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wolveria · 26 days ago

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The Raven's Hymn - Ch 55 (Final)

Pairing: SCP-049 x Reader

Series Warnings: Eventual smut, dubcon, slow burn, violence, horror, death, monsters, human experiments, dark with a happy ending

Chapter Summary: “So… We… the both of us, we’re… okay?”

AO3

Spotify

Domesticity was an experience absent since childhood. But now, the floors were swept, the cobwebs removed, the small cabin filled with warmth and the scent of the old pine planks that made up its interior.

Child’s laughter echoed from outside, though she wasn’t really a child, and the creature that followed her wasn’t a pony, even if it was a comparable size. But from a distance, framed in winter blue and white, they could be mistaken as such.

Absently, you rolled the dough into an elongated shape, your attempt at what was eventually going to be cinnamon buns. You weren’t any better at baking than you were at cooking, but you’d had time to try and learn. You’d had nothing but time lately, and boredom was a precursor to wandering thoughts, and wandering thoughts were the enemy of memories best left forgotten.

And there was so much you wanted to forget.

You’d made a promise that if Leahy hurt Valens, you would burn Site-20 to the ground, and you kept that promise.

But what came after? What did you do now that your every move wasn’t watched, and you weren’t subjected to the whims of an increasingly desperate Site Director?

You hadn’t realized it until you’d had weeks to reflect, the leaves turning from autumn gold and orange to barren, dead brown. Leahy had been desperate, and in his desperation he’d done extreme things. So had you. And those were the things you didn’t want to think about.

And Valens…

Without the barriers between you, no cameras to watch and no guards to pull you apart, you’d thought… Well, you didn’t know what you’d thought. That Valens would embrace you at the first opportunity? Carry you off to bed like his newly-sworn bride and make you his?

It had been a fantasy, and you were to old and worn for those. Of course he would keep a polite distance, shying away if you stood too close. Of course he would give the only bed to you and the girl. Of course he would provide you with everything you needed, food and clothes and even kerosene for the generator, all from his anomalous bag.

He gave you what you needed, but not what you wanted. And you understood. You’d both been forced to use each other at the Foundation’s behest. Neither of you would have gotten into that bed if it wasn’t at metaphorical gunpoint.

But the shower… the shower had been different. The way he’d touched your skin, caressed you as if you were precious, pinning you to the wall and fucking you as if he wanted to take those precious parts of you and shatter them beneath his hands—

Sharp pain bit your thumb, and you dropped the knife with a clatter. In the middle of slicing the tube into rolls, you’d nearly taken off your finger in the process, blood welling from the slash at the base of your thumb.

You rushed to the sink and turned on the faucet, waiting for the sputtering water to run smoothly before you pushed your hand under the flow. There was some relief at the ice-cold water numbing the slice, but blood continued to leak from the wound no matter how tightly you gripped your wrist.

“Shit,” you hissed under your breath. What if it didn’t stop bleeding and you needed to go to the emergency room? You didn’t actually know where the closest town was, and besides that, you didn’t have any transportation—

Warmth pressed against your back as arms enveloped you from both sides. You froze, stiff as a board, as his hands gently took yours, removing them from under the faucet and turning your injured hand upward so he could see the wound clearly.

You didn’t move an inch, barely breathed as he examined you, your mind a fuzzy static as blank as the winter landscape outside. Those… claws. Every time you saw them, at his delicate hands and the points where the curved nails ended, you found yourself staring. And every time, he caught you, immediately turning away and hiding them from sight.

But he didn’t hide them now, instead focusing on your hands, small and fragile between his larger, steadier ones.

“You will need stitches,” he said, his low voice vibrating in a rumble along your back. “Come.”

You didn’t have much choice as he gently took you by the shoulders, guiding you to one of the wooden hand-carved dining chairs, and you half-sat, half-fell into it. Cradling your hand, you watched Valens move across the room to pick up his bag, bring it to the dining table, and set it down.

Voice still trapped in your throat, you didn’t speak as he removed a small vial of clear liquid, as well as a needle and thread and a roll of bandages.

And when you thought you might have regained enough wits to speak, he knelt at your feet and gently took your hand, again examining the wound, so careful as his blunted claws hovered over your skin. After a moment, he let you go and uncapped the vial, spreading some of the liquid on a piece of cloth and carefully dabbing it over the wound. Instantly, most of your hand went numb, and the burning pain vanished.

As he focused on weaving the thread through the needle, you finally found your will to speak.

“How did you know I hurt myself?”

You’d been alone in the cabin as far as you knew, Valens disappearing outside as he sometimes did, though with the way he moved like a ghost, you wouldn’t have known if he returned.

He took your hand and placed it palm up on your thigh, a cloth placed under it to catch the still-leaking blood. He wiped it clean, and then pinched the wound closed as he aimed the needle. You looked away.

“I could smell your blood.”

You swallowed but all the saliva was gone. He hadn’t said, “I could smell the blood,” he had said, “I could smell your blood.” The distinction mattered to you, but you couldn’t explain why.

Watching the needle pierce your skin would make you even more woozy than the blood already had, so you stared out the window at the snow-blanketed trees. It helped with the lightheadedness almost instantly, and you felt a little foolish. With how much blood you’d spilt yourself, getting faint at the sight of it felt hypocritical.

“I wasn’t paying attention,” you offered, even though he didn’t ask. Your voice was tight with embarrassment, and the laugh you gave sounded like it was made of plastic. “Stupid, I know. Especially when I could pull a batch straight out of Cinnabon right from your bag. I just… I don’t know…”

You trailed off, and he didn’t interrupt or fill in the blanks. Valens had always been a great listener, but right now, you wished he’d do more of the talking. He hadn’t done much of that since the breach, and you didn’t know what was going through his head. Only that he was too quiet, too careful with you and the girl, usually wearing oven mitts or garden gloves to cover his newly formed claws.

You could feel it happening, see how withdrawn he’d become. He was slipping away, and you didn’t know how to stop it.

You pressed your lips firmly together, swallowed down the ache in your throat, and waited until he was done stitching your wound, and you knew when that time arrived when he placed a fresh pad over your hand and wrapped it in bandages.

“It would be best to leave that covered for two days. I will change the bandage tonight.”

You nodded silently but didn’t look at him, and he didn’t move from his position on the floor. It was difficult to tell with half your hand numb, but you thought you felt the delicate pressure of him cradling it.

“Reid?”

The name was so strange to hear from that soft, metallic voice. Not Doctor or my assistant or even dear one. Just you. Just Reid.

“Do you want to be here?” you asked. The question fled like it had staged its own containment breached, and you regretted its escape.

“…Pardon?”

“If there’s somewhere else you’d rather be, I understand. 682 and 053 will be fine with me. We just need enough supplies to survive the winter, then we can move on. And you can… can get your life back before the Foundation interrupted it.”

Silence stretched between you. You wanted to scream to break it.

Say something!

But he didn’t. He remained perfectly still, perfectly quiet, and in that silence your heart started to crack.

Finally, he spoke, but his words brought no comfort.

“Is this… what you want?”

You still refused to look at him, focused on the window over the sink bright with winter light, clinging to its view of the outside like a lifeline.

“It’s not about what I want.” Your throat ached so much your words were thick with it. “You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t deserve it. Any of it.”

Any of it. Including you.

The stillness of the room lasted only a moment before Valens regained his feet. He went to the front door, which was left partially open so you could listen to 053 play outside, and he firmly shut it.

And then he walked back to you, his pale eyes hard, focused, and you were like a deer in the headlights as he pulled you up from the chair. Your mouth fell open in shock, your body pliant with surprise as he maneuvered you back against the counter. With a sweep of his hand, he cleared the counter of the ruined attempt of cinnamon buns, ignoring the clatter as it fell to the floor.

Valens lifted you onto the counter without warning and slotted between your legs. As if unsatisfied with the small space left between you, he pulled you flat against his body, his hips flushed to yours, the clawed ends of his fingers pressed into the outside of your thighs.

His specter-grey eyes, eyes you’d noticed held a hint of blue if the sun caught it just right, stared directly into you in a way no one else ever could.

“If you bid me go, I will go. But until that time comes—”

His claws dug in a little deeper, a reflex not meant to hurt but unknowingly revealing what you’d missed. In the weeks that had passed without touch or closeness or comfort, he’d been denying himself, too.

“—I will remain. Right here.”

With his claws, he pulled you tight against him. Wanting, possessive, needful. And you finally broke.

Fingers clumsy with haste, you shoved down your jeans and underwear as far as they would go, which was about to your knees before Valens let out a soft snarl and spread your thighs wider. For a moment, you were afraid he was going to leave when he backed away, but then he slipped his hand between your legs.

His fingers deftly stroked your slick heat, and you were wound so tight you nearly sobbed. Trying in vain to open your legs wider, caught within the confines of your tangled pants, you reached down to the apex of his legs where you knew his inner sheath was hidden.

But Valens grasped you by the wrist and gently pulled you away, his eyes hazy with lust but a small amount of regret too.

“The girl and reptile are in the forest, but they will be back soon.”

You tried to focus on his face and the words, but his forefinger had found your clit and stroked it in slow, torturous caresses. His other hand wove through your hair, his fingertips grazing your scalp, as if after weeks of being only able to watch he couldn’t stop touching you.

He leaned closer, his gaze growing dark.

“And when I finally have you, I will take my time.”

Valens pressed his finger in hard, the teasing stroke becoming one of demand, and you buried your face in his shoulder as you cried out. Your hands wrapped around his back, your legs trying to catch his hips as you desperately wanted his fingers to breach you, and he knew exactly what you were doing.

“I will hurt you,” he strained through the teeth hidden behind his mask.

“I don’t care.”

He groaned in frustration, but not surprise. He knew you, your stubbornness and will, how you didn’t let anything go until you were damn well ready.

But he was at least careful as he slipped a gentle finger in you, and then two when your clenching walls greedily demanded more. He curled his fingers just enough for the blunted points to press something inside you, and you shuddered and whimpered at the strange, delicious pressure.

But he didn’t thrust his fingers inside you, knowing it would scratch your delicate, velvety walls, so he instead stroked and rubbed your clit with the pad of his thumb.

It was good, really good, and your legs trembled as the rubber band in your gut slowly tightened. But something was still missing, and with Valens buried up to his knuckles in your cunt, you figured he was busy enough to let you do this one thing.

With your good hand, your palm returned to the front of his pelvis and pressed down, easily finding the slit that was the opening to his sheath. You spread it open with your fingers, and all you had to do was stroke the inner lip before his phallus pushed from the sheath, practically jumping into your hand as if starving for the attention.

Valens growled next to your ear, a warning you happily ignored, gliding the slick cock across your palm and squeezing it before stroking up and down the shaft. Its inhuman shape pulsed in your hand, and the next noise he made was more groan than growl, his hips twitching involuntarily.

He still kept his fingers curled but stubbornly immobile inside your cunt, though his thumb rubbed you without mercy, the movements slippery with the excess of his soaked hand. And with his other, Valens did the unexpected; he slipped his hand under your sweater, lightly raked his claws up your skin, and groped your breast. With a purpose that conveyed he knew exactly what he was doing, he squeezed your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

Your back arched as if he’d shocked you with a live wire, your walls tight around his fingers, and you stroked and squeezed him almost angrily, as if in revenge for not being buried in you right now.

And it was with that image, imagining him removing his fingers and moving those last few inches to thrust his cock into your desperate, aching cunt that finally pushed you over the edge. Your face buried in his neck, you wailed, clenching around his fingers as your rhythm around his cock faltered, your pattern sporadic and trembling, very similar to how your cunt squeezed him in shuddering bursts.

You breathed out a word, a name, a prayer that only he could hear.

“Valens.”

A snarl ripped through him and his earlier inhibitions forgotten as he thrust in your hand, his claws digging into your breast hard enough it would leave bruises, and then he gave one final jerk of his hips. His cock pulsed hot and hard in your hand, ropes of cum splashing the inside of your bare thighs and the counter beneath you.

Slowly, bit by bit, you relaxed your iron grip on him. Though your injured hand ached, the numbness having faded some time ago, your good hand continued to gently stroke him, milking him for every drop until he shuddered and gave a broken moan at the overstimulation. God, what you wouldn’t give to hear more noises like that out of him.

Valens broke away first, slipping his hand out of your cunt and then out of your sweater, the former drenched and dripping. His skin was darker when wet, almost black, and his claws gleamed as they caught the light.

In a move that lacked any sort of coherence, you grabbed his soaked hand and stuck the two fingers that had been inside your cunt into your mouth. Valens’ hand twitched but he kept his fingers perfectly still as your tongue laved over them, unafraid as you pressed the flat of your tongue against the claw tips.

He bit off some heated phrase in French, but his other hand was gentle as he stroked your naked hip.

“A man could have the patience of a saint, and you would still have the power to drive him to madness.”

You sucked his fingers noisily and greedily as you at last drew them from your mouth, all quite on purpose.

“You’re the one who put me on this counter. You get to deal with the consequences.”

His chuckle low and warm, some of the light returned to his eyes, previously absent as the days had grown shorter and colder. You had missed it so much that its return felt like the sun shining only for you.

Without speaking but the warmth remaining in his gaze, Valens dampened a washcloth and cleaned the mess he’d left on your thighs and the counter, and then he folded it over onto the clean side and pressed it between your legs. You might have taken it as an innocent gesture meant to clean you if not for the focused hunger in his gaze. The lion who had finished his meal and wanted seconds.

And you, weak and aching under that gaze, wrapped your arms around him and pressed your lips to his mask, over his beak and over the cheekbones and on to the place where his mouth would be if not for the chitinous barrier.

His body shuddered and pressed deliciously against yours, proof that you weren’t the only one who ached for a comforting touch, but then he went still. A few seconds later, you heard squealing laughter echoing off the trees.

You sighed and released him, and Valens conveyed his silent apology and regret as he finished cleaning you. Once that was done, instead of letting you hop down, he took you by the hips and set you on the ground, his claws careful as they tugged up your jeans. You pulled them on the rest of the way, making sure everything was in place before you looked up at him, resting the palm of your good hand against his chest.

He didn’t retreat or flinch away as he’d done since your arrival to the cabin, and you took it as a promising sign. A very promising sign.

“So…” Your fingers toyed with the faint wrinkles of fabric across his sternum. “We… the both of us, we’re… okay?”

A hand came up to lay across your restless fingers, holding them steady and close.

“We are. We have always been. And I apologize for making you feel otherwise. I… deeply miscalculated what I believed to be your wishes. Clearly.”

His eyes twinkled with humor, and you smiled. It had been so long since you’d smiled, you were surprised the gesture was so easy.

Not a moment later, the door burst open and a flurry of snow entered, followed by a girl coated in white, sitting astride the back of a large reptilian figure.

053 grinned at you, nearly eye-level with you from the back of 682, and she gave an enthusiastic wave. Seeing you stand so close together, your hand on Valens’ chest with his own covering it, 682 gave an eyeroll and a disgusted snort.

With that, he stalked to the couch and shook his coat, purposefully making 053 fall off his back and directly onto the padded cushions. She cackled with delight, but you winced. If dropped from the same height, you’d have a smarting shoulder and an aching hip.

“Careful,” you mumbled, and 682 just gave you a lethal side eye.

“You should open some windows.” And then he added pointedly, “It stinks in here.”

Mortified, cheeks on fire, you went to the window over the sink and opened it wide. The clean scent of pine, oak, and snow washed over your face, cooling your overheated skin.

The chill of winter was kept at bay from the warmth that pressed against your back, the arms that wrapped around your waist, and the nudge of a beak, affectionate against your jaw.

You didn’t know how long you would be able to remain here, hidden from the panopticon lens of the Foundation. But for now, you were safe, and warm, and free. And loved.

It was good. It was enough.

#the raven's hymn #scp 049 x reader #scp 049 x reid #valens x reader #valens x reid #ignore the poor guy in the last panel of the moodboard #we didn't get to meet him yet #pretend he's not there shhhh

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peaxhygirl · 10 months ago

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𝙵𝙴𝙼𝙰𝙻𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙴𝚁 - RAVEN SANTANA

Raven derives from VICE (Armando Aretas fanfic)

Profession: Miami PD detective; Vice Force

Age + DOB: 26 + April 3rd, 1998

Baby what's your sign: Aries Sun, Cancer Moon, Aqua Rising

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎

Hard hitting badass, Raven Santana is a woman in an all-boys club, but she doesn't let that detour her. If anything, it gives her that extra push to be the best, do the best, and kick ass while doing so. What someone calls an attitude, she calls ingenuity with a twist of ferocity.

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚗

When not on duty, Raven is still very much a fiery young woman. However, it takes a little extra to get out of her. When she doesn't have to, she really likes to take a break from having to be as tough as she does while at work. She enjoys luxury, traveling, and princess treatment tbh.

𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙴: When I write Raven I envision her with a Latto fc. HOWEVER, please feel free to imagine her as you please. Like this is y'all world, I'm just writing in it hehe!

#peachy moodboards #raven x armando #vice #more on ravens background / personal life will come but i didnt wanna spoil anything just yet #armando x reader #armando aretas

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anakademia · 7 months ago

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literature aesthetic moodboard.

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electricgg · 2 months ago

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Ancient Dreams In A Modern Land

Being submerged in a new way of living can be, figuratively, a very stressful time for a sixteen-year-old. New school. New city. New friends.

And a new family, which can be a very fragile subject to handle.

Especially when you are forced to pretend to be someone who is no longer alive; all while looking for your missing twin, learning to keep your uncontrolled powers a secret, and discovering how not to lose your own identity with a body that is very much not your own.

(Y/N) Maximoff did not sign up for family drama. (Y/N) Wayne did not sign up to die young.

Both of them seem to become Death’s favorite tragedy.

Can Maximoff not lose herself in a place designed to see her crash and burn at the stake? Will she be able to find a place to belong? Learn to own up to her situation and even get some peace for the girl that is no longer amongst the living? Get some proper answers in a city full of mystery and secrets?

Thankfully, most of the questions have a positive outcome.

Can she escape from the haunting shadows of a family of obsessive bats?

That may be a lot harder to respond to, as expected.

Masterlist:

Reader's Moodboard

Chapter 1: I Could Be The Eye Of The Storm

Chapter 2: I Am Not My Body, Not My Mind, Or My Brain

Chapter 3: Not My Thoughts And Feelings, I Am Not My DNA

Chapter 4: Don’t You Find It Strange? The Only Thing We Share Is One Last Name

Chapter 5: Get Along With The Voices Inside Of My Head

Chapter 6: I Stray Not From The Path, I Hold Death’s Hand In Mine

Chapter 7: Silver Spoons And Butter Knives, Living Hand To Mouth I’m Getting By

Chapter 8: Sometimes, I wish Someone Out There Will Find Me

Chapter 9: As Long As I’m Held, I Don’t Care If It’s By Teeth

Chapter 10: Do You Wanna Hear About The Deal That I'm Making?(TBA)

Playlists:

Fic's Playlist

Maximoff's Playlist

Wayne's Playlist

Asks: (Open)

Rules about asks:

I will answer as soon as I can, pls be patient 💖

Don't send mean stuff, it will be deleted

I will not accept any form of Fan Casting for the main reader (meaning Wayne and Maximoff). It's supposed to be a hispanic reader with curly/wavy hair and open to anyone's imagination. Let's respect that, please 💖 (the ask will also be deleted and user blocked)

Fanart is welcome

Memes are welcome

Anons are welcome

No spamming in the asks

Overall, just be kind and respectful, thank you 💖

Tag List: (Open)

@bat1212 @kneelforloki @1abi @galaxypurplerose @yhin-gg @cxcilla @momentomoribitch @stargirl404 @welpthisisboring @icefox8155 @bunniotomia @alittlelostmoonchild @devotedlyshamelessdetective @shycreatorreview @nirvanaxx1942 @soulsire @ryuushou @rinkydinkythinky @lithiumval @ithoughtthinks @reeyy0-2 @cssammyyarts @lordbugs @ilovecoffe0 @kore-of-the-underworld @fortunatelydifferentqueen @vanessa-boo @livingund3ad @aelxr @im-so-goddamn-tired @lovebug-apple @staarflowerr @xoxoyukixoxo @whyiseveryuseenametaken @holderoflostmemories @doggyteam2028 @leeiasure @shadowypeachsweets @jjoppees @astraeasworld @wrenbirde @scarletdfox @letsbedragonstogether @exactlynumberonekryptonite @randomlyappearingartist @angwlart @ceramic-raven @vndexd @suneaterscape @initial-ari

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shadowkoo · 7 months ago

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disgraceful dreams

→ Summary: After two years of lustful pining and disgraceful dreams about someone far out of your reach, you decide the only way to move past your hopeless crush on Onyx Academy's star student is by taking part in the Lupercalia festival for the very first time.

↠ wooyoung x f.reader (feat. yeosang) | 16.4k words | 18+ ↠ genre: witch/warlock au, smut, virgin!reader, inspired by s2e3 of caos, slowburn

→ Full Fic Warnings: little bit of social class discrimination, cult-ish behavior (mentions of blood, Y/N uses a knife to cut her hand for binding/ritual purposes), being ‘hunted’ like prey, explicit sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, pet names, praise kink, biting, nipple play, breast play, begging, fingering, mutual masturbation, oral (female and male receiving), exhibitionism, voyeurism, partial agoraphilia & semi-public sex, dirty talk, heavy teasing, spanking, multiple orgasms, grinding, deep dicking, size kink (wooyoung is HUNGGG), magical sex, fucking up against a tree, slight age gap (y/n is 20 and wooyoung is 25), slight corruption, choking, possessive!wooyoung, woo is ravenous for you (you’re welcome)

→ Networks: tagged below

@ksmutsociety @k-vanity @pirateeznet @cromernet

@illusionnet @othersideoutlawsnetwork @cultofdionysusnet

→ Moodboard: view here!

→ Author Note: edited by the lovely aeris @beomcoups whom i appreciate so SO much for tackling this beast of a fic ILY! And also to ally @lovetaroandtaemin for reading this over for me!!! this doesn’t follow the exact lupercalia process, i’ve twisted it to work for my fic and based it around halloween instead of valenbarf day lol, if you'd prefer to read on ao3, it's been crossposted here!! all likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated <3

⋆˙⟡ m.list ⟡⋆⟡ ao3 ⟡⋆⟡ wips ⟡⋆⟡ updates ⟡⋆⟡ shadow realm ⟡˙⋆

‘This can’t be real.’

Jung Wooyoung casts a dark look upon you while taking in your ethereal, naked form before him. The flames of the common room’s fireplace dance in his eyes, reflecting his sinister and most impure thoughts. Thoughts of you, what he wants to do to you. With you.

‘I must be dreaming.’

He circles around you, hovering over your backside and letting his hands fall to your bare hips. His touch leaves a trail of goosebumps across your skin.

“Mmm, can I touch you?” Wooyoung whispers as he leans in to kiss the dip between your shoulder and neck.

You nod, giving him permission to do whatever he pleases, and lean back against his broad chest.

His hands move from your side, one moving upward to cup your breast, the other heading down between your legs, gently tracing your silky skin until his fingers find their way home and sink into your sweet center.

The sensation awakens you from your sinful slumber, and you sigh, realizing it was only a dream—another delicious and depriving dream that left you wanting someone who would never consider you.

Groaning, you force yourself to roll out of bed and step toward your closet. Black Mass isn’t for another hour, but arriving early might help erase these recurring dreams from your memory.

Your footsteps echo in the empty hall as you exit the residential wing, making your way outside. It’s a beautiful gloomy day, the air is crisp and the sun is hidden by thick clouds that look as if they could open up at any moment and soak the woods with another harsh day of rain - something you wouldn’t mind.

The fog creeps through the forest, following your steps and trailing behind while you wait for your familiar to catch up. Besides your raven’s distant cry, it’s quiet. The hum of the earth’s magic is even more reserved than usual. It’s peacefully eerie.

“Ghoul Morning, Blair,” you say, extending your wrist out for her. She caws from above and slowly descends from the clouds, eagerly accepting your arm as the safe place to perch while you walk along the path to the Unholy Church.

Though she looks like a raven while masked, Blair wreaks havoc in her goblin form on anyone, and anything, that dares to disturb you. She’s one of the strongest familiars a witch could be cursed with, and you’ve been thankful for her services ever since you started training.

It’s your second year attending The Onyx Academy of Dark Casting, a magical finishing school that only the finest witches and warlocks between the ages of nineteen and twenty-five are given the unholiest privilege to attend.

Of these students, the Dark Stars of each class lead with their high values and spectacular spell casting. More often than not, they graduate with the highest dishonor and ascend to become High Priests and Priestesses of covens across the world.

Jung Wooyoung is a beloved Dark Star and stellar student, and it’s rumored that he’ll become the youngest Anti-Pope inducted into the Church of Night after his completion here at the academy.

Even with your unique gift, it’s not in the cards for a person of your status to ever equal his. Which you very well know and understand, despite the dark fantasies that haunt you most nights and your schoolgirl crush that hasn’t gone away since the very first day you met him.

Blair lets out a sharp caw, her wings cutting through the air as she ascends, perching gracefully on the steeple just as you arrive at the church. Her dark silhouette stands stark against the sky, watching over you like a silent sentinel.

The towering doors creak open as you approach them, welcoming you inside the dim space. You walk between the rows of pews, watching the candles that mark the aisle light up as you pass.

Once closer to the altar, you lift a hand and wave it across the front of the sanctuary. The room becomes brighter as the remaining unlit candles grow flames from your magic.

You have a way with the elements; you’re able to manipulate and control them as you wish without specific spells, conjuring them when you please. Your energy is unmatched compared to the other gifted students.

Yet, instead of improving your social status, being gifted has made you even more of an outcast. The professors are wary of your potential and what you could be capable of; the students keep their distance too, either jealous or frightened of your power.

Needless to say, you’re not Miss Popular, but that doesn’t bother you as much as it could. Only the luckiest of witches and warlocks are disgraced with gifts from the Dark Lord, and having chosen you out of everyone means something. And knowing the Dark Lord chose you is enough.

You settle into your usual pew, the familiar creak of the wooden bench under you blending into the background as your mind begins to churn. Thoughts swirl of today’s impending announcement during Father Blackmoor’s sermon cross your mind.

The excitement for Lupercalia is beginning to build. This ancient festival, celebrated by all magic wielders the week leading up to Halloween, is dedicated to the Goddess Peralia, who blesses covens with enhanced health, virility, and fertility in exchange for an indelicate offering. Participants must engage in a series of ritualistic events celebrating lust and sexuality, transforming the festival into a vibrant expression of desire and intimacy. Only then will she offer her unholiest blessing.

You sit there, not in prayer, but in a quiet storm of contemplation, unsure if you will sign up for the festival this year. Another downfall to being viewed as an outsider is that you have yet to experience, well, anything. Sure, you might have kissed a couple of warlocks in your intermediate years, you even had a boyfriend in prep school whom you were convinced you could have loved eventually, but your virtue has yet to be given away.

It’s common for witches and warlocks to lose their virginity during Lupercalia; typically when they are in prep school. In fact, it’s encouraged. Yet, by age twenty, you still haven't mustered the courage to join in the festivities.

This year might be different…

The sudden crash of books jolts you from your thoughts. You turn to see Yeosang, a fellow student, crouched beside a toppled stack of The Book of Blood, its pages splayed open.

“My apologies; I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he says, a hint of embarrassment in his voice as he scrambles to gather the scattered volumes. His cheeks flush slightly, and you can't help but smile softly.

