyebrows furrowing over dark brown eyes. A debate in his head.

“Then i’ll teach you…” He nods once. Firm and resolved to the decision. His free hand coming up to trace your jawline with a reverent, almost scared touch. “Now that you’re mine… I’ll teach you how to be selfish.”

“S’not like I don’t know how.” It’s a wonder you’re able to sound that confident between the pressure to your cunt and the way he’s talking to you. Unflinching as always, he just smirks under that mask.

“Gonna show you how easy it is… to take pleasure. How to enjoy it.” Each word falls from his lips like thick honey. Whatever he’s planning so fucking rich in his kind that even his mouth slows and his accent thickens at the mere imagination of it. “You’re gonna learn to be good for me… and M’gonna start with that little pussy…”

One dangerous look down at where your thighs are trying to clench together freezes you.

“Not gonna let her be ignored anymore…”

~

Ghost’s tongue curls through your swollen, sensitive, lips; helping guide himself to your pulsing clit. Humming victoriously when your stomach flexes and your body jerks away from the steady pressure. Each lick is the same. Dragging up your slit and purposely spitting against your hole until you both can feel it dripping between your cheeks. Taking his time like this was almost painful. Feeling the twitch of his jaw against your inner thighs and hearing his thick swallows as he drank down your arousal.

It almost made you feel queasy, being the sole focus of this. Your hands unable to find somewhere to rest. Feet unwilling to settle on his back or off to the sides, like you knew you probably should be. Ghost was so intense that you shook. Muscles tremoring around his head and exciting him that much more. You were still stiff though, and it showed. Much to his excitement, it meant that he’d have that much more time between your legs. More opportunities to take you out of your head and throw you into a totally new one.

“It ain’t my mouth makin’ you shake, little one.” He murmurs, almost like he’s talking to your cunt instead. It’s hard to reply when those dark brown eyes lay locked on you from between your slicked thighs.

“I… I don’t know…”

Ghost just chuckles, kissing your inner thigh. Both hands slipping between your legs and using his thumbs to spread you open for him. Heavy eyes looking at your glistening hole covered in his saliva. Spitting on you yet again, and letting out a deep, satisfied sigh when your breath evaporates from the sheer sight of it.

“M’gonna make you feel everythin’ they couldn’t,” your eyes nearly roll back in your skull when he blows a soft, cool, breath over your hot skin. “You’ll memorize what my tongue feels like in your cunt… never gonna come empty again…”

You clench when those words come out more like a threat than a promise. Having heard that tone so many times sitting in on his interrogations. Always relating it to pure torture and the promise of wishing for death over being rested in Ghost’s hands. Only now it was startling just how badly you wanted to hear him speak like that again. Never having heard anyone sound so fucking serious about sex, or find yourself reacting so desperately. Your eyes scrunching shut and your head falling back against the bed, nearly pained with anticipation and a healthy dose of the most fearful arousal you’d mustered.

“Ghost - please, please… just, god take it easy on me.” Your voice is soft, pleading. Actually a bit timid of how far he planned on taking this. Of course he wouldn’t hurt you. You trusted him that much. But pleasure could be just as effective of torture, and Ghost was well-versed.

Another kiss presses to your thigh, “Nothin’ without your permission,” Those dark eyes gain crinkled lines at the corners though as he smiles. “But you’ll like it, little one. Every disgustin’ thing m’gonna do to make this pussy cream…”

His thumb glides over your outer lips, toying with you. Gentle to avoid sensitive spots and draw this out, but mean enough to remind you just how dedicated he was.

“Yeah, baby… you’re gonna look so good when I lick the fuckin’ come out of you.”

His mouth descends over you without another moment of hesitation. Still slow, but now it’s not just his tongue lapping at you. It’s his lips, rough with a couple days neglected of shaving. His teeth -which make you jump at first- pinching and nipping. But it’s all in the perfect pressure. Somehow fully aware of how sensitive you are right now and that the slightest move could be far too much. Reversing your twitches of apprehension into soft rolls of your hips against his face. Allowing you to guide him without a word. Learning how you want it whether or not you ever realized that it was guiding him better than a map.

You loved the slow, consistent pressure around your clit. Not rubbing right over it like he was sure you’d been subjected to before. No… you needed it softer. Sweeter. Just how a pretty girl like you deserved. Circles with a flattened tongue and his fingers working inside you. Even then, you got so fucking tight when he didn’t pull his fingers out all the way. Instead letting you milk them as the pads of his fingers curled against that textured, upper wall needing attention.

God, it was so easy. You had such beautifully clear reactions. What felt good, you’d nearly hold still for. As if you’d never felt it before and couldn’t withhold from the desperate curiosity. And when it didn’t, such polite grinds and roll of your hips would be almost too helpful in moving the bridge of his nose or his tongue to where you wanted it.

Ghost couldn’t remember the last time he ate pussy with such rapt attention. Enjoy it had always been easy. The taste, the sounds, feeling in control… any man in his right mind would relish in it. But you? You made his hard cock brushing up against the mattress fall to a true afterthought. He didn’t even care that there was enough precum drooling from his tip to soak through denim jeans.

Your first orgasm is a beautiful accident. Ghost’s body isn’t even what earns it. It’s his fucking mouth saying the nastiest things imaginable with a busy tongue stroking your clit. Rambling low and sluggishly, a thick lisp when his bottom lip tries to slide across your pussy on the right syllables.

Good job, tha’s it… s’good for me.

Keep fuckin’ drippin’ like that.

Stay right there -just like that- let me lick her clean baby…

You come quick and hard. Not even getting to relish in the feeling of release that wasn’t by your own hand before Ghost is working for another. It’s the most impatient habit he’s got and won’t deviate. Using the clench of your pussy around him to advantage by working you open all over again. Purposefully providing that “first touch” stretch throughout orgasms like a reset. Short term memory erasure of all his hard work just to massage at your shaking legs as gentle reassurance.

“Don’t — Don’t stop.” Your panting. Wanting to warn him as the second approaches a bit slower.

You’re still nervous to perform, but the edge is off. Having been given just enough reassurance that you can, in fact, come from someone else’s touch. But the slight tremor in your voice hints at the hesitation you have to come again.

Enough time elapsed to overthink what you sound like. How you appear from this angle and anything in between that has been a problem before now. Ghost doesn’t move an inch. The only thing he does is take a steady deep breath and move one arm to rest his forearm on the bed. Like he’s settling in.

Getting fucking comfortable.

And he stays just like that until you’re shoving yourself up the bed and away from his chasing mouth to try and take at least one complete breath. Your feet sliding in the sheets and the hair on the back of your neck getting cold once it’s not matted to the pillow. Previous experience anticipates that it’s the end. That Ghost isn’t going to follow. That he’ll take the credit for making you come twice, and enjoy a fluttering, wet cunt around his cock.

His face is next to yours and his swollen lips are kissing your temple over and over sweetly. One hand keeps his heavy weight off of you while the other gently reaches to your neck. Holding your head to ease the acute angle of it and shyly feel your pulse. You’re too dazed to see the look on his face. How relaxed he is, counting your heart beats and watching sweat slide across your temple and get caught in the baby hairs there. Observant, but utterly obsessed by this moment. Drinking in self-satisfaction and the much more addictive taste of seeing you fall apart under him.

“I got you. I’m here, breathe baby.” Keeping his chest close, he exaggerates his own. Pressing against you, grounding the feeling.

“It’s so much.” Admitting it makes you feel awful. Like you’re not enjoying it more than anything you’ve felt before. But you’re unable to explain just how raw your nerves feel. Terrified that if he touches your clit again it would bring real tears to your eyes.

Ghost moves closer, sharing body heat you didn’t know you even wanted. “I know, little one… you’re so sensitive. S’okay.” He answers, gently reaching down to pull both your thighs together and against him.

Curling you to his body and holding your legs to help ease the radiating pleasure signals thrumming in your pussy. His hand rubbing your outer thigh, squeezing at the stretched muscles in your hip. Dissipating the tightly-wound lower half of your body that is still expecting his fingers to touch you again. Split between wishing he would force another orgasm out of you and nearly passing out from overstimulation.

Ghost knows better though. You’d gone too long without someone else controlling your pleasure that it was going to be hard enough. And a second only compounded your body’s response. In the moment he felt possessed to prove a point. Really, the same one you had for him. But the moment you scurried back, that part of his brain turned off. Keeping you safe in this state was just as important as anything else. He didn’t want you faking anything again. That included when you felt like you couldn’t take more.

“We’re done, baby…” he kisses your cheek, tasting the sting of salt on his lips. “No more; jus’ easy touches… M’not gonna play anymore.”

It works wonders, simply taking the guesswork out of this. Allowing your legs to fully sag against him, trusting those fingers grazing up and down. Even your head letting go of the remaining tension holding you off the pillow. Ghost can’t help but smile. Kissing you yet again. And again. Helping himself to the sounds of your breaths evening out and the softness of your dewy skin on his mouth.

His hot body sticks to yours a bit, but it’s comfortable. Helps you feel secure, laying there balled up and trying to work through the multiple sensations still making it nearly impossible to open you eyes and look at him. Desiring to say a simple ‘thank you’ or at least, give him a smile just to show that you’re appreciative. Another one of those nasty little things you’re convinced is necessary right after the deed. Poised to give positive reinforcement at the first moment so the guy won’t run off.

“Th-thank you,” The way you say it almost sounds guilty to Ghost. Even the hand rubbing you doubles down, more firmly. Like he’s hoping to keep his own emotions in check by reminding himself of how skewed your perceptions are.

“S’not a ‘thank you’,” He replies, lips against your ear, feeling the easy, toothless, smile he’s got. “Told you the other day… I wanted it. Wanted you.”

Your eyes do open then. Hearing him refer back to the mission. Like he’s not the least bit affected by it in an embarrassed kind of way. Adding that much more reinforcement to the nearly unbelievable idea that he’s actually meant it and not just so he could get a bit closer to you. Surely he couldn’t, right?

“You mean that?”

Ghost’s eyes brighten, and he chuckles very deeply. Bumping his forehead against yours.

“You and your sweet pussy aren’t going anywhere.”

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you're all so lovely and I want to give you each a big smooch

reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3

my ask box is always open, but fair warning I'm slow haha

[axelsagewrites]

Micheal Gavey*Crunchy

Pairing: Micheal Gavey x popular!reader

Word count: 1191

Warnings: none

A/n: the V-day posts are officially beginning

Masterlist Here

As much as you loved your friends, they were all terrible study partners so as usual you waved your goodbyes to Felix and Farleigh and headed to the library. You made a point to go everyday even if you didn’t have much to study for. Sometimes it was only for 10 minutes sometimes a couple hours.

You quickly sat your stuff down at the same table you always sat at before looking round the shelves for the book you needed. when you returned you went to sit down but paused when you saw the crunchy sitting on your seat. You quickly glanced around the room, but everyone was so involved in their own books, so you assumed someone must’ve just left it here. You sat it on the desk before getting to work.

-

The next day another crunchy sat on your seat however this time you noticed it before you even sat your stuff down. You looked around and your eyes fell on a blonde boy at the end of the table, “Hey,” you whispered, hoping the librarian wouldn’t kill you for talking, “Was anyone sitting here before?” you asked.

He stared at you, unmoving for a solid few seconds before shaking his head no. you let out a quiet hum of confusion before taking your seat and starting on your essay. You left the crunchy sitting on the desk however an hour into studying and suddenly feeling very hungry you decided finders’ keepers and opened the bar.

-

The next day there was another crunchy. Again, you sat it on the desk and ended up eating it halfway through your visit. By day six however you were opening it as soon as you sat down. When you told Farleigh about it, he commented how easy it would be to poison you, but Felix had a different conspiracy theory.

“Maybe you have a secret admirer,” he teased, very loudly might you add, as you sat at the pub having drinks.

“With a crunchy obsession,” Farleigh snorted.

You sighed at your friend before turning your attention back to Felix and his huge grin, “You’re mental,”

“When did you say they started?” Farleigh asked when he noticed something on his phone.

You paused before answering, “Thursday I think,”

“Thursday the first?”

“Um yeah I think so why?” you said and while Farleigh looked at you like you were stupid an even bigger grin took over Felix face.

“Oh, shit man that’s so sweet,” he said, slapping your arm which hurt way more than he realised, “Its almost Valentine’s day how cute,” he beamed.

“More like stalkerish,” Farleigh said earning a quick jab from Felix, “Cmon I’m just looking out for her. what if its some creep following her?”

“No ones following me. I don’t have a secret admirer. You both are crazy. And I’m getting a drink,” you told them, getting up and ignoring Felix’s pleas for shots as you headed to the bar.

You ended up waiting beside a tall, though not as tall as Felix, blonde boy when suddenly it clicked, “Hey do I know you?” you asked as you waited your turn but before he could stutter his answer it clicked, “Wait you’re the boy from the library,”

He nodded, an awkward silence falling over you both before he finally added, “I’m Micheal. I see you there. Sometimes,”

“Yeah, I saw you as well. you’re in there more than me,” you joked just as the bartender came over, “He was first,”

“Its okay, you go first,” he stuttered, and you couldn’t help finding it incredibly cute.

-

The crunchies continued all the way till the 13th and now you were wondering if Felix had been, for once, right. It was now valentines and despite all your friends telling you going to the library alone on valentines was the most virgin thing ever you had to find out if he was right.

You felt oddly nervous as you approached the library. What if it was a creep? Hell, what if it was a really cute guy and you made a fool of yourself? You sighed as you pushed away the thoughts and walked in.

