#stumbling over cobbles

[henryvell]

world's wackiest waltz

[toodelusionalforreality]

Rare

Azriel x Reader(N)

Summary: Azriel's reluctant night out with his family turns out to be more interesting than he expected.

A/N: This is an experimental piece of work. I'm testing a writing style, so feedback is welcome. I have newfound respect for writers who have mastered group dynamics in their writing.

Word count: ~5.6k

Warning: None [minimal editing/proofreading/formatting]

‘Two weeks,’ Mor whispered, trudging forward with her eyes set ahead in a daze. Her heels hit the cobbled path with soft clicks. ‘They’re closed for two weeks. What am I going to do?’

Feyre looped her arm through hers and guided her away from the closed doors of Rita’s. No one took the disappointment as hard as Mor did. Still, they each expressed varying degrees of frustration with their grunts and groans. Cassian cursed aloud for it was his idea to enjoy a night like good old times. And he enjoyed a night like good old times every two months. However, that night, the rest of the Inner Circle agreed to celebrate the few peaceful months they'd had in a while.

Except for one.

Azriel was grateful for his family’s reunion and their safety. Only he wanted to celebrate it in the quiet of their home. His family didn’t spare him the courtesy of protesting. Knowing him well, they sent the middle Archeron sister to plead their case. One look at her hesitant eyes and he couldn’t deny the soft-hearted woman. He had one regret for the night—to have not flown off when he sensed Elaine’s presence on the other side of his door. 

When Rita disclosed their misfortune, Nesta pinned him with an accusatory glare as if his ill will had manifested into the burning down of their beloved retreat. She would have calmed if Azriel had stood there with his usual blank stare. Instead, he lifted a brow as a smirk tugged at his lips.

Cass grumbled, ‘At least pretend not to enjoy this so much, you ass,’ without even looking at his brother. 

‘Two weeks!’ Mor shrieked, throwing her arms in the air as she reeled out of the initial shock. ‘How could she do this to me?’ Her blonde hair swayed behind her with every shake of her head.

Rhys walked on her other side. Besides Azriel, he was the only one unbothered by the ruin of their plans. ‘I’m sure the fire in her kitchen had barely anything to do with punishing you.’ His taunting tone was the only sign of his apathy for his cousin’s plight.

Elaine’s voice perked up as Mor opened her mouth. ‘We could go somewhere else,’ she inched away with each word as if she expected another outburst. ‘It’s not that late.’

And that’s how Azriel came to hate the woman for the night. 

He wasn’t cruel. He loved his family, and he agreed they deserved a break, but it wasn’t something he would sacrifice his peace for. He was ready with his own proposition—go back home, get drunk on faerie wine, and maybe some mirthroot if they resisted too much. His family would've had their merriment, and he’d have had his serenity.

As they stumbled and meandered through the streets, stopping at one place and the next, vetting out each other’s suggestions, Azriel found himself enjoying the moment—listening to his family’s usual banter, the comfort of familiarity built over centuries, and fussing over triviality instead of wars and courts. If his family chose to spend the entire night on the streets, he would gladly trade his peace for that.

Before he even finished the thought, his family arrived at their destination. The last on their list. Another bar. Or at least what it said on the polished plaque that hung above the rusty door frame.

Cass spoke first, ‘This is it?’ His words echoed the thought they all had in their minds.

Beyond the worn-out door held in place by a brick wedged between it and the doorframe was a harshly lit long room. Even the open door and cool breeze of the summer night couldn’t mask the stench of stuffiness from the dingy hole in the wall. Light flickered warning anyone dared contemplate entering the horrid place. Too narrow to hold any table or chair, there stood a single desk opposite the entrance. Two shelves nailed behind it sloped, the bottles stacked atop them slowly making their way to the edge. A place like that at the centre of Velaris was a swamp surrounded by beauty and life.

A woman rotten with age sat behind the table. Her hands jittered with each click of the needles held between her sharp, black claws. Her crooked nose curving past her thin lips and her non-existent ears were the only indications of her faerie blood other than her savage nails. Azriel couldn’t remember the last time he saw a creature that looked so old and fragile, yet with malice in her being, a kind of cruelty that lurked in her bones. 

Despite what he witnessed, none of it deterred him that night. His body shook with silent laughter. All that wasted trip, endless stops to pick at the tiniest flaws only for his family to end up there. 

Mother loved him. The complete disbelief on their faces was worth everything Azriel suffered since he opened his door to Elaine that night. Even his shadows seemed to enjoy the irony of their situation, skittering around his shoulders.

Mor turned to him sharply, her eyes alight with fire. ‘As long as there’s wine, this will do,’ she gritted her teeth. 

Pushing his friend, whose only purpose in life was proving a point, was the last thing Azriel wanted to do. Yet it was an opportunity he couldn’t pass. How far would his family go? What would it take to break them? Would they give in and chuck down whatever wretched brew the suspicious creature offered? He merely bowed his head and waved at the door.