He’s a sixth-year student, just like Wooyoung. Yet, where Wooyoung’s presence demands your attention with an almost suffocating charisma, Yeosang embodies a more reserved demeanor. He tends to stick to his tight-knit group of friends and immerses himself in his studies, radiating a quiet intensity that draws you in without overwhelming you.

You feel a wave of annoyance wash over you as soon you realize that even in the presence of another man, your thoughts keep drifting back to Wooyoung. It frustrates you to no end, pushing you to a spontaneous decision: this year will finally be the year you break free from this obsession. By participating in Lupercalia, you’re determined to finally move on from him once and for all.

“Don’t worry about it,” you reply, “The Dark Lord has already provided me with the clarity I came here for.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he says, carefully restacking the last book. He glances to his left, likely considering the seat he usually occupies, before turning back to you. “Would you mind if I joined you?” he asks, a hopeful note in his voice as he gestures toward the space beside you.

“Not at all, please do,” you smile.

He settles beside you with an effortless grace, and the air around you immediately fills with the warm, intoxicating blend of amber and musk from his cologne. The scent is rich, almost magnetic, pulling your attention in ways you hadn’t anticipated. You fidget with your hands, trying to focus on anything but how good he smells, as your mind races to keep pace with your quickening heartbeat.

Maybe... you could partner with Yeosang for the festival. The thought lingers as you steal a glance at him from the corner of your eye. He’s undeniably handsome—sharp features that give him a striking, confident look, but it’s his kindness that really stands out. There’s a warmth in the way he carries himself, a subtle softness behind those strong eyes that makes him more than just attractive. You wonder what it would be like to lose your virginity to someone like him, someone who seems both strong and thoughtful in all the right ways.

"Are you sure you are okay? You seem a little tense," he asks, his voice laced with genuine concern as his eyes search your face. You hesitate to answer, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks, and though you're trying to keep your composure, your breath has grown a little quicker, more shallow.

Thankfully, he’s kind enough not to mention it, but you catch the flicker of awareness in his gaze. His words are gentle, but there's an underlying curiosity there—like he's not just asking out of politeness but because he genuinely cares. You try to steady yourself, aware of the closeness between you, and suddenly the air feels heavier as if the moment itself is holding its breath, waiting for your next move.

"I didn’t mean to pry if it’s personal," he quickly adds, his voice softening as he notices your hesitation. His words have a touch of urgency, and he backtracks, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. His shifts slightly, giving you space while still holding onto the moment, unsure whether to push further or retreat.

"Can I tell you a secret?" The words escape your lips before you even realize what you’ve said. For a moment, you freeze, caught off guard by your sudden vulnerability. His eyes widen slightly in surprise, but there’s no turning back now.

Yeosang nods and softly says, “Of course.”

“I’ve…never participated in Lupercalia,” you admit guardedly.

“Oh, um. That’s, uh…” He’s visibly taken aback when he hears your confession, stumbling over his words. “Wow, I… I wasn’t expecting that.”

He shifts awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, uh, that’s really something. I just, uh… I guess I never saw you as someone who hadn’t, you know, participated.” He draws out the last word, his tone heavy with the unspoken meaning.

You nod, trying to meet his eyes. “I know, it’s just… I never felt called to join in on the festivities in previous years. But lately, that feeling has… changed.”

“Oh. Right, yeah, I get it. So you’ll be signing up for the events this year?” He asks with a calm, collected voice, though he’s concerned that the quickened rhythm of his heartbeat betrays his calm facade.

Hearing your confession piques his interest. He’s always found you hauntingly beautiful and has enjoyed the casual conversations you’ve shared between classes and such, but today feels different.

He knew you didn’t actively participate last year, though he figured you were still doing something-someone-in private. Now that your secret is out, there's something undeniably more intriguing about you—an unexpected allure that wasn’t there before.

“Yeah, I’m thinking about it.”

“I think you should,” he blurts out, then quickly adds, “What I mean is, the festival’s about self-expression and the intimacy you share along the way. If you’re looking for a wild introduction to Lupercalia, there will be plenty of opportunists who share that venereal vision. But if you want something more comforting…choose someone who makes you feel safe and respected for your first time.” Yeosang trails off, his gaze lingering a little too long, the implication unmistakable. He clears his throat, trying not to give himself and his intentions away.

“Thank you, Yeosang,” you say while resting a hand above his knee, genuinely appreciating his insight.

Before the conversation can continue, the sound of footsteps echoes through the Church as fellow students file in, taking their seats. Black Mass is about to begin.

Wooyoung hadn’t intended to listen in on your conversation. He was too busy waiting for the other Dark Stars to arrive at the closed-off sanctuary to finish preparing for Black Mass. As usual, they didn’t show up early despite his suggestions. That’s a lie; he knew his words were less like suggestions and more like demands.

He was well aware they’d be late today, especially since most of the fifth and sixth years had spent the night at an intimate pre-Lupercalia party that stretched into dawn.

The only reason he peeked through the shadows was due to a loud crash, which he soon realized came from Yeosang, who appeared entranced by someone sitting near the front of the Church. That’s when he noticed it was you.

He’ll admit to having observed you over the past year—not out of personal interest, but because he’s intrigued by your unique gift and curious as to why the Dark Lord chose you of all people. Yes, you’re undeniably attractive as most witches are, but your ability to manipulate pure power without relying on spellwork is, to him, the most compelling quality you possess. If you had the right social standing, you would likely ascend to the role of High Priestess in a very fortunate coven.

From his hidden vantage point, he watches as his friend settles down beside you; that’s when the conversation begins.

“I’ve…never participated in Lupercalia,” he hears you share your secret. Now that is quite a confession.

Wooyoung’s lips curl into a smirk as he observes your flushed face from a distance, the rosy hue contrasting with the cold room that surrounds you. There’s a spark of mischief in his eyes as he takes in the way you shift nervously, completely unaware of his gaze.

Knowing that you haven’t been touched stirs a mix of amusement and curiosity within him. He wonders what thoughts are racing through your mind, feeling a strange sensation rush through him when you place your hand on his classmate’s thigh.

He saw no reason to hold back from participating. The moment he came of age, he dove in—and he’s done so every year since, always finding ways to revel in the experience to the fullest. As he reflects on past encounters, a pleased smile crosses his face as he silently counts the number of popped cherries he’s collected over the last several seasons, each a vivid memory weaved into his mind.

‘What’s one more…’

As more students trickle in and take their seats, the soft murmur of conversation fills the air. Wooyoung senses the moment is right and slips out of the shadows just as Father Blackmoor begins to walk down the aisle, weaving between the pews filled with eager faces. The flickering candlelight dances on the stone walls, casting a warm glow that contrasts with the coolness of the sanctuary.

He moves to stand on the left of Father Blackmoor, joining the other Dark Stars who are trying to stifle their yawns. The collective fatigue from the previous night’s festivities hangs in the air, but a shared excitement simmers beneath the surface. He exchanges brief glances with his fellow Stars, a silent acknowledgment of their late-night revelry and the anticipation of what today’s ceremony will bring.

“Fiends and Friends, today marks the beginning of our annual Lupercalia Festival,” Father Blackmoor announces, his voice resonating through the crammed Church. “As you all know, Lupercalia is upon us. I can feel the excitement buzzing in the air. The Festival of Wolves is a cherished tradition within our coven, and we take immense pride in honoring Goddess Peralia through a series of exhilarating rituals, all in hopes of receiving her unholiest blessings. With that in mind, let’s review the week’s events for those of you who are new to our practices.”

Father Blackmoor pauses to take an envelope from Wooyoung. “Tomorrow marks the start of the Assessment Period, which will be held in the Grand Hall. Witches who sign up today will be quizzed by prospective partners in hopes of finding their ideal match.”

“Courting begins on Tuesday. Those interested in a specific witch will reserve time slots to spend more time together. By the end of the night, the warlocks must submit the names of the witches they wish to be paired with. This will be followed by the Matching Ceremony on Wednesday, where the pairs will be revealed to the entire coven. On Thursday, we’ll have the Moon Ritual, during which the paired couples will venture into the darkwood to complete the rite. More specific details will be shared on the day, but they are expected to spend the night together beneath the moon in unholy abstinence.”

Some students snicker, knowing very well they won’t be abstaining from anything that night.

Father Blackmoor waits for the room to settle down before continuing, “Friday ushers in the Insatiable Hunt at dusk, where wolf-masked warlocks will chase after their red-cloaked witches through the woods, culminating in divine pleasure once they’ve been caught. We’ll conclude the week of festivities on Saturday with the Final Feast, where we will express our gratitude to Goddess Peralia for her many blessings this season.”

Wooyoung steps forward once more, this time carrying an ancient, leather-bound tome. The worn edges and faded lettering hint at its age and significance.

It’s the Book of Blood; which contains hundreds of Witches and Warlock's printed names, signed with their crimson ink, as a binding commitment to their word. It’s like a contract between yourself, the entire coven, and the Dark Lord himself.

With a practiced hand, he carefully cracks it open, his eyes sweeping across the room. “Witches that dare to participate, please step forward, say your intent, and sign your name in the Book of Blood.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you push yourself to your feet, joining the line of participants ahead of you. A mix of excitement and nerves swirl in your stomach, each step bringing you closer to the moment you've been both dreading and anticipating.

The weight of curious eyes fall on you as you move, but none more intense than Yeosang's. His gaze feels like a spotlight, cutting through the crowd around him.

With each passing second, your pulse quickens as the line inches forward at a deathly slow pace. Every breath feels shallow, as if the air is too thick for your lungs to handle. Despite the knot of nerves tightening in your belly, your feet move on their own, as if guided by some force beyond your control.

Before you even realize it, you’re standing before Wooyoung. His eyes pierce down onto you while he hands you a knife, “Do you hereby pledge your full participation and commitment to the forthcoming Lupercalia festival and all associated events?”

Taking a deep breath, you respond, “Yes, I pledge myself.”

You take the knife from him, feeling the cold steel as you press the sharp blade into your palm. With a swift motion, you slice a clean, precise line across your skin. Ruby-red blood wells up, pooling in your cupped hand. Without hesitation, Father Blackmoor raises his hand, his dark magic swirling in the air as he draws the blood from your palm. It twists and shapes into the form of a pen, glowing faintly with a sinister aura, ready to be used.

You reach up and grasp the hovering pen, its energy vibrating through your hand. As you sign your name in the book, a surge of adrenaline floods your veins, electrifying every nerve. The moment the ink dries, you feel an undeniable shift. Something deep within you has been awakened.

Wooyoung smirks, knowing the sensation very well. “There’s no backing out now,” he says to you, his gaze locking onto yours, sharp and unrelenting.

“So,” Jongho, a second-year student like yourself, pauses to clear his throat after pulling on his tie, “That was awful.”

You chuckle, relieved to see you're not the only one with frayed nerves. “Yeah, good luck with the rest of them.”

He smiles back before shuffling along to the next person.

It’s Assessment Day, and every witch who signed their name is being rigorously questioned by the participating warlocks. Friends who had gone through this in previous years warned you about what to expect, and they were right. It’s definitely a forced mingling period on steroids.

It’s only been an hour, and you’re already exhausted of the routine of answering questions filled with probing and uncomfortable inquiries that delve into personal preferences. Over and over again, you're forced to confront touchy subjects, as if each question is designed to peel away the layers of your desires, as if you know.

The process feels more like an interrogation than a mere assessment, testing not just your patience, but your lack of knowledge on the subject at hand—sex.

The situation would be far less awkward if you didn't have to sit directly across from someone to verbally review the list. After each question, it’s mandatory to respond in one of the following ways: Agree - you give consent to the matter being discussed with the current party; Acknowledge - it is a potential option, and you give partial consent or Decline - no consent is given.

You pick at your fingernails while you wait for the next warlock.

“Penny dreadful for your thoughts?” You glance up to see Yeosang sliding into the seat across from you, with a broad smile spread across his handsome face.

“Oh, hi!” you say, doing your best to not sound startled. “Just wondering when all of this will be over, you know?” you continue, waving your arms around.

“Yeah, this part of the process isn’t the most comfortable. But I understand why it’s necessary,” he comments while leaning forward on the table. “Have the others been respectful?”

“Oh, yes. Yeah, everyone has been nice. I’m learning how many students I’ve never spoken to before,” you reply lightheartedly.

"Shall we begin?" Yeosang asks with a playful glint in his eyes, nodding toward the paper resting between you on the table, waiting for your cue to dive in.

Just as he reaches to pick up the list of desires to discuss, his movement is halted by the sudden arrival of Wooyoung, whose presence instantly commands attention.

He strides up to your table with his usual confidence, a grin tugging at his lips. The conversation shifts before it even begins, as Wooyoung’s energy pulls both your attention toward him without saying a word.

Yeosang lowers the paper, his eyes flicking between you and Wooyoung, sensing the inevitable distraction.

“Father Blackmoor has requested your presence in the Anti-Sacristy,” Wooyoung announces, handing him a miniature scroll with a secret message.

Yeosang frowns while reading it over, “Please excuse me.”

"Of course, I hope everything's alright," you murmur, though your words go unheard as he's already on his feet, moving swiftly toward the door.

Watching Yeosang rush out, you suddenly realize Wooyoung is still standing there. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, and he tilts his head, studying you with a curious intensity.

"Seems like you require a partner," he says with a smirk, sliding effortlessly into Yeosang’s chair without missing a beat.

You’re too stunned to respond and shift uncomfortably in your seat, completely unsure of what to do in this situation. He’s not offering to go through the questionnaire, is he?

Somehow, you forgot that you would, at some point, have to converse with Wooyoung today. It entirely slipped your mind up until this moment. And now he’s here without giving you time to prepare. You start to breathe a little heavier, and a slight sense of panic sets in.

“Why are you acting like that?” He says with a raised eyebrow, noticing your bouncing leg (a nervous habit of yours that annoyingly shows up at the worst possible moments.)

“I’m not sure what you mean?” Well, yes, you do but you won’t admit that. But your hyperventilating and antsy body might tell a different story.

“Yeah, right,” he rolls his eyes.

Your eyes lock on Wooyoung’s as he casually picks up the page. Without waiting for your reaction, he glances at the list and reads off the first item, his voice smooth and confident.

"How does each party feel about blood play; drawing blood by use of knives or other sharp weaponry, smearing blood, using blood as a lubricant, and/or tasting blood?" he reads off, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he waits for your response.

"I acknowledge," you reply with hesitation in your voice, uncertain whether you’re truly opposed to it, yet not entirely sure if you fully consent either. “And you?”

Wooyoung tilts his head again, “Do you really need to ask?”

"You and I both know there are specific rules to follow here," you say, leaning back in your seat with your arms crossed, eyes fixed on him with a mixture of challenge and caution. And, if you’re being completely honest, there’s a hint of annoyance now too. The nervousness from earlier has vanished entirely.

“Fair enough,” "he replies with a nonchalant sigh, “I agree.”

It’s your turn to read off the next item. “Does each participating student consent to bringing in other parties to join and/or watch your sexual relations? And additionally, joining others.” You look up toward Wooyoung, already expecting him to agree to those terms.

“Decline,” he states firmly, his voice dropping an octave as he adds, “I don’t share.”

You try to mask your shock, but the expression slips through.

“Don’t look so surprised,” he huffs.

“Sorry,” you mumble, “I also decline.”

He nods curtly, and you swear you hear him mutter "good" under his breath.

You breeze through the next set of questions surprisingly fast, both providing the appropriate answers as you work your way down the page.

At first, Wooyoung seemed a bit disinterested, but something caused his attitude to shift. Now, he’s more engaged, genuinely listening to your reasonings whenever you offer it.

“Last question, how many sexual partners have each participating party had?”

As he finishes speaking, you narrow your eyes at him, “That question isn’t on the list.” You’ve practically memorized them all by now. “You’re making that up.”

“So? Answer anyway,” he dares.

You glare at him, silently debating whether or not you should tell the truth. “Screw it,” you exhale, “None.”

Instead of the shock or teasing you expect, he simply blinks at you, as if he already knew what your answer would be.

But how…

When you wake the next morning, butterflies are already fluttering in your stomach. At this point, it’s hard to judge who will end up courting you, though you have a pretty good idea that Yeosang is interested. When he returned after visiting Father Blackmoor, you two had quite a connection while going through the assessment list.

You’ll find out for sure when you make it to the Dining Hall the courting schedule will be pinned on the announcement board for everyone to view.

You decide to grab a pastry and wait for the crowd around the schedule to thin out before checking how many dates you will have today. To keep things relatively fair, each witch is only allowed to have up to five courting suitors. A flicker of nerves sets in—what if no one reserved one of your time slots?

For the love of Lucifer, please let me have at least one warlock courting me.

You shove the last bite into your mouth and make your way to the board, eager to find out. Peeking around the remaining heads blocking your view, you spot that two of your time slots have already been reserved. Just as you’re trying to make out the names, someone taps you on the shoulder.

“Ghoul morning, Y/N,” Yeosang says with a smile, handing you a card. Your heartbeat picks up, recognizing the formality; courting warlocks are required to provide the witches with a card that essentially confirms their date.

“Hi, Yeosang!” You beam. Praise Satan.

He looks relieved when you accept his card. “I was hoping to see you this morning. Meet me at the Weeping Willow at three o’clock this afternoon. I have a special activity planned for us.”

You’re about to respond when you can feel his presence. Turning to look over your shoulder, you see Wooyoung standing closely behind. He towers over you, staring down Yeosang.

“Do you need something?” you ask, bringing his attention back to you while silently begging that he’s not here to send Yeosang away again, like yesterday.

“Yes,” he extends a hand, offering you a card. You stare at it in disbelief. He’s not here to steal Yeosang; he’s stealing you.

Wooyoung is your other suitor.

“I believe you’re meant to spend the morning with me.” Wooyoung’s eyes drift from yours and back to Yeosang’s, who tenses beside you. They seem to have a silent exchange of words.

“I see,” Yeosang says curtly, “Enjoy your time together.”

Before you have a chance to say anything Yeosang already disappears. Damn it.

“Come on, follow me,” Wooyoung demands while grabbing your wrist. He leads you down the dim, shadowy hallways of the school before picking up the pace as you leave the safety of the school, heading into the woods.

The thick trees close in around you, and the air feels heavier with each step. Fog swirls at your feet but mysteriously clears a path ahead of him like it knows exactly where he's going. You follow, feeling the cool, damp air cling to your skin. The deeper you go, the more unfamiliar the landscape becomes—you don’t recognize this part of the woods at all, and a strange sense of unease settles over you.

“Bloody heaven, where are you taking me?” you huff, doing your best to keep up with his long strides.

“You’ll see,” he grumbles, helping you up when you trip over an exposed tree root. “Can you stop tripping every five seconds? You’re slowing us down, and we’re on a time crunch.”

You glare at the back of his head as he speeds up. What a dick.

It’s not long before you arrive at the destination; it’s a stone table in the middle of the woods. You look around suspiciously. “Is this a ritual site? Are you planning on killing me for some weird sacrificial thing now that you know I’m a virgin, or…?”

Wooyoung bursts out laughing, “The thought hadn’t crossed my mind, actually. This is a portal.”

“A portal? To where?” you ask, peering at the stone. It doesn’t look like any portal you’ve ever seen.

“Want to find out?” he offers a hand for you to take, and you grab it warily.

He places his other hand on the stone, and its magic instantly pulls you through the atmosphere, sending you spiraling toward an unknown destination.

When you land, your feet hit the damp cobblestone street with a soft thud. The air smells of rain and baked goods, and you take in the bustling scene around you—witches and warlocks are flowing in and out of quaint little shops that line both sides of the road, their chatter filling the air. The street is alive with energy, and everything looks both foreign and strangely charming.

Before you can fully absorb it all, Wooyoung tugs you along, his grip firm as your head swivels, trying to figure out exactly where you’ve been transported to. The unfamiliar cityscape seems like a dream, its details slipping through your grasp as you hurry to keep up.

Suddenly, you collide with his back, not realizing he has stopped. "Ouch," you mutter, rubbing your nose in surprise. You’re about to say more when something above catches your eye—the sign swinging in the breeze.

"Trahana’s Tomb!" you squeal, excitement bubbling up. For ages, you've wanted to visit this place, but something always got in the way. Now, here it is, right in front of you, and the thrill of finally arriving sends a rush through you.

Trahana is a renowned sorceress and writer known for her vast collection of grimoires, enchanted artifacts, and other rare occult items—many of which are now on display and for sale at her legendary store. You've been itching to get your hands on her coveted Book of Arcane Beasts, a tome filled with forbidden knowledge of magical creatures, their histories, and untold powers.

Wooyoung holds the door open for you, and without a second thought, you dash inside. Your eyes widen as you take in the towering shelves crammed with both ancient and new books. Every corner of the shop is overflowing with enchanted curiosities.

At the back of the shop, a narrow, spiraling staircase catches your eye. It likely leads to an upper level filled with even more treasures waiting to be explored. The thought of what might be hidden beyond tempts you, adding to the growing sense of wonder.

"Oh, my sweet, evil boy! How are you?"

You turn to see a tall, elegant woman pinching Wooyoung’s cheeks with an affectionate grin.

He swats her hands away, groaning, "Aunt Hana, you know I hate when you do that. I’m not five anymore."

She laughs, unbothered by his protest. "Oh, you'll always be the stubborn young warlock playing with the Acheron Configuration upstairs even when told it was off limits," she teases, her eyes twinkling with the memory. “Goddess knows how many hours you spent trying to crack that spell.”

She shifts her gaze to you, giving you a quick once-over before raising an eyebrow. "Don’t be rude, Wooyoung. Introduce me to your friend."

Wooyoung rolls his eyes, "Forgive me. This is Y/N, another student at Onyx Academy. Y/N, meet Trahana, the curator of this fine establishment and, unfortunately, my insufferable aunt."

Trahana smirks, ignoring his jab. "Charmed, I’m sure," she says, her eyes glinting with curiosity as she sizes you up.

"I need to get back to work, but it was a pleasure meeting you, darling," Trahana says with a warm smile, her voice dripping with a mix of elegance and mystery. She gives you one last appraising look before turning away, her long robes sweeping the floor as she glides effortlessly toward the front of the store. The air feels lighter without her presence, yet the sense of power she carries lingers, leaving you a little awestruck.

You gape at him once she’s out of earshot. "She’s your aunt?"

Wooyoung sighs, nodding with exaggerated patience. "Yes, I’m painfully aware."

"That’s so cool. So you spent a lot of time here growing up?" you ask, curious to learn more about him.

"Yeah," Wooyoung replies, glancing around the shop with a hint of nostalgia. "My parents traveled a lot for business when I was younger, so this place became like a second home. Now, I come back whenever I need a break from school. Plus, it’s a great place to study; there's something peaceful about the chaos here compared to the eerie silence of Onyx Academy’s library."

"That makes sense," you say, nodding as your fingers trail across the spines of the old books lining the tight aisle. The dust, the energy, and the soft hum of magic in the air make the shop feel alive, the perfect contrast to the academy’s cold, quiet halls. "I can see why you'd find this place comforting."

Wooyoung smiles, clearly more relaxed here than you've ever seen him. "It’s got a strange kind of charm, doesn’t it?" he says, his voice softer now as the two of you meander through the maze of shelves, discovering little pieces of history with every step.

He allows you to explore the shelves, letting you dive into the books that capture your interest. As you lean down to examine the aged pages, he watches as a loose strand of hair slips across your face, and you absently tuck it behind your ear.

"Can I show you something?" he asks, gently drawing you away from the book that’s captivated your attention.

You glance up at him, and to your surprise, he almost seems nervous. It’s a rare sight for someone who usually exudes such confidence. There’s a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, making you curious about what he wants to show you.

Nodding, you allow him to lead you toward another bookshelf two aisles away from where you were just standing. His gaze flicks across the titles, searching for something specific.

"Ah, here it is," he finally says, lifting his arm to reveal a book with a deep blue spine. You hear a soft click as he pulls it out slightly, followed by a faint unlocking sound. With a practiced motion, he shifts down to another shelf and pulls out a book with a green spine. To your astonishment, the entire bookcase creaks ominously before revealing a secret door.

"This whole day just keeps getting stranger by the minute. Is this another portal?" you ask, a mix of skepticism and humor in your voice.

Wooyoung grins playfully. "As entertaining as that would be, no. It’s not a portal. It’s my secret place."

You turn to look at him. "See, now that’s kind of worse. Now I really don’t want to go in." The idea of stepping into his hidden sanctuary feels more daunting than the prospect of another magical journey.

He gives you a look.

“Okay, fine. In I go,” you say, taking a step closer before reaching for the cold handle. As you turn it and push the door open, you peer into the darkness beyond, straining to gauge what lies within. And, if you have to be completely honest, wondering why it needs to be hidden away.

Wooyoung steps inside after you, snapping his fingers to conjure his magic. A bright orb of light flickers to life, glowing softly at first. As he guides it upward, it gradually brightens and rises to the center of the room, illuminating the hidden space with a warm, inviting glow. The walls are revealed and adorned with eclectic decorations and mysterious photographs, creating an enchanting and haunting atmosphere.

"What is this place?" you ask, your curiosity piqued as you step closer to a nearby table and spot a stack of photographs. You pick up the first few, admiring the artistic shots of a plant you recognize from your walks through the Darkwood—it's a Moonset Fern, captured in full bloom. You remember learning about it in Herbology 101 last year; it’s renowned for its ability to protect against ill-will spells.

Intrigued, you skim through the rest of the stack. Each photo showcases different plants, all with potent herbal properties, their images so carefully composed they almost seem to pulse with hidden power.

“So,” Wooyoung says nervously, “What do you think?”

“Of the photographs? I think they’re beautiful. You took these?” He nods. “I didn’t know you had an interest in photography. Or Herbology, for that matter.”

"It’s a secret interest. Obviously," Wooyoung says, gesturing around the room to emphasize his point. "Unfortunately, Father Blackmoor thinks it’s a complete waste of time. To him, this is the work of a lesser warlock." The distaste is evident in his voice, like the words themselves leave a bitter taste in his mouth. "He’d rather I focus on proving my potential to become the youngest Anti-Pope."

"Do you believe him?" you ask, watching his reaction closely.

"Am I even allowed to believe any different?" he replies, his tone a mix of resignation and defiance. He picks up a different stack of photos and flips through them, each holding a distant memory of a time he felt genuine joy.

"Part of me wishes I wasn’t destined for this life—that I had the power to shape my own future," Wooyoung admits, his voice heavy with conflicted emotion. "But then the other half of me hates myself for even thinking like that, especially after everything my family has sacrificed to get me here." His gaze drops, the weight of expectation clearly pressing down on him, caught between desire and duty.

“No one in the history of The Church of Night has ever turned down a position of power once they've received the proper training and hold the necessary status,” he continues, his tone growing darker. "I can’t even imagine the consequences of rejecting something like that." The mere thought seems to weigh on him, defying centuries of tradition would unravel everything—not just for him, but for everyone tied to his legacy.

“That’s a frustrating position to be forced into. Though, I hate to admit I’m jealous.”

His head snaps up, eyes locking onto yours, confusion and a flicker of anger etched across his face.

"I’ve spent my whole life not knowing what my future will look like," you begin, your voice tight with emotion. “I have all this power, yet no one can explain why I have it or what I’m supposed to do with it. I don’t have even the slightest clue where I’ll end up in life, so yeah, from that standpoint, I am a bit jealous of your situation," you admit, a hint of envy creeping into your voice.

As you speak, the anger in his expression gradually fades, replaced by a quiet understanding. His features soften, and you can see him truly considering your words, letting them sink in.