You actually paused in your tracks for a moment when you saw Micheal sat right by your usual spot. You shrugged it off as you walked it and put a smile on your face. However, it faltered for a moment when you realised there was no crunchy on the seat. “Do you mind if I sit? Sorry its just routine,” you joked as you walked up to the desk.

Micheal nodded silently so you took your seat and got to work. Well not that you had much to do. You were going to a valentine’s party tonight, so you’d actually completed all your work last night, but you didn’t want to look like a freak who only came to see if a stranger had left a crunchy. You grabbed a random book from the shelves and pretended to study for around 30 minutes before deciding to just go.

However just as you went to stand up Micheal’s hand shot out, “Wait!” he said and for once no shushing was heard since even the librarian hadn’t come in today. Hell apart from Micheal the whole place was empty, “I um have something for you,” he said as he fished something out of his bag, “Here,” he said, handing you the golden bar.

A small smile took over your face, you couldn’t help it, “Was it sat her before or…?” you asked, your voice trailing off when you saw the nervous look on your face.

“No, it was um. It was me, leaving the crunchies. I thought you might’ve needed the energy boost,” he said, mumbling by the end.

“That’s really sweet of you,” you said, sitting back down despite the blush spreading on his cheeks, “How come you never said anything?”

“I didn’t want you to laugh at me,”

“Why would I laugh?” you asked, your head tilted to the side which Micheal found far too endearing, “To be honest I was kinda hoping it would be you,” you said, filling in the silence.

“Really?” Micheal said, a smile shooting onto his lips, “I didn’t know if you knew who I was,”

“I see you around all the time,” you said, eyebrows scrunching in confusion, “I just never wanted to interrupt you. you always seemed really into your maths,” another small smile tugged at his lips.

Micheal paused, looking like he wanted to say something but also through up so you gave him another smile and finally he said it, “Would you like to go out with me sometime? If you’re not too busy or anything,”

A wide grin spread across your face, “Yeah I’d love to,” you said, and his smile grew so wide his cheeks might pop.

“Okay great. Are you free tonight?” he said, shyness now completely gone making you laugh but you nodded yes. Felix and Farleigh could survive without you for one night, “I could meet you outside the dinning hall at six and we could go out somewhere,”

“It’s a date,”

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[kpopfanfictrash]

Until Death (M)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Creative Contributor:@baebae-goodnight​ for this unbelievable moodboard truly, like, WHAT

Genre: Green Bone Saga!AU || Organized Crime / Forbidden Romance / Suspense + Action

Author’s Note: This one shot is set in the Green Bone Saga universe, written by Fonda Lee. You do not need to have read this series in order to read this one shot (I explain concepts/terms), but I do HIGHLY encourage you to read this series at some point because it’s absolutely amazing!! Anyways, Yoongi dropped the Haegeum MV and I was like.... did he read Jade City lol. Further disclaimer this is not a retelling of the books, nor does the Kaul family exist in this version of Kekon (although the No Peak clan does)

Pairing: Yoongi / Reader

Synopsis: Jade has always shaped the island of Kekon. Mined from the mountains, it enhances the abilities of Green Bone warriors who wear it and allows them protection from outside harm. No one understands these threats better than you do, second-in-command of the mighty No Peak clan. 

When a new danger appears, seeming to come from within, everything you once took for granted is called into question. Including the bonds you’ve made, some more dangerous than the others. None more so than Min Yoongi, head of No Peak and the only one capable of destroying your heart.    

Rating: 18+

Warnings: graphic violence, fight scenes and mature content (character dies in the story; not main character) 

NSFW Warnings: dirty talk, nipple play, fingering, spanking, oral (female), multiple orgasms, possessiveness, unprotected sex (couple is monogamous), spit, hand job

Word Count: 17,650

[ Cross-posted to Wattpad here ]

“There’s a rat in our midst,” Jungkook growls, slamming his fist to the table.

No one in the room flinches, although several glance fleetingly in the direction of the Pillar. The typically mild-mannered head of No Peak frowns, clearly disturbed by the recent attacks. Only a madman wouldn’t be.

Still, his voice remains calm while answering your second Fist. “That remains to be seen,” Yoongi says. As though the current situation could be perceived as anything but a threat.

Subtle, you flick a glance towards him, then away. In the corner of your eye, you see Yoongi’s lips curve before smoothing to nothing. Lowering his palms to rest on the table, the ends of his sleeves rise to reveal solid jade.

Leaning back, you survey the table before you. As the Horn of No Peak, it’s your job to defend the clan’s territory – by force, if necessary. Several levels of Green Bone warriors report into you, including your Fingers (the lowest of soldiers) and Fists, your direct reports.

Jungkook became Second Fist only a month prior but already, he’s created a name for himself. An impulsive, somewhat violent name for himself.

In this case though, you happen to agree with him. Not one, but two Lantern Men – commercial patrons of No Peak – have turned up dead in the past week, tortured beyond recognition. Over a week has passed since the first murder and still, there’s no suspect. Neither man was wealthy nor wore jade beyond a single piercing. Each was killed in a different part of town with no family in common. For a week, you’ve been racking your brain for motive and coming up empty.

Peeved by the thought, your fingertips dig into your leather jacket. Perceiving the shift to your aura, Yoongi starts to turn – catching himself just in time and facing forward.

An assortment of Lantern Men, Fists and Luckbringers (the money-making side of the clan) sit around a worn table. All watch the Pillar warily, as though uncertain how this meeting will end.

Tilting his head, strands of dark hair fall across Yoongi’s forehead. Studs of green line his ears, a single bolt of jade threaded through his right brow. Since the Academy, Yoongi has preferred to wear his jade as piercings – except for the clusters on fingers and wrists. He flexes these now, a visual display of power.

Jade from the island of Kekon is powerful; toxic to all but the Green Bones trained to wear it. To them, it grants unique power in each of the six disciplines: Strength, Steel, Perception, Lightness, Deflection and Channeling. Being from Kekon is no guarantee a person can wear and use jade, though. Individual tolerance varies, with most not able to withstand more than a few pieces.

No one in No Peak wears more jade than the Pillar – no one but you, that is.

This thought brings little comfort in a room such as this. Most of the sycophants seated around the table would turn on Yoongi – and No Peak – in a heartbeat. If it’d enrich their coffers, they would switch sides, honor be damned. You trust your Fists and Fingers but find it hard to extend the same grace to Namjoon’s side of the clan.

Kim Namjoon, known as the Weather Man, heads No Peak’s monetary ventures. Ranking as highly as you, he reports directly to Yoongi. Turning to face Namjoon, you make no attempt to hide your suspicion.

Although he doesn’t meet your gaze, his annoyance flares. Namjoon’s jade aura is weaker, fueled by one or two jade rings on his fingers. More would be unnecessary in his line of work. Namjoon’s lips tighten, able to Perceive your attention.

Perception is one of the more interesting skills of a Green Bone. Wearing jade creates an aura and through it, other Green Bones can sense emotion and intention. For example, you sense that Namjoon is annoyed, but you don’t know why. You can hazard a guess, based on the context.

Although you both graduated from the Academy at the same time, you barely knew Namjoon in your youth. The Kim family is legendary, having fought alongside Yoongi’s grandfather to dispel the Shotarian occupation of Kekon. You, on the other hand, moved to the city of Janloon when you were ten and joined the Academy as an outsider.

Not only were your social circles different, so were your interests. Even as children, Namjoon preferred brains over brawn, while you – well, you don’t enjoy violence, but you understood its necessity in protecting those you love. Ever since your father’s death, what you love has been No Peak.

You suppose Yoongi could’ve picked a worse person for Weather Man. Namjoon is shrewd, if occasionally withholding. He has the best interests of the clan at heart, even if you often disagree about what those interests are.

“Min-jen,” Namjoon says, the respectful title flowing from him like water. “I share your frustration with the current situation. My men are, of course, at your disposal.”

Your gaze narrows on his profile. Namjoon loves to offer help but when push comes to shove, it’s your side of the clan on the front lines.

“And what will your men do?” you inquire, drawing heads your way. “The entirety of their green couldn’t be seen in a desert.”

Someone down the table coughs, although they swiftly fall silent when Yoongi clears his throat. Disappointment radiates from him, turning his head.

“One’s worth to the clan isn’t measured in jade,” he says levelly. “You’d do well to remember that, in the future.”

Sitting back, you school your expression to nothing. Shame swirls in your stomach though because Yoongi is right. His sister is a stone-eye; someone unable to use or wear jade. Yejun feels nothing of jade’s effects – either positive or negative – but serves the clan in her own way. Kekon is superstitious about such things though and, when Yejun was born, rumors ran rampant it boded ill for Yoongi’s leadership. Rumors the Pillar has done his best to stamp out.

“Yes, Min-jen,” you acquiesce, inclining your head.

“My Luckbringers are reviewing financial statements of the victims,” Namjoon says, as though you haven’t spoken. “If there’s any monetary connection between them, we’ll find it.”

“My Fists are also investigating,” you add. “We’ll keep the clan updated.”

A scoff from the lower end of the table. Turning your head, you find Mr. Hu, a wealthy Lantern Man, watching you with a scowl. Middle-aged, with a portly belly from hoji, the man has never accepted you as his Horn. As the first woman bestowed the honor, you expected there to be some resistance.

Not that it endears him to you. Sweetly, you smile and lean forward. “Did you have something to add, Mr. Hu?”

Briefly, his gaze drops to the jade around your throat. Forcing a swallow, he forces his gaze to lift. You must give him credit; the man continues, despite the visual reminder you could kill him in seconds.

“Investigating what?” he asks, puffing out his chest. “I saw the second victim being brought in. There was… well. There was little to see. Tortured,” he adds, addressing the muttering around the table. “The man was mercilessly tortured before he was killed.”

Perceiving the shift in Yoongi’s emotions – edging towards fury – you hasten your response.

“Mr. Hu,” you say, lightly resting your hand on a Talon knife. “I thank you, for having the foresight to raise such an important issue.”

Frowning, he glances left and right, but his fellow Lantern Men avoid him. Likely, they understand this won’t end well. Indeed, Jungkook is already eyeing the man with barely concealed malice, thumb stroking slowly over the hilt of his sword.

“The fact that both victims were tortured,” you continue, conversational. “Almost as though the killer were looking for something.”

“Or someone,” Namjoon adds.

“Or someone,” you agree, focusing on Mr. Hu. “My men are searching the murder sites for more information now. While they do that though, are there any other details of an active murder investigation you’d like to know? Perhaps whether the victims pissed themselves before death, or left money behind?”

Paling, Mr. Hu seems to realize how this sounds. “N-no,” he says. “Thank you for sharing what you have, Horn-jen.”

Ignoring him, you glance in the direction of Yoongi. “We’ll find the traitor. I swear it.”

His aura flares, full of emotion unrelated to the conversation at hand. “Of that, I have no doubt,” Yoongi says lowly.

Heat floods your face, sensing his intent and swiftly, you look away before others can notice.

“While the Horn and Weather Man conduct their investigations, I ask for everyone to remain on high alert,” Yoongi says, surveying the table. “No Peak will increase Green Bone presence in the border districts. If you see anything of interest, contact the clan.”

Several Lantern Men relax at the mention of Green Bones. You know business has been hard as of late, with so many customers shaken by the violence. Hopefully, this will convince the people No Peak has the situation in hand. Otherwise, why would the Lantern Men continue to pay for your protection?

Glancing at the bloody photographs laid out on the table, you can hardly blame them for their skittishness. Whoever killed these two victims was skilled. Their torture tactics are pristine, better than most graduates from the Academy. A skill you also possess, although you choose not to use it outside of last resorts. Even then –

Your fingers cease tapping against your leather jacket. Straightening, you realize the skill displayed is exactly that of the Academy. The cuts, the angle of the blade and depth of the wounds – all of it, textbook. A Green Bone did this, you’re certain.

Sharply, you glance up and allow your distress to show. Voicing your suspicion aloud would only end badly. Above all, the Pillar must appear in control. If a Green Bone – even a disgraced one – is murdering citizens of No Peak, it would be a disaster. Better to discuss your suspicions in private before airing them to the entire group.

Perceiving the shift in your emotions, Yoongi stiffens. “We’ll update you with any new information,” he says, dismissal clear in his tone. “Thank you for coming.”

Chair legs scrape floorboards, patrons filing out as they murmur to one another. Asha, your First Fist, hovers by the door until you give a discreet shake of your head. Nodding, she slips out and you see Jungkook follow.

To one side, Yoongi converses tersely with his Pillarman, Hoseok, until Hoseok exhales and swiftly exits the room. Kim Namjoon stays, drinking a glass of water at the opposite end of the table. Once you three are alone, Yoongi holds up his hand. He waits, utterly still until the last jade aura fades.

Only then does he turn. “Well, Y/N?” he drawls. “What did you realize?”

Not wasting time, you pluck a photograph from the pile and toss it before him. “These cuts,” you explain. “They were made by a moon blade. So precise – so even. Exactly the length taught at the Academy. Which means–”

“Shit,” Namjoon mutters. He sets down his glass. “We’re fucked.”

You give him a look. “Precisely.”

Yoongi frowns, his distaste palpable. “This is the work of a Green Bone.”

“I think so.”

Pushing his chair back to stand, Namjoon grabs a photo and turns it sideways. “Why would a Green Bone go after a Lantern Man, though?” he wonders out loud. “He wasn’t even wearing jade when he died – it’s against aisho.”

Yoongi’s lips press tightly together.