"At least you have a clear path laid out for you, even if it’s not exactly what you want. I’m still stumbling around, trying to figure out what my purpose even is. But even then..." your tone softens slightly, "If I were you, I wouldn’t let my sense of duty smother the passion I feel for another study—even if it’s an uncommon path for someone in my position.”

You begin again, your voice steady with conviction, "The Dark Lord wouldn’t have put this path in front of you if there wasn’t something here worth discovering. I’d bet there’s a connection between each path, and maybe, just maybe, you’re meant to do something with both. Something no one else has thought of yet.”

Wooyoung hadn’t thought of that.

“That’s just my two cents,” you sigh, setting the photos down and walking over to the next table with hundreds more to look through.

One photo in the middle of the pile catches your eye, standing out in a way the others don’t. You can’t quite place the plant; it’s unfamiliar, yet stirs a sense of deep nostalgia. It’s a rich olive green, with spiny stems and sharply pointed leaves giving it a menacing look. But what truly captivates you is the ethereal purple aura surrounding it, shimmering faintly, like the plant itself is alive with ancient magic. Something about it feels important, though you can’t recall ever seeing it before.

"It’s a Ghost Violaceae," Wooyoung murmurs softly, leaning in close over your shoulder. His breath is warm against your ear as he speaks, his voice slightly raspy. "It’s commonly used in the art of seduction." His words hang in the air, as mysterious as the plant itself, and the subtle intensity in his tone makes the air between you suddenly feel different.

Wooyoung would do unspeakable things to know the thoughts swirling in your mind right now. He’s desperate to unravel what it is that made you blush so fiercely, what’s causing your heart to race and your breath to quicken.

You turn slightly, looking up at him with your lips parted. Wooyoung tilts his head, his eyes sparkling as he tries to decipher the emotions playing across your face. There's a flicker of curiosity in your gaze, his focus sharpening as he leans in just a fraction closer…

The sudden ringing of a timer blares through the silence, startling you both. Your head snaps toward the sound and you see a stopwatch floating in midair, its rhythmic ticking a clear reminder that your time is almost up. It’s time to return to Onyx Academy to prepare for your next session with Yeosang.

Beside you, Wooyoung tenses, the atmosphere immediately changing. The warmth in his eyes vanishes as quickly as it has surfaced, replaced by the cold, guarded demeanor he typically fronts. His walls shoot back up, and just like that, the brief vulnerability between you disappears.

Blair eyes you curiously, her black feathers ruffled while she senses the secret you’re holding back. She’s perched on a low branch, watching as you wait beneath the cascading limbs of the Weeping Willow. You’ve arrived early, not finding any solace in the silence of your room after returning to campus. Yeosang should be here any minute, but the unease from earlier lingers.

Wooyoung had barely spoken after the stopwatch appeared, his mood darkening as he grudgingly led you back to the portal. He rushed you through without a word, his steps heavy with frustration, and stormed off toward the church once back on school grounds without so much as a goodbye.

You’ve been trying to clear your mind, focusing your energy on the upcoming session with Yeosang, but the tension from Wooyoung still simmers under the surface. You take a deep breath, determined to push it aside and give Yeosang your full attention. He deserves it.

Blair lets out a sharp caw before taking off into the sky, disappearing into the distance as soon as she senses his presence. She knows to give you your privacy, leaving you alone just as he approaches.

“Oh, you’re here already,” Yeosang says, a bit surprised to see you already by the willows. He steps forward, his happy expression growing as he extends a bouquet of dried wine-colored roses, elegantly tied with a black ribbon.

“These are for you.”

Your breath catches at the sight of them. "These are gorgeous. Thank you—wow," you say, smiling while gently taking the bouquet from his hands. The gesture feels intimate, the deep red petals catching the light as you admire them, warmth blooming in your chest at the unexpected kindness.

“You’re welcome. Do you want to apparate them to your room?” Yeosang suggests.

“That’s a good idea, actually,” you reply, lifting the bouquet in front of you. With a soft hum, you recite the incantation, watching as the flowers shimmer and disappear, transporting them to your bedside table in an instant.

“There,” you smile, “Now they’ll be waiting for me when I get back.”

“We have a short walk to our destination. If you’ll follow me?” Yeosang guides you up a path behind the willow grove, the incline leading to a breathtaking view of the Darkwood below. The forest stretches endlessly, its shadowy canopy glittering with ancient magic.

"Do you mind waiting here?" he asks, rubbing the back of his neck, a hint of nerves flickering across his face. "I thought I'd have a little more time to set things up."

You smile softly. "I don’t mind at all."

Relieved, he excuses himself, disappearing back down the trail to retrieve whatever surprise he has planned. The minutes pass in peaceful quiet, the cool air brushing against your skin. You close your eyes, enjoying the moment, until a faint rustling behind you interrupts the calm energy. You glance over your shoulder, seeing nothing, and shrug it off—probably just the wind.

But then, movement at the edge of the tree line catches your eye, a shadowy figure slipping between the trees.

You step cautiously toward the movement, your heart beating a little faster with each quiet footstep. The air seems to thicken as you approach, a soft rustling continuing just beyond the nearest tree. You steady yourself, taking a slow breath before rounding the massive trunk.

Face to face with the culprit, you freeze—a pair of wide, curious eyes staring back at you. It's a small, ethereal creature, almost like a fox but with wisps of glowing mist trailing from its fur. Its translucent body shimmers faintly under the dappled light filtering through the trees.

You exhale in relief, it’s just another familiar. The creature’s gentle gaze is more inquisitive than threatening; and she tilts her head, trying to decide whether to flee or come closer, her silver eyes studying you with an almost childlike curiosity. The creature soon takes off, before you have a chance to ask who they belong to.

As you turn around, a startled cry escapes your lips—Wooyoung is standing just inches from you, his presence completely unexpected.

"What are you doing here?" you snap, your hand instinctively flying to your chest, trying to calm your racing heart.

"I'm not really here. Just astral projecting. And who’s to say I wasn’t here first?"

You cross your arms, glaring at him, clearly unimpressed.

"Okay, fine. Maybe I wasn’t here first," he concedes with a shrug, his smirk faltering under your withering stare.

"Yeosang is going to be back any second," you warn, narrowing your eyes. "Are you here to spy on us?"

"Pfff... no..." he says, though the lack of conviction in his voice makes you roll your eyes.

"Lame," you mutter, watching his poorly veiled attempt at denial fall apart. He shifts awkwardly under your gaze, clearly caught.

“I don’t like that you’re alone with him.”

“Why?”

“I told you already. I. Don’t. Share.”

“You can’t be serious,” you say, narrowing your eyes. “Is this just some kind of game? Are you playing with me because you don’t want Yeosang to have me? What is it, Wooyoung? You haven’t given me a second thought until two days ago.”

“It’s not like that—" Wooyoung starts, but the sound of rustling interrupts him, cutting his sentence short. Both of you turn, startled, as Yeosang emerges from the trees. His eyes sweep the clearing, looking for you since you aren’t standing where he left you. When he spots you, he smiles and approaches, carrying a woven basket in one arm and a blanket in the other.

You glance back toward Wooyoung, but he’s already vanished. Typical, slipping away before finishing what he started. Maybe he’s glad for the escape before you can grill him any further.

“Looking for something?”

‘More like someone,’ you think to yourself. “Oh sorry, I thought I saw a familiar, but it ran off,” you explain, brushing off the awkward moment. “So, what’s all this?” You gesture to the basket, quickly shifting the conversation before Yeosang has a chance to ask anything.

He grins, glancing down at his hands, a bit shy. "I hope you like picnics. I thought we could enjoy some treats and maybe get to know each other better."

“That sounds lovely,” you reply warmly.

Yeosang carefully picks a spot, spreading the blanket and the two of you sit side by side, the breathtaking view of the Darkwood stretching out below. There’s something serene about the quiet between you, the moment brimming with peaceful anticipation.

He sets the basket in front of you, lifting the lid to reveal an array of colorful sweets, the soft glow of the late afternoon sun reflecting off the glass jars inside. You notice delicate pastries, chocolates, and sugared fruits arranged neatly.

“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I brought a little of everything,” Yeosang says, his voice low but sincere.

Your heart warms at the gesture. "You’ve really outdone yourself,” you praise, picking up one of the pastries for yourself and offering another to him.

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you decide to bring up the scroll from yesterday. "I didn’t want to pry, but you left in such a rush yesterday. Was everything alright?" you ask before taking a bite.

Yeosang chuckles softly, as if amused by the memory. "Funny you should ask. Turns out, when I arrived at Father Blackmoor’s office, he had no idea what I was talking about. No urgent scroll was sent for me. But he thought it was good timing and wanted to discuss my plans for after I complete my time at the academy."

Your curiosity piques further. "And those plans are...?" you press, hoping he’ll open up.

Yeosang hesitates briefly, but then, with a slight smile, he reveals, "I’d like to teach, maybe. My father was a teacher, and he always said I had the same qualities. Plus, I love kids. I think teaching them the basics of magic—the very foundation of what they'll need for the rest of their lives—would be important work."

A soft breeze ruffles the edges of the blanket, and you can’t help but smile at his answer. "That sounds perfect for you. I can already picture you as a great mentor."

The rest of your evening with Yeosang flies by in a blur of conversation and quiet moments spent enjoying the view. Before you know it, he's walking you back to the dormitories. He hesitates as you both stop outside the door to the girls' dorms, clearly lingering on something unsaid.

"I just want you to know," he starts, shifting nervously, "that regardless of what happens tomorrow at the Matching Ceremony, I had a lovely time tonight. I'll see you tomorrow then."

Before you can respond, he leans down and presses a soft kiss on your cheek. "Goodnight, Y/N."

You barely manage to mumble a “goodnight” back, still caught in the trance from the warmth of his lips against your skin. As you make your way up to your room, your heart feels light, and you can’t help but smile even wider when you notice the flowers he gave you earlier—now arranged beautifully in a vase on your nightstand.

But something else catches your eye—a small, glimmering box sitting on your bed, illuminated by the soft glow of moonlight. You walk over to it and find a note attached in handwriting you immediately recognize.

Not a game to me – W

Your breath hitches as you find the book you had been eyeing earlier—the one Wooyoung had distracted you from in Trahana’s shop—alongside the newest edition of The Book of Arcane Beasts. Tucked neatly between the pages are a few of the photographs from his secret room; the ones you had admired without realizing he noticed.

Your heart races as you hold the items in your hands, the meaning of his gesture sinking in. It’s not just a game. Whatever this is with Wooyoung, it’s something real. And now, you're more conflicted than ever.

Yeosang steps closer to the flames that surge in the iron vessel before him, casting flickering shadows across his face while he waits. If you look closely, shapes begin to form within the flames, dancing and twisting as though something is being forged in the heat. A sudden flare of sparks erupts from the fire—it's ready.

With a steady hand, he pulls an envelope from the fire. The edges of the paper are still smoldering while he opens it with precision, watching as the magic ink slowly manifests on the paper, revealing a name.

You notice a brief, almost imperceptible frown cross his face, but it vanishes just as quickly. “Polly Petrify,” he announces smoothly, his voice steady, betraying nothing as he steps back into place.

Father Blackmoor gives a solemn nod, signaling his approval of the pairing.

The Church is packed for the Matching Ceremony, and a mix of excitement and nervous energy ripples through the crowd. The warlocks stand in front of the filled pews, their postures rigid and unreadable, while the witches occupy the first two rows of seats, eyes flickering with anticipation.

You sit among them, your heart sinking as Yeosang’s name is paired with another witch. The knot in your chest tightens, but before you have time to register how you truly feel, Wooyoung steps forward.

It’s his turn.

Time stretches unbearably as his fingers hover over the glowing envelope that emerges from the flames. He grasps it carefully, tearing it open before pulling out the slip of paper, the suspense in the room thickening with every second.

At least a dozen witches sit in eager anticipation, each one hopeful, their eyes flicking toward the altar, silently praying that their name will be the one called.

You watch his face intently, almost holding your breath.

The moment he reads the name, a subtle smile curls at the corner of his lips, making him look effortlessly gorgeous. His inky black hair falls in perfect disarray, and the deep blue sweater he’s wearing brings out a distinctive glimmer in his eyes—it’s definitely his color.

As he steps back in line to let the next warlock take their turn, you realize that you completely missed whose name he just called. You’ve been too busy gawking to notice. Leaning toward the witch beside you, you whisper, “Whose name did he say?”

She shoots you a scowl and snaps, “Yours.”

Your heart skips a beat, and your gaze whips back up front. Wooyoung catches your eye and quickly winks, the gesture playful yet it’s enough to send a wave of heat rushing through you. Your pulse races and every nerve in your body is suddenly aware of his presence. The world around you fades for a second, the reality of the situation sinking in—he chose you.

It feels like all the oxygen has been sucked from the room. Your chest tightens, and it’s taking every ounce of control not to claw at your neck in search of air. You can’t tell if your racing heart is a sign of excitement, fear, or a mixture of both.

The pairing results swirl through your mind as you try to process how you feel about Wooyoung having been paired with you. You know that the warlocks have some say in their pairing preference, but the decision is ultimately up to Father Blackmoor and The Dark Lord.

But there’s no time to dwell on it now—you have a performance to focus on. As the rest of the ceremony wraps up, the witches, including yourself, are expected to sing I Put A Spell On You.

You walk up to the front of the church with the other witches, your heart still hammering in your chest. You can feel Wooyoung’s gaze searing into you from across the room, but you refuse to meet his eyes. You know that if you do, you’ll stumble over the lyrics or worse, completely forget your part.

With every note of the song, you force yourself to remain composed. Your voice blends with the others, the melody haunting, filling the ancient church with an enchanting resonance. The weight of his stare lingers, but you resist the pull until the very end. Only when the final note fades and you’re walking back to your seat do you glance his way. His eyes are still on you, but there’s something different about his expression now—intense, unreadable.

Father Blackmoor steps forward as the ceremony winds down, his voice ringing through the dimly lit room. “Remember, paired witches and warlocks are strictly forbidden from seeing each other until tomorrow evening when you’ll all meet in the Darkwood for the Moon Ritual. Ghoul evening to you all.”

The church stirs with hushed whispers and rustling bodies as everyone begins to disperse. But you remain in place for a moment, your mind tangled in the events that have unfolded. Tomorrow promises even more mystery, and the thought of it sends another shiver down your spine.

You follow the large group down the path toward the heart of the academy’s campus, their excited chatter buzzing in the crisp evening air. But as they veer toward the dining hall, you quietly part ways, taking steps in the opposite direction toward a different building.

The heavy wooden doors creak as you push them open, and the familiar scent of ancient tomes and aged parchment envelops you.

The sanctum, the private library for advanced students like yourself, is nearly deserted tonight, making it the perfect place to find peace in the aftermath of the ceremony. The usual hum of magic is calming and the near-silence offers a much-needed space to clear your mind.

You make your way to the Demonology section, where the dim light and towering shelves create a cocoon of solitude. Finding an empty seat, you settle in, snapping your fingers to summon your books. In an instant, they materialize on the table before you, pages full of dark knowledge waiting to be absorbed.

Despite it being Lupercalia season, the academic grind doesn’t stop. Your upcoming exams loom over you like a dark cloud, and no amount of supernatural matchmaking will change that.

You run your fingers over the spines of your books, mentally preparing yourself to dive into study mode. The familiar words of your Demonology texts are grounding, a reminder of the discipline and focus you need to maintain.

The sanctum is quiet tonight, only the soft sound of pages turning and the occasional whispered incantation breaking the silence. You try to focus on the words in front of you, but your mind keeps drifting back to Wooyoung—his voice, his gaze, the gift he left in your room. You shake your head, pushing the thoughts aside. There will be time for all that later. For now, you need to concentrate.

Time passes and after finishing a few chapters, you glance at your watch, eyes widening in surprise. Three hours have flown by. Blair is going to be furious that you’re late to feed her. Scribbling down a final note, you snap your fingers, sending your books back to your room before heading out of the sanctum.

As you step outside, you collide with someone. "Oh, I’m so sorry!" you stammer, glancing up to apologize, only to be met with familiar eyes twinkling beneath tousled black hair.

Wooyoung.

“You’re forgiven,” he says smoothly.

"We’re not supposed to see each other," you remind him, taking a cautious step back.

He tilts his head, smirking too, just like he always does. "I know, but you skipped dinner, and there’s something I’ve been dying to do since yesterday."

"What? Stalk me some more?" you quip, feeling a rare surge of confidence.

His smirk spreads into a full smile, and to your delight, he chuckles—a sound you’ve secretly grown to love. Your heart pounds faster.

"You wish," he shoots back, his eyes gleaming as he steps closer. The intensity in his gaze feels almost magnetic, as if he's looking right through you, straight into your soul. His nostrils flare with a sharp exhale, and you can’t help but wonder what’s going through his mind.

“What are you doing?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper as he takes yet another step closer.

He doesn't answer. Instead, with one smooth motion, he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you toward him. His touch is firm, but there’s a softness to the way his fingers splay across your back. You feel your pulse quicken, your breath hitching in your throat.

“This is breaking the rules,” you whisper, trying to find an ounce of self-control to step out of his embrace.

His proximity overwhelms your senses—the warmth of his body, the way his breath tickles your skin, and the undeniable connection crackling between you two. He tilts his head slightly, the smirk on his lips fading into something more serious, more dangerous.

“I don’t break the rules, I just bend them,” he rasps, his voice low and teasing, right before he closes the space between you. The moment his lips brush against yours, you freeze, caught off guard by the softness, the tenderness as he coaxes you into responding. His mouth moves gently, skillfully, as if testing the waters, daring you to give in.

A frenzy stirs inside you, an electric current surging through your veins. Your hands instinctively move to frame his face, your fingers sliding along the sharp lines of his jaw before tangling in his soft, messy hair. The kiss deepens, the intensity building with every second as you press yourself closer to him, losing yourself in the heat of the moment.

You can’t get enough; the taste of him, the way his breath mingles with yours, and the undeniable pull that has your body responding before your mind can catch up. His other hand slides under your shirt and up your spine, anchoring you to him as if he never wants to let go.

Wooyoung mumbles an incantation against your lips before tickling the corners with his tongue. You’re too distracted to recall what he said, especially when you feel it.

Heat begins to radiate from his fingers, searing into your skin. It flows through your body until it hits your sweet spot, pooling dangerously between your legs.

You gasp against his mouth, and he uses the opportunity to dip his tongue inside, swallowing your moans as you let them slip out. Pressing your legs together, you try to find any sort of friction, aching for something to relieve the growing pressure.

A sinful sound vibrates from his chest when you bite down on his lower lip ever so gently. You have to admit, the thought of kissing him has crossed your mind more times than you can count. But now, standing here with the taste of him on your lips, you realize the reality is so much better than anything your imagination could have conjured.

He’s more intoxicating than any dream could ever be. Every touch sends a thrill through you that no fantasy could ever match. The way he knows exactly what you like leaves you yearning for more in a way that feels almost addictive.

Blair caws, cutting through the shadows of the night and announcing her arrival with impeccable timing. You both jolt, breaking apart as if the spell between you has been abruptly shattered.

“Ghoul evening, Blair,” Wooyoung mutters, his voice still thick with the lingering tension. He glances at the raven-like figure perched nearby, an amused glint flickering in his eyes. “It’s a good thing you arrived when you did,” he adds, his tone teasing. He looks down at you, pleased with how dissolved your shirt looks, how pouty your wet lips are from your nefarious activities.

He takes a step back, quickly smoothing down his hair and adjusting his clothes, his fingers lingering at his collar as he regains his usual composure. You, on the other hand, are still catching your breath, feeling the flush in your cheeks and the electric hum of the moment that lingers in the space between you.

Give me a little privacy to say goodbye, and I’ll give you extra treats for your late dinner, you say telepathically to Blair. She tilts her head, considering the offer, before finally cawing in agreement and taking off into the night, clearly satisfied with the deal.

“I want you to try something tonight,” Wooyoung murmurs, his voice low and full of mischief. His eyes glint with something dark and thrilling, sending a shiver down your spine. “When you’re alone in bed and everyone else is asleep…”

Your heart races while he speaks.

“I want you to pretend that your hands are my own, and I want you to touch yourself where you felt my magic earlier.”

“E-excuse me?” you stammer, your heart racing as you try to find the right words.

He grins, leaning in just enough for you to feel the heat radiating from him. “Trust me, you’ll like it,” he teases, his voice like velvet. “I need you to warm yourself up for me, so you’re ready to learn more tomorrow night. Will you do that for me?”

You nod, a shiver running across your skin as his words linger in the air.

“Now, get out of here and go feed Blair before you wake up tomorrow missing your eyes,” he adds with a playful smirk.

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress a smile. “Fine, see you later.”

“Yes, you will,” he says with a wink, watching as you turn to leave, his gaze heavy on you the entire way.

His words linger in your mind for the rest of the night.

It's now the witching hour, and your roommates are fast asleep, blissfully unaware of the potion you slipped into their bedtime tea. They never noticed the subtle, earthy undertones masking the spell’s effects, leaving them in a deep slumber for the next several hours.

It had to be done, the last thing you need is for one of them to wake and catch you in the act, especially while you're carrying out Wooyoung’s special request.

Under the safety of your blankets, you move quietly, as if any sudden movement could betray your secret. One hand begins to massage your breasts through your thin tank top, the other sliding down toward your pink panties.

Taking a deep breath, you open your legs, allowing your fingers to slip beneath the dampening fabric. After spreading your juices around, you rub your clit before slowly dipping your first finger into your slick entrance. The sensation is unfamiliar—neither bad nor uncomfortable, just something you're not used to. The pain of the stretch lingers, leaving a strange warmth that you can't quite place.

You close your eyes and pretend that Wooyoung is there with you. Swiftly, you begin to curl your fingers, simultaneously bucking into your hand. You picture him hovering over you, but the image clouds over, shifting into a different scene that becomes sharper.

Wooyoung is also in bed, with his hand wrapped around his exposed, thick cock, lazily pumping it. There’s something unsettlingly vivid about this image, as if it’s not just a product of your imagination. It feels real—too real. Gasping, you realize that he’s in your head, projecting himself, revealing his presence in a way that makes your heart race.

Then, as if he can sense that you've finally caught on to his wicked scheme, a dark smile tugs at the corner of his lips, the kind that makes your body’s temperature spike. “Are you touching yourself, like I asked you to?”

You suck in a sharp breath and nod instinctively, even though you know he can’t physically see you. But somehow, you sense that he knows.

“I bet you are,” he hums, closing his eyes while running his thumb over his pink head. He tosses his head back as he strokes himself, “I bet that tight little virgin cunt of yours needs some good stretching before she’s ready for me.”

Feeling the heat rising to the tips of your ears, they’re red from the weight of his words, like they’re wrapping themselves around you, pulling you deeper into his influence. The knot in your lower belly grows as you match your little finger thrusts to the speed of his hand pumps.

“Add another finger, honey, I know you can,” Wooyoung groans, his hand moving a little faster. “Look at how my cock aches to be sunk inside your sweet folds.”

You do as he commands. You’re panting at this point; completely zeroed in on his throbbing length while you climb towards bliss. The silent room fills with a sinful pattern of squelches from each thrust into your lush heat, and a divine sensation washes over you.

“Goddess, I’m about to make a mess,” he whines, a sound that you’ll never be able to forget. He stills, letting out another beautiful noise while his seed shoots out across his abs, some even on his dark silk sheets.

“That’s just a preview,” he grins devilishly, “Sleep well, Y/N.”

"Many blessings," Father Blackmoor's voice rings out, reverberating through the towering trees of the Darkwood. "Tonight, we honor the Moon and her radiant beauty. Paired couples, please step forward to collect your basket."

You step forward cautiously, aware of Wooyoung’s presence close behind you. As your fingers brush the edge of the woven basket, Wooyoung’s arm reaches past you, his hand closing around it first. His body hovers briefly against yours, a faint smile curving his lips. Sucking in a sharp breath, you pull your hand back as your mind flashes back to last night, Wooyoung’s cock is still fresh in your mind.

"Each basket contains a ceremonial knife," Father Blackmoor continues, his tone solemn. "You will begin the rite by smearing your blood upon your partner's forehead. Then, you must drink the purification potion—the milky-colored vial—and consume the figs, symbolizing your unity. Under the moonlight, you will lie side by side until dawn, as a testament to your bond and in preparation for tomorrow’s Hunt."

His final words hang in the cool night air as the forest seems to hush in reverence for what’s to come. You glance up at Wooyoung, and his eyes are already on you, dark and unreadable, only reflecting the moonlight.

As the other couples start to spread out across the forest, Wooyoung’s hand finds yours, tugging you deeper into the woods. His steps are quiet, purposeful, as the towering trees close in around you both. Your attention snaps forward when you catch a glimpse of movement—there, not far ahead, the same fox-like creature you spotted by the willows. The realization dawns on you: it’s Wooyoung’s familiar.

The creature moves gracefully, leading the way through the underbrush, its magical fur shimmering under the pale moonlight. Wooyoung follows without hesitation, his gaze fixed on his familiar. You trail behind, curiosity building, as the creature guides you to a secluded clearing hidden deep in the Darkwood.

“Thank you, Vixen,” Wooyoung murmurs once you’ve arrived. The fox-like familiar halts briefly, then glimmers before fading into the air, leaving behind a trail of glowing embers that slowly dissipate into the night.

Your eyes scan the clearing, and you notice the scene in front of you—a circle of softly flickering candles arranged around a blanket spread across the forest floor. The air hums with quiet magic, thick with mystery and anticipation. Wooyoung turns to you, his eyes glinting in the candlelight, a mischievous yet unreadable expression crossing his face.

Wooyoung extends his hand to you, his touch firm yet gentle as he helps you step onto the soft blanket. With a single snap of his fingers, your clothes transform—yours into a sheer white nightgown, his into simple black pants, with his chest left bare, the candlelight casting shadows over his defined muscles.

“Ready to begin?” he asks, voice low, eyes holding a flicker of something dangerous yet enticing.

You nod, your breath catching for a moment. Reaching into the basket set down beside him, your fingers curl around the cool metal of the ceremonial blade. Together, your voices join in a low, rhythmic chant, weaving through the night air. The ritual words hang heavy between you as you press the blade to your finger, feeling the sharp sting as blood wells up. Stepping closer, you bring your hand to his forehead, smearing an upside-down cross on his tanned skin, the blood vivid against his complexion.

Without a word, you hand the blade to Wooyoung, your fingers brushing his in the exchange. He mimics your actions, the cool sting of the knife barely registering as he pricks his finger, marking your forehead with the same crimson anti-cross. The flames around you leap higher, responding to the magic building in your chant.

The moonlight glistens against his skin, bathing him in an ethereal glow as he lifts the purification potion from the basket. He drinks deeply, eyes never leaving yours, and then hands the vial to you. You take it from him, your pulse quickening as you lift it to your lips, the magic binding you both growing stronger with each word, each action.

His eyes darken; trailing over your nearly naked body. They land on your peaked nipples, and he lets out a deep exhale while his eyes are glued in place.

“Um, figs,” Wooyoung clears his throat, momentarily dazed, shaking his head as if to regain focus. He grabs one from the basket, handing you the other. You sink your teeth into the fruit’s tender skin, its bright red flesh spilling a sweet, rich juice onto your lips. A single drop escapes and trails down your chin, and you catch Wooyoung watching, his gaze lingering longer than usual. But he doesn’t say a word. Not yet.

You quickly wipe away the juice, trying to ignore the flush creeping up your neck. “So… what now?” you ask, your voice more uncertain than you intended. You’ve both completed the ritual, but the tension between you is undeniable. Neither of you has acknowledged last night’s activities, though you’re certain it’ll come up eventually. It has to.

He shifts slightly, his eyes scanning your face, and for a moment, it seems like he’s about to bring it up. His lips twitch into a half-smile, “I’ve got an idea or two.”

You’re not sure how it happened—one moment you’re standing, the next you’re lying beneath him. Wooyoung hovers above you, his arms on either side of your head, eyes gleaming with that familiar intensity. His body is close enough to feel the heat radiating off him, and your pulse quickens as his breath brushes against your skin.

Without notice, his lips crash down onto yours. He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, moaning when your hands twist in his hair.

He presses his hips down into yours, letting you feel how worked up he’s already become.

“We're technically not supposed to do anything tonight,” Wooyoung says, his voice low and teasing once he pulls back. A mischievous glint sparkles in his eyes as he adds, “But a rule’s never stopped me before.”

You pull his head back down to yours, kissing him languishingly as he rolls his hips into yours again.

“Do you want to keep going?” he asks, this time pressing his length right up against your covered heat.

Wooyoung’s lips curl into a devilish smile when you whine incoherently about wanting more.

“Answer me, honey. Do you want more?” He asks with a growl, but the intensity in his gaze makes it clear—he already knows the answer.

“Yes,” you beg, “More. Please!”

He grabs handfuls of the fabric at your sides, bunching it up around your waist before he descends below.

Your dewy center is covered in a heavy coating of your arousal. Spellbound by the sight, he instinctively brings his fingers to your heat, gathering some of your transparent essence and smearing it around your folds.

“Fucking hell, you’re so fucking wet for me,” Wooyoung mutters.

Incapable of waiting any longer, he dives in tongue first, licking a beautiful line from your slit’s opening up to your needy nub of nerves. Another growl resounds from his chest as he devours your sex, his cock involuntarily twitching when he sinks two fingers back to your opening. Wooyoung strokes his saturated fingers through your slit before sinking them inside your soft flesh, feeling your inner walls clench around them.

He pulls them out and admires how your hole instinctively sucks his digits back in where they belong.

“Such a tight little cunt. It’ll be ruined by tomorrow night,” Wooyoung groans; despite his words, there’s nothing but appraisal in his voice. He looks up at your body, meeting your eyes. His flash with a dark dominance, lust with a dash of something else flicker in them.

His devilish words only excite you further, and more of your sticky arousal coats his hand. Each curl of his fingers brings you closer and closer to writhing pleasure.

His head dips back down, his tongue swirling around your clit before he sucks it between his teeth. Gasping, you buck your hips upward, needing more. So much more.

“I can’t wait to turn you into a nasty little whore. Would you like that?” he asks in between little licks.

“Y-yes” you mewl. “Wanna. Be your w-whore.”

He’s got you dancing along the edge of a very dangerous cliff, and you want nothing more than to jump off, face first, and dive into the waves of ecstasy that await.

He can tell that you’re close; your walls are beginning to tighten around him. Flattening his tongue against your sensitive nub, he applies the right amount of pressure you need to come all over his face.

When he sits up, his mouth is dribbling with your release; it’s a pretty sight to see.

“Not bad for a virgin,” he teases.

Your blissful smile turns coy, “Is it my turn to taste you? You’ll have to teach this virgin just how you like it.”

A deep, low growl vibrates in his chest and the corners of his jaw flex as he stands up, his silhouette outlined from the moonlight.

“On your knees then, slut.”

You twist your body until you’re sitting on your knees, your used cunt dripping onto the blanket below.

“Goddess, I’m so fucking hard for you,” Wooyoung grunts while pulling his pants down.

Freed from his pants, his cock springs out before bouncing momentarily, then stands erect in its full glory. You reflexively clench at the sight of him. It’s just as you remember it from last night.

Tightening his palm around his shaft, Wooyoung begins stroking himself before lining his tip up to your lips.

“Take just the head into your mouth,” he murmurs. “Just while you warm up to the feeling.”

You immediately wrap your mouth around him and a wave of precum leaks directly onto your tongue. Circling his thick tip, you get comfortable with the weight of him on your tongue, learning his taste.

“Such a good slut,” Wooyoung croons, causing your core to tremble from his praises.

One hand moves to hold your chin, angling your head to look up at him, “When you’re ready for more, take a deep breath and take in more of me.”

Hollowing your cheeks, you suckle on his head, letting more and more of him into your wet cave. You run your tongue along the underside of his shaft, the tickling sensation causing him to jerk inside you.

Wooyoung tugs on your hair, softly at first, and then his fist wraps around the handful in his grasp. His impressive length fills your mouth, his immense girth cracking your jaw open with each gentle thrust.

Words of encouragement spill from his lips, giving you the confidence to suck in the final inch of his member.

Involuntarily, you gag around his cock when his thick head hits the back of your throat. Tears sting the corner of your eyes, falling soon after.

Without warning, his length surges into your throat and Wooyoung lets out a stream of colorful expletives as his release hits him. His hips jerk once more, and he tosses his head back underneath the moonlight.

You shudder, feeling his thick cum stick to the walls of your throat.

“Goddess,” he hums, “Sorry about that.” Wooyoung slips out of your mouth, admiring as you use the back of your hand, you wipe your soddened mouth.

“It’s okay. Now I know what to expect.”

Wooyoung pulls you into his embrace, and you both settle into the quiet rhythm of the night, staring up at the stars as they shimmer in the sky. His warmth surrounds you, grounding you amidst the cool breeze.

He shifts slightly, turning on the blanket to meet your gaze. “I need to warn you about tomorrow,” he begins, his voice lower, more serious. “The potion we warlocks take before the ceremony… it makes our animalistic instincts take over. It’s going to be rough. That’s why I’ve been preparing you, so to speak.”

A knot twists in your stomach at his words. You hadn’t realized the full extent of what tomorrow held, but now it makes sense. That’s why they call it the Hunt, you think, You’re basically their prey. The pieces finally click into place. His honesty, though jarring, makes you feel strangely grateful that he’s letting you in on something you weren’t aware of.

“I trust you,” you whisper softly. “You haven’t hurt me so far, so I’m not worried about tomorrow.”

Wooyoung’s chest rises as he takes a deep breath, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. He silently prays to Goddess Peralia that he won’t bring you any harm during the Hunt. The uncertainty flickers in his eyes for just a moment before he pulls you closer, wrapping you in his warmth.

“Come here,” he murmurs, his voice gentle as you settle against his chest. His heart beats steadily beneath your ear, and soon your breaths fall in sync, the sound of the wind rustling through the Darkwood easing you both into a peaceful silence.

As the stars twinkle above, the night’s calm surrounds you like a protective cocoon, lulling you into sleep. You drift into a deep, restful slumber, cocooned in his arms, feeling the peace before the inevitable storm of tomorrow.

“The Insatiable Hunt begins,” one of the warlocks grins darkly before tossing back the elixir, the liquid shimmering as it slides down his throat. Wooyoung raises his glass in silent agreement, his eyes flashing with excitement before he gulps it down, feeling the fiery potion race through his veins. The others follow suit, the room buzzing as they prepare for the night ahead.

They pull on their wolf masks, transforming from men into primal hunters, instincts sharpening with every heartbeat. The thrill of the chase hangs thick in the air as they line up, muscles tensed, waiting for the doors to open.

Wooyoung’s body hums with the effects of the potion, a burning heat spreading through his skin. His senses sharpen—your scent lingers, intoxicating and irresistible. His pupils dilate as your essence floods his nostrils, every fiber of his being urging him forward. The others grin beneath their masks, but his focus is single-minded: you.

The doors creak open with a loud thud, unleashing them into the night. With a guttural growl, Wooyoung sprints into the woods, his feet pounding the earth as he follows your trail, the scent drawing him deeper into the Darkwood. His heart races, blood pumping with one singular purpose: to find you. To claim his prize.

Wooyoung moves like a shadow, effortlessly twisting and turning through the woods, his heightened senses guiding him closer to your trail. Each subtle shift in the air tells him you're near. He slows as he approaches a dense thicket, his instincts screaming at him to be cautious. He can feel you hiding, watching, waiting.

His cock strains when he catches a whiff of your scent, his hardened member straining against the tightness of his pants as it begs to bury itself deep inside of you.

His eyes narrow, hyper-focused on the faintest rustle of leaves. You dart from the bushes, sprinting through the underbrush, your breath quickening as you distance yourself from him. He follows silently, his steps deliberately soundless as he stalks you.

You duck behind a tree, pressing your back against its trunk, heart pounding in your chest. Straining to listen, you hear... nothing. No footsteps, no rustling—nothing. A chill creeps up your spine. Slowly, you peek around the tree, scanning the shadows. There’s no sign of him.

Relief barely has time to settle in before you turn back and scream.

He’s right there, inches away.

"Gotcha," Wooyoung growls, his voice low and menacing, his breath hot against your skin. With a wicked grin, he grabs your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze as he slams your back against the rough bark of the tree. The impact sends a jolt through your body, your heart racing even faster now. His grip tightens, but not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who’s in control.

His eyes glint through the wolf mask with a dangerous mix of hunger and satisfaction, the thrill of the Hunt evident in every line of his expression.

Wooyoung's grip tightens, his breath hot against your ear as he growls, “I can’t wait to split you in half with my cock.”

Before you can react, he spins you around, pressing your chest against the rough bark of the tree. Your heartbeat thunders in your ears as his hands slide down your sides, firm and unyielding.

He blames his newfound animalistic behavior for how fast he rips away your crimson cloak and the layers beneath it, leaving the shredded fabric scattered across the mossy forest floor.

In one swift movement, Wooyoung uses a knee to spread your legs and sinks into your inviting opening without warning. Tears sting your eyes from the sudden intrusion, but the pain quickly turns into mind-shattering pleasure.

“Taking it so well, aren’t you, slut?” he purrs, voice low and dripping with praise. The raw, commanding edge in his tone sends shivers through you, your insides tightening around him in response.

You hum an incoherent response, unable to form words when his cockhead is pressed against the swell of your cervix.

After ripping his mask off, Wooyoung’s fingers press into your hips. He holds you steady as he moves, each thrust punctuated by dark whispers of just how perfectly he fits inside you.

Wooyoung’s grin brushes against your neck as he drags his tongue up the curve of your skin, leaving a lingering lick before pressing a kiss just below your ear. His hips pull back slowly, his length retreating from your slick folds until only the tip remains, teasing you.

Then, with a low growl, he thrusts forward, filling you entirely in one fluid motion, claiming every inch as he sinks deep inside.

The sudden motion causes you to moan uncontrollably, his girth continuing to stretch out your soft walls. Your soaked cunt splitting open around Wooyoung’s enormous girth only causes him to swell more, if that’s even possible.

“M-more, please!” you whimper.

Wooyoung clenches his jaw, feeling your wetness ooze out where your bodies meet with each quick thrust.

One of his hands squeezes your side, the other falls to your round ass, and his claw-like nails scratch across your skin before he pulls his hand back to spank you. Your vision blurs from the impact, and you push your hips out, asking for more.

“Again,” you whine, your head digging further into the tree’s bark.

You bite down on your lower lip, anticipation building as you brace yourself. A sharp crack echoes through the air as his hand comes down against you, harder this time and sending another sting that radiates through your skin.

A moan slips past your lips, the sharpness transforming into pleasure that courses through your body. His fingers trace the spot he’s just marked, his low chuckle rumbling against your ear.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his voice rich with approval, each word sending shivers through you. “Turn around. I want to look at you," he demands next, his voice gritting through his teeth.

You obey, slowly turning to face him, your heart racing under his intense gaze. His eyes roam over you, filled with a mix of hunger and admiration that makes you feel both vulnerable and exhilarated.

Wooyoung cups your chin, tilting your face up toward him. His thumb brushes over your swollen lips as he drinks you in. "Look at you," he whispers, almost to himself, his thumb slipping inside your mouth. Instinctively, you wrap your lips around it, meeting his gaze as you lightly suck, earning a dark smile from him.

"You're perfect," he murmurs, his free hand tracing down your body, grazing every curve and leaving a trail of heat in its wake. "And you're all mine tonight." His words trail off as his length pounds into you again.

He watches as your lips part, head tilting back in pure bliss, and takes his chance. His mouth crashes onto yours, tongue slipping between your lips with a raw desire, claiming every inch he can reach. The kiss is deep and possessive, leaving you breathless as his hand tangles in your hair, keeping you close.

His tongue strokes against yours, tasting every gasp and moan you release, as if he’s memorizing the way you feel beneath him. You melt into his kiss, losing yourself in the heat, the way he consumes you with each movement.

When he pulls back, Wooyoung drags his lips against the shell of your ear to whisper, “Is this what you want? Your little virgin cunt destroyed?”

“Yes,” you moan, voice low and thick with desire. Then, locking eyes with him, you let a wicked smirk curve your lips, meeting his heated gaze with a look as dangerous as his own. "Ruin me," you breathe, each word dripping with a challenge that sends a spark down his spine.

A growl escapes his lips, and his grip on you tightens. He pushes you against the rough bark, lifting your leg to wrap around his waist as his eyes darken with pure, animalistic hunger. “You want to be ruined?” he whispers, his voice a low rasp against your ear as he pulls your hips even closer. “Careful what you ask for.”

His thrusts come harder, relentless, each one leaving you trembling and gasping as he takes you to the edge, only to pull you back before you can fall. His hand slides up your throat, a possessive touch that’s somehow both gentle and commanding as his thumb grazes your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"You’re mine," he growls, eyes blazing, his body pressed against yours with no space left between you. He savors every inch of you, watching your face intently as he ravages you with a merciless rhythm, his fingers digging into your waist. “And I’m not stopping until you’re completely undone.”

Your moans grow louder, filling the night air and mingling with the rhythmic slap of your bodies moving in unison. The sounds echo through the Darkwood, a primal symphony that seems to resonate with the forest around you, intensifying with each frenzied thrust.

Wooyoung feels your walls clench tightly around him, a signal that you’re close to unraveling. “Cum around my cock, honey,” he rasps, his voice laced with possessiveness. “I know you’re close.”

He quickens his pace, pounding into you with a newfound urgency, while his fingers find their way to that sensitive spot between your legs. The moment his thumb and forefinger pinch your aching nub, pleasure spirals through you like wildfire.

You scream his name, your body seizing up as waves of ecstasy crash over you, each pulse flooding your veins with tingling heat.

He watches you intently, captivated as your face twists in bliss, feeling you squeeze around him, almost pulling him over the edge.

A low growl escapes his lips, and with two final, frenzied thrusts, he buries himself as deeply as he can, his abs contracting as he spills himself inside you. His teeth graze your bare shoulder, biting down as he rides out his release, filling you with a heat that leaves you both breathless.

“Oh, praise Satan,” he gasps, letting out a shaky laugh as he presses his forehead against yours. The two of you catch your breath together, heartbeats slowing, tangled in the afterglow.

You collapse entirely into his arms, utterly spent and trembling, every muscle deliciously exhausted as you sink into the darkness of sleep that lingers at the edge of your consciousness. A grin tugs at your lips, satisfaction mingling with exhaustion as you surrender to it, the night’s events replaying like a forbidden lullaby.

Nothing in your dreams could ever compare to the raw, disgraceful, dangerously addictive reality you’ve just experienced. Wrapped in the warmth of his embrace, you let go, falling into a slumber filled with echoes of his touch.

The room is loud with the sound of laughter, clinking goblets, and whispered gossip. Candles cast a warm glow over the grand hall as platters of food float between the seated bodies; you're barely listening though, too hyper-aware of Wooyoung sitting beside you.

You steal a glance at him from across the table. He’s watching you, his gaze steady and unwavering. A secret smirk plays at the corner of his lips, one that makes your cheeks burn under the soft glow of the chandeliers. It’s almost unbearable, this tension simmering between you, each stolen look as dangerous as a spark near dry wood.

His fingertips graze yours under the table, sending a rush through you each time. You both know the game you’re playing—pushing boundaries, daring each other, waiting for one of you to make the next move.

Finally, he leans in, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “Let’s get out of here.”

"We can’t just leave," you mumble, finally meeting his burning gaze. There's a warning in your eyes, but he ignores it, his grin only growing.

You bite your lip, glancing around at the oblivious faces around you. "It’s the middle of the feast," you continue, though your resolve is already faltering. "People will notice."

"Let them," he says, the mischief in his tone unmistakable.

He stands and takes your hand, his grip both gentle and possessive as he leads you out, weaving through the tables with a confidence that dares anyone to question him.

Whispers and side glances follow, and you try to ignore the burning stares—hungry warlocks with dark eyes, envious witches with guarded whispers.

Everything has changed.

Wooyoung’s presence grounds you, his thumb brushing reassuring circles against your skin. And when he glances back at you, tilting his head in that familiar way with a smirk tugging at his lips, you realize that somehow—despite all the chaos of this past week—some things aren’t so different after all.

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thedilfdiaries · 10 months ago

Text

Escapism

Joel Miller x f!reader

Masterlist

Wordcount: 5,733

Summary: The grumpy Joel, one bed, who did that to you trope fic no one asked for/ Ellie matchmaking for Joel

Warnings: 18+, smut, joels a grump, ellie's there, reader experiences a tiny bit of ptsd from being captured prior to meeting joel and ellie.

Notes: Ty to @evolnoomym for the moodboard and beta reading and @syd-djarin & @joelslegalwhre for the beta read. and @saradika-graphics for the divider.

The world changed in the blink of an eye. Civilization, with all its comforts and securities, crumbled under the weight of a relentless pandemic. The infected roam the earth, their minds and bodies ravaged by a virus that turns them into mindless, ravenous creatures. Humanity, once the masters of their domain, is now just another prey in a landscape that has turned savagely against them.

You are on your own for months, ever since the virus claimed your sister and the raiders took everything else. Your husband and son, Ethan, are lost to the chaos, leaving you with nothing but the clothes on your back, a backpack filled with meager supplies, and a book - "No Pun Intended: Volume 1" - a cherished memento of a life that once was.

The days blur into a testament to your will to live. You scavenge for food, avoid the infected, and keep moving, always moving. The world is a graveyard of memories, and you are just another ghost haunting its ruins.

As the sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, you find yourself in the remnants of a once-bustling town. The buildings stand like skeletons, their windows shattered, their doors hanging off their hinges. It is here, in this desolate place, that you decide to make camp for the night.

You choose a spot behind an overturned bus, its rusted shell providing a modicum of shelter. You gather what little dry wood you can find and build a small fire. The can of beans you scavenged earlier in the day heats slowly, the metallic smell mingling with the scent of smoke and decay that seems to permeate everything.

As you wait for your meal, you allow yourself a rare moment of stillness. The book lies open in your lap, its pages a portal to a time when puns and laughter were the greatest concerns of the day. You are so lost in the world of words that you almost don't hear the low growl that signals the approach of danger.

It happens in a heartbeat. One moment you are alone, the next an infected lunges at you from the shadows, its bloodshot eyes and snarling mouth a terrifying vision of death. You have no time to react, no time to defend yourself. The creature pins you to the ground, its fetid breath hot against your face.

Panic surges through your veins, a scream lodges in your throat. Darkness creeps in at the edges of your vision, and you brace yourself for the end. But then, the deafening crack of a gunshot splits the air. The weight of the infected creature collapses onto you, its lifeless body trapping you beneath its bulk.

For a moment, time stands still. You lie there, stunned and gasping for breath, the world around you reduced to the pounding of your heart and the ringing in your ears. Then, as quickly as the nightmare has descended, the weight is lifted from your body. You scramble backward, your hands and knees scraping against the rough ground, until you reach the sanctuary of your sleeping bag.

Looking up, you are met with the imposing figure of a large, rugged man. His rifle is still smoking from the shot that has saved your life. His eyes, hard and suspicious, bore into you as he demands, "You bit?”

Your hands shoot up in surrender, tears threatening to spill as you vehemently shake your head. "Please don't shoot, I- I wasn't bit," you plead, your voice quivering with fear.

The man nudges his gun towards you, his voice gruff as he commands, "Get up slowly."

You rise to your feet, hands still raised, and perform a slow pirouette to prove your uninfected state. Satisfied, he lowers his weapon.

"I totally could have done that," a smaller, younger girl boasts as she steps out from behind him. His daughter, you presume, exudes a mix of bravado and youthful naivety.

"I told you to stay in the woods," He chides her.

The girl ignores her father's reprimand, instead, bounding over to your belongings. "No fucking way!" she exclaims, holding up a book that clearly means something to you. "No Pun Intended - the first volume." She chuckles, turning to the burly man. "Can you believe it?"

You rush over, snatching the book from her hands. "That was my -" Emotion chokes your words as you clutch the book, a tangible piece of your past. "It was my sister's," you manage to say, hastily stowing the book in your bag.

The man surveys your camp, his expression a mix of concern and disapproval. "Ya know it ain't safe to be camping out in the open like this," he remarks. You follow his gaze, taking in the vulnerability of your setup, and release a heavy sigh. "I - I know. There used to be more of us - a group. We traveled together, always finding safer places to go. But now - now I'm on my own, alone and..." Your voice trails off as you turn away, taking a seat by the dwindling fire. "Well, it doesn't matter anyway. I'm not gonna survive too long out here alone. It's only a matter of time. If you weren't here, I'd have been dead already. But thank you for your help. Help yourselves to some food, I don't have much else to offer you."

Abruptly, the girl's head bobs up, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Come with us, oh yeah, it's going to be a blast. Finally, another girl around here!" Her voice rings out with a mix of eagerness and camaraderie.

"Ellie, quiet!" the man snaps, then pinches the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, a clear sign of mounting frustration. "We don't have the space for anyone else."

You stand by, a silent observer, as the man and his daughter, Ellie, butt heads over the possibility of taking you with them.

"You're just going to leave her here alone," Ellie emphasizes, her voice sharp as a knife, "to die? Come on, Joel." Her plea hangs in the air, reminiscent of someone who's just found a stray puppy and can't bear to leave it behind.

Joel's gaze flickers to you as if searching for a reason to abandon you. He heaves a sigh so heavy it seems to carry the weight of the world. He turns back to Ellie, frustration etched on his face, then looks at you once more. "You have five minutes to pack your things, and then we're leavin’. With or without you." With that, he strides off into the thicket of trees, leaving Ellie behind with a look that speaks volumes of his exasperation.

"Sorry, he's not always so grumpy... well, actually, he is," Ellie admits with a sheepish grin. "Don't mind Joel; he's just set in his ways. I'm Ellie, by the way."

You can't help but giggle, kneeling down to gather your belongings. "It's nice to meet you, Ellie," you say, your voice tinged with a mix of relief and curiosity. "But why do you call your dad by his name?"

"I ain't her dad," Joel's voice cuts in, as he reemerges leading a horse by the reins.

"He's not my dad," they echo each other, their voices intertwining in a strange harmony.

"Oh," you reply, hurriedly stuffing your meager possessions into your sister's old backpack—a white and black checkered bag adorned with random sunflowers. You hoist the thick black straps over your shoulders and roll up your sleeping bag, tucking it under your arm. Rising to your feet, you dust off your flared blue jeans. "Sorry, I could have sworn you two were related, the way you bicker like that."

Ellie nudges Joel with her elbow, a playful smirk on her face. "It's just Joel. He's old and cranky."

Joel stands there, stoic and unamused, the reins held firmly in his grip. "Need to find shelter before nightfall," he declares, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"Why can't we just stay here?" You ask, genuine curiosity lacing your words.

"The fact that you almost got killed by one of those things, and you couldn't even hear it creeping up on you, should make it pretty damn clear why not," Joel retorts, his voice rising as he gesticulates wildly, emphasizing the danger lurking in the shadows.

"Be fucking nice, Joel!" Ellie interjects, smacking his arm with back of her hand.

"I am being very nice by lettin’ her come with us. Now why ain’t we movin’?" he asks.

"I have no idea where we're going, lead the way, cowboy."

"Actually, Joel was a contractor before this, super cool, right?"

You can't help but laugh. "Yeah, totally."

"What's so funny?" Joel asks, his brow furrowing as the three of you begin to navigate the rugged terrain.

"You actually managed to make being a contractor sound like the epitome of cool to young Ellie here?"

Joel's patience wears thin. "Can we all just keep quiet until we find a place to hole up for the night?"

Ellie clears her throat, her curiosity piqued. "So, what's the story with your group?"

"Ellie, you don't go asking people you just met that stuff." Joel snapped.

You let out a soft chuckle, the memory of your past still vivid. "It's alright. My sister got bitten. I had to...you know, in the middle of the night." The weight of that memory tugs at your heartstrings. "My husband and son, Ethan, they were killed by raiders who tried to overrun our camp. They took me captive, but I managed to escape. And now, here I am." You pause, the chilling recollection making you shudder. You shake off the dark thoughts, not wanting to dwell on them now.

Ellie offers a sympathetic smile, and you catch the hint of one on Joel's face too. "That's rough. I'm really sorry that happened to you," Ellie says, her voice gentle.

"Thanks, Ellie," you murmur, your gaze falling to your boots, a mix of gratitude and embarrassment washing over you.

You look up at Joel, who seems to be wrestling with his own thoughts. "So, where are we actually heading?"

He takes a moment, staring off into the distance before heaving a sigh and meeting your eyes. "My brother and his wife are part of a large group just north of here. We can make it there. It's not far—a couple of days' travel at most."

"We should find a spot to camp soon. It's getting dark," Joel suggests, scanning the surroundings.

With the three of you working in unison, the camp comes together quickly in the shelter of the woods, hidden from any unwelcome eyes.

"Wanna get the fire going?" Joel asks, kneeling on the ground and rummaging through his bag. He extends his hand to you, offering a small amount of kindling and a pack of matches.

"Uh, sure," you reply, your voice tinged with uncertainty. The truth is, you're still pretty green in this post-apocalyptic world, and tasks like starting a fire are always more challenging than they seem.

You step forward and accept the kindling and matches from Joel, then set to work. Carefully, you arrange the kindling, trying to remember the techniques you've been taught. You strike the first match, the flame flickering to life. With trembling hands, you bring it close to the kindling, only for the wind to snuff it out.

"Shit," you mutter, hoping no one noticed. You try again, but the result is the same. On the third attempt, you realize Joel has been observing you all along. Each failed attempt makes him wince. Finally, on the fourth match, he's seen enough.

Joel stands abruptly and strides over to you. He takes the matches and kindling from your hands and, in one swift motion, ignites the fire. "Just go set up your sleeping bag," he says, a sigh of exasperation escaping him as he avoids your gaze. The sting of being a burden weighs heavily on you.

You rise slowly and move toward your sleeping bag and backpack, which are nestled beside a tree just off to the side of where Joel and Ellie are sitting. You drag your things closer to the newly lit fire and spread out your sleeping bag. As you search through your bag, you pull out a small handgun and begin to load it.

"Whoa, cool!" Ellie exclaims, bounding over to you and eyeing the gun with interest.

"It was my husband's," you tell her as you finish loading the weapon. "I'm going to get us something to eat." With your bag slung over your shoulder, you head toward the edge of the camp. But before you can leave, a hand grips your upper arm, halting your progress.

You turn to face Joel's frustrated expression. "No, absolutely not. You can't even start a damn fire. How are you going to shoot us something to eat?" he challenges.

You pull your arm free, determination flashing in your eyes. "I can handle it myself. I did fine before you came along, and I'll do fine after you're gone." You resume your course, but Joel isn't done yet.

"I'm not letting you go out there alone. I saved you once; you don't get another chance," he calls after you.