Aisho refers to the strict code of honor governing all who wear jade. There are many tenets, but first and foremost is that those who wear jade don’t harm the jadeless. Aisho also limits retaliation following honorable duels, ensuring the clan lines remain intact.

A Green Bone who follows aisho would never attack a citizen.

Which forces you to draw an unsavory conclusion. “Unless they didn’t care,” you say, voicing the worst possibility. “The killer could have been trained as a Green Bone and left.” Stiffening slightly, you glance at Yoongi. “You don’t think…”

“I do,” Yoongi mutters. His jaw clenches, then unclenches. “Maro.”

Namjoon swears softly.

Maro – known to most as Toh Marosun – is a traitor to No Peak. He grew up in the same circle as Namjoon, Yoongi, and other high-ranking Green Bones. Maro attended the Academy in the same class as Yoongi, and everyone expected him to become the Horn. Brilliant, swift, and vicious in battle – not to mention one of Yoongi’s closest friends.

Despite this fact, you never liked him. Having grown up the only daughter of an unremarkable Lantern Man, you experienced Maro the way most people did. Toh Marosun was cruel. Saccharine, willing to say whatever people in power wanted to hear. Maro knew exactly what to do, what to say to manipulate followers. From the beginning, you saw Maro for who he was – a bully.

He joined No Peak’s ranks as a Finger, but swiftly rose to prominence. By the time you graduated, Maro was the youngest Fist in No Peak’s history. What he lacked in jade tolerance he made up for in cunning. Maro was always more sensitive to jade, but he was also smart. Talented, with the skills he did have.

In Green Bone society, there are two ways to gain jade – gifted or earned. Green Bones win jade through physical duels, taking the green from those they defeat. Recklessly, Maro began to challenge rival clans and often, he won despite not being able to wear his spoils. He displayed his jade often, which you suppose should’ve been the first warning sign.

Maro cared too much for personal glory. In Kekon, glory is achieved through the clan. Even the Horn and the Weather Man only exist to further No Peak’s prowess. The Pillar themselves is the embodiment of the clan, not their own person.

Even now, you recall the day Maro’s crimes were exposed.

Seven years prior, you were a Finger on routine patrol when Sain, your Fist, was commanded to return to the Min property. He brought you along, stationed by the front gate to ensure no one left.

You guarded with another Finger, one whose name you don’t recall. What you do remember is the utter stillness of the day, the unnatural calm which comes before a storm. The sun was bright overhead, a thick bead of sweat sliding down your neck when the door behind you at the main house banged open.

A man tumbled down the steps, landing in a heap in the billowing dirt. Coughing, he struggled to right himself, but both his hands were bound. From your spot at the gate, you couldn’t see clearly but you scented his blood. Heard the bruised rasp of his breath.

Yoongi prowled down the front steps, his famed Da Tanori steel glinting in his right hand. His gaze never wavered from the man bound before him – Toh Marosun, his former friend.

“Do you deny it?” Yoongi asked, his voice soft but deadly. Despite this, you Perceived conflicting emotions within.

Toh Maro stayed silent. Eventually, he exhaled.

“No,” he said sullenly.

Unable to stop it, you turned and saw Maro staring unflinchingly up at the Pillar. Yoongi stood over him, his lips a thin line of displeasure. You didn’t know what had happened but feared the worst from Yoongi’s expression.

In that moment, you didn’t envy the Pillar. Yoongi had become head of No Peak only a year prior; in many ways, he was as untried as you were. He was a silent, intelligent man and many people thought they could take advantage of him.

They were wrong, of course, but it would take time to prove that.

On that day though, you felt the dull grief to his aura. “Then I am sorry,” Yoongi said quietly. “For you leave me with no choice. Toh Marosun, you stand accused of smuggling jade from No Peak – one of the worst crimes a Green Bone can commit.”

The entirety of your blood drained as you turned around.

Spine steeling, you gripped your knives tighter. There were few crimes so awful they couldn’t be forgiven, but stealing from the clan was one of them. Cutting off Maro’s ear would be too light a punishment, especially with Yoongi so untried a Pillar. Death would be acceptable. Expected, even.

It would be the Pillar’s call – the clans weren’t run as a democracy. Straining Perception, you listened closely behind you. Although you’d interacted little with the Pillar, the man behind the mask couldn’t help but intrigue you.

Broken sobs filled the clearing, and you heard the sudden thud of knees hitting the grass. No jade aura accompanied the sound.

“Yoongi, please,” gasped a voice – feminine, young. “Brother, please spare him. Don’t kill him, he –”

“Silence.” Yoongi’s voice echoed over the courtyard. The newcomer obeyed with a lone, stifled sob. “You’ve been found innocent, sister,” he said, sounding weary. “But that does not make you innocent.”

The threat of his words hung overhead and although Yejun continued to sniffle, the sound of it muffled. When you glanced sideways again, you saw her face in her palms.

Yoongi watched dispassionately, although you sensed his inner turmoil. Rumors had reached your ears by then that Maro was dating Yejun. It seemed to be true, based on the way she pleaded.

Returning to face the gate, the yard remained silent until Yoongi exhaled. “Toh Marosun,” he declared, his sword sheathing. “From this day on, you are banished from Kekon. Return your jade to the clan and go. If you return to Janloon, your life is forfeit. Take him,” he said, speaking to someone you couldn’t see.

You didn’t dare turn, but tugged your knives a half-inch from their sheathes. If Maro decided to fight, you’d be expected to protect the Pillar. For whatever reason – disbelief, or respect – Maro didn’t attack, and no violence took place. He left in the waiting car, but you’ll never forget the look on his face when he passed.

Despite your young age, you recognized the glint in his eye. Fury, tempered by disbelief. He’ll be back, you thought grimly. It was only a matter of time before someone like Maro declared vengeance.

Your gaze slid to Yoongi, wondering if he felt the same. He watched Maro leave, his expression carefully neutral before he turned around and entered the house. Yejun had already disappeared, likely leaving upon Maro’s banishment.

The expression on Yoongi’s face now is similar, staring down at the photograph. Another moment passes before you realize something else.

“They knew each other,” you say, glancing between the victims. Reaching out, your hand lightly touches a photo. “Icho Retubin. He worked for the Weather Man after the Academy. And this man here” – you touch the other – “Niru Roluan. A low-ranking Finger who quit after a year.”

“He was friendly with Marosun,” Namjoon recalls.

“Yes.” Eyes wide, you look up. “After Maro’s scheme was uncovered, both of them quit and began working as Lantern Men.”

“Interesting,” Yoongi muses. “So. Toh Marosun returns. He tortures and kills his former friends – why?” he murmurs, speaking more to himself than either of you.

Brow lowering, you search for the easy answer. “He’s torturing them for something,” you say, glancing at the wounds. “Information, maybe.”

Yoongi tilts his head. “Which begs the question – has Maro found what he wants, or is he still looking?”

“Does it matter?”

Namjoon shrugs at your question. “If Maro hasn’t found what he wants, he’ll strike again. If he did find it – well. We might be out of time.”

Yoongi considers. “He didn’t find it,” he says, turning around to stride for the door. “Call it a gut feeling.”

Your gaze narrows on his backside. “Let’s call it more than that.”

Yoongi turns around, lips twitching in a smile only you see. “I can think of two reasons Maro might return. One – jade.” The Pillar lifts a finger. “Or, two – revenge.” His second lifts.

You and Namjoon exchange a look. “Maro could find jade on the Shotarian black market if he wanted,” you say.

“Exactly.” Yoongi drops his hand. “Which is why I’m inclined to call this revenge.”

“Maro could want revenge on anyone, though,” Namjoon points out. “Most likely whoever sold him out in the first place.”

“Well, that makes this easier.” Casual, Yoongi tucks both hands in his pockets. “I sold him out. I discovered details of his jade smuggling in Yejun’s apartment.”

“Yejun?” Sharply, you look at him. “Your sister knew?”

Yoongi’s gaze hardens. “Yes, she knew,” he says. “I’m sure you understand why I kept that piece of information to myself until now. Yejun wasn’t involved with the smuggling, but she knew it was happening… and didn’t tell me,” he adds, his voice grim.

Mind reeling, you attempt to digest this piece of information. Betrayal lodges deep in your gut, although you do your best to dispel it. It’s pointless to expect Yoongi to tell you everything – especially events which occurred before you became the Horn.

Namjoon also looks troubled. “That’s… but that means–”

“Careful what you say, Namjoon.” Although his tone remains soft, Yoongi’s body tenses. “The matter is done. I punished Yejun as I saw fit, within my right as Pillar. Trust me,” he adds, his façade cracking a little. “Her deception was dealt with.”

Silently, you wonder if this is why Yejun studied in Espenia. As a stone-eye, she can’t serve the clan as a Green Bone, but could have taken other paths. She could have become a Luckbringer on Namjoon’s side or begun a career in government. Instead, Yejun left Janloon for a foreign University. It was only recently she returned to start her residency at Jan Royal University.

Curious, your gaze flicks to Yoongi. If what he says is true, then surely, he knows Maro is coming for him. Yejun might not have betrayed him, but Min Yoongi did. It’s only a matter of time before Maro discovers what happened.

Blood simmering, you do your best to hide your frustration. Your role as Horn would be much easier if the Pillar would be honest about all his enemies. Suppressing your scowl, you ignore the heat of Yoongi’s gaze on the side of your face.

“Namjoon,” he says, turning away. “I want a list of potential targets. People Maro has worked with in the past or knew at the Academy. Assuming he doesn’t have the information he wants, Maro will strike again.”

“On it,” Namjoon says, already heading for the door.

Although faint, you can feel the cool brush of his aura passing. You envy the Weather Man’s ability to ingest information and remove partiality. Even after something like Yejun’s betrayal, he remains unflappable. Namjoon simply absorbs and executes, doing what needs to be done.

Left alone with your thinking, you can’t claim the same. Namjoon’s jade aura fades when he exits, footsteps receding to leave you alone with the Pillar.

You refuse to look at him, casting your Perception outward. A Green Bone with as much jade as you have can Perceive a beetle crawling through the tall grass outside. Feel the rumble of cars on the distant streets. Hear Yoongi’s heart beat from across the room.

Wearing jade results in a dizzying expansion of knowledge. You’re used to it by now – years of training and genetics lessen the risk of being overwhelmed. Without either, it’s all too easy to lose control.

It’s one of the reasons jade-smuggling is a serious crime. The other being that jade is the main source of income funding the clans. Selling jade through non-regulated channels increases the risk of it falling into the wrong hands. Hands which could bring negative consequences to other people or themselves.

Aisho outlines a strict Green Bone code of honor. It states Kekon first, clan first, family first. Occasionally, all three are tied and occasionally, one outstrips the other. Maro disobeyed every rule by selling jade to the Shotarians.

Maro knew all this and chose to continue, blinded by greed. He placed his personal glory above that of the clan, something which must be dealt with. To a lesser degree, Yejun chose Maro over No Peak, as well – which is why you’re surprised Yoongi said nothing.

“Y/N.”

Yoongi speaks your name softly, forgoing your title.

Stiffening, you force yourself not to turn. “Don’t call me that.”

“What?” he asks, his voice moving closer. “Your name?”

Hand brushing your elbow, Yoongi turns you to face him. Against all better judgement, you obey – and find your first mistake. Meeting his gaze, a ripple of familiarity – of home, a voice whispers – goes through you.

Shutting all this down, you lift your chin. “You lied to me.”

Yoongi’s expression flattens. “I couldn’t explain.”

“You could have. You chose not to.”

“I couldn’t,” he insists. “I’m still not sure I didn’t make a mistake. I showed mercy, Y/N.” Yoongi pauses, then swallows. “I exiled my friend and sent my sister away – and now, look what’s happened. Two men have been killed, and it’s my fault. How could I have told you,” he adds, the words desperate, “when I knew it’d result in that look on your face?”

“I’m looking at you like this because you lied. Not because of a decision you made in the past. Mercy isn’t a weakness, Min Yoongi.”

“Some would say that it is,” he murmurs. Fleeting, his gaze drops to your lips. 

Yoongi drops all restraint so his emotion, so often concealed, smears through his aura. Longing, anger and fear, mixed with worry. 

White-hot electricity jumps over your skin. Seeing the normally reserved Pillar undone in your presence is a heady knowledge. Knowledge that terrifies you, even as everything in you aches to move closer.

“It’s not,” you exhale, meeting his gaze.

Something falters in his expression and Yoongi stares at you, heated. You Perceive his intent – a rough flare to his aura – a moment before Yoongi bends and crushes your mouth to his. His kiss is thorough, intent, his body curving with yours while walking you towards the wall.

You instantly cave, unable to withstand the desperate sweep of his tongue. “Yoongi,” you groan, fingers gripping him tighter. “People will hear.”

“Let them,” he says, his voice undeterred.

Before you can respond, his lips fall upon yours with increasing urgency. Hand slipping beneath your jacket, Yoongi cups your waist to pull you taut against him. Eyes falling shut, you swiftly scan the building for lingering Green Bones. Finding no one, you return your attention to Yoongi and bite down on his lip.

He growls, grip tightening when you tug him towards you. Breaking away, Yoongi lowers his head to suck the curve of your throat. He lingers at your jade, tongue darting out to lick the skin underneath. Your entire body shudders, aroused by the sensation.

Touching another person’s jade is intimate. Most wouldn’t allow their own family the honor, let alone someone they sleep with. Skin contact with jade imbues power, and the swift rise and fall of it can be dangerous. Only Yoongi is brave – or foolish – enough to risk the effects.