You turn back, extracting your arm from his grasp for the last time. "I didn't ask for your saving or help. You have no obligations to me. Thank you for saving me once, but I don't need it again." With that, you continue into the dense woods, leaving Joel standing there, conflicted. He returns to the camp, muttering to himself, "Fuck sakes. You stay here. Don't fucking move. I'm not in the mood to save two of you today." He grabs his rifle and follows you into the woods, the setting sun casting long shadows across the forest floor.

A few moments later, he hears your gun go off, and panic starts to seize him.

After about five minutes, he finds you huddled over something, "What the hell? You can't just go shooting your gun off like that. Raiders, fucking infected, someone's gonna find us." His voice is laced with urgency.

As he approaches, he sees you covered in blood, and fear races through him. But then he realizes it's not your blood. You've actually killed a deer.

You turn around to see Joel standing near you, his expression a mix of relief and irritation.

"So now what? You even know how to skin it?" Joel challenges.

You shake your head, "No."

"What was your plan then? To just try and drag it by yourself back to camp?" He's exasperated, but there's a hint of concern beneath his gruff exterior.

You shrug, admitting your inexperience. You've always known you're not very good at hunting, but the desire to contribute, to ensure a decent meal tonight, drove you to try.

"Come on, I'll teach you," Joel says, resignation in his voice. He shows you how to skin and butcher the deer, his frustration still evident. It's clear he resents the extra burden you represent.

After you've all eaten your fill and packed away the rest for tomorrow, you and Ellie crawl into your sleeping bags, while Joel takes the first watch.

—

In the dead of night, a sound pierces through the silence, and you jolt awake. You see Joel leaning against a tree, his vigilance unwavering. As you approach, you offer, "Here, let me take over. Get some rest."

He turns to meet your gaze, "No. I don't know you, can't trust you."

"I don't know you either, and I trusted you to keep me safe," you rebut.

"I think saving you before I even knew you is proof enough of my trustworthiness. You've done nothing but add extra work for me since I've been here. I'm not lettin’ you keep watch. You couldn't even hear the damn thing when it was close." Joel's frustration is palpable.

Your eyes narrow as you step into Joel's space, "Fuck you, Joel. I never asked for your help. If you want me to leave, then tell me to leave, and I'll go." Despite barely knowing the man, his words sting.

Joel rolls his eyes, a silent admission of the care he feels for you, a care he'd never voice. His tough exterior belies a growing attachment, one that complicates his solitary existence. He avoids looking at you, his gaze skittering away whenever your eyes meet. "Go to bed, please. I've got this," he says, his voice a low rumble. Joel doesn't turn his attention to you until you retreat to your sleeping bag, where you curl up, seeking warmth and comfort. As you drift off to sleep, he watches over you, a silent sentinel in the quiet night. There's a palpable sense of relief that washes over him when you finally succumb to sleep.

The next morning, the sound of footsteps rouses you from your slumber. You blink against the bright morning light, using your arm as a shield. Rolling over, you're greeted by the sight of Joel's back; he's crouched, presumably packing his bag for the journey ahead. The remnants of sleep slowly clear from your mind as you extricate yourself from the sleeping bag and roll it up. To your right, Ellie lies fast asleep, her soft snores a gentle backdrop to the morning.

You leave Ellie to her dreams and approach Joel. He's focused on his pack, his shirt inching up to reveal the taut skin of his lower back. You catch yourself staring and quickly bite your lip, a futile attempt to redirect your thoughts.

Attraction? No, that's not it. He's infuriating, self-centered, and yet here you are, sharing this strange journey with him and Ellie, who might as well be his daughter.

Joel looks up, his eyes betraying a deep exhaustion that seems to have settled into his very bones. "We're leaving once the sun's up. Make sure you're ready. We'll cover more than half the distance by nightfall," he informs you, rising to his feet and hoisting his pack over his shoulder.

You find yourself captivated by his deep brown eyes, noticing for the first time the kindness hidden beneath his gruff exterior. A silent exchange passes between you, a moment of unspoken understanding, before Joel clears his throat and breaks the connection, turning his attention to the horse.

The tension in the air is almost tangible as you both look away. Once Joel has secured everything onto the horse except for Ellie, he gently wakes her.

The three of you fall into a rhythm, traversing the desolate landscape. The day stretches on, filled with endless walking. As the sun begins its descent, casting long shadows across the land, fatigue sets in. But Joel, ever perceptive, anticipates your need for rest.

"There should be a town up this road," he says. "We can find an old house to spend the night. No need for watches tonight; we all could use some proper sleep."

As night falls, Joel guides the horse with practiced ease over the unforgiving terrain. Before long, a small farmhouse emerges from the twilight, its isolation suggesting it's been long abandoned.

Ellie's voice cuts through the stillness. "Is this the town you were talking about? It's tiny, Joel. There's barely a house here."

Joel just chuckles, a soft sound that carries the weight of countless stories and experiences. "Sometimes, the best places are the ones that are hardest to find."

The three of you brace yourselves for the night, the assurance of safety and rest offering a much-needed refuge from the relentless challenges of your travels.

"This isn't the town, but it's likely safer to camp here. Raiders might be patrolling near the town. Now go inside and get settled, Ellie, help me with the horse."

You move silently into the house, scouting for a suitable spot to bed down for the night.

Ellie and Joel lead the horse towards the barn at the back.

"So, you planning to make a move, lover boy?" Ellie abruptly inquires, her voice laced with playful mischief.

Joel's eyes narrow in confusion, "What?"

"Ugh, it's so clear you two are head over heels for each other. It's adorable how you bicker." She giggles, mimicking air kisses.

Joel dismisses her with a shake of his head, "Mind your own business, would you?"

"So it is true! You like her... ha! I knew it. Can't wait to spill the beans."

Joel's eyes widen with a hint of panic as he secures the horse to a post, "Ellie! Cut it out, this isn't the time for matchmaking. I'm not in love. I wouldn't bat an eye if she left."

Ellie smirks, her eyes gleaming with a devious spark. "Oh Joel, dumb dumb Joel. Don't worry, I'll help you out."

Joel pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing, "Ellie, please, just drop it, head inside. I'll be there shortly. And don't say a word to her!"

By the time he finishes, Ellie is already darting back to the house.

Upon entering, you're arranging an old, grimy mattress when Ellie bursts in.

"Hey, lucky for us, there's another mattress upstairs. I figured we could each -"

Before you can finish, Ellie dashes up the stairs, calling out, "I'll take this one!" She pauses at the top, looking back, "And tell Joel I'm really upset with him and I don't want to talk."

Perplexed, you try to stop her, but she's already disappeared, the door shut behind her.

As the door closes, Joel steps in, and you turn to face him, "What happened with Ellie?"

Joel looks up, puzzled, as he sets his gear aside, "What do you mean?"

"She just bolted upstairs, saying she's upset and doesn't want to talk to you."

"She's a kid, I don't know. So this is the only bed then?"

"Well, you must have done something to upset her. She dashed upstairs and staked her claim on the other mattress."

The realization dawns on Joel. "Goddammit, Ellie! Get down here now!" he yells, but his call is met with silence. He races up the staircase to the closed door, pounding on it. "Ellie, come out here. We need to talk."

"No! I'm not talking to you. I locked the door, you can't come in," her voice is muffled but defiant. Joel continues to pound on the door. "Ellie, get out here."

"I can't hear you..." Ellie's voice trails off, barely audible.

Frustrated, Joel descends the stairs, his gaze shifting between the bed and you. "You can have the bed. I'll just crash on the floor in one of the sleeping bags."

You raise your eyebrows, surprised by his offer. "Just get in the damn bed, Joel. We're two grown adults; we can share a bed for one night, can't we?"

He looks like he's about to argue but then relents. "Fine... whatever." He grabs a sleeping bag from his pack and tosses it onto the bed. You slip under the covers, turning away from him. As Joel settles down to sleep, the room falls silent.

After a few minutes, you hear him chuckle softly to himself.

"What's so funny?" You turn to face him, a hint of irritation in your voice.

"Nothin’, just thinkin’," he replies, the chuckle turning into a full-blown laugh.

You sigh and turn back around, but his laughter is infectious. "Seriously, Joel, if you don't stop, I'm going to punch you in the face." You turn to face him again, trying to suppress a smile.

"It's Ellie," he says, the laughter subsiding. "I know why she's upset."

"Then why aren't you talking to her about it?" you ask, curiosity piqued.

He studies you for a moment, his gaze intense. "It ain't that simple. She thinks she's doin’ us a favor by making us share a bed."

Your cheeks flush with warmth. "Oh."

"So I guess that means it's your fault," he teases, a smirk playing on his lips. The atmosphere shifts, becoming both more relaxed and more charged at the same time.

"How is it my fault?" you challenge, playing along with his playful tone.

"If I didn't have to keep saving your ass, we wouldn't be in this situation," he jabs, his tone light and teasing.

"I think you owe me, if anything, for that deer I killed," you retort, a small smile tugging at your lips. The tension that's been building over the past day begins to dissipate.

"Oh yeah?" he says, inching closer to you on the bed.

You swallow hard, your heart rate picking up. "Mhm, you sure owe me big time."

His eyes flicker to your lips, then back to your eyes. Suddenly, he leans in and kisses you, his hand cradling the back of your neck while the other pulls you tightly against him. The kiss is gentle and sweet, causing your thoughts to scatter as you surrender to the moment, pressing closer to him.

In the quiet hush of the room, you pull back slightly, your gaze meeting his. Joel's face is mere inches from yours, his eyes brimming with unspoken desire.

Nervously, you wet your lips with the tip of your tongue, whispering his name like a secret, "Joel..."

A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he slowly leans in, closing the distance between you. His forehead gently meets yours, a tender gesture that sends a shiver down your spine.

"God, I've wanted this since the moment I saw you," he confesses, his voice a low rumble that resonates deep within you.

Without warning, his hand shoots out, capturing your wrist in a firm yet gentle grip. He pulls you towards him, your bodies aligning, pressing tightly against each other.

Your lips find his again, this kiss more urgent than the last, fueled by a hunger that has been building since your first encounter. Joel's lips move against yours with a newfound intensity, his tongue exploring, claiming every inch of your mouth.

You surrender to the kiss, losing yourself in the sensation of his lips on yours. His hands begin to roam, tracing the curves of your body, eliciting a soft moan from you. The sound seems to spur him on, and he deepens the kiss even further.

You can feel the heat of his skin, the strength of his muscles beneath your hands. His grip on you is firm, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your veins. He breaks away from your mouth, his lips trailing a path of fire down your neck. His hot breath against your skin causes goosebumps to rise in its wake.

His hands slide lower, gripping your hips with a possessive intensity. Joel lifts himself off the bed, pressing his body against yours, the evidence of his arousal unmistakable.

A gasp escapes you as he grinds against you. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, while his hands explore the softness of your breasts through the fabric of your shirt. A whimper slips past your lips as he teases you with a gentle squeeze.

You can feel his smirk against your neck as he continues his descent, leaving a trail of kisses and small love bites in his wake. The sensation of being consumed by him is intoxicating, and you find yourself yearning for more, desperate to feel his skin against yours.

"Joel...please..." you beg, tugging at his shirt, eager to remove the last barrier between you.

He chuckles at the desperation in your voice, a sound that only fans the flames of your desire. His lips return to yours, and he begins to move his hips in a rhythm that matches the urgency of your kisses. Your body responds instinctively, arching against him, seeking friction.

"Ahh..." you groan as his bulge hits just the right spot, causing your body to tremble with anticipation.

"Shh... just relax. I'm going to make you feel so good," Joel whispers, his voice a promise against your ear. He quickly strips you of your shirt, tossing it aside, leaving you exposed to his hungry gaze.

You bite your lip, your eyes fluttering closed as the sensation of his hands on your skin sends you reeling. His touch is electric, igniting a fire within you that only he can quench.

"Look at me," he commands, and your eyes snap open to meet his intense gaze. His face is a portrait of desire, his eyes dark with need, his hair tousled from your eager hands. His fingers find the hem of your pants, and he takes his time, drawing out the anticipation as he peels them off your legs.

He plants a gentle kiss on your belly, causing you to sigh with contentment. His lips continue their journey downward, and you can't help but arch your back, moaning softly as his fingertips graze your sensitive flesh. His tongue darts out, teasing you, tasting you, driving you wild with need.

The years of longing, the pent-up desire, it all comes crashing down as his tongue delves into your core. You can't hold back the moans that escape your lips, each one a testament to the pleasure he's bringing you. He continues to tease you, his hands tracing a path back up to your breasts, his fingers teasing your nipples into hard peaks.

The sensation of his mouth on you is almost too much to bear. You come undone, your body shuddering as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you. Joel's mouth is relentless, his lips and tongue working in unison to draw out every last ounce of your pleasure.

As you come back down to earth, your breathing slowly returning to normal, Joel pulls away, his lips glistening with the evidence of your desire. He wastes no time in shedding his own clothes, revealing the full extent of his arousal.

He positions himself at your entrance, the tip of his shaft teasing you, promising you the release you so desperately crave. And then, with one powerful thrust, he's inside you, filling you completely.

The world around you fades away as Joel sets a punishing pace, his hands gripping your hair, pulling just enough to send shivers of pleasure down your spine. You match his rhythm, your bodies moving together as one, each thrust bringing you closer to the edge.

Sweat beads on your foreheads, your chests rising and falling in sync with each other's breaths. All you can see is Joel's face above you, his eyes locked onto yours, filled with a passion that takes your breath away.

"Joel..." you whisper his name, a benediction, a plea, a promise. Your fingers thread through his hair, caressing his cheek, feeling the stubble beneath your fingertips.

With a final, powerful thrust, Joel reaches his climax, his body shuddering against yours. You hold him close, feeling the aftershocks of his release mingle with your own.

For a moment, the only sounds are the ragged breaths filling the room and the pounding of your hearts. In this moment, there is nothing else—just you and Joel, two souls intertwined in the most intimate of dances.

You lie there, your breaths heavy as they echo in the quiet room, your gaze fixed on the ceiling above. In the stillness, the sound of your own ragged breathing mingles with Joel's intense scrutiny of your body. It's then that he notices the jagged scar marring your torso. His fingers trace its length, a silent question hanging in the air. "What happened?" he asks, his voice a mix of concern and curiosity.

The question yanks you from the serenity you'd found, hurling you into a tumultuous sea of memories. "Uh - it's nothing, just a battle wound," you reply, your voice trembling despite your attempt at nonchalance.

He looks at you, his eyes probing, seeing right through your facade. "Who did this to you?" he presses, his tone insistent.

Tears well up as you feel the rough pads of his fingers grazing your scar. You pull his hand away, sitting up on the bed's edge, turning away from him. A heavy sigh escapes you before you begin to unravel the story.

"When the raiders took over our camp, they brought me to some abandoned warehouse a few cities over. They held me there for weeks, torturing me, starving me. They left bruises everywhere. Every night before they would sleep, they would have their way with me." you confess, your voice wavering. "One night I guess I fought them a little too hard and I was awarded this fucking thing as a lovely reminder." You gesture to the scar on your abdomen with a trembling hand.

Joel moves closer, his cool hands unexpectedly cradling your face, turning you to meet his gaze. He wipes away your tears, his eyes locked onto yours. "I'm here now, baby girl," he assures you, his voice firm with conviction. "Ain't nothing gonna happen to you like that ever again, you hear me?"

A small, sad smile tugs at your lips as he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss. He then reclines on the bed, drawing you into the sanctuary of his arms. Your head finds the rhythm of his heartbeat, a comforting lullaby that resonates against your cheek. In this moment of vulnerability, you allow yourself to trust in his promises, your defenses crumbling as sleep claims you, cocooned in his embrace.

—

"I knew it!"

Suddenly, a sharp whisper slices through the silence, "I knew it!"

Joel startles awake, his heart pounding in his chest. There, at the foot of the stairs, stands Ellie, her eyes wide with the realization of the scene before her. He glances down at you, still nestled against him, and for a moment, time stands still. With a quick gesture, he signals Ellie to be quiet, his finger pressed to his lips. "Go back to bed," he commands softly.

"But I'm not tired -" Ellie protests, her voice a whisper in the dark.

"Now," Joel repeats, his whisper now a stern command. Ellie sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes, but she complies, her footsteps retreating up the stairs. "Jeez, okay, lover boy," she mutters under her breath.

Relief washes over Joel as he watches Ellie disappear from view. He turns back to you, your peaceful slumber a stark contrast to the tension that just gripped the room. He gently kisses your forehead, his whisper barely audible, "I got you, baby girl."

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfic

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chronically-ghosted · 1 year ago

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lover, share your road

AO3 Link

rating: explicit 18+

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: 1931. North Texas. An ecological apocalypse has turned the countryside into a skeletal wasteland and its survivors into hungry, desperate creatures. You and Ellie cross Joel's path by accident and agree to a relationship that is mutually beneficial – a rare thing in times like these. But, in a paradise at the edge of the world, as the rot of the world sinks its teeth in, you and Joel find yourselves relying on each other for sentiments you both believed to be long dead.

major tags: idiots in love, sharing a bed, praise kink, a pining vibe, a happy ending, minor age gap (10 years at most), AU no outbreak, food scarcity, mentions of suicide and depression, panic attacks, depictions of a sick child, love as a metaphor for a kind of sustenance and fertility, eventual smut, some horror elements, a first degree slow burn, and finally present to you the most sacred tag of all: dust bowl daddy

a/n: this is the result of my 500 follower challenge where you all voted for the character, pairing, trope, kink, vibe and ending. what a fantastic year last year was and i'm so excited that this is my first fic of 2024! thank you for your patience while i got this beast out the door!🤍i could not have done this without the support of @ravensmadreads and @perotovar! It was recently Raven's birthday so please, for me, send her a happy birthday note! thank you to @saradika-graphics for the dividers!

prologue: between the earth and sky part i: go west, to the southern plains, go west to breathe part ii: and in their falling, rise again part iii: part iv:

Moodboard by the fantastic @mads198-9 ! 🤍

Playlist

History of the American Dust Bowl

Sources

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hamburgerndsprite · 4 months ago

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Sprite's Favourite Fics {Bangtan Fics} Part 10

Note: (I'll keep updating the lists as I read more fics. Also, all the moodboards are edited by me therefore I request everyone not to repost them as theirs)

[Masterlist]

[OT7]

{SERIES}

➺ Between The Bloodshed by agustdakasuga

Pairing: Gangster! Bts x Doctor! Reader Genre: Mafia!AU, Angst, Romance, Fluff Parts: 27/27 Summary: Being a freelance doctor, this was just supposed to be any other job, helping a private client and taking care of them through recovery. But you were not expecting to get caught in something so much darker that would change your life entirely.

➺ Everything Between Us by agustdakasuga

Pairing: Gangster! Bts x Doctor! Reader Genre: Mafia!AU, Angst, Romance, Fluff Parts: 20/20 Summary: They left you without a goodbye, they broke your heart. You didn’t get your happily ever after. But now they’re back and they’re searching for you to make things right. Could you take them back into your life and let them back into your heart?

➺ Enjoy Your Stay by honeymoonjin

↳ Pairing: Boss!Namjoon, Chef!Jin, Receptionist!Hoseok, Bellboy!Jimin, Bartender!Jungkook, Accountant!Yoongi, Photography student!Taehyung x Reader ↳ Parts: 15/15 ↳ Summary: Working the graveyard shift at a hotel isn’t the most exciting job in the world, but your coworkers are certainly happy to have you here.

➺ Roses & Thorns by daydream-hobii

Pairing: Hybrid! OT7 x Female!Reader | Alpaca!Seokjin, Panther!Yoongi, Fox!Hoseok, Wolf!Namjoon, Bear!Jimin, Tiger!Taehyung, Bunny!Jungkook Genre: Hybrid!AU, fluff, angst Chapters: 20/20 Summary: Y/N is a rehabilitator of hybrids who have been abused or being sold for auction. It’s an illegal thing to do, but she feels strongly that this is the right thing. For many years, she has saved hundreds of hybrids who have needed her help, even for her young age, and six of them decided to stay with her. Namjoon, who was the second saved, initiated an intimate relationship, which Taehyung, who was the first saved, wanted in on. Over time, some of the hybrids that came after the two wanted to join in on the relationship. Now, Y/N has saved a very rare fox hybrid named Hoseok, who is very curious and even more broken. He has the choice to stay with these people and maybe join their relationship or move on to a rehabilitated district where he can have a life of his own. What will he choose?

[KIM NAMJOON]

{SERIES}

➺ The Holiday Pretense by mortallydeepestobservation [ONGOING]

Pairing: Namjoon x f.reader Genre: fake-dating, friends to lovers/roommates to lovers au; crack, smut, fluff. Parts: 4/5 Summary: Namjoon has never been a fan of the holidays. In fact, he could list more things that sucked about ‘The most wonderful time of the year’, than things that brought him joy. Yet, beneath his cynicism, a flicker of hope appeared this year, as the faint scent of homesickness hung in the air. Unfortunately, there’s one tiny little thing that keeps him from calling home- his lack of a girlfriend. But fear not; this holiday season, Namjoon’s smart mouth gets him in a situation where he has no choice but to approach you- his longtime friend and roommate- with an unexpected request.

[KIM SEOKJIN]

{ONESHOT}

➺ Freed by borathae

Pairing: Best Friends!Jungkook x Seokjin | Seokjin x f.Reader OC 1 | Jungkook x f.Reader OC 2 Genre: Fantasy!AU, Slice of Life, Childhood Best Friends!AU, Found Family!AU, Royalty!AU, Queen Consort!Jungkook, Healer!Seokjin Wordcount: 11.1k Summary: “They were brothers brought together by tragedy and best friends separated by destiny. Seokjin, now freed of his Raven mark and unaware of his little brother’s whereabouts, visits the Queen’s castle with promises of healing the other freed Ravens. Jungkook, now living his life as the Queen’s Consort and uninformed of Seokjin’s fate, doesn’t know that today will be the day he will finally reunite with his bigger brother.”

[MIN YOONGI]

{ONESHOT}

➺ Requested Drabble by redrose10

pairing: idol! yoongi x wife! reader genre: fluff, established relationship summary: since you and your daughter couldn't make in time for his performance you sent a little surprise his way.

➺ Requested Drabble by redrose10

pairing: idol! yoongi x wife! reader genre: fluff, established relationship summary: “I was just wondering…If there was a zombie apocalypse and I got bit would you still love me even though I was a zombie?”

➺ Kale'in Me Softly by jimlingss

➜ pairing: yoongi x reader ➜ Words: 17.1k ➜ Genres: 90% Fluff, 9.5% Angst, 0.5% Smut, Farm!AU ➜ Summary: After your grandfather's passing, you decide to take over his farm and plant the trendiest vegetable: kale. It's a struggle to be in the countryside when you've always been a city girl. But there's someone less than sympathetic — a grumpy farmer across the acres who's constantly trying to pick a fight with you.

➺ Straight Shooter by snackhobi

pairing: hitman! yoongi x gunsmith! reader word count: 14.3k genre + rating: NSFW (18+), cyberpunk!au, smut, frenemies (?) to lovers summary: Min yoongi is the best shot in the business. you’re the best gunsmith in the city and the only person he trusts to programme his tech; to make his gear. he likes your work. it’s a shame, then, that he doesn’t like you.

➺ Taste Of His Own Medicine by btsficsandsuch

Pairing: Yoongi x reader Summary: You suddenly have to leave to go back to your home country for a few months. Yoongi decides to ignore you so you decide to show him how it feels when he realizes you’re gone.

{SERIES}

➺ Daddy Diaries by bts-reveries

→ pairing: singledad!yoongi x baker!reader → genre: all floof, teeny bit of angst → parts: 29/29 → summary: yoongi started blogging his life on his social medias to prove everyone who thought he couldn’t raise a child alone wrong. but as his daughter’s birthday draws near, what happens when she wishes for a new mom?

➺ No More by yuzukult

pairing: min yoongi x reader genre: some angst, fluff, one-sided love (unrequited love?), college!au, secret relationship, smut parts: 2/2 prompt: yoongi doesn’t like your consistent pining, and one day, after finally coming to terms that he will never reciprocate any feelings back, you give up. yet, for some reason, yoongi is the one who can’t come to terms with the consequences of when he says ‘no more.’

[JUNG HOSEOK]

{ONESHOT}

➺ Golden Hour by snackhobi

pairing: hoseok x reader word count: 2.6k genre + rating: sfw, magic!au, just a lot of fluff summary: you’d thought yourself content in your loneliness and accepted your place in the world. then hoseok—holding the power of the sun in his hands and his smile—stepped into your life.

[PARK JIMIN]

{ONESHOT}

➺ Lost in the lights [M] by whatifyoulivelikethat

pairing(s): Jimin x reader genre: smut, non-idol! BTS - friends-with-benefits; Jimin's POV summary: Sometimes it is better to feel alive. Park Jimin doesn't want to be in love. He just wants to feel like he is in love, in the dream instead of at a loss. It's going to be a good night.

➺ Withered Love [M] by minxmut-cafe

Pairing: Yandere!! Jimin x reader (referred to as princess) Genre: modern Au, Yandere au. Warning: tooth-rotting fluff, smut, spanking, vaginal sex, cunnilingus, spanking, oral sex (f. Receiving). Breeding kink, dirty talk (fairly tame ngl) Word count: 3.5k

➺ You're Still My Girl, Yeah? by taetaesbaebaepsae

Pairing: Jimin x gf! reader Warnings: angst, smut, unprotected sex (condoms are important irl but boring in imagines), tooth-rotting fluffy ending Word Count: 1770 Synopsis: Jimin and the reader are dating. He feels insecure about your close relationship with your friend. Jimin feels super jealous, but he doesn't show it until they're back home together. Once they're alone, he starts bringing it up during sex and wants her to constantly reassure him that she's his. For him, it’s like the sex is proof of their bond. He’s not mad at her; he’s just really fond of her.

➺ Strip [M] by yoonia

⇢ Character | Jimin x reader ⇢ Genre | Stripper!au, Stripper!Jimin, Bartender! reader, Single parent!au, Smut, Angst, Mature theme ⇢ Word Count | 10,695 words ⇢ Summary | Everything you have done has always been about surviving life and raising your child on your own. Having someone else caring about you was the last thing you had expected. Especially when that someone is the same man you have watched performing every night on stage and secretly admired. But will he run the moment he finds out about your little secret waiting at home?

➺ Shit Happens by smoljimjim

>Pairing: PJM x OC named Siri >Genre: mostly funny/comedy, small drama, no angst >Word count: ~4880 >Description: Jimin didn't expect to meet the girl of his dreams again. Especially when what happened with her a year ago was his worst date EVER.

➺ Failure to Communicate by gukslut

{Pairing} Park Jimin/ Reader {Genre} Enemies to Lovers/ College AU/ comedy/ smut {Rating} Mature - Explicit {Word Count} 21K {Warnings} oral, kissing, fingering, protected sex, biting, marking, other filthy shit {Prompt} Jimin and y/n set in college where he was her TA and got her kicked out of her major bc he didn't give her the grade she needed and was generally unhelpful.

➺ Finding Home by snackhobi

pairing: tea witch!reader x nonwitch!jimin word count: 11.8k genre: growing up and finding your place in the world; fluff summary: be careful, his mother would say. witches don’t care for mundane humans. be polite, do your business, but then leave. don’t linger. it’s not safe. park jimin feels lost and alone and he’s still looking for home. but something unspoken leads him to your door—a witch who brews tea to match the stories and sadness that spill from his lips. a witch who gives him a question that he has to repay with an answer. (after all, you always have to pay a witch their dues.

{SERIES}

➺ The Iron Ring by sailoryooons

❀ Pairing: fae prince! Jimin x human! female reader ❀ Series Word Count: 92,681 ❀ Genre: fantasy au, strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers ❀ Chapters: 5/5 ❀ Summary: After finding a mysterious ring while cleaning out your late grandmother’s attic, you receive the unlikeliest of visitors: a fae prince who claims you have something that belongs to him. Discovering the fairytales your grandmother told you are true is the least of your problems when you’re taken to a world dangerous and unfamiliar.

➺ Idol Couple by bangtanfanfiction

♢ Pairing: Jimin x Reader ♢ Parts: 2/2 ♢ Genre: Fluff, tiny bit of angst (lmao idk) ⌲ Description: You’re a senior idol from YG, and your boyfriend happens to be Jimin from BTS. How does that work out?

[KIM TAEHYUNG]

{ONESHOT}

➺ Wow by taleasnewastime

Pairing: Taehyung x gf! reader (female) Genre: pure smut; pwp. Word count: 5.3k Summary: It’s been a long stressful week at work and when you get home you just want to get into something comfy. You just didn’t realise changing into your boyfriend's jumper would turn him on so much.

➺ The Diligent Plan [M] by untaemedqueen

Pairing: Taehyung x Girlfriend!Reader WordCount: 6.7k Genre: Established Relationship!AU, Smut, Fluff Synopsis: Tae is desperately trying to get his girlfriend pregnant. While doing a live stream jungkook accidentally walks in on the two of them but they’re both so focused on each other (Tae taking full advantage of praise kink) that they don’t notice. Afterward, Tae and the other members are completely unapologetic about it.

➺ Stay by bebejungkook

‧✧̣̇‧ Pairing: Taehyung x Reader ‧✧̣̇‧ Genre: smut, established relationship au. ‧✧̣̇‧ Summary: Taehyung is getting ready for a night out with the boys but the glass of wine you had is starting to hit so he’s looking yummier than ever.

[JEON JUNGKOOK]

{ONESHOT}

➺ Mind and Music by jeonggukieverse

Pairing: Composer Jungkook x Academic Female Reader Genre: Established relationship, Absolutely Filthy Smut, Fluff, Angsty Warnings: Unprotected sex (wrap it up babes), mentions impregnation Word count: 10k+ Summary: You would always smile and say it's okay whenever Jk misses out on important things in your life, and the boys would constantly hint that he should give you more time. Jungkook gets super sad once he realizes that he might not be making you happy anymore.

➺ Meraki by taegularities

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: e2l, grumpy!jk (+ photographer!jk) x sunshine!reader; fluff, smut ➳ word count: 26.6k ➳ summary: Jungkook finds you irritating; far too energetic and insistent. But his perception of you changes bit by bit, minute by minute, when he's persuaded into spending an entire night with you at places he doesn't know.

➺ Navigating Tides by jjungkookislife

♡ pairing: ex-boyfriend!jungkook x f. reader ♡ genre: exes to lovers, angst, fluff, smut [18+] ♡ wc: 18.9k ♡ summary: A cruise is the last place you expect to see your ex-boyfriend, Jeon Jungkook. You broke up six months ago, and your best friends Jimin and Yoongi assured you your ex wouldn't even remember this cruise that you booked a year in advance. However, on your first night on board, you discover your ex isn't only on the cruise ship, but there are no rooms available for him to stay in other than yours.

➺ Third Time's the Charm by jjungkookislife

pairing: ex-boyfriend!jungkook x ex-gilfriend!reader genre: crack, exes to lovers summary: Jungkook will do whatever it takes to get you back. wc: 727 warnings: funeral, some cursing, some hitting

➺ Fool's Gold by mariabtsos

Pairing: Prankster! Jungkook x gf! reader, Genre: Friends to Lovers, established relationship, April Fool's prank gone wrong, angst, hurt/comfort, miscommunication, happy ending. Warnings: small act of violence. Word Count: 4.4k+ Description: when Jungkook’s prank goes horribly wrong, will he be able to win you back or will this be the end of you and him?

➺ The Things He Did by smoljimjim

>Pairings: past bully!JJK x OC named Siri // ex-bf!PJM x Siri >Genre: slight angst, small bits of fluff >Word count: ~8900 >Description: Siri thought she did well avoiding her highschool bully, Jungkook, during her university life. Unfortunately for her, her roommate starts dating Jungkook's best friend. Now, Siri sees Jungkook more than she'd like. But is that really so bad? Has he grown up? Is he a better man? Can she forgive him for the things he did?

➺ Mean by bonny-kookoo

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader Genre: Mafia!AU, Single Parent AU!, Angst, fluff, Smut Summary: Jeon Jungkook was kinda cute, you had to admit that- but he was also a massive douchebag with his head up his ass. And a cute kid.

77 notes · View notes

barbieaemond · 1 year ago

Text

A snake in the bosom

Moodboard by the queen herself @zae5

PAIRING: Prince Regent Aemond x Lady!reader

WARNINGS: dark Aemond, angst, public humiliation, semi public sex, p in v, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), religious kink, knife kink if you squint, overstimulation, light choking.

WORD COUNT: 5.3k

Author’s note: House Peake were green loyalists during the Dance. Shout out to @zae5 who helped me brain storming this filth 🫶

taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @chompchompluke

The skies rumble as they always do when preluding a storm. But it’s different this time. The thunder echoes in your chest, sliding through your ribs and then rattling them to break free.

A warning, the Gods’ way to seal what cannot be undone. They greet this new day, this new order, with blinding lightning. The Wood seems bathed by the early morning light, and yet the owls will soon resume their sentry task on the branches of these ancient trees.

A new flash forces you to look up and you think you can see them, the Seven, leaning out from their perches, pointing a finger at a woman like any other, with her bowed head devoted to obedience and her tight corset to choke to death any desire inside her heart.

And you did.

You stopped going to the library, you kept your eyes faithfully down, weeding out the need to caress the silver through your gaze, to feel the cold alabaster carved into angles so precise and sharp as to be exhausting.

You stopped lingering on the delicacy of long white fingers turning pages, on white knuckles around the sword, rippling with veins, blue and green as snakes crawling underneath.

Not looking didn't do much good.

It's all burned into your eyelids, and the more you don't look the more your mind betrays you like a stab in the back, evoking slender hands and an arched mouth that lazily pulls itself up into an omniscient smirk.

It happens so often that you've come to terms with it. Desire is a shadow that follows you step by step, crawls into your bed as you lie with your husband, makes you close your eyes as you peak and in the darkness that shadow is finally flesh, pulsing and weighing on you, but it is not.

It shouldn’t and it will never.

The lightning tells you can no longer hide, there is no way to stall now, no way to trick the King about the allegiance of your family. It is easy to fool a fool, more so when he’s willing to make himself one in front of a woman. But the King is burned. His cries of pain can be heard outside Maegor’s Holdfast, until the Maesters are merciful enough to give him milk of the poppy.

The throne is empty, the Kingdom has no ruler. But the Gods are snickering with thrill and dread.

Not for long.

“My lady, there’s a storm coming.”

You turn and see your maid clutching a cloak to her chest to shelter from the wind. "Please, you should go back inside.”

You nod tiredly, walking on the thick grass, dragging yourself back within these walls in which days seem to pass following two different times.

There’s the real, urgent one, a military up and down of whispers and promises, pawns moving and ravens coming and going, breaking or forging alliances as easy and quick as their wings flapping. And then there’s your time, dilated, obscenely slow, like molasses. It sticks to your fingers, prevents you from picking up ink and parchment and write, cheat, whisper what you have easily spilled from the worn out lungs of your husband.

“Men sing like parrots in their final throes, remember that. They’d tell you anything when they think with their cock.”

Samantha had been right. But your sister is playing her game in Oldtown and Old Town is not the Red Keep. There are no eyes on the walls there, or ears behind the portraits. There’s no shadow trailing on her path, clouding her mind enough to look away from the game. A game of life and death, your father reminded you in his last letter, the scolding clear in the way the feather had pierced the parchment in some points. The answer was nowhere but in your head, and you were too ashamed to even confess it to a Septa, let alone put it on paper. There’s a snake crawling in your garden of lies and instead of chasing it away, you’re nursing it in your bosom.

You slow your steps upon glimpsing your husband. He’s striding towards you along the corridor. There’s a slight furrow between his brows, one that you have been able to recognize on the faces of many within this fortress. But it's more severe now, or maybe it's just that shadow that makes you see a new man, a stranger.

Has his hair always been that dull and mousy? Has his posture always been so unassuming?

They have since that night in the library, the sin whispers.

“Husband.”

“I’ve been looking for you. We have been summoned to the throne room.”

“Is something the matter? Is the King—"

"The King lives. But the Maesters believe it is best to confine him to bed. Come, Prince Aemond is waiting for us." he grabs your arm and you walk with him, glad that he can’t see the shadow falling on your face at the mention of the King’s brother.

The throne room is so dark that servants are hurrying themselves to light more candles. Every now and then a new lightning flashes from the large windows, making the Iron Throne an eerie sight at the center of the Hall.

There are a few Lords of the court with their ladies, and they seem just as lost as you as they see you and your husband halting before the ancient seat.

Whereas not more than a moon ago, Lords and Ladies would have had to wait hours to be received by Aegon, the new ruler is not long in coming.

The huge doors open and Aemond Targaryen stalks the room carrying the same storm breaking outside. He makes a striking figure, ominous; the lighting pours on his long silver hair making them look like moon rays.

A dreamy picture, were it not for the conqueror's crown on his head and the sapphire in plain sight.

It is the first time you see him without the eyepatch, the first time anyone has seen him without it. They said he wore it so as not to frighten the ladies, but the one-eyed Prince is done hiding. And if fear is all he can muster, so be it. It serves him well for what will come.

He halts before the Iron Throne and takes a good look at the little gathering. You can’t help but trail your eyes on his lean and tall figure, wearing a dark green doublet made of velvet. But it’s the sapphire that catches your eye, and the long scar marring his marbled face.

You remember that one. You remember it shamefully clear while disappearing along with his head beneath your gown.

“My lords” he starts lacing his hands behind his back “As you may know, my brother is in no condition to rule. Thus, according to the law, in case of physical or mental incapacity of the sovereign, the younger brother must bear the weight of the crown.”

There is a shy, almost uneasy passing of glances between those present, but Aemond ignores them altogether. “I will not style myself as King. You will address me as Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm."

Silence falls upon the huge Hall until a loud thunder seem to awaken one of the lords who hurriedly bends his knee before the Prince. "My Prince, I renew my absolute loyalty to you and your—“

"Get up, my Lord, I did not summon you to hear you pledge your loyalty.” He says in a bored tone, darting his eye at the man “Rest assured, if I had any doubt about it, Vhagar would be feasting on your corpse as we speak.”

Silence falls once more and Aemond revels in it. He can smell fear, just like the creature he rides. “But you did raise an interesting subject.” he tilts his head and looks at Lord Peake, your husband, with a benevolent expression stretching on his face. “Lord Peake, if I asked you to pledge your loyalty to me and my family, would you do it?”

You dare not to raise your head, keeping your eyes glued to the ground, but you can sense your husband’s uneasiness, the sound close to one being insulted as he addresses the Prince. “Prince Aemond, my loyalty to your Grandsire and the Dowager Queen has never wavered and it never shall.”

The Prince nods slowly, seemingly pleased by the answer, and keeps his gaze down for a few moments before casting a sharp glance at you. You can’t see it but you can feel it.

“That is very noble of you, Lord Peake. But I can’t help but wonder, is your lady wife of the same mind as you?”

Lord Peake looks puzzled, shifting the weight on his feet “My Prince, my wife is—”

“No.” Aemond cuts him off, darting a single look at the Lord before returning on you “Let her speak.”

With a deep breath, you look up, shrinking under his violet eye and the sapphire ominously glinting of his own light. “My prince, I am saddened that your Grace would think I’m nothing but loyal to your brother, the one and only heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Every day, I pray the Gods to heal him from his burns and give him strength to—”

“Hush.” He says, raising a hand to stop you. “That’s enough.”

You shut your mouth nervously, tensing all the more as he looks at you, unblinking, for a long moment before his lips stretch into a slow, cunning smirk.

“You know, I spoke to your distant cousin once, Lord…something Tyrell. He said something very interesting to me.”

You keep a blank face even when dread starts to run down your spine. Despite the distant kinship, there’s always been bad blood between Tarlys and Tyrells.

“He said to be very careful with Tarly women. Pretty vapid things, he said, hiding a viper’s bite.”

“I am neither my prince.” you state calmly “I’m just a woman like any other, serving my husband, my house, my King.”

“Hmm.” He ponders, the smile lingering still. Then, he picks something form his pocket and asks “What is this then?”

Despite the darkness, you could recognize that seal with eyes closed. And that seal, now, in this room, clutched by Prince Aemond’s fingers, is a death sentence.

“This is not the seal of House Peake.” he rightly says.

You look down, mustering your courage, and say “No, your Grace. That is just a silly token of love between two sisters. I use it to send ravens to my sister in Oldtown.”

“I see. And why do you hide it?”

“I do not, your Grace.”

“Lying to the King may cost your head, my Lady. You’d do well to remember that.”

“Wife…” your husband takes your arm, searches your face with an anxious stare “What is going on?”

“The White cloaks found it.” The Prince informs him “when I made them search your rooms.” He looks back at you and raises an eyebrow “For a token you’re supposed to be so fond of, I may suggest placing it somewhere else than the bottom of an old trunk.”

“Am I on trial for sending letters to my sister?”

“Yes. Considering the circumstances under which these ravens were sent. Ladies give letters to their maids, they do not go personally to the rookery, more so in the hour of the bat.”

Courage leaves you like a gust of wind. You thought you had been clever, careful. Why would anyone take notice of a court lady simply taking a walk in the early hours? And even if they had, they would have dismissed the thought at the first distraction. But not him.

“You think I would not notice? I may be half blind but I can assure you, my lady, I see everything.” He throws the seal on the ground and resumes his soldier-like posture, standing tall and domineering with his arms laced back. “What did you tell your sister? Knowledge about our war plans? Are you secretly siding with the Blacks? I’d advise you to choose your words carefully. From them depends whether you’ll see the next dawn or not.”

Your shoulders slump a little, like a doomed creature sticking its head in the noose.

“My father asked me to spy on my husband to gather knowledge about the green army at Rook’s Rest. But I did not send any raven. I stopped since—"

“Since what? Do continue, my lady, I think your Lord husband is keen to know why his wife stopped playing him like a fool.” He leans his head forward, like someone desperately willing to hear a big secret, but your tongue is a dead thing in your mouth.

“No?” he inquires as silence stretches “Fine, I’ll tell you. You see, Lord Peake, recently your Lady wife seemed to have developed a sudden interest in the library.” the prince says with a little grin “I’m aware of this because I am myself an avid reader. In fact, your lady wife and I have been keeping each other company lately. A rather…intimate company.”

Some of the ladies start to whisper at your back, and you know what kind of words they’re labeling you.

“Wife.” Your husband calls, and this time his voice is steel “What is the meaning of this?”

You open and close your mouth, unsure whether it is worse to tell your husband how you’ve played him or to confess your sin.

“Come, don't deny it now.” the Prince goads you “All the hours you've spent, all those late nights did bear fruit, did they not? You've betrayed your house and the Crown, yet what sweetness it was to have gotten a taste, I'm sure your husband would agree.”

Lord Peaks looks utterly bewildered, shifting his gaze between you and the Prince like a dead fish.

“Oh, so he hasn't after all.” Aemond laughs “A pity, for your treacherous essence reeks of the most bittersweet nectar. Tart, but delicious.”

Your husband’s face is whiter than a sheet for a moment, followed by a red veil of anger and shame. The latter is in plain sight in the way you keep your head down; the Gods have stopped pointing their finger at you and left you in the claws of a much crueler creature. Namely, your own desire.

“Search her.” Aemond orders returning to a stern face “And search her thoroughly.”

“My prince?” asks one of the guards.

“Women can be sneaky with all those veils and layers. Lose the corset.”

The cloaks look at him puzzled, just as you and your husband and anyone else in the room, but the guards know better than to disobey the King.

One of them goes to stand behind you and starts pulling the laces of your dress, another is busying himself with lowering your sleeves.

Your eyes bore to the ground with the purest humiliation as your chest gradually grows exposed. You could raise your hands to hide your breast, but you have nothing to hide, not anymore.

You know it and Aemond knows too. He’s not doing this because he thinks you’re hiding something. He’s doing so for his own pleasure—to see you bare, to finally make you come out of your den and stop hiding from him.

You dare not look at him but you can feel his eye lingering on you, on your body; you can sense the ghost of a delighted smirk on that wicked mouth.

He takes an unreasonably long time before he gives a short nod to the guards, at last satisfied with your public humiliation. What drives your husband to move is not regard for you, but for his own dignity. What are women if not property of men? And however ruined you are now, Lord Peake will not have talk of his wife standing with her breasts out in the Throne Room.

But just as he leans down to you, the Prince speaks “You may go, Lord Peake. All of you.”

The Lord stalls, looking lost at his Prince.

“You can wait outside. She stays.” Aemond commands.

His eye is boring into you as he walks down the few steps with leisure, lingering on the sole of his boot before resting it on the ground. “She needs to learn the price of her disobedience.”

Your husband hesitates, looks at you with lingering disdain and a veil of fear that keeps his eyes wide open, but he can only bow his head.

When you’re left alone the Prince, save for the guards on the four sides of the hall, you dare to look up and see his eye blazing, a cunning edge to it.

He starts circling around you, and what’s left of your dignity makes your hands fly up to cover your chest.

“You said you stopped writing to your sister. And you stopped coming to the library.” he starts with a collected and calm voice. “Why?”

“You know why.” you mutter.

“You better drop this condescending tone if you want to leave this room with your head on your shoulders.”

“Apologies, my Prince. I did not mean to offend you. But I dim you wise enough to understand why I thought it was best to keep my distance from you.”

He stops his circling for a moment “Enlighten me.” and then he’s pacing again.

You swallow, smelling ashes and smoke on his trail. “It was a sin.”

“Hmm. Which one?” He asks somewhere behind you. Out the corner of your eye, you see him slightly leaning towards you, silver rolling past his shoulder as he cocks his head to one side “Your betrayal or the fact that you let me feast on your cunt like a common whore?”

You swallow again. Shame is still coiling in your belly, but there’s also something else on hearing those words coming from his mouth, recalling that night. This man has just humiliated you in front of the court and yet you crave for him to get closer.

“Both.”

“Both?”

“I did not want to.” You say and it’s true. And this, this is the last chance you might have to avoid the pike, or worse, Vhagar’s fangs. “My father forced me.” You say turning your head left and right as he resumes his pacing behind you “I don’t know which kind of deal he has struck with Prince Daemon but I swear it, my Prince, I said nothing about Rook’s Rest, I—“

The word dies on your tongue along with your breath as you feel the coldness of a sharp blade against your throat.

“I should slit your throat here and now.” He whispers dangerously, you can hear his teeth gritting. His arm is pressing on your chest, keeping you locked against him. “What else Lord Tarly ordered you in all his great wisdom? Mh? To seduce me? To play me like a fool, like you played my brother and your husband to gather knowledge about our armies and report it to my uncle and his whore?”

“No, I—" you try to say, but he presses the blade firmer and you choke a gasp, unconsciously grabbing his arm.

“You will speak when I say so.” He seethes, pulling your arm back with his other hand, painfully twisting your bone until a moan of pain escapes your mouth.

It awakens something inside him, something savage that makes him collide his body against yours “Hmm.” He coos darkly in your ear “This brings me back to that night.”

He swiftly twirls the dagger, sheathing the Valyrian steel, but his hand is quick to resume his caging, sliding on your half-covered breast, looking down your shoulders at your bare chest.

His fingers are cold as they slowly travel up, but they lick flames on your skin, making your nipples harden. “Do you remember, little snake? I do.” he runs the tip of his finger on the hard sensitive skin and you whimper softly “It was hard to forget the sounds you made.” He speaks to your neck, his breath scorching “I could hear them when I fucked my hand at night. You made me sin so many times. Was that part of the plan too? Did your father force you to moan my name while you peaked on my tongue?”

“Please…” you sob quietly, feeling fire nestling in your belly at the sound of his voice and the feeling of his bulge against your lower back.

“Do you moan like that when your husband fucks you? Mh?”

He wants an answer, and he pinches one of your nipples when you don’t please him.

“No…”

“No? I thought so.”

Your body reacts on his own, clenching for how his voice in your ear pools like liquid fire below your stomach. You can see his delighted smirk out of the corner of your eye. “You better speak now, little one. Not even the Gods can save you from the spike. Why would they? They turn their backs on traitors and sinners. And you dared to sin with a Kinslayer. You have only me to beg for mercy.”

“You don’t want to kill me.” You choke when his hand laces around your throat.

He would’ve done it already. He might still do it, but his pressing hardness on your back tells you otherwise.

“No. I have a better use for you.” he says squeezing your neck “I will make an example out of your treacherous mouth. They will look at you and be reminded of the mercy of my crown.”

He steps back and you have little time to catch your breath as he sits on the Iron Throne with the confidence of a God on his perch. The candles mix with lightnings, making the blue of the sapphire and the obsidian of the crown shimmer in a disturbing way.

He rests his arms along the forged swords, his long legs almost sprawled out on the ground. “Come and pledge your loyalty, my lady.”

Your heart hammers in your throat as you swallow. This is a game of life or death, but not now. Your two times have merged into a perpetual dizziness and you’re sinking into the claws of your desire like quicksand.

“No.” he admonishes with a voice like honey when you dare a step closer “On your knees. Like the sinner you are.”

You sink to the ground and his eye goes down with you, smirking with something savage flashing on his face. “Go ahead.” He says spreading his legs around you. “Take your blessing.”

You raise your hands slowly, close to his belt but when you start unbuckling it you find there’s no tremor in your fingers. And he’s too quick to notice. “You wanted this, do you?” he asks “Did you close your eyes and pretend to suck my cock instead of your husband’s?”

The buckles clink together as you finish the unbuckling but he suddenly leans over you, gripping your cheeks with a hold of iron.

“Answer me.”

“Yes.” You quickly, shamefully say.

The left edge of his mouth pulls up tiredly, omnisciently. “How? Like this?” In a blink his long fingers breach your mouth, hitting the back of your throat until you choke on them. He pulls them back just slightly, grazing your tongue, and he looks at you with a lustful blaze in his eye.

“Suck.” he orders, and you oblige, keeping your eyes on him as your mouth close around his two fingers, sucking gently and twirling your tongue around the skin.

“Hmm.” He croons with pleasure, leaving your mouth abruptly to lean back against the throne, sliding a little on the ancient seat to push his crotch before you. He makes haste of pulling his cock out, giving it a few tugs while he keeps looking at you, at the longing darkening your eyes and wetting your gowns.

You take hold of his hard hot length, all veiny and leaking from the tip and it’s only natural for you to close your lips around it. You have obscenely dreamed of this.

He lets out a loud gasp, gripping the throne with his hands as your head goes down, taking him all in. It hits the back of your throat with a lewd choking sound; you breathe through your nose, resuming your holy punishment once you have adjusted to length and girth, sucking hard and fast.

"Greedy little thing.” He praises with his eye growing heavy with pleasure “Easy. Easy, now.” he goads you to slow down, and you do, looking up to see him watching you closely, his lips parted, his breath slow and puffed.

“Fuck—” he curses, titling his head back but keeping his eye fixed on you. “See? This is the only good use for your cheating mouth. And you look so pretty.”

The ache between your legs is unbearable, you’re swollen and wet, you can feel your undergown dampening.

“Are you soaked for me, hmm? I bet you’re dripping all over the Conqueror’s swords.”

You have no way to answer as you keep bobbing your head up and down, a sinner worshipping her own sin.

“Open your mouth—wide” he orders and you do, drooling all over him as he starts to thrust harshly in your mouth.

“Yes. Like this, yes—fuck” He pumps in and out, bucking his hips, hitting your throat on and on while he moans helplessly and loudly, as only a King on his throne can.

“Hollow your cheeks.” And when you do it, something snaps inside him. He grabs your hair, pulling at the roots painfully while he keeps fucking your mouth frantically, choking your breath. But you don’t mind. This could be your last day, your last hour breathing. The snake is sucking at your bones and you welcome the poison.

“Enough.” he croaks when he was starting to breathe too fast, too close to the end. “Get up.”

Your knees ache as you pull yourself up but he’s so quick in lifting up your skirts and grabbing your waist to make you turn and sit on his lap, facing the Throne Room. The Guards are exactly where they’re supposed to be, blind and deaf to what they can perfectly see and hear.

“Let me give you my blessing, now.” Aemond says spreading your legs on the throne, making you wince as you feel his hot fingertips on your wet aching folds. “You’re soaked.” he states proudly, smiling with victory next to your ear.

He draws lazy circles on your bundle, sliding down your dripping lips, slowly, too slowly. You buck your hips against his hand and his chuckle travels up and down inside you, rattling your bones like thunder.

“Please…” you cry when his fingers brush your swollen lips once more.

“I should summon back your husband. So he’d see how his pretty wife begs to be fucked by her Prince like a whore. Shall I?”

You grab his hand, pressing it to your core and he dips a finger inside, spilling a loud moan from you that makes him bite your ear as he feels your hot walls clenching around him.

“Fine. We shall let him hear it.”

He brings his soaked fingers to your mouth, sticking them inside to make you taste yourself, and then he takes your wrist, trapping it on your stomach with his hand. He easily slides his cock inside you, moaning along with you into the haunting silence of the hall. His thrusts are deep and quick, desire has consumed him too, for too long. The sounds of flesh slapping against flesh are only barely muffled by your frantic gasps. Your eyes are closed in a painful bliss, his hot labored breath dampens your neck as he fills you to the hilt.

Your throat is sore with lack of air as you turn your head and he slams his mouth against yours, filling your mouth with his scorching tongue, biting your lip and sucking until it’s swollen. All of this while relentlessly rutting into you, giving you violent bursts of pleasure that make your moans high-pitched and loud, so loud that everyone outside these walls can hear them. Your husband will hear them, the guards are definitely doing so.

“Fucking Gods, you feel so good” He pants in your mouth “You really wanted this. Your cunt is squeezing my cock like a vice. That husband of yours never fucked you this good, did he?”

“Gods—” you whine, squeezing your eyes shut but he grabs your chin with his free hand, forcing you to turn your head. “The Gods cannot hear you now. They’re deaf to the pleas of sinners.” with his free hand he clutches your bundle and he starts to torture you, drawing fast circles, while his length keeps rutting harshly. “Lucky for you I’m more merciful than the Gods.”

The tension in your belly is unbearable, it makes you cry obscenely and the sound only pushes him to go harder, faster.

“Please—I—I can’t—Gods—”

“You can’t what? Mh?” he nothing but growls, thrusting once more and then again. “This is your retribution.” He says baring his teeth “You failed your family for this. You lied and cheated. Now fucking—take—it” his last words punctuated with three deeper thrusts that make you whimper and roll your eyes back.

It doesn’t take much longer for you to reach your peak, letting out a long moan matched with sloppy shakes of your body against his. But he doesn’t stop, chasing his own pleasure as you whimper and sob with overstimulation. His hand keeps moving on your apex, all sticky with your pleasure and you grip his arm, trying to stop him. “Please—I can’t take it anymore—please my Prince—"

“You can and you will.” He promises “Give me one more. Come on, little traitor, just one more.”

You’re not late in granting his wish, trembling all over him and curling your toes with spasms in your muscles.