Spine on the wall, you inhale at the rush. Yoongi’s length presses against your core, already hard through the confines of his pants. It seems unfathomable that this man, a stranger to you for so long, can inspire such potent emotion.

When you first met him, you were ten, and he was fourteen. You didn’t know who Yoongi was at the time – a fact which now seems unthinkable. Raised in southern Kekon, you came to Janloon after your mother’s death with little understanding of clan politics. Likely, you would have remained so if your high jade tolerance hadn’t pushed your father to enroll you at the Academy.

Walking through the gates that first day, you found nothing but apathy. The best-case scenario was your classmates left you alone. Worst-case, the other children were brutal. You attended school with the sons and daughters of high-ranking clan members. Although your father joined No Peak as a Lantern Man eventually, he could hardly be called successful. The Academy had no patience for a rural girl whose jade tolerance far outstripped their own.

It wore on your classmates’ pride when the teachers praised you. You began to get noticed, and not in a good way. Fed up with your presence, one of the students attacked you at the end of your first year. Even then, you knew how to defend yourself and flipped him on his back. Stunned, he stared up at you before yelling to anyone within earshot that you’d regret this. His father was a powerful Lantern Man of No Peak and he said you’d be banished before graduation.

Fear gripped you, sensing the truth to his words. Based on your own experience, you knew No Peak wouldn’t believe you over one of their own.

Despair filled your thoughts as someone entered the corridor. Your attacker instantly froze, which should have clued you in this was someone important. Still, you refused to look, reticent to turn your back on an opponent.

The newcomer cleared their throat, further stoking your ire. After a moment, you dragged your attention to them.

Min Yoongi stared back, his expression mild. “So,” he said. “Who can tell me what happened?”

Looking him up and down, you chose not to respond. You didn’t trust a stranger – a fourth year at that – to intervene on your behalf. Most likely, Yoongi was a member of No Peak and had only arrived to harass you further.

Seeing your hesitance, your attacker jumped in. He accused you of treachery, saying you jumped him in the corridor and threw him on the ground. Silent, your fingers curled into fists, but you remained quiet, even when Yoongi turned.

“Well?” he asked you. “Is that right?”

Your lips dropped into a scowl. “He deserved what he got.”

Subtle, his brow flicked upward.

To your dismay, you saw people had gathered as whispers broke out. A sinking suspicion occurred to you that something was wrong. Not with your attacker, but whoever this was.

Yoongi stared at you for a long moment before, to your surprise, he chuckled. “I agree.” Turning to face the boy, a dangerous light entered his eye. “I’d suggest not telling your father what happened, Heike. Because then, I might feel honor-bound to confess what I saw. Which was his son ruthlessly attack a first year, lose and then lie about it to his future Pillar.”

Color bled swiftly from Heike’s skin. “Yes, Min-jen,” he whispered, head bowed in shame.

Panic-stricken, you stared as realization sunk in you’d been flippant to the future Pillar. Steeling yourself, you waited for Min Yoongi’s response – likely anger or worse. Based on your experience, most men in power liked this fact to be known.

Instead, Yoongi merely turned and looked you up and down. His gaze traveled you slowly, unreadable in his scrutiny. At last, he glanced up.

“Your father owns the tea shop by the docks, yes?” he said, waiting for you to nod before he continued. “He joined No Peak as a Lantern Man last year.”

“Yes, he did.”

His lips twitched. “Well, then,” Yoongi said as he turned away. “I can’t help but be grateful he chose No Peak to patron. It would’ve been shame to lose you to another clan.”

Stricken, you watched as he strode from the courtyard. Minutes passed, and eventually you realized the crowd had dispersed. Heike skulked off to nurse his wounds and the future Pillar had gone, giving them no reason to stay.

If you weren’t loyal to No Peak before, you certainly were after. Yoongi had that type of effect on people.

After that day though, you rarely interacted. Yoongi was four years your senior and the future Pillar, while you were nobody. Albeit a talented nobody who graduated at the top of their class from the Academy. At your graduation, people whispered you’d make a strong Fist. No one ever imagined you’d rise higher than that.

You joined No Peak as a Finger, starting from the bottom. Yoongi continued to remain out of reach, the newly named Pillar struggling to earn his own title. It didn’t take long though, before you rose in the ranks. You spent two years as a Finger, then two as a Fist – you were twenty-two years old when promoted to Horn. The youngest in history, and a woman to boot.

Yoongi was adamant in the choice, defending you calmly to the entire clan. He said he’d rather have the right person at a young age than the wrong person at the right age. His support was the only reason you didn’t strangle him that first year. It was the beginning of working together and as it turned out, Yoongi drove you mad.

He micromanaged, overseeing all decisions to ensure No Peak ran smoothly. You two bickered often, the fire eventually dissipating to begrudging acceptance. Ultimately, you realized you saw the world the same – No Peak first, followed by everything else.

Back then, Yoongi dated but none of them stuck. No one understood the sacrifice necessary to remain head of No Peak. Couldn’t comprehend the ruthlessness, the dedication it took to lead the clan. Yoongi could never let his guard down, could never relax with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

You understood, though, because you shared this burden. Yoongi could be honest with you in a way he couldn’t be elsewhere. To the rest of the clan, he was the infallible Pillar, but to you, he was only a man.

Proof of said manhood hardens against your thigh, and Yoongi’s lips curve gamely at the base of your throat. Head lifting, his smile is sharp enough to carve the remaining bit of your heart.

“You left early this morning,” he observes, his gaze dimming. “Why?”

Your eyes trace his lips before lifting to his face. “Hian called in sick, so I replaced his watch. My Fists are spread thin, Yoongi.”

A wrinkle forms between his brows. “You should’ve woken me.”

“Why?” you tease, your hand sliding lower to rest above his hip. “To watch me go? You needed your sleep.”

“I needed you more.”

Yoongi’s words still your fingertips, struck by his honesty. Min Yoongi is nothing if not blunt, leaving you often speechless. What began as just sex, mounting frustration between friends, has become something almost too tenuous to name. The idea of having him scares you nearly as much as the prospect of losing him.

“You had me last night,” you murmur.

Yoongi’s fingers drift across your cheek. “And yet,” he says, unwilling to let you off the hook. “I woke up ravenous.”

Multiple meanings layer his words, some of which you purposefully choose not to hear. Instead, you glance past him to search the grounds. Several Green Bones cross the lawn, none of them close enough to overhear. Still, it reminds you of what’s at stake.

Exhaling gently, you pull from his touch. “I should go,” you tell him.

Head tilted, Yoongi’s dark hair conceals the jade in his brow. His brow wrinkles when he Perceives your tumultuous emotions.

“You’re worried,” he says.

“Of course, I am,” you say with a frustrated laugh. “I’m your Horn, Yoongi. It’s my job to protect the clan – to protect you – and right now, it feels like I’m failing.”

His gaze on you sharpens. “First off, I can protect myself. Second – it’s my job as Pillar to protect the clan. How can you protect us from something I can’t see?”

“How many times do I have to say you don’t shoulder that burden alone?”

The lines around his mouth deepen. “In good times, I’m lauded. It only follows that in bad times, I’m the one at fault.”

“Oh, if that’s all,” you say drily. “I, for one, have never lauded you.”

“Oh, really?” Stepping closer, his expression shifts from frustration to carnal. “I seem to recall differently last night.”

Electricity catches each place his gaze lingers, shivering its way down your spine. Refusing to let him notice, you lift your chin higher. “You’d have to remind me. It all blurs together.”

Yoongi bares his teeth, and you can’t help but smile. If there’s one thing the Pillar of No Peak can’t resist, it’s a challenge. The start of your relationship is proof enough of that.

After your promotion to Horn, you spent most waking hours by Yoongi’s side. Working with him was exhausting. Every decision turned into an argument. How many Fists you should have. How many students to admit to the Academy. Whether you should train with the Kekonese military or not.

Yoongi constantly occupied space in your thoughts, and not in a good way. He frustrated you, forcing you to second-guess and slow down your thought process. Maddeningly, he was often correct, which only served to further your irritation.

Eventually, things began to shift. Bickering turned to acceptance and finally, understanding. Yoongi trusted you more often to make the right calls and in turn, you snapped at him less for his input. Your arguments dwindled, then disappeared altogether.

Three years passed as Horn, and soon your frustration gave way to a different kind. You started to notice when Min Yoongi entered the room. At first, you brushed it off as nothing. Yoongi had an undeniable presence, this was true. Soon though, you realized your thoughts breached the border of friendship.

His absence could be felt like a phantom limb. Yoongi’s jade aura comforted you despite its fierceness – so at odds with the calm way he carried himself.

Idly, you wondered what it would take for him to snap. To release his infamous self-control and fully give in. Thoughts of what Yoongi would feel like left your body scorched. On more than one occasion, you awoke with an ache between your legs and a dream of his face slipping away.

Such thoughts though, were dangerous. Yoongi was the Pillar, and you were his Horn – a relationship couldn’t happen and what’s more, he’d shown no interest. You began to withdraw out of self-preservation. Prior, you sparred with Yoongi every morning but soon found yourself making excuses to skip.

What was once daily practice turned into every week and then, once a month. Yoongi was a distraction you could ill-afford, disarming you with his laughter as easily as his sword.

Instead, you forced your attention on training your Fists. Firstday through Fifthday, you met Asha and Jungkook at the gym before dawn. This went on for months, training in secret until one day you exited and saw Yoongi’s car at the curb. Stomach sinking, you watched as he reversed and sped down the street.

Perceiving tumultuous emotion, you knew confrontation was inevitable but hoped Yoongi would give you time to process.

He did not.

Instead, Yoongi pounded on your door the very next morning. When you finally answered, he tossed a practice sword your way and demanded you dress.

Shaking free of your stupor, you glared at Yoongi a moment before slamming the door. Stalking inside, you threw gear in a bag and returned to the hall. Stomping past him, you refused to acknowledge Yoongi, throwing open the door to his Duchesse Priza.

Yoongi sped to his place in silence, tension churning between you like water beneath a ferry. At his gym, you stormed out and ripped the sword from its sheath. Yoongi followed closely behind, barely leashed emotion rolling off him in waves.

You flew at him first, your body Light, and then Strong while swinging towards his head. Moving through the various jade disciplines, you relied on training hammered into your bones. Yoongi caught a blow on his forearm, Steeling his skin to avoid any damage. The two of you entered a familiar rhythm, understanding the other in ways no one else could.

It must’ve been hours before you threw down your sword and declared the match ended. Yoongi simply stared, his chest heaving with a wild spark in his eyes.

You were turning to leave when he dropped his blade, strode across the clearing and crushed your mouth to his.

Five months have passed since. Your relationship has been kept a secret, with you unwilling to place any labels. People would talk if the Horn and Pillar were dating. You don’t want that for yourself. Not when you’ve worked so hard for credibility.

Pressing his thumb to your lower lip, Yoongi drags it lower before he releases. “I’ll have to remind you, then,” he says before stepping away. The heat dissipates from his gaze, leaving you cold. “But you’re right. I should go.”

Somewhat dazed, you feel yourself nod. This is what you wanted, you remind yourself. This is exactly what you asked for, so you have no right to feel abandoned.

“Send me the list Namjoon makes,” you say, forcing lightness to your tone. “I’ll send Green Bones to watch their houses.”

Yoongi opens his mouth, then seems to think better of it and merely nods. He stays silent when you leave, brushing past him to the hall. Outside, you pause on the landing before you continue.

His jade aura fades as you exit, letting you know he remains. You do your best to ignore him, flipping your keys as you stride towards your car – not as nice as Yoongi’s, but serviceable nonetheless. Yanking open the door, you slide onto the sticky-warm gray leather seat.

Exhaling, you stare at the wheel before shifting to drive. Lowering the windows, you allow a slight breeze to drift over your face. As much as you pretend to be happy with the current situation, you’re not. You aren’t stupid – you know your feelings for Yoongi extend beyond those of a Horn to their Pillar.

When you first became Horn, you respected Yoongi. He was a good leader – still is – and you were proud to be the person strengthening No Peak by his side. Now, he’s the closest thing you have to family. Deep down, you understand his pardon of Yejun. If you were in a similar situation, there’s nothing Yoongi could do that you wouldn’t forgive.

Especially now, with your father dead. It happened soon after graduation, a sudden collapse of his heart no one saw coming. Yoongi attended his funeral. It was held on a rain soaked Seventhday after the Autumn Festival. Late in the season for a deluge but fitting for the occasion. It felt like the world was wiped clean, along with your prior life.

For the Pillar to attend was unusual, but not unprecedented. You recall him standing near the back, his Pillarman, Hoseok, at his side. The funeral was short – your father wasn’t garrulous by any means – but rain soaked your dress by the time it had ended. It surprised you when Yoongi came to express his sorrow, even more so when he seemed to mean it. Most people didn’t. Most people came for the spectacle, or to say they were there.

Yoongi though, gripped your hand tightly while meeting your gaze. His calluses were as rough as your own when he said the clan would support you. Oddly enough, you believed him.

With both parents dead, and no siblings, No Peak is the only family you have. Yoongi’s life is similar to yours, apart from Yejun. His father died of cancer when he was twenty-one and his mother soon followed, unable to cope. Yoongi knows what loss means, what it feels like to be alone.

Lips tightening, you imagine what it’d feel like to lose him. Worse than a Horn should feel when they lose a Pillar. Silent, you curse yourself for having poor foresight. There’s a reason the Horn and Pillar don’t date. A reason why such a relationship would be forbidden. It’s your job to protect the clan – not just Yoongi – but if it came down to it, you’d choose him every time.

Weaving through the bustling streets of Janloon, your speed is forced to slow. Janloon, the capital city of Kekon, is full of contractions. The latest car models pass beneath flashing billboards, coupled with street stalls and sprawling temples. Scents of the city mingle with stale AC from your car.

No matter how much time passes, Kekon stubbornly clings to its roots. Portions of the outside world may infiltrate, but they’ll never replace. This is something Green Bones and the clans understand.

Traffic forces you to park a block away from your destination. Striding towards the Twice Lucky, you nod at a few Lantern Men idling outside. Asha and Jungkook wait for you in a private room, lounging in seats around the square table. The second floor of the Twice Lucky has been reserved for Green Bones; a privilege No Peak ensures is well-compensated.

Jungkook sits in his usual spot, arms crossed and feet up. Asha is restless, fingertips drumming against the hilt of her blade. Food and water are laid out, half-eaten as though there were others here before.

Sensing your presence, your first Fist looks up. “Y/N-jen.” Asha straightens. “Any news?”

Crossing the room, you scan the building but Perceive no other Green Bones. Sinking into a chair, you pull a plate closer and pick up red chopsticks.

Jungkook turns towards you. “What’d you discuss with the Pillar? Seemed important.”

Asha gives him a warning look, to which he only shrugs.

Ignoring them both, you stab a dumpling. “We suspect the killings were done by a Green Bone. Do you remember Toh Marosun?”

Asha’s head whips in your direction. Jungkook was at the Academy during Maro’s betrayal, but Asha was there and remembers how it went down. If Maro has returned, it’s only a matter of time before things get worse.

“Of course, we remember.” Her eyes narrow. “So, it’s really him? Maro came back?”

“Maybe.” You hesitate another moment, then finish the dumpling. “It’s only a guess.”

“A pretty good guess, if you’re telling us,” Jungkook muses. “Why come back now, though? Returning to Kekon is a death sentence.”

“Is it?” Asha fights a smirk. “Everyone knew Yejun had a thing for Maro.”

Casual, you retrieve a talon knife from its sheath. You begin cleaning the blade, the weapon a natural extension of your wrist, and feel Asha and Jungkook’s gazes follow.

“I don’t think that’s relevant, do you?” you say calmly. “Not unless you’re questioning the Pillar’s judgement.”

Asha looks away, miffed. “No, jen,” she mutters. “Of course, not.”

“Good.” You pause, allowing your fury to seep into your aura. “The Pillar deserves nothing less than your respect. Which means Jungkook is right – coming back here is a death sentence, begging the question of why.”

Jungkook considers. “Maybe he left something.”

Asha turns back, the moment of tension forgotten. “He could be after his jade,” she offers. “Maro was always thin-blooded, so if it’s jade he wants, this could get bad. He could come down with the Itches.”

Sheathing your knife, you look up. “I agree. Maro might not be in his right mind.”

“What should we do?” 

“Nothing for now,” you tell her. “Namjoon is compiling a list of people Maro knew. If he hasn’t found what he’s after by now, he could strike again.”

Asha nods and accepts this. Pushing aside a twinge of regret, you wish you could explain the rest. If Yoongi is a target though, it’s best to keep that fact quiet. And as much as you’d like to blame the Luckbringers, you have no way of knowing who’s helping Maro – either by will or by force.

A phone rings on the lower level, barely audible over the din. The Twice Lucky restaurant doesn’t have the best food in Janloon, but the quality is good, and its owner is loyal. The same can’t be said for other places.

Footsteps pound on the staircase, and Jungkook springs to his feet. Before you can warn him, the door opens and Mr. Une, the proprietor, freezes in place.

“Put that away,” you demand, waving for Jungkook to lower his knife.

Eyes wide, Mr. Une stares while your Second Fist sheaths his weapon. Seating himself at the table, Jungkook kicks both feet up like nothing has happened. The third-highest amount of jade in the clan lies coiled about his neck, polished stones resting against his tan skin.

Mr. Une continues to stare, wary until you pointedly clear your throat. “Uncle,” you say, adopting the deferential. “What can we do for you?”

Somewhat placated, Mr. Une turns his head. “Phone call for you, Horn-jen. The Weather Man said it’s urgent. You can use the phone in my office if you’d like.”

Smile disappearing, you stand. “Lead the way.”

Mr. Une blinks, and you realize you’ve crossed the room in less time than it took Jungkook to draw his knife. Inwardly, you sigh and attempt to appear harmless. The citizens of Janloon are used to living with Green Bones but sometimes, your power is a reminder of what they are not. Of the inherent danger of living amongst latent gods.

Following Mr. Une, you head towards his office. Asha and Jungkook walk close behind, with Jungkook at the rear and Asha by your side. Mr. Une hovers awkwardly at the door before turning around and pushing into the kitchen.

Once he’s gone, you lift the phone. “Hello?” you say.

Namjoon’s voice barks in your ear. “Get back to the Min property. Now.”

Your stomach drops. “What happened?”

“Maro struck again,” he says tightly. “It’s definitely Maro – and the victim is still alive.”

“Who is it?” you ask, expecting the worst.

“Jio Reubin. He managed to escape and made it here, but he’s injured. This is our best chance to get information.”

“On my way,” you say, and hang up.

Taking a deep breath, you allow the reality of Namjoon’s words to wash over you. Jio is hurt, meaning you need to interrogate soon in case he dies. Nausea curdles your stomach, and you try to dispel it.

Guilt wars with relief from knowing Yoongi is safe. You’ve met Jio several times, having attended the Academy with his now-wife, Lula. She never took to the bloodier side of the clan, deciding to enter the medical profession instead. If you remember correctly, she’s in the same resident program as Yejun.

Leaving the office, you nod for Jungkook to follow. He falls into step beside you. “I need you to do something for me,” you say to Asha. “Head to Jio Reubin’s and search the area for Maro. Call me if you find anything.”

She nods and turns, disappearing out the side door.

You and Jungkook exit the front, squinting when you emerge in the golden hour. “Follow me to the Min property,” you say grimly.

Jungkook nods as he turns, aura pulsing with adrenaline while growing fainter. You should warn him to be cautious but know it’d be hypocritical. Your own car’s speed is nearly twice the limit as you rush through the streets of Janloon, returning to the gates of the Min property.

Screeching to a halt, you yank keys from the ignition and sprint across the courtyard. Namjoon’s aura pulses from the main house, so you follow the trail and shove open the door.

Namjoon doesn’t look up when you enter, and you immediately see why. Jio lies splayed on the sofa, right arm dangling listlessly from a red cushion. At first, you think that’s the color before you notice the blood darkening Jio’s chest.

Kneeling at his side, Namjoon’s jaw clenches while attempting to Channel. Usually, Channeling is used to rend the body apart but in certain circumstances, it can be used to hold it together. Namjoon doesn’t wear much jade though and wasn’t trained as a healer.

“Allow me,” Jungkook says from behind you.

Dropping to his knees, he replaces Namjoon to clasp Jio’s hand in his. Closing his eyes, a thick vein pulses in the side of his neck. Despite Jungkook’s wish to enter the bloodier side of the clan, he would’ve made an excellent healer. His ability to Channel is better than anyone else in No Peak.

Jio’s aura, previously guttering, gradually smooths. Namjoon sits back on his heels, clearly spent from the effort. Wiping sweat from his brow, he turns to see you.

“Close the door,” he says faintly.

Reaching out, you obey and cross to stand by his side. Staring at Jio, you take in his bloodied state. Whoever tortured him was thorough, cutting just deep enough to let him slowly bleed out.

It’s a miracle Jio escaped, no matter how slowly his chest rises and falls. When you cross your arms, he coughs and cracks open one eye. Dazedly, Jio registers your presence.

“Horn-jen,” he rasps.

Briskly, you nod. “You’re going to be fine, Jio.”

Straining Perception, you sweep the ground for Yoongi but find him far away. Good. The further he is from this carnage, the better.

Glancing back, you seek Namjoon. “What happened?”

“Maro was waiting when Jio got home from his night shift. His wife had already left for the hospital. Maro knocked out Jio, tied him up and when he came to, started torturing him for intel. Jio managed to escape but hasn’t said how. Couple of Fingers found him in the Temple District.”

Your gaze moves to Jio. “Maro escaped?”

“Yeah,” he responds.

Stomach tight, you consider the options. Either Maro is still searching for whatever he’s after, or he found out from Jio and –

From across the property comes a surge of fury. No one else seems to notice, but that doesn’t surprise you. You’re more attuned to Yoongi’s aura than anyone present. Keeping your expression neutral, you know you don’t have much time until Yoongi arrives.

“What did he want to know?” you demand. “Did he –”

The door to the room flies open and hits the wall. The Pillar strides in, adjusting his cuffs as he goes. Yoongi’s dark hair is slicked, clothing immaculate as always. Heat curls in your lower belly, and you do your best to stamp it out.

His gaze flicks towards you, sensing your need before his expression shutters. Facing forward, Yoongi surveys the scene.

“What happened?” he asks, low and deadly.

His Pillarman steps inside and shuts the door. Hoseok leans to the wall, jacket falling open to reveal the handle of his Sig Sauer. It’s odd for a Green Bone to carry a gun but Hoseok’s job is to protect Yoongi from all threats. Although Green Bone warriors render bullets obsolete through Steeling, there are other threats best deterred by firepower.

On the couch, Jio coughs and attempts to sit up. Grunting, Jungkook grabs his shoulder and forces him down.

“Don’t be an idiot,” you say to Jio. “The doctor is coming, but if you die before they get here, you’ll be no help to anyone.”

“Are you sure it was Maro?” Yoongi asks, tension radiating from every line in his body. Even if you couldn’t Perceive him, you’d know.

Weakly, Jio nods. “It was Maro. Looks different now – leaner and wearing new jade. Scabs up and down his arms. But yeah, it was him.”

You and Namjoon exchange a look. Arm scabs could be a sign of the Itches, an illness caused by jade overexposure. Jade overexposure can happen gradually, or it could be caused by a single instance. For example, if someone were to go without jade for years and then put a lot on.

Green Bones are taught the symptoms from a young age. Severe mood swings, sensory distortion – shaking, sweating, anxiety, paranoia, and heart palpitations. When left untreated, the Itches can lead to madness and eventually, death. Better soldiers than Maro have succumbed to it, the lure of more jade greater than self-control.

The possibility flashes before you – Maro, unable to stomach being cut off from Kekon. He seeks out new jade, expecting to stomach as much as he used to. Instead, Maro breaks, paranoia and fear dragging him under. He starts to blame others, including the clan who took everything from him. A man in such a state might consider revenge his only option.

The hypothesis fits, though it means nothing good for No Peak.

“What did he say?” Yoongi asks. “Tell us, word for word.”

“He…” Jio breaks into a coughing fit. “Knocked me out. When I woke up, I was tied to my kitchen chair. I asked Maro what the fuck he was doing.”

“And?” Namjoon prods. “What did he say?”

“Said he’d been gone for too long. That it was all a mistake – leaving, taking off his jade.”

“Is that why he came back?” you press.

Jio’s head lolls. “He asked who betrayed him. Said he only told a few people about the smuggling, so one of them must’ve done it. I didn’t know,” he rasps, shaking his head. “I wasn’t one of the people Maro told. He didn’t seem to remember – or care.”

Paranoia. Another unmistakable sign of the Itches.

“What else?” Namjoon asks. “How did you escape?”

“I don’t know.” Jio frowns, blood trickling from a cut above his eye. “Maro seemed confused. He kept asking who betrayed him, and then mentioning treasure? He wanted to know where his treasure was. I don’t even know what he meant,” he admits, glancing between you and Namjoon. “His jade? I dunno.”

“It could be,” you say slowly.

“He’d ask about his treasure one minute, then accuse it of betraying him,” Jio says. “He said he went where his treasure was, but it wasn’t there. Or they weren’t there? He kept mixing up tenses. Wasn’t sure he knew where he was, half the time.”

Off to the side, you feel a sudden surge of emotion – there and gone before you can dissect. Startled, you glance in the direction of Yoongi but find him unharmed. Eyes narrowed, you watch a moment longer before you turn back.

“If Maro wants his old jade, maybe he meant his apartment. He could have gone there to search first,” Namjoon offers.

“A waste,” you say with a frown. “Maro forfeited his jade to the clan before leaving.”

Forfeited to the Pillar, more accurately. You glance once more at Yoongi, who doesn’t react. He continues to examine Jio, a slight wrinkle between his brows.

“All roads lead to me, it would seem. How did you escape, Jio?” Yoongi adds, casually changing the subject.

“Didn’t, really.” Jio coughs, the sound wet. “Managed to get an arm free, lunged for Maro and fell on the floor. Maro… didn’t really notice. He swore something fierce, stabbed my fridge with his knife and ran off.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “He stabbed your… fridge?”

“Yeah.”

“That makes no sense.”

“If he has the Itches, it doesn’t have to,” Namjoon murmurs.

“True,” you say.

This feels important though, in a way you can’t pinpoint. Maro didn’t have any trouble killing before – the only reason he’d leave was if he found what he wanted. Frustration gnaws at your thoughts, certain you’re missing something.

Outside, you hear someone enter the driveway. Gravel skitters beneath tires, the car coming to a stop as someone exits.

“That must be the doctor.” Yoongi turns around, seemingly lost in thought. “I’ll go let them in.”

Pulling open the door, he exits with Hoseok. You watch them leave, returning your attention to Jio.