He groans loudly beneath you, teeth clamping down your shoulder and he stills completely, coming inside you with a choked sound of relief vibrating from his throat.

You whimper softly, feeling him pulsing inside you, but he grabs your waist and forces you to stand up. You waver on your weak feet, his hand is around your arm but only to firmly push you away from him. Falling on the ground, you look up to see him fixing his breeches, hair all disheveled and a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“Guards.” He says hoarsely, catching his breath, and two white cloaks stand at attention, their faces blank, pretending to be oblivious to what they have just witnessed. “Take her to my chambers and have the maid give her moon tea.”

Then he looks down at you, his face is wild and yet viciously focused. “We’re going to find a way to send your husband back to Starpike.” He says grazing your lips with his long fingers. “You’re not leaving my chambers anytime soon. In the time being,” his hand grips your mouth harshly, his voice eerily calm “You will write to Oldtown in your own hand, and ask my uncle to send me the head of Samantha Tarly.”

You widen your eyes with terror and he smiles, sweet and poisonous. “And remember, little snake. If I find you near the rookery at odd hours again, I will cut your throat in your sleep. Such a waste it would be. I’d rather have you choking on my cock than your own blood.”

He leaves without another word and you’re left on the ground. You can’t beg mercy to the Gods now, you will have to beg for his and his alone.

thank you so much for reading!! 💕

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inloveinsickness · 8 months ago

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❝ THE USUAL ❞ — kageyama tobio

main masterlist status: on hold

[◉"] ... cw: f!reader, barista!reader, photographer!kageyama, strangers/aquaintances to lovers, mutual friends, slight slow burn, mutual pining, language, tba

next door to alchemy's brew comes a newly-opened photography studio— an ultramarine's lustre. she grows to remember the tall awkward raven-haired photographer’s usual morning coffee order by heart, and he finds any excuse to take photos of her cafe.

— menu prologue | moodboard 01. iced vanilla latte (double shot, whole milk) 02. coming soon!

taglist. open (link to form) @wyrcan @asrichin @hiraethwrote @aozui @elliesndg

@cr4yolaas @keicdcat @diorzs networks. @the-all-stars-network @houseofsolisoccasum

#ᯓ★ : written in the stars !#kageyama tobio #kageyama x reader #kageyama tobio x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #dividers: @/cafekitsune & @/plutism #house of solis occasum

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preciouslandmermaid · 1 year ago

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of songbirds, swords, and spice masterpost

tags: slow burn, slow build, friends-to-lovers, trauma, eventual sexual content, angst, humor, canon-typical violence, found family, polyamory, falling in love, POV multiple, reader-insert, action/adventure, past abuse mentioned, eventual romance, touch starved, battle couple, devil fruit reader, hurt/comfort, mulit-chapter fic, no use of Y/N (future chapters will include tws + additional tags)

rating: mature/explicit

🏴‍☠️ read on AO3 🏴‍☠️

summary: You've performed at Le Cupidon Doré, your "grandmother" Estella's business, for the past four years. Every full moon, you step onto stage and enchant the patrons and collect their hard earned berry. Tonight is no different. It isn't.

Until you realize another devil-fruit eater is in the crowd. Fate, as you've learned, has a bad habit of mucking things up just when you were starting to get comfortable.

🌙 chapter one: Nightingale Island! Performance of the singing moon! 🌙 chapter two: Performance cut short! Arrival of the Bloody Bandits! 🌙 chapter three: Estella's Dream! The Straw Hats Look for Pandora's Box! 🌙 chapter four: Journey into Raven's Crag! The Puzzle Box's Deadly Protector! 🌙 chapter five: Celebration Aboard The Going Merry! 🌙 chapter six: An Unwelcome Guest! What is Estella's story? 🌙 chapter seven: Capture the Wasp! The End of a Nightmare! 🌙 chapter eight: 🌙 chapter nine: 🌙 chapter ten: (other chapters/titles to be added) *i have at least 13 chapters planned

extras: moodboard //

#one piece fanfiction #reader insert #zoro x reader #zoro roronoa x reader #zoro x you #sanji x reader #sanji x you #vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x you #zoro x sanji #zoro x sanji x reader #zoro x sanji x you #sanji x zoro #sanji x zoro x reader #opla fanfic #one piece live action fanfic

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thevillainswhore · 2 years ago

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Spoiled and stuffed

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: Bucky surprises you with a gift on your birthday.

Warnings: Smut (use of a d-ildo fem receiving, c-lit play, a little exhibitionism/mirror kink?), established relationship, Bucky is a warning himself, okay?

A/N: Beta’d by @lunarbuck - thank you so much my love, especially on such short notice 🥰 dividers by @saradika, also wanna give a special thank you to @flordeamatista for helping me with the colouring of my moodboard and in general being so supportive 💗

A little something for one of my nearest and dearest 🥰

You dig through your wardrobe, hair styled to absolute perfection, and make-up flawlessly applied to compliment your features, searching through your clothes to figure out the perfect outfit to go out tonight. Why?

Because it is your birthday.

Bucky refuses to let you stay in tonight, already having treated you like a queen for your special day with numerous gifts and loving gestures throughout the day. A gorgeous breakfast spread put together by him to kick off, with an extra surprise of you spread over the table for seconds.

It’s fair to say he has gone all out.

The result of your gifts from him means a mountain of new stuffies are now placed carefully into their respective homes in your shared room, chocolates overflowing your sweet stash, and an overwhelming amount of love in your heart for your man, who’s been making sure he doesn’t fall short of making you happy.

You love him with your whole heart. Birthday or not.

Hearing the door open, you know Bucky is now in the room with you, not thinking to take any notice as he’s probably just coming in to check how you’re getting on.

So, as you stand in only a towel, trying to mentally match colour choices and style options, you’re too focused on your current task to see the glint of mischief in Bucky’s eyes as he walks further into the bedroom.

Already dressed in his signature combat boots and leather jacket with all-black jeans and tight shirt fit - an outfit he knows you go crazy for - Bucky can’t help the predatory glare he pins onto you as he gawks at the fabric of your towel inching up your thighs. He honestly can’t get enough of them - marks from a week ago still staining your skin, placed there from your wild night that the thought of still makes a shiver run down his spine.

Wanting to update him to make sure he knows you're not going to be late for your reservation at the restaurant you’ve been gushing about for so long, you slightly turn your head over your shoulder - not enough for him to totally come into view - and tell him, “Hi baby! I promise I’m almost done, just gotta find something to wear and then I’m ready!”.

Bucky’s been crazy for you all day. Never mind that he wants to treat his girl on her birthday - he’s ravenous for you all the time, and now that he’s got a little extra surprise for you, he’s excited to see your reaction.

He wants you. Bad.

And he’s gonna have you.

Unaware of the tension in the room, you carry on with your quest, even without a response to you, too busy with your clothing dilemma to question your boyfriend’s antics and unusual silence. You want to pick the perfect outfit to look pretty for him after all.

Soon enough though, you're snapped out of your concentration when a sudden screech from behind you startles you enough to stop you from what you're doing and look towards the sound, only to see Bucky dragging one of your wooden chairs across the floor in your direction.

His azure eyes, fixed intently on you, never leave you as his combat boots, that hold vivid memories of you riding them, thud menacingly against the floorboards, moving closer as he doesn’t say a word.

The dead silence has the hairs on the back of your neck standing up, anticipation bubbling inside of you with the arousing fear of the unknown.

Once it seems Bucky’s happy with the placement of the chair, he walks around to the front, eyes still never leaving you as he slowly sits down and spreads his thighs, licking his lips and finally speaking for the first time since he came in.

“Come here.”

It’s simple. Yet, the authority lacing his gravel baritone has your whole body on edge, hands already trembling at his deep voice and allure that’s screaming at you to do as he says.

You still can’t help but question the meaning behind his aloofness, stuttering with nerves, “B-Bucky? What’s g-going on? What-“

“I said - Come. Here.”

You gulp.

You know that tone of voice. You know what it’s led to before.

Clarity soon hits you. The look in his eyes, the tightening of his fists against his thick thighs, deliciously wrapped in denim that strains against him. It finally makes sense.

He’s going to turn you into his ruined little mess.

Taking careful steps towards him, nervous and aroused for whatever is about to happen, your legs feel like jelly as you walk to what you know will soon turn you into a puddle, knees almost buckling with each timid tip-toe in his direction.

As soon as you’re in between his legs, Bucky smooths his huge, calloused hands over the back of your thighs, going slightly under the towel to feel the crease of your ass as he grips the meat of your legs, groaning at your soft, smooth skin and the scent of your lotion applied after your shower.

Before you can even process it, Bucky yanks the end of your towel, your breath hitching as it drapes down your body, revealing your naked form.

“Bucky!”

Your shriek goes ignored as Bucky licks his lips, eyes taking in every single delicious inch of you as he slowly runs his thumbs over your hips. The cold air hardens your nipples, heightening their sensitivity.

Did he just growl? You swear he did.

Oh, you’re gonna be so fucked.

Literally.

Turning you around and gripping your bare waist to bring you down and make you sit on his lap, you can’t help the way your chest heaves as he brings your legs over his, forcing them wide by intertwining his boots between your feet - your cunt open on display for him and him only.

You’re already panting as Bucky starts to kiss all over your neck, hands smoothing over your thighs as you feel the rough denim of his jeans against your silk-smooth skin.

It’s torture not togrind your clit against the rough texture.

A violent tremor stuns your body as his deep timber ripples through your ear. “Daddy’s got another present for you, baby girl.”

Your whines are music to Bucky’s ears. He adores how worked up he’s got you already, but he doesn’t plan to stop there.

This is just the beginning.

Reaching around, somewhere you don’t see as your eyes are already half shut in apprehension for the pleasure you know he’s about to bring you, an extra weight added to Bucky’s already huge hands brings you back down to earth a little.

“Look, sweetheart.”

You do as you're told, slowly bringing your gaze down to see what’s in his hand. An unexpected moan bursts out of you at the thick, long piece of silicone he’s holding.

“You like it, baby? Daddy had it specially made, just for his birthday girl - look familiar at all?”

Of course it fucking did.

The recognisable girth. Veins bulging down the shaft that you loved to lick and tease. The unmistakable length that hit spots no one else had ever before. Even the colour was perfect - a pink tip rounding the whole look perfectly.

An exact replica of Bucky’s cock.

“Fuck.”

You can practically feel the smug smirk on the bastard’s face, too dumbed out already to call him out for his wickedness.

It’s sinister, the grin that crosses Bucky’s face. He’s proud of how well his gift has gone down with you. “That’s right, baby. You’re gonna fuck Daddy’s cock, while I watch and enjoy the show.”

Not even having the chance to prepare yourself, Bucky begins rubbing the fat tip of the toy up and down your cunt, your now soaking pussy coating it in your juices and easily sliding through your slit, catching on your hole each time.

How Bucky found a fake dick that felt so realistic was beyond your belief. Nothing could ever compare to the real thing, but right now, you’re on the verge of begging for your boyfriend to fill you and soothe the ache.

Trying to catch the tip of the dildo on your cunt, Bucky takes the utmost pleasure in making sure he moves it away just in time before you can sink down, your needy whining hardening his cock even more.

“Daddy, please please please, I wan’ it so bad.”

The strain of your legs being forced wide by Bucky’s boots has you drooling before the main events even begin. The exposure to your naked form, contrasting against your boyfriend’s fully clothed one, surrendering yourself to his control entirely.

Your head is spinning, in the best possible way, lost in the dream that Bucky is.

“I know, I’m sorry, baby girl.” But he really isn’t, his seductive chuckle, forcing your pussy to clench as he goes on to make you even more dizzy. “Daddy just fuckin’ loves watchin’ how desperate you get for me.”

With no warning, Bucky thrusts his fake cock to the hilt, your walls fluttering around the shaft as it sits deep in your cunt. Your mouth hangs open in shock to experience the same stretch only Bucky’s cock has ever given you. The veins in your boyfriend’s arm bulge from the exertion of holding you down to stop squirming and the effort to keep himself collected, inflicting torture upon himself from not having his cock in you.

Once you’ve managed to get your breath, your head falls back onto his shoulder, too heavy from the fuzzy feeling swirling through your head to carry any longer.

But Bucky’s not finished revealing all the tricks up his sleeve.

Gripping your jaw to force your head back up, Bucky coos in condescension at how dumbed out you look, gently shaking your head to try and bring you back to the present.

“Aw, baby. Don’t tell me you’re done already. Why don’t you look ahead, hm?”

And so, as Bucky keeps a firm grip on you, you look forward to the direction your man has made you face, opening your eyes a little more to get rid of the blur of your surroundings when it becomes clear as to what else has got him so giddy.

A mirror.

A perfect view of you draped over Bucky’s lap, completely bare, with a cock held inside you.

Sly fucker.

Bucky placed the chair strategically in front of your full-length mirror just so he could add an extra element to your delicious reckoning.

Whispering into your ear, his breath causes goosebumps to break out onto the curve of your neck, “You see what I see, sweetheart? How well your pretty little cunt takes Daddy?”

You do. You can see everything. The pride in Bucky’s eyes, the feral beast hiding behind the blue that’s dying to come out.

And as he holds your gaze, he finally starts to thrust the silicone cock into you. His strokes are slow and tantalising enough to make you need more. He’s always loved finding how much you could take before you snapped.

It didn’t mean he would go easy on you just because it was your birthday.

The force behind the pace of the cock gets faster, harder, your moans and whimpers causing Bucky’s grip to tighten on your arms - no doubt leaving more bruises for him to admire next time.

You would normally be embarrassed by the loud squelching from your pussy, wetness flowing from your stuffed hole as Bucky continuously fucks his silicone cock into you. But, you can’t find it in yourself to care in the least when you’re so close to your high.

“You wanna cum?”

You don’t think you’ve ever nodded so fast in your life, words escaping you as you become boneless in his hold.

That doesn’t satisfy Bucky, though. Evident in his snarl as he growls into your neck. “I want a fuckin’ answer. Do you want to cum?”

“Yes! Yes yes please, Daddy, please!” You’re almost screaming, past experiences leaving no time to be silent any longer, knowing your man will easily leave you on edge the whole night should you not answer.

Bucky must be on the same wavelength as you, that damned twinkle in his eye, proud of his girl for learning so well.

But you think you might die as he leans forward, his gaze unwavering from yours in the mirror as he states clearly, “Fuckin’ give it to me then, baby.”

And with a couple of taps to your throbbing clit and the tip of the dildo hitting your cervix just right, giving him your cum is not a problem as you practically vibrate in his hold. Belly jittering from a little overstimulation as he slows down his strokes and eventually comes to a stop.

The room is quiet apart from your heavy breathing. Bucky gives you a second for the adrenaline to ease off before slowly sliding the fake cock out of your pussy and placing it somewhere you don’t care to check right now.

Bringing his arms around your waist after untightening his grip to lean you back into him, Bucky snuggles you, allowing you to come down from your high as he obliterates your face with dozens of kisses and whispers praise into your skin.

“Did so fuckin’ good for me, gorgeous. Daddy’s so happy you like his present for you.”

Your delirious laughter is nothing new at this point for him. The energy zapped out of you enough to have you on the border of going a little loopy. Bucky would normally carry you to bed and take care of you as he tells you stupid jokes to make you giggle. But his birthday girl deserves a good night out, with some food to settle her appetite for what is to come for the rest of the night (little did you know).

The last of the sweet kisses pecked into your silk skin have you melting into his embrace. Bucky’s delicate way of taking care of you warming your heart even after his wicked antics just before you had to go out.

“Now, I’ll give you a couple of minutes, and then we’ve really gotta get going so we don’t miss our reservation, sweetheart.”

Relaxing back into bucky, you’re almost pieced back together enough to get on with your next steps, but the feel of a huge wet patch on his pants has you immediately embarrassed and stuttering to try and explain to your man how you’ve ruined his outfit.

“Bucky, - your jeans. They- they’re um, a little… wet.” Cheeks going hot as you duck your head in shyness, you attempt to get the rest of your words out, “You might need to change before we go.”

Bucky already knows the result of fucking you with your new toy has left him with a little something on his jeans.

He can’t help the dangerous chuckle he lets loose at your sheepishness after what he’s just done.

Placing his pointer finger under your chin, turning your head towards him until you look in beautiful blue eyes, he smirks, and you know what’s about to come out of his mouth won’t be good for your health or your pussy.

“Oh, pretty girl. You really think I give a fuck? I’m not gonna change, wanna know why?”

Kissing you once on the lips, your heart begins racing again, his mouth hovering over yours as he whispers, “Because this way, everyone will know who you belong to - who made you cum so hard.”

And Bucky wouldn’t truly be your man if he didn’t proceed to kill you with his final words.

“And who’s cock you’ll be taking in your tight cunt later on when I give the birthday girl her last present of the night.”

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prythiansprincess · 30 days ago

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CHAPTER ELEVEN | TSOFAS.

pairing: azriel x reader.

word count: 3,997.

author’s note: this chapter contains flirting via death threats, accidental cuddling, and chocolate croissants. what more could a girl want? currently y working on chapter sixteen, which means I only have ten more chapters left to write until this story comes to an end. looking forward to sharing it all with you x

♫ figure you out - voila. nav. series. moodboard.

This was the cliche to end all cliches.

The lover’s inn. Fake fiances. One bed.

Sellyn Drake herself couldn’t have penned a better overused trope. You would know since you had secretly devoured Nesta’s entire collection during one particularly slow mission in the Sunset Isles.

The only difference was that you were the furthest thing from a damsel in distress and Azriel was certainly not your prince in shining armor. Though you were beginning to see the appeal. No woman, man, or even centaur seemed safe from the shadowsinger’s charm.

You supposed there was something to be said about the whole dark, mysterious, and brooding warrior persona that Azriel embodied. He’s just pretty, isn’t he? Serena’s voice echoed in your subconscious once more.

The shadowsinger loomed in the doorway of the bathing room, water droplets glistening on his golden brown skin. The tiny towel clung tightly to his trim waist, teasing a glimpse of his toned chest and chiseled abs. Thank the Mother for Pylenor and his romance package.

Azriel swept his dark locks back before cocking his head. “Thorne?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

“Sorry, what? I wasn’t paying attention.”

The shadowsinger quirked a brow as his lips curved up into a smirk. Usually you found that stupid little smirk annoying, but the way he was staring at you now awakened more than just your ire.

“I said, you can have the bed.” He gestured to the small futon in the corner of the room. “I’ll take the couch.”

“Are you sure?” you said. “It doesn’t look very comfortable. I mean, with your wings and all…” You made the mistake of peering up at those massive wings. They nearly took up half the room, gobbling up every ray of moonlight that streamed through the gauzy windows.

“You seem awfully concerned about my wings,” Azriel drawled, raising a brow. “Or maybe it’s just a ruse to invite me into your bed.”

You scoffed. “You wouldn’t survive a tumble in the sheets with me, shadowsinger.” Sweeping the roses off the mattress, you plopped down on the bed and put on your signature devious smile. “As you saw, the last male who found himself in my bed had trouble keeping up.”

What in the Cauldron was happening? Was the shadowsinger flirting with you? Were you flirting back?

Gods, you really needed to get laid. Lack of sex was the only logical explanation behind this entire exchange. It definitely had nothing to do with your body’s reaction to the near naked Illyrian. Most of the time you were too busy arguing to take stock of Azriel’s appearance, but you were definitely paying attention now.

Azriel let out a low chuckle. “A dagger to the throat? I’d call that foreplay, princess.”

He prowled towards you, that tiny towel hanging dangerously low on his hips. There was a light smattering of hair on his abdomen, the traitorous little happy trail leading nowhere good. His muscles flexed as he hovered over you. The shadowsinger smelled like the forest during a balmy starkissed night. It reminded you of home.

The scent enveloped you as Azriel caged you in. His eyes flashed golden like an ominous warning. A dark sign.

“What are you doing?” Your voice came out breathier than you’d intended and the smug bastard definitely took notice.

The space between you was practically nonexistent. Alarm bells sounded somewhere in the back of your mind, but you couldn’t hear it over the erratic beating of your traitorous heart. The shadowsinger looked ravenous as he drank you in.

“Just lie back, princess.” Azriel brushed a stray strand of hair off your shoulder, his calloused fingers rough against your skin. For a moment, you held your breath. You were so close now that the slightest movement would bring your lips to his. The room crackled with tension, like the moment before a lightning strike. Then, the stupid prick smirked. “And at least let me have a pillow for my troubles.”

The shadowsinger snatched a pillow from behind you, making you sink into the mattress. It broke you out of the strange bout of sexual tension.

You rolled your eyes. “You could’ve just asked.”

“I could’ve,” Azriel said as he plopped onto the couch. “But where’s the fun in that?”

“You’re a pain in the ass, shadowsinger.”

He kicked his feet up and smirked. “Maybe, but you seem to be enjoying the view.”

“Please, like you weren’t staring first.”

Azriel smiled, not bothering to deny your accusation. “Good night, princess.”

“Fuck off, shadowsinger.”

You flicked your wrist, plunging the room into darkness. The silence of the night settled over you, the whistling autumn breeze lulling you into sleep.

It might’ve been seconds or minutes until you finally felt yourself relaxing and slipping into the land of dreams, but the pleasant feeling of drifting into sleep was rudely interrupted by a grating sound coming from where the shadowsinger laid. You groaned, turning over in bed and burying your head underneath the pillows. It did nothing to muffle the sound.

Creak.

“For fuck’s sake!” You shot up in bed, groggy and tired. “If that bloody sofa creaks one more time, I’m going to lose my shit.”

“I’m just trying to get comfortable.”

“News flash, shadowsinger. It’s not working. I told you your wings wouldn’t fit.” You stood, peeling the blankets back and rearranging the pillows.

Azriel squinted in the darkness. “What are you doing?”

“Saving my sanity,” you muttered. “You take the left side and I’ll take the right. Do not cross the barrier if you want to keep all of your appendages intact.”

The shadowsinger opened his mouth, most likely gearing up to throw another suggestive comment at you. “Don’t,” you warned. “I take my sleep very seriously and if I lose any more of it, you’ll find yourself cuddling with my blades instead.”

Azriel wisely decided to keep his suggestive comments to himself. He crawled into his side of the bed, those giant wings of his dangling off the side of the mattress as he faced you. Moonlight slashed through his cheekbones, its silver ray like a kiss of glass against golden brown skin. Though the pillow barrier kept you at an arm’s length away, you could still feel him beside you. His shadows stirred, settling into the space that separated the two of you. They hovered over the invisible line that you’d drawn, as if testing the boundary.

You fought the urge to smile. Devious little darklings.

The shadowsinger shifted, placing one arm underneath his pillow. Even under the cover of darkness, those piercing hazel eyes seemed to beckon you forth like a moth to a flame.

“Thanks,” Azriel finally said. His lips quirked in amusement, which only earned him a glare in response. “You know, you’re not as surly as you make yourself out to be.”

You frowned. “That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me, shadowsinger.”

The Illyrian warrior beamed and two little dimples appeared on his cheeks, providing such a stark contrast to the dour countenance you’d gotten so used to. You didn’t even know Azriel had dimples.

“Happy to keep our streak going, Thorne.”

You rolled your eyes and turned over to the other side. As glorious sleep finally came to claim you, the last thing you remembered were those stupid charming little dimples.

Azriel barely slept a wink.

Mostly because his shadows couldn’t seem to stop informing him of the assassin’s every move, which kept him up for most of the night since she couldn’t seem to stop stirring in her sleep. How anyone could be more restless asleep than awake, the shadowsinger didn’t know.

At some point during the night, the assassin had managed to smack him in the face, hog the blankets, and kick multiple pillows off the bed, including the makeshift barrier that she placed between them. By the time the sunlight streamed in through the windows, she was completely starfished on the mattress, barely leaving Azriel a tiny pocket of safety on his side of the bed.

Eventually, Azriel succumbed to sleep. The scent of cinnamon and crisp apples lulled him into unconsciousness. He felt something vaguely warm nestled against him, like the heat of the hearth during a cold night. Though the shadowsinger wasn’t a fan of fire, he found himself coveting the warmth.

When he finally awoke, Azriel felt something tickling his cheek. The shadowsinger blinked against the glare of the soft autumn sun only to find streaks of scarlet blocking his vision. He groaned and clutched the closest pillow to block out the light, but was met with something much softer and warmer curled against him.

Azriel blinked. The assassin was curled underneath his wing, her face nestled in the crook of his neck as she cuddled into him shamelessly. His arm snaked around her waist, their legs tangled together as though they’d intertwined themselves like roots in the middle of the night.

He knew he should pull away, but Azriel couldn’t bring himself to do it. There was something mesmerizing about the female in his arms. She looked peaceful and unguarded, her features soft and relaxed for once. The shadowsinger wasn’t blind. He was aware of the assassin’s attractiveness, but that wasn’t what made him pause. Sleeping in his arms like this, she almost looked like that wild and carefree girl in the portrait back at Thorne Manor.

Azriel felt a strange tightening in his chest. Probably a result of the assassin’s death grip around his neck. At least that’s what he told himself.

The shadowsinger took that as a sign to get up.

If the assassin woke up and found them in this compromising position, Azriel would never hear the end of it so even though part of him wanted to stay in that bed all morning, he slowly crawled out of bed. The shadowsinger was careful not to wake the assassin despite the fact that an earthquake probably wouldn’t have roused her from sleep.

Still, Azriel smoothly extracted himself out of her grasp and decided to venture out for breakfast. He tucked his wings in as tightly as he could and threw a coat on as an extra measure of safety. Glamouring would’ve been preferred, but he was only going downstairs and he doubted anyone else would be awake this early.

The shadowsinger paused in the doorway. He looked back to find the assassin reaching for the place where he had laid, her hair fanning around her like living flames as she clutched the pillow he placed in his absence. The tattooed wings on her back shimmered in the sunlight.

Beautiful, his shadows echoed.

Gorgeous, he found himself agreeing.

But Azriel wasn’t entirely sure if he meant the tattoo or the assassin herself.

When you woke up, Azriel was nowhere to be found, which was just as well because it gave you time to prepare for the day. Plus, he wouldn’t be here to witness you drooling into the silk sheets. You were especially grateful of the shadowsinger's absence as you faced your reflection in the bathing room mirror.

It was not a pretty sight to behold, but you had never been a morning person. You were a firm believer that anyone who enjoyed waking up at the ass crack of dawn was a certified psychopath, though you were the one who appeared like one now. You went through the motions, washing your face and brushing your teeth before taking on the daunting task of untangling the bird’s nest you called hair.

By the time Azriel returned, you looked semi-decent. Not that you cared about how you looked. Especially not around the shadowsinger.

“Someone’s finally up,” Azriel quipped.

You frowned, crossing your arms. “Where have you been?”

“Missed me, princess?”

The agitation building up inside of you was instantly quelled by the mouthwatering scent of chocolate and coffee. Your stomach growled in response, eliciting a shit eating grin from the shadowsinger.

“Is that breakfast?”

Azriel nodded. “Courtesy of Pylenor. He made sure to put little hearts on our pastries too.”

You chuckled, reaching for the breakfast tray. Azriel held it just out of reach. “Manners, Thorne. What do we say?”

If he wasn’t currently holding the key to your salvation, you would’ve kicked him in the crotch. Instead, you plastered on a saccharine smile. “May I please have my breakfast before I chop you up and eat you instead?”

Azriel smirked. “As enjoyable as that would be,” he set down the tray and watched as you tore through a chocolate croissant. The village stirred beyond the balcony and the two of you ate in silence, watching the quiet street come to life.

“I can see why you liked coming here, Cassandra. It’s quite enchanting.”