Looking weary, Jungkook sits back on his heels. “I’ve done what I can,” he says. “Stopped most of the internal bleeding. He should live.”

The door behind you opens. “I’ll be the judge of that,” says an unfamiliar woman, striding in. Setting down a black bag, she looks around. “Anyone without medical training should leave. Now.”

Brows raised, you obey and take your leave. In the hallway, Jungkook mutters something about readying the car and disappears. You remain in the house, pacing and waiting for Yoongi’s return.

Namjoon’s eyes follow your tread. “What are you thinking?”

Shaking your head, you stop to examine a portrait of Yoongi’s father. “I don’t know,” you admit. “Something about this feels off. Why would Maro leave so abruptly?”

“He wouldn’t,” Namjoon muses. “Not unless he found what he was looking for.”

“Maybe Jio is lying. Maybe he told Maro it was Yoongi who betrayed him. If that’s so though, why wouldn’t Maro come directly here?”

“Here?” Namjoon scoffs. “It’d be suicide to attack the Pillar in his own compound. No way – Maro is smarter. If I were him, I’d set a trap. Draw the Pillar out.”

A terrible suspicion dawns as you freeze, mid-stride. This is the moment the landline rings and, crossing the hallway, you yank down the phone.

“Hello?” you answer.

Asha’s voice fills your ears. “Y/N? Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me,” you say, turning around. “What’s wrong?”

“I have… well, I don’t know what I have.”

“What do you mean?” you press. “What’s wrong?”

Noticing your expression, Namjoon frowns and pushes himself from the wall.

“I went to Jio’s like you asked. There was no sign of Maro, so I went back to the house and… it’s strange. Maro tied Jio up in his kitchen, and there are signs of a struggle, but…”

“But what, Asha?”

She pauses. “Did Jio tell you what happened?”

“Yeah.” Your gaze flicks to Namjoon, who listens to every word. “He said Maro swore, stabbed a fridge and ran off.”

“Oh. Okay.” Asha exhales. “I was worried you’d think I’m crazy. The thing is, Maro didn’t just stab a fridge – he stabbed a photo. A person, to be exact.”

“… Who was the person he stabbed?”

Namjoon goes still, and your grip on the phone tightens. Pieces of the puzzle slide into place, leaving a picture which turns your stomach. Dread fills you, knowing what Asha will say before she says it.

“Yejun,” she says, and a loud ringing fills your ears. “She works at the same hospital as Jio’s wife, and there’s a photo of them at some ceremony. The knife… it’s straight through Yejun’s head.”

Heart pounding, you close your eyes and frantically sweep the grounds. Deep down though, you already know what you’ll find.

Yoongi is gone.

Fury boiling over, you realize this was the epiphany Yoongi had earlier. It must have something to do with the word treasure – likely a nickname between Yejun and Maro. Maro was looking for Yejun, not his jade or revenge. Or maybe it is revenge – stomach sinking, you realize what this must seem like. Maro told Yejun about his operation and soon after, Yoongi found out.

Maro wants Yejun, which is something you should’ve seen from the beginning. Yoongi realized before you and now, he’s run off to play hero.

“Stay here,” you say, turning to Namjoon. Feverish anger burns your blood. “Get Jio to the hospital once he’s stable. Thanks, Asha,” you say before hanging up.

Namjoon’s eyes narrow. “Yoongi went after Yejun, didn’t he?”

“Maybe,” you say, pushing past. “If he did, I’ll find him.”

You don’t remember reaching your car, only that once you do, you drive faster than you ever have through Janloon. The hospital is a logical starting point since that’s what Maro saw from the photo.

Shutting down your thoughts, you continue to weave through traffic. Thinking begets worry, which can lead to mistakes. Tightening your grip, you push the car faster. Roaring down the next street, you recall Yejun is working early shifts this week. She mentioned it the other day, saying how glad she was to be home in time for dinner.

Glancing at the clock, your jaw tightens. After a moment’s hesitation, you make a sharp turn, car skidding a little on the next street. If Yejun is already home, better to first check that she’s safe.

Yoongi’s sister lives near the hospital, an allowance granted with the understanding that your men keep tabs. While it’s unlikely Maro knows her home address, he could have followed her there from the hospital.

Parking swiftly, you leap from the car and sprint inside. Someone on the street protests, all bravado disappearing when they notice your jade. You skid to a stop in the lobby, zeroing in on the doorman.

“Floor ten,” you say flatly.

Open-mouthed, the man stares. When you start to move forward, he snaps to attention. “Elevator is out,” he blurts. “You’ll have to take the stairs, like the rest.”

The rest.

Teeth gritted, you pivot and take the steps three at a time. The climb upward is steep, and you use a burst of Strength to reach the top. Shoving open the door to floor ten, you come to a sudden halt.

Chaos greets you.

The hall before you is narrow, barely two meters in width. Yoongi and Maro face each other midway, moon blades drawn and locked in combat. Lunging, Maro’s blade slices Yoongi’s shoulder and blood splatters the floor. Hissing, Yoongi doubles his Strength to kick Maro in the chest, sending him flying.

Maro slams into a window, glass raining around him. Rolling Light, Maro jumps to face Yoongi, unscathed. Stomach sinking, you notice the amount of jade Maro carries. More than he ever had while part of the clan. Clearly, Maro is past the point of caring about things like the Itches.

His aura feels wrong where it touches yours, jagged and pulsing. Leaping and whirling with unknown motive, withdrawing to expand in nonsensical patterns.

Face contorted, Maro unleashes a series of blows which nearly has Yoongi buckling. Clearly, Maro has continued training in exile. He looks similar and yet different – his hair longer, beard unkempt to hide the scar on his cheek. His body is lean, that of a wild wolf after winter who fights more desperately because of it.

Steeling himself, you feel Yoongi pull his aura inward, readying for the next blow. Maro slips beneath Yoongi’s blade and slashes – and Yoongi releases, Channeling his energy outward in a deadly wave. The invisible strike hits Maro dead-on, making him stumble.

Gaze bright, Maro’s head whips upward. Sensing murderous intent, a growl slips from your throat as you rush in. Swifter than breath, you wrench knives from your belt, thrusting them upward to catch Maro’s blade.

He shudders to a halt, teeth bared in your face.

Yoongi skids to a stop beside you, disbelief warring with his panic.

“GO!” you yell, glancing at Yejun’s door. “Now!”

Yoongi hesitates before nodding, lowering his sword to dart inside. Maro seethes when he escapes, shoving with all his weight to send you backwards. Dropping into a crouch, you brace yourself with one hand and kick outward. Maro leaps to avoid the blow, landing Light with a fierce glint in his eye.

Bright studs of jade – some red and oozing – dot his chest, clearly done in haste. Maro doesn’t seem to feel pain as he walks towards you.

 “You?” he taunts, half-laughing. “You’d barely graduated when I was chosen for Horn. Must be nice,” he muses. “A reward for fucking the boss.”

Biting your lower lip, you hold back your retort. When you do this, Maro smiles, lips pulled from his teeth.

Before he can speak, you lunge forward and Channel. Energy jabs Maro’s chest – enough to stun, but not kill. Grunting, Maro’s smile disappears as he Deflects. Bringing his sword down overhead, he leaves no room to dodge. Swiftly, you Steel and hope for the best.

Maro’s blade slams against skin, though he fails to draw blood. Springing forward, you strike hard enough to rend his shirt’s fabric. Pulling back, Maro seethes.

Your next series of blows are fueled by Strength, fast enough to elude normal vision. You rely on muscle memory and Perception, countering each of Maro’s strokes with your own. He’s not as fast as you are, but his additional jade gives him an edge.

His next Channel is clumsy but strong, enough to leave you winded and miss his next blow. You don’t Steel in time, his blade catching your jacket to cut your torso. Hissing, you stumble and press a hand to the wound.

The cut feels shallow but stings, nonetheless. Fury building, you hone your Perception to a narrow cone. Maro’s aura ebbs and flows, erratically bursting as he walks towards you.

“I don’t know why you’re bothering to fight,” he says, adjusting his grip on his sword. “If anything, you should join me, Y/N – I’m your future.”

Refusing to let him continue, you rush forward and exchange a flurry of blows that end in a stalemate.

Panting, Maro withdraws. “You have to understand I loved her,” he hisses. “I loved her, and she betrayed me. She deserves to die.”

“Who did?” you ask, although you already know.

Behind Maro, you see Yoongi rush from Yejun’s apartment. He holds her, unconscious, Yejun’s aura silent without jade ability. Fervent, you wish you could gauge her vitality. As it is, all you can do is buy them time to get help.

Sinking into a crouch, you draw Maro’s gaze. 

“Yejun?” you prod.

“Yes,” Maro breathes, his gaze bright. “I trusted her, and she turned me in. Do you know what I thought about every day while in Shotar? Her. Do you know what she thought about? The clan,” he spits. “He’ll betray you, too, in the end – you’ll see. Killing them both now would be a mercy.”

“Yejun didn’t betray you,” you say to buy time. “She wasn’t the one who told Yoongi – he found out on his own.”

Maro blinks, his surprise evident for a moment before vanishing under fury. “That’s just as bad,” he snaps, his voice rising. “Yoongi and I were like brothers. Under aisho, doesn’t family come first?”

“Even family is bound by honor,” you say grimly. “Should I ever be disloyal to my brother, may I die by the blade,” you add, reciting the Green Bone oaths. “I won’t join you, Toh Marosun. Take me by force if you must.”

His nostrils flare but before he can act, you rush in. Dimly, you register Yoongi’s retreating aura and hope he’s managed to escape the building. Lightness and Strength blur as you move, Maro’s Deflection flung hastily forward.

You keep your blows unpredictable, swift enough that Maro struggles. Rage cloaks your intention as you whirl and slice in erratic patterns. Sweat beads on Maro’s forehead, Steeling wrongly for your knives to draw blood.

Sensing victory, you push harder. Gathering his energy inward, Maro lashes out suddenly in a Channel you barely Deflect. Energy rips through you, searing your bones in a silent attack. Wincing, you leap back and Channel a blow. Maro stumbles, barely shielding and you recognize a flaw.

There are few Green Bones in Shotar, which must make it difficult for him to practice Deflection. Pressing the advantage, you move forward in a quick flurry of blows. Although Maro’s sword is larger, your knives gain the advantage in the small space. He can’t move when you duck underneath, stabbing upward to pierce his soft underarm.

Howling, Maro whirls and swings at you rashly. Leaning backwards, you Steel and catch the blow on your forearm. Vibrations clang through you, rattling the teeth in your skull. The two of you lock together, Maro’s energy clashing with yours. When he doubles his Strength, you feel your Steel buckle.

Lips split in a grin, Maro keeps his sword steady. Further increasing his Strength, he’s focused on winning he doesn’t notice the shift in your aura.

Dropping your Steel, you draw everything inward and let his sword slice your arm. Maro’s laugh is manic – until you Channel outward. The last of your energy shatters his Deflection, piercing inner organs with deadly precision. You feel the moment Maro’s heart stops, his arteries rupturing from the inside out.

Forgoing any mercy, your knife slashes his throat in a clean line.

Blood mists from the wound, coating the wall behind you in red. With a gurgled gasp, Maro lifts a hand – only to go limp and fall, face-first on the floor.

Silence descends, broken only by your ragged breathing. Not far off, sirens wail, and you sense Green Bone auras closing in on the building. Eyes closed, you force yourself to breathe in and out.

No matter how often you do it, killing another person never gets easier. Even when necessary. Even when said person threatens your life and others. You fortify yourself with the knowledge that Yoongi is safe, and Yejun will live – she has to.

The cost to your soul is too high for anything else.

“Is he dead?” asks someone behind you.

Swiftly, you turn as you open your eyes. You were so focused inward, you failed to notice Yoongi’s aura approach. The Pillar’s gaze snags, stopping on the man before you.

“Yes,” you say, bending to clean your knives. Heart hammering, you wonder what Yoongi feels at seeing his former friend dead. Wonder if he’ll blame you, as Maro said.

Setting your jaw, you sheath both your knives before standing. Immediately, you see you needn’t have worried. Yoongi isn’t looking at Maro, but at you. A lone muscle tics in his jaw, observing the crimson blood staining your clothes.

“The police are on their way. They’ll clean up the scene. You’re hurt,” Yoongi adds, his voice thick.

You glance down at your arm. “It’s nothing.”

Bending again, you begin to gather Maro’s jade. You’ll be expected to wear it the next time you’re in public, but right now, the touch of it is nearly overwhelming. Minor wounds and injuries pulse with each movement, already healing from your current jade.

“I’ll take it.” Yoongi suddenly is beside you, right hand extended. “Let me help.”

Relinquishing some of the jade piercings, you slide the rest in your pockets and push yourself to stand. Turning to face him, you stride down the hall. A roiling ball of emotion settles deep in your gut.

Worry about Yejun. Fury at Yoongi’s lies. Relief, that he’s here and unharmed.

Entering the stairwell, the door hits the wall with a satisfying thud. Yoongi follows closely, wisely choosing to remain silent. Two stories lower, you find the words to speak.

“Is Yejun okay?” you ask.

You feel Yoongi’s gaze on the back of your neck. “She’ll live,” he says, sounding weary. “I left her at the hospital with Namjoon and Jiro. She has a concussion. Maro got here a few minutes before I did and had already roughed her up.”

Something about this snaps the hold on your fragile self-control. Picturing what might have happened had you arrived a few seconds later, you whirl around and grasp Yoongi by his suit jacket.

“Never,” you blurt, yanking him closer. “Never do that to me again.”

Gaze burning, you stare him down and Yoongi watches warily. He doesn’t move an inch, allowing you to manhandle him. “I know that you’re angry,” he says carefully.

With a harsh laugh, you release him. “Of course, I am! You shouldn’t have come here alone.”

“I know that.”

“Well?” you demand after a long moment passes. “Aren’t you going to apologize?”

Yoongi lifts a brow. “I’d do it again.”

You stare at him, aghast. “Well, then.” You pause. Shake your head. “If that’s all you have to say, I think this night is over.”

Wiping your palms on your pants, you turn away. You only make it one flight before Yoongi’s hand finds your elbow.

Spinning you towards him, Yoongi pulls you closer. You manage to avoid eye contact until his fingers slip beneath your chin, making you face him.

“I know you want me to apologize, but I won’t,” he says lowly. “I refuse to apologize for trying to keep you from danger.”

Most people would swoon, hearing this from their lover but you aren’t most people. You’re the Horn of No Peak, sworn to protect the clan – and Yoongi – from any threats.

Your gaze narrows on his. “That’s a problem, then. I’m your Horn, Yoongi. It’s my duty to protect No Peak – to protect you. The Pillar is the spine of this clan and, once severed, No Peak can’t survive. It can survive without me, though.”

Yoongi’s nostrils flare. “And what about me?” he asks. “If you don’t survive, how do you expect me to continue?”

You go still. “Yoongi… I…”

“And for that matter,” he adds, his hand on your chin sliding to the back of your neck. “If you’re so intent on following the rules, who are you to give me orders? I’ll fight to protect the clan if I want to, Y/N.”

Fury expands from the spark in your chest. “You didn’t make me your Horn to follow you blindly,” you seethe.

“No.” His gaze softens. “I did not.”

You stare at each other for a long moment, each passing second draining some of your fire. You’re left with smoke on your tongue, a heaviness in your heart and the ever-growing certainty the time for rule-following has passed.

“You… can’t think like that,” you say eventually.

Yoongi’s brow sketches upward. “Like what?”

“Like I’m worth more than the clan. More than you, as it’s Pillar. That’s dangerous precedent.”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, I do,” you say, frustrated by his nonchalance. “The clan is my blood, and the Pillar is its master,” you add, reciting your oaths again. “You are the Pillar. Your life is that of the clan.”

Yoongi’s lips twist with displeasure. “It seems we’re at an impasse, since I refuse to place my life before yours.”

“Yoongi,” you snap, exasperated. “You can’t just… just –”

“Just what?” His eyes blaze. “Love you?”

“Yes,” you whisper, voice breaking.

Something in his face gentles. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”

Perceiving this truth, the last bit of fight drains from your body. Sensing it, Yoongi draws you closer and pulls you against him. Eyes shutting, you lean into his chest. Yoongi’s aura swallows you whole, an oasis of calm against the onslaught of night.

His breath warms your ear. “It was my problem to fix,” Yoongi murmurs, sounding reticent. “She… Yejun didn’t betray Maro, but she was going to – that’s how I found out. She was writing a letter to me on her kitchen table. I walked in and saw it.”

Lifting your head, you regard him. “You don’t have to explain to me why you spared your sister. I understand.”

“Thank you. You should know, though,” he adds, his voice fierce, “I will do anything to keep those I love from harm.”

You can’t help but smile, though it quickly fades. “I know you would, Yoongi. That’s a burden you can’t carry alone, though. It makes you weaker, not stronger.”

“This was my fault, though,” he says. “Not yours – nor anyone else from the clan. It was my decision to let Maro go free.”

“You aren’t responsible for Maro’s actions. And it’s not weakness to show mercy.”

A muscle jumps in his jaw.

“It’s not,” you press on. “Who’s to say what the right choice was? If you’d killed Maro back then, maybe something worse would’ve happened. Yejun might not have forgiven you. It’s impossible to rewrite the past, and you’ll go mad if you try.”

Yoongi looks away, unconvinced. “What type of Pillar does that make me, though?”

“One who hesitates before killing their friends.”

“One who balks at making tough decisions.”

“Min Yoongi.” Steel layers your voice and you reach up, turning his face to yours. “I would never swear oaths to someone who killed without question. Who made decisions in anger, then regretted them later. You question me when you question yourself.”

His gaze roams your face. “And what if others betray me?” Yoongi murmurs, voice lower. “Would you continue to support me if I was forced to kill Asha? Or Jungkook?”

“I’d trust you did what had to be done.”

“And what if I become corrupt?” he murmurs, his gaze flicking lower. “What if I’m the one being selfish, betraying the clan?”

“Well, that’s easy.” Reaching lower, you wrap a hand around the hilt of his blade. “I’ll kill you myself.”

Not looking away, Yoongi’s hand covers yours. “You could try,” he murmurs, some of his tension dissipated.

“Oh, I think I’d succeed.”

Releasing your hand, Yoongi finds your knee and hitches your leg against him. “If it came to that,” he murmurs, nose skimming your throat, “I’d let you.”

Inhaling softly, you close your eyes. “Promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

Perceiving the truth to his words, you open your eyes. Yoongi stares back, letting you see the starkness in his gaze. It’s no small thing for the most powerful man in Kekon to promise you anything.

Similarly, it’s no small thing to admit he holds your heart in both hands. Which is why you need to say what you do next. Without Yoongi’s next promise, this can’t go any further.

“Don’t make these decisions without me,” you whisper. “Let me decide for myself when a job is too dangerous.”

Yoongi’s lips flatten. “You give me an impossible choice, since nothing is too dangerous for my lovely Horn.”

“Trust that I love you, then,” you say, your hand trembling as you rise to cup his face. “And that I’ll do what it takes to come back.”

Yoongi goes still at your declaration. His pupils dilate so far, they seem to swallow the light. Four years, you’ve spent fighting together. Five months of knowing him this way, and never have you uttered those words to his face.

The transformation is quick, his expression shifting to desire in barely a breath. Bending, Yoongi drags your mouth to his. “Say it again,” he growls against your lips. “Tell me you love me.”

“You’ll become greedy,” you say, breathless.

“I’m the Pillar of No Peak.” He gives a half-laugh. “I will always want more.”

“Then, take it.”

Opening your mouth, Yoongi walks you backwards until your spine hits the wall. You lose yourself in his touch, his taste, the fatal heat of his body. Fingers tangling in hair, you’re rewarded by the basest of groans from his lips. Yoongi’s hands find your body, grasping and searching to pull you against him.

Far below, the faint pulse of jade auras brush yours. “Yoongi,” you moan, nipping his lower lip. “We should go.”

Pulling away, his thumbs indent your hips. “Go where?”

“Your place. My place. I don’t care.”

“I do,” he says with a grin. “Want to wake up with you in my bed.”

You can’t help but laugh. “You’re so needy.”

“I am.” His lips curve. “I need many things, Y/N. You in my bed. Eventually, in my house. Your vows exchanged for mine. But first” – his brow lifts – “I need to fuck you. Need to bury myself inside you.”

Lips parting, you attempt to digest this information. Everything Min Yoongi has laid on the line. The last sentence catches your attention though, heat curling in your belly and replacing all sentient thought. The rest can come later – first, you need him inside you.

“Let’s go,” you declare, pushing yourself from the wall.

He chuckles, low in his throat as he follows your lead. Halfway down, Yoongi’s arm finds your waist to pull you against him. His teeth scrape the skin beneath your ear, pausing to nip the highest jade hoop.

“Where will you put your new jade?” he muses, pressing his erection to you from behind. “You’re running out of places on your body.”

“I’ll think of something,” you murmur, Yoongi’s tongue on your neck proving extremely distracting. “Wrist cuffs might be nice.”

“If you wanted to be cuffed” – his voice dips – “all you had to do was ask.”

“That is not what I was referring to,” you say, although a shiver traces your spine.

“Pity.”

A second before exiting the stairwell, Yoongi releases you and takes a step back. You ignore the disappointment this brings, forcing your expression to neutral. Already, police cars are arriving to hold back the crowds.

From across the lobby, you spot Asha and Hoseok in deep conversation with uniformed officers. Moving towards them, you’re surprised when Yoongi takes you by the elbow.

“I ran into Hoseok in the lobby,” he says, steering you sideways. “He and Asha will clean up and meet us back home.”

Hoseok nods when you pass, his jaw tight in a way that implies displeasure. Swallowing laughter, you push open the door and immediately, your smile vanishes. Many people have gathered, huddled in groups around the yellow caution tape.

Catching sight of your reflection, you stifle a groan. You look terrible – sweat and blood mar your forehead, the rips in your jacket showing your wounds. Before anything between you and Yoongi can happen, you need a hot shower.

“The situation’s been handled,” Yoongi says to the crowd, pulling you towards the car. “Green Bones are searching the area for remaining danger – you should be able to enter the building soon. No Peak will compensate for damages.”

With that, he opens the car door and watches you enter. Expressions shift in the crowd, a wave of relief washing over the people. Yoongi joins you in the backseat, leaning forward to instruct the driver to go.

The car rumbles from the curb, its speed slow to avoid the pedestrians in your path. Grateful for the tinted windows, you lean sideways and rest your head against the cool glass.

In the reflection, you watch Yoongi retrieve his car phone. “Namjoon?” he says after a moment. “It’s done – Maro is dead. How’s Yejun?”

Namjoon’s reply is muffled, and your thoughts wander. Once you return, you should find Jungkook and instruct him to search Maro’s former haunts. There’s a chance he wasn’t working alone and if so, you’ll need to catch his supporters.

Tonight has taken a toll though, no matter how much you’d like to pretend otherwise. Exhaustion settles while you stare out the window, watching the lights of Janloon flick past.

Yoongi hangs up the phone. “Yejun is fine,” he says, and you turn your head. “Namjoon said she lost a lot of blood, but nothing that can’t be fixed. She should be awake in a few hours.”

Relief floods your body. “That’s good.”

His hand rests beside yours on the seat, close enough to feel the heat from his palm. Exhaling softly, Yoongi shifts until his hand covers yours.

Going still, you stare at your entwined hands on the leather. The car slows beneath you, coming to a stop before the Min gates. Another moment passes before the gates open, the car rumbling forward as Yoongi speaks up.

“You can take us to my place, Galo,” he says. “No need to stop at the main house.”

Startled, you glance sideways, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to notice. Never mind the driver’s raised eyebrows, or the fact that Yoongi just told him you’re sleeping together. While it’s true, you’ve slept here before, you’ve never been obvious. It feels as though a bridge has been crossed without discussion of what that means.

The moment the car is in park, you exit the vehicle and slam the door. Striding inside the front door, you unzip your jacket to hang on a hook. If Yoongi thinks he can share your relationship with others, you have every right to act at home in his house.

Technically, the Horn has a house on Min property, but you’ve always preferred to keep a separate residence. Your apartment in the city has served you well – except for the nights you stay here and sneak out the next morning.

Removing your boots, you set these aside. “We just discussed this,” you fume as you turn. “Ask me next time before you decide–”

Your words are cut off by Yoongi’s mouth, pushing you back until your spine hits the wall. “Couldn’t wait,” he rasps, shutting the door with his foot. “Need you. Now.”

Exhaling, you melt and arch upward against him. Grasping your thigh, Yoongi yanks your leg higher to wrap around his waist. The thick length of his cock presses to your center and you nearly whimper. Fiery anger dissolves into need – the need to touch him, feel him and wash away tonight’s fear.

“Yoongi,” you moan, turning your head. “I need to shower.”

Grasping your wrists with one hand, he presses them above your head. “Do you?” he murmurs, kissing down your neck.

“I’m covered in blood,” you protest.

Glancing up, Yoongi smirks. “And?”

Stifling laughter, you push at his chest. Obedient, Yoongi releases your hands to take a step backward. “Not to mention,” you say as you move past, “I’d rather not have Toh Marosun’s blood in your bed.”

Yoongi’s next action is quick, happening in the same breath. Catching your wrist in one hand, he pulls you closer. “The next time you say a man’s name in this house,” he rasps. “It had better be mine.”

“We’ll see,” you say loftily. “Now, let me wash up.”

Releasing you, Yoongi lets you pass, and you don’t turn around. If you did, you know you might cave and fuck him right there on the floor.

Entering his bedroom, you flick on the lights. Soft, muted warmth fills a room of concrete. Bulletproof windows overlook dense vegetation, invoking the feel of a post-apocalyptic city. Pausing in the doorway, you inhale his scent.

Although you’d never tell Yoongi – it’d go to his head – this room has swiftly become one of your favorite places. Watching dawn break in his arms has brought you greater peace than any of the gods.

In his bathroom, you help yourself to his fancy products and step under the spray. Securing your hair, you do your best to avoid the strands getting wet. Cranking up the heat to high, steam fills the room as you scrub blood from your skin. The water beneath your feet turns red, and then pink before finally clear.

Once done, you turn off the spray and wrap yourself in a towel. Straining Perception, you find Yoongi showering across the house. You’re momentarily surprised he didn’t try and join, although grateful he didn’t. After five years of knowing one another, Yoongi understands when you need time alone.

You’re washing your face when the bedroom door creaks. Drying your skin, you cross to the closet and withdraw a robe. Securing the tie, you wipe steam from the mirror before opening the door.

Yoongi sits on the edge of his bed, damp hair curling at the base of his neck. He’s freshly washed and changed into a plain shirt and trousers. In one hand, he holds a crystal glass of hoji, swirling it once before taking a sip.