You grinned. “Never thought I’d hear the word enchanting come out of your mouth, Nestor. Maybe these croissants actually are magic.”

“Magical enough to show gratitude to your fiance?”

“Don’t push your luck, shadowsinger.” He rolled his eyes as you took a sip of your coffee, which was pure black and contained enough caffeine to power a small village. “Gods, the centaur even knows how I take my coffee. Should I be scared?”

“Trust me, Pylenor felt plenty of fear when I told him to put three shots of espresso into your drink.”

You paused mid-sip, squinting at him over your mug. “How do you know my order?”

“I’d be a pretty shit spymaster if I failed to remember something as simple as a coffee order.” Azriel sipped his latte, which looked so light in color that you wouldn’t be surprised if there was nearly a gallon of fresh cream in it. “Besides, it’s impossible to forget such an atrocity. It’s almost like you have a personal vendetta against joy.”

“My apologies, Nestor. Not everyone wants a sugar bomb first thing in the morning.”

“I’d rather be pumped full of sugar than drink straight black coffee.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “I mean, I know you murder people for a living, but even this is a bit sociopathic, isn’t it Cassie?”

You shrugged. “You know what they say, birds of a feather flock together.” You pointed your croissant at his massive wings. Red and gold veins shimmered at his back, mimicking the autumn leaves. “Or in your case, birds of a leather.”

Azriel cringed. “Not looking forward to having them glamoured again.”

“Why? Does it hurt?”

He shook his head. “No, worse. It tickles.”

You pouted in mock sympathy. “Poor little batling. Now suck it up, we need to head to Miss Margaret’s soon.”

To your surprise, the shadowsinger voiced no complaint as you glamoured his wings. Though he did do a strange sort of shimmy as your magic took hold. The two of you gave your final performance as Cassandra and Nestor, bidding Pylenor goodbye and handing him so much gold that his eyes nearly bugged out of his head, which was nothing compared to his reaction to Azriel’s smile.

Those stupid cheeky dimples again. The centaur didn’t stand a chance. You knew the feeling.

As the autumn sun kissed the sleepy village of Vanora, you found yourself back at Miss Margaret’s Museum of Marvels. Unlike yesterday, the shop appeared to be open. The door was ajar, but it was completely empty inside. Not a single customer in sight.

You and Azriel stared at one another. The shadowsinger urged you forward, sending his shadows ahead to scout the place. He flanked your back, keeping watch while you explored further into the store.

Store didn’t seem adequate to describe the place. The three-story building was more an experience than anything else. The walls were lined with shelves filled with rare antiques — poisons, weapons, and scrolls were amongst the various items that Miss Margaret offered.

“Hello?” you called as you walked deeper into the strange museum. Your voice bounced off the stone walls, echoing eerily.

“It doesn’t look like anyone’s here,” Azriel said. His shadows returned to him, curling around his shoulders. “My shadows said that the books are toward the back. We might find the recipe there.”

He pointed at a shadowy alcove just beyond your eyeline. “Oh great, that doesn’t look shady or dangerous at all.” The shadowsinger rolled his eyes, but you could tell from his posture that he was on guard. “Lead the way, little darklings.”

“Don’t call them that,” Azriel muttered.

“Why? Do they not like it?”

One shadow curled around his ear, whispering something that made Azriel sigh in exasperation. “I don’t like it.”

You leaned in conspiratorially. “The big guy’s kind of a grump, isn’t he? I’m sorry you have to deal with him. You don’t mind the nickname though, do you?” Shadows swirled excitedly through your hair, making you giggle. “I guess that answers that.”

The shadowsinger didn’t look amused. “Stop turning my shadows against me.”

You fought the urge to smirk as Azriel walked ahead of you. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

When his back was turned, you winked at his shadows. You couldn’t be sure, but you thought you heard the sound of soft laughter.

The playful mood suddenly turned tense as you walked through the shady alcove. The temperature seemed to drop, awakening goosebumps along your arms. Dust and cobwebs lined the row of bookcases directly in front of you. The various scrolls and tomes were sorted alphabetically, which meant you had to walk deeper into the dark to find the M section.

Fortunately, Miss Margaret’s Marvelous Muffins wasn’t very hard to find. The recipe book was pastel pink and embossed with gold letters, its spine decorated with an intricate floral pattern. You slowly coaxed it out of place, waiting for something horrible to happen as Azriel tensed beside you. Besides a cloud of dust, nothing unseemly occurred when you pulled the book out.

“A peculiar choice.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you came face to face with a pale pixie. Her eyes were a strange shade of gray, so light that they seemed to swallow up all color from her already translucent blue complexion. Her matching indigo hair fell in perfectly coiffed curls, which bounced against her shoulders as she emerged from the other side of the bookcase.

The shadowsinger eyed her with suspicion, his fingers flexing as though he was prepared to reach for the dagger sheathed on his thigh at a moment’s notice. You squinted at the book in your hands, then back at the pixie.

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Margaret.” You curtsied and slipped on a placid, non-threatening smile. “My fiance and I were just admiring your fine establishment.”

Miss Margaret smiled in return, but the gesture didn’t quite meet her eyes. “So it appears. What brings you dearies to my neck of the woods? We don’t see visitors in Vanora very often these days, I’m afraid. Especially not a couple as lovely as you two.”

You subtly nodded at Azriel, gesturing for him to follow your lead. “We’re returning visitors, actually. At least I am. Though you may be more familiar with my friend Alinta.”

“Ah yes,” the pixie said. “I remember the formidable old crone. She used to come here with another young witch.” She tilted her head, giving you the once over. “Looked a lot like you. Though your hair is much brighter.”

Witch? The pixie was no doubt talking about your mother, but you had never heard anyone describe her as a witch and you certainly didn’t remember her mentioning visiting this place with Alinta.

“You must be mistaken,” you said politely. “Alinta always came here on her own.”

The pixie shook her head. “I may be old, but my mind is as sharp as those blades of yours.” You flinched involuntarily, fighting the urge to reach for Dawn and Fury. How did she even know you were carrying? Miss Margaret smiled. “I know a Thorne when I see one and you, my darling, are the prickliest of them all. Now why don’t you tell me what you’re really doing in my shop?”

Azriel tensed beside you, ready to strike at your signal. Miss Margaret was obviously more dangerous than she appeared, but despite this you made no move to attack. Alinta must have had good reason to send you here. Plus, the pixie knew of your mother.

You straightened and lifted the recipe book in your hands. “Alinta sent us here to retrieve this.”

The pixie smiled upon seeing the cover. “The beginner’s guide,” she said. As soon as Margaret spoke the words, the letters on the spine shuffled and spelled out Miss Margaret’s Macabre Magicks. “Following in your mother’s footsteps, I presume?”

“You called her a witch,” you said, trying not to marvel at the display of magic. “But she didn’t practice anything beyond the most basic magic.”

Miss Margaret’s lips curved into a sharp smile. “That’s what she would have this court believe, especially her brother-in-law. Though Laurel perished young, your mother was probably the most powerful witch of her age.”

“How is that possible?”

“Haven’t you ever wondered about your own abilities? Why you pick up on spells and hexes so easily?” The pixie asked, staring at you as though she could see beyond flesh and bone. “There’s magic in your blood, girl. As ancient as Prythian itself.”

“Yes, but I always thought it was because of…” you trailed off, stopping yourself. “The other side. My biological father.”

The pixie nodded. “He is quite powerful, that much is true. But your mother’s magic was in a league of its own. Why do you think the Silver One chose her?”

Even without looking at him, you could feel Azriel’s stare boring into your side. There was no doubt that the shadowsinger would have questions for you later, but he wisely stayed silent.

“Power calls to power,” Margaret said, cutting a look between you and the shadowsinger. “Even the light needs the dark to cast a shadow.”

You balked, tightening your grip on the book. “I understand why my mother didn’t tell me, but what about Alinta?”

The pixie’s mouth set into a grim line. “Why do you think she sent you here, child? Everything must happen in its proper time. Your return to this court is not a coincidence. Fate itself has led you here.”

Cauldron fucking boil me, you thought. Miss Margaret was Magnificently Mad, but even as the thought crossed your mind, you knew that there was truth to her statement. The Autumn Court had beckoned you home. You felt it in your bones.

“And what does fate want with me?”

“To uncover the truth,” Margaret said simply. “But only if you are ready to face it.”

That wasn’t at all vague and frustrating. Nevertheless, you nodded. “I don’t suppose you’d tell me how I’d go about doing that?”

The pixie nodded at the book. “You hold the first step in your hands.”

“This book. Does it contain information to break a powerful protective spell?”

“Yes, but it is capable of more than just that.” Her pale blue eyes honed in on you, making you feel as though she wasn’t just talking about the book. “This book contains rare and ancient spells, but I must warn you. It takes a powerful witch to channel magic this old. Are you up for the challenge, child?”

You paused. It wasn’t as though you had a choice. You had to open the Map of Mysteries. “Yes.”

“Very well, then. Take the book and do what you must.” The pixie shrugged.

Miss Margaret gave you one last look, before turning away. As unwise as it may have been, you couldn’t help but call out. “That’s it?” you asked, “You’re just letting us go?”

The pixie stared right through you, her pale eyes clouding over. Azriel angled himself beside you, his invisible wings brushing against your shoulder as he braced for what Margaret may do next.

“We shall meet again, daughter of fire.”

₊˚⊹♡ thank you for reading. as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated. feel free to drop an ask too — i’d love to yap & chat with you all.

taglist: @fuckingsimp4azriel @onebadassunicorn-blog @acourtofbatboydreams @marina468 @ly-canthrope

#── .✦ tsofas. ‧ ₊˚ ⋅#azriel #azriel acotar #azriel fic #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x female!reader #azriel smut #azriel fluff #acotar smut #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction

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f3mme-f4tale · 1 year ago

Text

☾ bound by bloodshed ☾

moodboard

bound by bloodshed - w.i.p series

potential warnings: there will be mentions of blood and gore, explicit language, sexual content, dark thoughts, violence against women, cannibalism, body horror, torture

pairing: seattle!ellie x female reader

word count: 18.5k (work in progress)

✎ summary: tlou universe series based heavily off the song "girl with one eye" by florence & the machine and "strangers" by ethel cain. in the bleak aftermath of a harsh winter, ellie's heart is torn asunder when her patrol partner is snatched away during a routine run, spirited away by hunters turned savage cannibals. driven by an ravenous hatred and a physical yearning, she unwittingly partakes of sustenance offered by the very hands tainted with the essence of human flesh.

important note: this fic won't be for everyone! it is going to be extremely disturbing, as i am pulling inspiration from various body horror novels such as tender is the flesh (bc im mentally ill), a certain hunger, and bunny. i had a nightmare after reading this selection of books and thus, this series was born. VERY heavy on the trigger warnings

coming soon...

⭒ girl with one eye by florence & the machine ⭒ strangers by ethel cain ⭒ your best american girl by mitski ⭒ nutshell by alice in chains ⭒ forwards beckon rebound by adrianne lenker ⭒ monster by paramore ⭒ haunted by searows ⭒ please be rude by gigi perez ⭒ doomed by bring me the horizon ⭒ anyone else by pvris ⭒ thick skull by paramore

#tlou #tlou2 #fanfic #ellie x reader #ellie williams fic #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie x fem reader #ellie fic #wlw fanfic #wlw #lesbian #horror #the last of us

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holdmytesseract · 1 year ago

Note

I was thinking about something for the Ice Flower AU

It takes place right before the events of By The Fireplace

It starts off with the queen going into labor prematurely. She wasn’t supposed to give birth until after the hunt. Everything goes smoothly & as planned otherwise.

Maybe a sprinkling of Loki’s reaction to seeing & holding his sons for the first time. Being overjoyed with his love for them.

Then there is some sort of conflict because Loki now doesn’t want to leave for the hunt as he does not want to leave his healing queen & newborn sons alone.

The boys miss their father & cry out for him when he is gone but the queen will comfort them & reassure them that he will be back soon enough.

Then “By The Fireplace” follows chronologically

That is all.

Just something that came to me here at 3am & I needed to get it out because I need to see how you write this. You always take my ideas & turn them into something better so I’m excited for this one as I’ve been obsessed with the Ice Flower AU as of late

moodboard by @chennqingg <3

Snowflakes

Jotun!King!Loki x fem!Æsir!Queen!Reader

Summary: It's time for a winter hunt - and the twins to see the light of the day. Not the best combination, is it?

Warnings: pregnancy stuff, birth, fluff, bit angst, even more fluff, mentions of a hunt, Loki's instincts?

Word Count: 3,1k

a/n: Friend... This was SO much fun to write. I love this AU so much. Thank you for requesting this! :)

Tags: @lady-rose-moon @huntress-artemiss @muddyorbsblr @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @chennqingg @smolvenger @alexakeyloveloki @theaudacitytowrite @jennyggggrrr @stupidthoughtsinwriting @asgards-princess-of-mischief @eleniblue @vanilla-daydreaming @loz-3 @valencia-rou @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @fictive-sl0th @bunny24sstuff @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @lovingchoices14 @linaax @mochie85 @goblingirlsarah @glitchquake @lokidbadguy @icytrickster17 @gruftiela @lulubelle814 @mandywholock1980 @november-rayne @chantsdemarins @simping-for-marvel @lou12346789 @aagn360 @lokiforever @anukulee @multifandom-worlds @hisredheadedgoddess28 @lokisgoodgirl @vbecker10 (Continuing in the comments)

Ice Flower Masterlist ❄ Loki Masterlist ❄ Masterlist

Loki stood in his presence chamber; hands folded behind his back. The king of Jotunheim was gazing absentmindedly out of the window; watching how the harsh winter conquered more of his home with each passing day. It was definitely time for the royal men to go on the last big hunt before it would be too late. He knew that; was more than aware of this - but it was the last thing he could think about now. Not after he had taken his heavily pregnant wife to the healers only a mere hour ago, because she wasn't feeling good at all. Sure, it could be just a normal side effect; especially now since she was close to birth - but not close enough. Her due date was determined after the planned hunt. Not before, and now the king feared for his queen and unborn children.

What if something was wrong? Or Norns forbid, what if she went into labour?

Loki swallowed hard and gently shook his head; trying to get out of his thoughts. It wasn't easy though. He had been sent off by the healers instantly and was now doomed to wait here alone in his audience chambers for anyone to tell him what was happening.

It was cruel.

The king sighed; redirected his gaze from the window to the crackling fireplace and over to his desk. A lot of work was still waiting for him, but he couldn't focus. He couldn't think. Not until he was informed about the health of his family. He ran a hand through his raven curls and started to walk up and down in the spacious room - impatiently. Not to know what was going on ate him up inside.

At some point, he poured himself a mug of fine Asgardian mead and took a big sip; feeling the alcohol burn in his throat. Just as the king wanted to refill the empty mug, a loud knock sounded from door. "Come in!" He immediately turned; seeing one of the healers entering the big room. Carelessly placing the mug on his desk, Loki hurried over to the elderly female Jotun. "How is she? How is my wife? And what about the children?" The healer closed the door behind herself; ensuring privacy. "Your majesty," she curtsied. "I need to you stay calm. A panicking husband won't help the queen in labour."

Loki’s eyes almost popped out of his head. "L-Labour? S-She's in labour?!"

"Yes."

That was the moment the usually so composed king lost it. He started to walk in a circle; hands in his hair and quietly cursing in old Norse. "My king... I know this is hard, but we all need you to stay calm." "I can't!" Loki chanted; feeling how he was beginning to lose his nerves. "My wife is carrying twins and now she's in premature labour! What if our children aren't ready to be born yet?! What if-" The collected female Jotun, which Loki knew already since he had been a child, placed a hand on the his shoulder. Something only she was allowed to do. No other member of the royal staff. "Loki... Your wife is stable and ready to give birth and so are your children. It's merely two weeks before her calculated due date."

The gesture and words caused Loki to snap back to the here and now. He took a deep breath; trying to calm down. "Nothing will happen to them?" She shook her head. "No, my king. The pain she endures is normal. She's having contractions and is really close to giving birth. The twins are fully developed and ready to survive outside the womb."

Loki needed a moment to sort his thoughts and feelings and to process the information. "I-I'm going to be a father soon..." He mumbled; more to himself than the healer, but she heard it anyway. A soft smiled darted over her face. "Indeed, your highness." "I wish to see Y/N. Can I... stay with her during the birth?" The elderly woman's azure lips pressed together into a thin line. "Better not, my king. A birth is not for the faint-hearted." Loki crossed his arms; puffing his chest. "I am not faint-hearted. I am a warrior. Nothing is able to shock me."

The Jotun healer cleared her throat and adjusted her half moon glasses. "I don't mean to be rude or disrespectful, my king, but... When Prince Thor visited last month and told you about his children's birth, the guards had to take you to the medical wing, because you fainted..." Loki's cheeks reddened at her words and suddenly was all his confidence gone. He forgot about that.

"B-But my wife, I-I-I..." He sighed; hanging his head. "We will take good care of the queen, my king. I'll return as soon as your children are born." Loki couldn't do much more than nod; knowing that he more than likely wouldn't be able to see how much you were suffering. He would've been no help.

The next two hours were awful for the king. Minutes ticked by so slowly. All the waiting and inability to do something to help you or his yet unborn children drove him insane. He walked up and down, left and right; literally walking a marathon - he was that uneasy and nervous. At some point Loki even sat down on the chair at his desk; desperately trying to occupy himself with work, but it was in vain. He re-read the lines over and over again and was just not able to focus. Endless more minutes passed, until a guard stormed inside his audience chambers; totally out of breath, but smiling from ear to ear. "My king! The healers sent me to bear the news that the queen just gave birth to healthy twins!"

Loki’s knees almost gave in at the guard's words and realisation punched him right into his gut... He was a father now - officially. "I-I have to go." Without saying another word, the king stormed past the guard and sprinted down the hallways towards the medical wing. His heart pounded violently against his chest once he stood in front of the big, wooden doors which would lead him into a new, exciting life. Loki took a deep breath and pushed the door open. It was mostly dark inside; the curtains pulled in front of a few windows to prevent the last rays of sunshine of the year to illuminate the room. Only a few candles were lit. Barely enough to see, but it created a cosy, warm atmosphere.

Loki looked around, felt a bit helpless since no healer was to be seen - but then he heard the soft call of his name.... "Loki..." It was weak and soft, but nevertheless happy and full of love. His head snapped around to face the back of the room - and there you were; laying inside a big bed. A white nightgown engulfed your body, just like the warm blankets and furs you were tucked underneath, and in your arms- The king's breath hitched in his throat.

Two tiny bundles.

He felt like crying; wanted to scream his happiness from the rooftops of the palace.

Your heart melting giggle brought him back down to Jotunheim, though. "Why are you just standing there, my king? Come, meet your sons." His head started to spin as he walked over to the bed.

"S-Sons?"

You nodded; shifted one bundle to rest on your chest, so that you were able to stretch out your hand towards your husband. Loki approached you slowly and placed his hand in yours. Gentle ruby eyes settled on you - and the newest additions to the royal family. You ran your thumb over the back of his hand; giving him a happy smile. "Congratulations, king Loki Laufeyson of Jotunheim. You are a father now."

Loki was speechless. All he could do was let the tears stream down his face. You smiled even wider; touched by your husband's reaction. "Say hello to them." The king needed another short moment. Everything was just so overwhelming. "M-May I hold my sons?" You giggled, "Of course." and handed firstly the tiny boy over to his father, who definitely looked more like you. Fair skin; golden-blond locks on his head.

Loki took him with slightly shaky hands; but once he felt the comforting weight of the newborn on his arm, he relaxed and looked down. The baby had his eyes closed and nose scrunched up; clearly not amused by the loss of his mama's warmth and touch. "No, no, no, don't cry, sweetling. I'm your daddy," the king whispered and lowered his head to press a lingering kiss on the infant's head; inhaling his scent. His... He was his - and so was his twin brother. The king relished in this intimate moment for a few seconds, until a soft whine attracted his attention. His other son. Loki looked up; curiously. You giggled. "I think someone is sensing that his father is around..." He couldn't help but to smile at your words, before slowly and gently switching the babies. Now he held his second son - who was a spitting image of himself. Black fuzz on his head and azure skin; peppered with familiar marks and ridges. "Hello, tiny prince," Loki cooed; eyes stuck on the baby, as he touched his small, soft, warm hand with his pointer finger.

You watched Loki bond with his newborn sons; smiling.

"Are you happy, my love?" Ruby eyes looked up to meet your Y/E/C ones once more. "More than happy, my queen. Words are not enough to express how thankful I am that you've given me not one but two children." Your smiled widened; butterflies erupting inside your belly. "You had an important part in this, too, you know..." "That may be true, but you carried them, birthed them and are going to nurture them... You are doing all the hard work. I just did the fun part."

You laughed softly; shaking your head. "I love you, my king."

Loki leaned in closer - carefully, not to hurt one of the babies, and kissed your lips softly; lovingly. Then his eyes roamed your body; slight concern reflecting inside those stunning rubies. "How are you feeling, Flower? You look exhausted..." He noted the dried sweat on your skin and the strands of hair who stuck on your forehead.

You nodded. "I am. It's been excruciating five hours of labour, after all..." Loki kissed you again; whispering against your lips: "I am so so proud of you, my queen. So proud." You buried your free hand in his long raven locks; feeling him close.

"Rest now, Flower. I'll look after our sons."

The first few exciting days of being a first-time father passed by quickly for Loki. He decided to leave all the important work to his advisors and just focus on you and the twins. He wanted to spend the first days - preferably weeks of their lifes with them and not leaving them out of his sight. He wanted to be here for you and help wherever he could and just stop being the king of an entire realm for a little while. This would've worked out just fine - if it weren't for the hunt and the lurking danger of the onset of winter...

"Your majesty..." One of Loki's advisors approached him; cautiously. "The winter storms are about to hit Jotunheim in barely a few days. The time is running out. We have to do the hunt now." The king scoffed; holding Váli tightly cradled against his bare chest, while he signed some documents. "I am aware of that, Skard, but as you can clearly see, I have other duties to tend to at the moment." He looked down at his sleeping son; smiling. "I understand that, my king, but-" "There's no but," Loki interrupted Skard immediately. "My presence is needed here. I have to stay with my healing wife and newborn children. Just send Ymir on the hunt with the best warriors of our kingdom. They will make it without me." Skard shook his head. "No, my king. We both know that Ymir can't lead them alone. Besides, it's tradition and your obligation, King Loki. So hard it sounds - and I thoroughly apologise for this, but it doesn't matter if the queen just gave birth. Your folk awaits this from you. They count on you."

Loki sighed. He knew that Skard was actually right, but all his primal instincts worked against his wit; demanding from him to stay with his lover and babies. "I'm going to talk to the queen about this. Accept my decision and leave." Skard took a bow, "Yes, your highness." and left the audience chambers.

Loki sighed once again; pinching the bridge of his nose and decided that this was a problem he would deal later with. For now, he had other work to tend to.

Unfortunately, though, had Váli other plans...

He was getting restless and antsy in his arms; seemingly always on the edge of crying. His tiny lips were formed into a pout; mouth opening and closing - telling Loki that he was hungry. Well... Seemed like he would have that conversation with you now and not later. "Come on, sweetling. It's mealtime." Loki stood up from his chair and carried the bundled up infant in one arm to yours and his chambers. On his way, he felt the little boy latch on Loki's bare skin; in search of his food source. It caused the king to chuckle. "Apologies, little snowflake. I'm afraid I can't give you what you're searching for. Just hold on for another minute. You'll be with your mama soon."

Once he had opened the door to the chambers and tiptoed inside, his eyes searched for you. They found you rather quickly. You were laying in bed; resting - like most of the time, since the birth had taken much of your strength and left you hurt. You still weren't able to properly walk. It got better each day, sure, but you needed time to heal.

"My queen?" The king called out softly; in case you were sleeping. But you weren't. You lifted your head; smiling at your husband as he approached the bed. "Hello, my love." Loki found you wrapped up snugly into a think blanket, which was covered by a fur. He could also make out the tiny blue head with black curls, which peaked out from the blanket.

He smiled. Áki was sleeping on your chest.

"I didn't wake you, Flower, did I?" You shook your head. "No, don't worry." He sat down on the edge of the bed beside you; placing a kiss on your forehead. "How are you feeling tonight?" "Better, but still exhausted." He nodded; kissing you properly this time. Although, the kiss was interrupted by Váli, who let out a loud whine; making himself noticeable - and his hunger. "Ohh, somebody is hungry, eh?" "Indeed. I actually wanted to keep on working for another hour, but well... I guess I'll just continue tomorrow." He smiled; watching you shift underneath the pile of blankets. "Are you cold, love?" "Uh.Huh. Like always around that time of the year. Winter is coming. I can feel it." The king eyed you for a moment. "Hand Áki over. I'll place him inside his crib, so that you can feed Váli." "Alright." Loki lifted the sleeping baby carefully up in his free arm and placed him gently inside his crib. Then he handed you Váli and shortly returned to his other son; making sure that he was properly tucked in and especially warm.

"Oh, and Flower..." Loki started; facing you again with a smile, while he started to get rid of his armour. "Shift a little bit, please. I'm going to make sure you're warm enough." He watched how a shiver ran down your arms as you moved; primal instincts egging him on to keep his mate warm. Loki quickly slipped inside the bed behind you and made you rest against his upper body. "Better, Flower?" You nodded; cuddling against him. "Yes. Much better."

You fed Váli then, with Loki’s hand supporting the infant. You loved having your sons and husband close. You couldn't deny that.

After a few moments of silence with just the sweet coos of Váli filling the spacious room, Loki decided to address the hunt topic.

"Flower?" "Mhm?" "I must talk with you about something..." You turned your head to give him a smile. "I'm all ears, my king." He sighed. "It's about the winter hunt. I know that we have not much time left to go hunting. Winter is coming - fast. My advisors told me that as well, but..." "But?" "I... I don't want to leave you and our newborn children alone now. I refuse to do so." You blindly lifted one hand; feeling for his cheek. You cupped it. It was an awkward angle, but you didn't care. "Why, my king? We are safe here, in the palace and the lovely caregivers will help me if I need it. It's all good, my love. You can go. You should go. It's important." The king scoffed. "See, my love? Exactly that is the problem. I should be the one helping you. I should be the one taking care of you and our offspring. Not the caregivers!"

"Is this your inner Jotun speaking again, dear husband?"

Loki blushed. "Most likely, yes."

You burped Váli; placed a kiss on his forehead and handed the drowsy, milk-drunk bavy over to his father, who reached over with his long arms and placed him in his crib; wrapping him up inside a warm fur, too. Once Loki was finished, you immediately turned in his embrace; snuggling against him. "I understand that. I really do. I couldn't picture leaving the boys alone. Not in my wildest dreams. It's hard, I know, but..." You sighed. "You are the king. Our folk counts on you, my love. They need you. It's your obligation."

"I am very aware of that - as well as of the fact that I won't be able to escape this. I have to go." You smiled; kissing his chin. "Just think about the wonderful things which await you when you return home." Loki pulled you closer against his muscular chest. "Honestly, this the only reason what will keep me going on the hunt... Returning to my family."

The following week, in which Loki was away was heavy. Heavier than you anticipated. Sure, the caregivers helped you where they could, but it just wasn't the same. You missed him. Badly - and so did the twins. They were only infants, yes, but their senses were heightened, due to Loki's Frost Giant genes. Therefore, they sensed exactly that their father wasn't around.

Something they definitely didn't like.

You did your best to reassure them; giving them as much motherly love as you could. But you were not Loki. You only hoped that he'd return fast...

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