Leisurely, his gaze drags down your body. When Yoongi looks up, his face brims with unsaid desire. Silent, he sets down his glass and pushes himself to stand. Watching him eagerly, you Perceive his intent when Yoongi prowls closer.

Coming to a stop before you, Yoongi lifts his hand to cup the back of your neck. Tilting your face upward, he strokes your damp skin with his fingers.

Silent, he lowers his face until your lips nearly touch. “What was it you said?” he murmurs. “About the clan being your blood and the Pillar, its master?”

Your breath catches in your throat. “You know the oaths as well as I do.”

“Yes.” Bending, Yoongi uses Strength to lift you against him. Gripping you tightly, he carries you to his dresser and deposits you there. “Well,” he says, lowering himself. “Allow me to show you who I get on my knees for.”

You stare at him, mesmerized when he parts your legs. Pulling your hips to the edge, Yoongi grips your thigh with a veined hand. The sight of him like this is downright sinful. Desire courses through you, setting your skin ablaze.

Yoongi leans forward, gaze meeting yours at the first brush of his tongue. You groan with relief, thighs spreading further. Lifting his other hand, Yoongi tugs at the tie of your robe. You inhale when it opens, fully bared while Yoongi’s tongue curls against your dripping sex.

He pulls away, eyes dark and casually spreads your folds. Muttering something that sounds like a swear, he stares at your cunt before lowering his head and sucking your clit. A dark moan escapes, weight shifting to get him even closer. Forcing your thighs open, Yoongi begins to flick his tongue against your swollen mound.

He doesn’t rush this, taking his time while eating you out. Yoongi flicks, and then swirls before sucking your clit. His tongue drags to your cunt, already dripping with arousal. Humming in satisfaction, Yoongi shifts on the floor and slips his tongue inside. Gasping his name, your fingers curl in the dark strands of his hair.

His tongue slowly fucks you, barely a taste of what’s to come. “Yoongi,” you groan, moving against him. “I need more.”

“Anything,” he says, pulling back to spread you with his fingers. Yoongi’s thumb finds your clit, casually stroking until your body quivers. “Take off the robe,” he demands, looking up. “I want to see you.”

Wordless, you push the supple silk from your shoulders.

“Fuck,” Yoongi breathes, staring at rounded breasts and hard nipples. Lowering his head, he sucks your clit again. Sliding a hand under your ass, he drags you close to the edge.

Gasping out loud, your hand fists his hair to anchor your body. In the mirror behind him, you watch your chest heave, hips undulating while he licks your pussy. Head tipping back, you lose yourself in sensation, each stroke of his tongue further coiling your tension. Yoongi is patient; he knows what you need and takes his time getting there.

Cupping his head, you move your hips while starting to ride his tongue. When Yoongi strokes your entrance and slips a finger inside, you nearly convulse.

“Yoongi,” you gasp, legs shaking.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, lifting his head. Curling that finger, he strokes a dangerous place. “Come for me.”

When his tongue resumes motion, you feel your walls convulse. Tighter and tighter until – everything snaps, a wave of pleasure cresting through you. Thighs trembling, you hold Yoongi’s hair while you cry out his name.

The pleasure slowly subsides, leaving you slumped on the dresser. Yoongi pushes himself upward, cock straining eagerly against the seams of his pants. Cupping the back of your neck, he kisses you deeply, allowing you to taste yourself. Parting your lips with his tongue, he dives into you eagerly, one hand slipping to slide into your pussy.

Groaning his name, you fumble with the buttons holding his shirt together. “This,” you demand. “Off.”

Using Strength, you send the buttons flying. Yoongi smirks, withdrawing and pushing his shirt to the ground. Touching his chest, you stare at him, unabashed. The lean lines of his torso, the indent of his v, the jade lining his fingers where he grips you tightly.

His moon blade is absent, likely the first thing he cleaned upon entry. Still, the hum of Yoongi’s jade is a potent weapon – nearly as much as the need in his eyes.

Lowering your hand, you palm the bulge in his pants. Jaw flexing, Yoongi lifts your leg to wrap around him. The roughness of his pants against your sex makes you hiss.

“Yoongi,” you moan. “Want to touch you.”

“I want that, too,” he murmurs, hair falling into his gaze. “More than that, I want to be inside you.”

Breath catching, you remove your hand as he presses forward. You feel his cock through his pants, rock-hard and straining against your needy pussy. Swallowing thickly, you managed to undo the last button and shove his pants down. Stepping free of their confines, Yoongi palms his own cock.

Replacing his hand, you give him a squeeze. Yoongi lowers his head to close his lips around a waiting nipple. A whimper rises when he tugs, switching to the other breast and repeating the motion. Arching upward, you lazily drag your thumb over the tip of his cock.

Eventually, Yoongi looks up and hisses, “Enough.”

Reaching lower, he guides his cock to your entrance. Leaning back on your palms, you lift one knee to allow him better access. Yoongi pauses, gaze traveling your face to your chest, landing on your cunt. Exhaling softly, your head tips back as you widen your legs.

“You’re perfect,” Yoongi rasps, flicking his thumb over your hooded clit.

Inhaling, you tremble from oversensitivity. Bending, Yoongi slowly spits to land moisture on your cunt. It drips down your sex, mixing with arousal while Yoongi pushes the tip of his cock inside. He pauses, watching your face, then adds another inch.

You arch upward, trying and failing to take him in deeper. “Is that all you have?” you challenge, goading.

Yoongi merely smirks. “Do you think,” he murmurs, refusing to move, “you can make me give you what you want?”

When he starts to withdraw, you tilt your hips, and he slides in a bit deeper. Yoongi groans as he fills you, hand tightening on your waist.

“Yes,” you gloat, brushing your breasts to his chest. “I do.”

Yoongi’s gaze flares, and he pushes in a bit more. “I know you, Y/N,” he murmurs, moving one hand to your neck. Thumb brushing your collarbone, he hauls you upright and keeps your thighs spread. “I know you want this pussy filled nice and slow. I know you want me to tease you. I know you want to feel in control but have someone else do the work. And I want – no, need,” Yoongi corrects, aura flaring, “to be the one giving it to you.”

Before you can respond, he thrusts forward and fills you with his cock. A cry leaves you, unable to do anything but take it. With your legs spread, hips tilted, the thickness of his length presses to your g-spot. And when Yoongi withdraws and leaves your body empty, you think you might cry. Think you might beg to have more of his cock.

Luckily, Yoongi doesn’t want this. Thrusting into you fully, he starts to move. Filling you up with his thickness, he goes harder and harder until you can barely think straight. His hips pound yours, filling you to the brim, making you take it. Fingers brushing the jade on your throat, he spikes your arousal and drenches his cock.

“Fuck,” Yoongi breathes, staring at the place he disappears inside you. “You’re amazing.”

“Yoongi,” you groan. “I need… need…”

“Yeah?” His gaze lifts. “Tell me what you need.”

“Deeper,” you plead.

His aura flares briefly before he pulls out. Before you can speak, his hands find your waist, setting you on the floor to turn you around. Spreading your legs, he presses a hand to your back to push you lower.

Gripping his dresser, you look over your shoulder while he positions himself from behind. “What about now?” Yoongi asks, slipping inside with one thrust.

Lips parting, you bend further and stick out your ass. Yoongi starts to move when you spread your legs, fucking you harder. His thrusts become rougher, hips slapping your ass while your breasts bounce.

“That’s it,” he says, leaning forward to lace one hand with yours. His other slides between your thighs, flicking over your clit. “So wet and tight for me. Taking my cock like you own it.”

“Don’t I?” you groan.

“Mm,” he agrees, rubbing circles on your clit. “It’s yours – I’m yours.”

Before you can respond, he pulls out again. Draping you over one shoulder, Yoongi carries you, Light, to his bed. You scowl, hitting his thigh but Yoongi responds with a firm smack to your ass. His fingers slip briefly between your cheeks, wetting himself with your slick. Before you can moan, he deposits you on the bed.

Kneeling between your legs, Yoongi repositions himself at your entrance and pushes in.

“Oh,” you groan, heading tilting back.

You love sex with Yoongi in every position, but this is your favorite. Feeling his callouses slide over our skin, his weight heavy while filling you with his cock. Yoongi’s length slides inside, rocking into you slowly while his hair brushes your forehead.

Reaching up, you push this from his face when he starts to move. If there’s one thing you’ve learned from tonight, it’s that these moments are precious. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you hold him tighter.

“Marry me,” Yoongi says.

You go still underneath him. “I… what?”

Sliding his hand under your hips, Yoongi tilts them to get deeper. “Marry me,” he repeats. “I’m tired of pretending. Tired of waking up without you. Living my life without you.”

“You have me,” you say, unsure whether he’s serious.

Slowly, he thrusts in and out of your body. “Not the way I want.” His eyes flash. “As not only my Horn, but my wife. I want to be your husband. I want the entire world to know I belong to you.”

Taking your other hand, Yoongi moves this to the bed while continuing to thrust. You arch against him, chasing his hips and words with your own.

“People will talk,” you say, breathless.

His gaze sparks. “Do you think I care?”

“Maybe I care,” you say. “They’ll call me a distraction. And don’t give me that bullshit about my life being worth more than yours.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Yoongi chuckles, teeth scraping your neck. “What I will say is that I’m better with you. And if I’m better, the clan is better. Not that you should marry me because of that,” he adds, almost an afterthought.

You lose your breath when he circles his hips, driving into you deeper. Thighs parting, you lose yourself in the feel of him in you. His body moves as his soul does, completing you fully. In truth, you’ve avoided this conversation because you know how it ends.

It ends with Yoongi. He’s it for you. From the first time you kissed, you knew it would end up here – it was only a matter of when. Your remaining barriers crumble as you meet his gaze.

“Yes,” you exhale, your hips chasing his.

Yoongi’s aura sharpens. “Yes?” he repeats. “Is that… agreement or acceptance?”

“Yes – as in yes, Yoongi, I’ll marry you.”

Yoongi goes completely still, ignoring your protest. A second later, he’s consumed by a wave of emotion. Need – fiery and stark – sweeps through him as he bends, crushing your lips to his. Yoongi’s kiss burns, searing and marking you for one another.

Slipping an arm beneath your knee, Yoongi pushes upward to get even deeper. You gasp with pleasure, his cock hitting a spot that makes you incoherent.

“Soon,” he adds, adding Strength to his thrusts.

Breathless, your fingertips dig into his skin. “Don’t be greedy,” you chide, losing some credibility when a moan leaves your lips.

His upper lip curls. “I am, though,” Yoongi grunts, pushing you close to the edge. “I’ll never have enough of you, Y/N.”

“Good,” you say, holding him tightly. “I’m yours, Yoongi.”

A groan escapes him, burying his face in your neck. The muscles in Yoongi’s shoulders strain, fucking you harder. “I could die hearing those words.”

“Don’t. That’s an order.”

Yoongi looks up to lock gazes. “Whatever you want. I need it, Y/N. Need this – want to feel you come on my cock.”

Already close to the edge, his words leave you trembling. Clutching him harder, you widen your thighs and feel your walls shatter when you come undone. Pleasure consumes you, vision going dark as you throw back your head. Yoongi’s lips brush your throat, continuing to thrust through your orgasm.

Swearing when you tighten, Yoongi goes harder to chase his release. On his last thrust, he breaks, your name on his tongue as hot cum fills your body. Slowly, he lowers himself to the bed beside you. Yoongi slips partway out, your bodies still intertwined.

Lifting a hand, you drag this down his side. Yoongi smiles at you before pulling out, reaching to grab a tissue from his nightstand. He cleans you with care, then rises from bed to throw it away. Slipping beneath the covers, you wait for his return.

Yoongi does so quietly, dimming the light before he joins you in bed. Slowly, your eyes adjust until Yoongi’s moon-limned face becomes visible.

“Did you mean it?” you say, barely more than a whisper.

“I’ve never meant anything more in my life,” he says roughly. “And you? Did you also mean what you said?”

Slowly, you nod.

Joy floods his aura, sharp and bright. “Anything you want,” Yoongi says, determined. “You have only to ask. Cities burnt. Villains vanquished. My own name, forsaken – ask, and it’s yours.”

You can’t help but laugh, your whole body shaking. “Villains vanquished?” you tease, pressing closer. “There are some who might call you the villain of this story.”

His lip twitches. “Then, I’ll defeat myself.”

“Seems like an easy fight.”

Mock growling, he rolls to pin you underneath him. You laugh louder, the sound muffled when Yoongi bends to kiss you. By the time his head lifts, the two of you are breathless.

“I apologize,” you murmur, cupping his face. “Most fearsome Pillar.”

Baring his teeth, he nips your thumb. “That’s better.”

“Truly, though,” you tell him. “There’s no need to get me anything. Whatever I want, I can get for myself.”

Somewhat amused, Yoongi settles beside you. “Oh, I’m aware. My heart, for instance,” he says, placing your hand on his chest.

“That, I’ll accept,” you say softly, staring at your hand on his skin. Your gaze lifts. “As long as mine belongs to you, in turn.”

“A heart for a heart,” Yoongi agrees, moving closer.

Skin pressed to skin, you feel your hearts settle. No Green Bone magic ties two souls together. Instead, that magic lies within the bounds of normal humans. And yet, as you breathe and listen to the blood in his veins, you can’t help but feel something greater is at work.

Something even death could not part – although you’d dare it to try.

 © kpopfanfictrash, 2023. Do not copy or repost without permission.

Author’s Note: thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Go read Jade City by Fonda Lee. LOL