Mor swallowed her squeak of disgust as she crossed the threshold. Her eyes ran over the assortment of bottles on the shelves—three filled to the brim with pale green liquid, two half-filled with something that looked awfully like rotten blood, of what Azriel didn’t care to find out. 

‘Do you suppose,’ she brought her eyes back to the woman, ‘you have any wine?’

The needles went silent for a beat, ‘Take your pick,’ and resumed. Not once did the creature glance at them as she jerked her chin to the shelf above her head.

With the seven of them now inside, the air turned hot and suffocating. Nesta pushed past to the front, standing next to Mor. ‘This is Pharus, isn’t it? The bar?’

Finally, the faerie looked up. Her eyes roved over their faces, their bodies, the detailing of threads on their clothes finer than the ones she held in her hands. ‘Of course,’ she snarled, ‘why else would you be here?’ Her lazy eyes rolled creepily in their sockets to stop at the door beside the shelf. ‘Over there,’ she said and went back to her hideous patchwork of browns and blues and pinks.

In the silence, a steady thrum of beats crept along the floor. A soft murmur lured them to trust the creature’s words and enter the unknown that awaited them behind the burnished wood, a portal out of the creature’s lair.

Mor stepped up to the door, her eyes on the glass doorknob—hypnotised, curious, so bright. As her fingers brushed against it, the faerie cleared her throat. ‘There’s a price for it,’ she added with a sly smile on her lips, a little thing that didn’t belong in her sagging face.

Azriel fished into his pockets while his family stared between the door and its guardian. His curiosity ebbed and grew to a point of no return. He had to find whatever called to him, whatever called to them. He dropped a gold on the table. It clattered on the wood, its ring echoing for a breath too long. 

The faerie stared at it and then at him, and then his family, studying each of their faces. Her claws left scratches on the wood as she grasped the coin in her palm. She sniffed it, her eyes widening.

The door didn’t make a sound under Mor’s hand. One by one, they entered, and Azriel let the door close behind him. Their heels clicked on the polished wooden floor.

Every plush leather chair, strategically arranged table, and carefully curated decorations contributed to the elegance of the room. Soothing warmth enveloped them even on the summer night in a comforting embrace. The fragrance of spices cut through the musk of the wooden furniture. Golden orbs hung from the ceiling, casting a soft glow across the space enough to enable their fae sight, but none too harsh like Rita’s.

A band sat on a raised podium at the far end, playing music that complimented their ambience. In the middle stood the majestic bar, a stretch of counter that ran along almost the entire length of the room. Bottles filled with various shades of liquor sat on the shelves behind—each of them, artistically planned and placed. Lights reflected off decanters and glasses set on trays, adding a bit of colour to the brown and gold theme of the room.  

Faerie—high and lesser—took the seats without sparing each other a glance of discrimination. There was no stench of tension in the air, only a fragile calmness. Two servers shifted around the room speaking softly with polite smiles on their lips. A female tended to the bar, her hands worked with mesmerising precision. Despite the overflowing liquor, there wasn’t any loud cry, laughter, or chatter. 

Luxury and safety were the words that came to Azriel’s mind. His shadows shaded his shoulders, falling quiet as they studied their new territory. 

One of the servers led them to the only table large enough to fit them—close to the band, a bench along the wall on one side, and chairs on the other.

Once they settled, he spoke with a rehearsed tone, ‘I’m guessing you’re new here.’ The hitch in his breath told them he knew exactly who they were, and yet his smile remained. ‘We have two rules. One, we ensure the night’s peaceful here as much as possible. So, we don’t appreciate harassment of any kind, and I’d advise you to stay out of trouble. Two, if our barkeep cuts you off for whatever reason, you leave.’ His shoulders relaxed as if it were the most hated part of his job, and his smile turned more genuine. ‘Other than that, you do whatever you want. What would you like to drink?’

‘I’ll have faerie wine,’ Mor waited for no one, ‘Any wine. Don’t care how many.’ Her thigh pushed against Azriel’s as she shifted to a comfortable position on the bench, her warmth seeping past his leathers. A swift nod from everyone else had the server scrambling back to the bar.

Nesta inspected the surrounding faces. ‘What kind of moron expects drunks to follow rules?’

‘The one who doesn’t want to be held responsible for what happens next when the rules are broken.’ Nesta’s eyes snapped to Azriel’s, and he shrugged. 

Elaine looked between their faces, expecting the inevitable. But the Inner Circle indulged in spying on their night’s getaway. ‘Are we really ignoring what we saw outside?’

‘Oh,’ the server peered down at them as he set a tray with two wine bottles and glasses with a grace unexpected of his thick, manly fingers. ‘That hag is harmless. She just wastes her day knitting. If she bothered you, it’s because you’re new. Easy prey, you know? The regulars are used to her by now.’

Feyre reached for the glass offered to her. ‘Who is she?’

The server didn’t care to meet their eyes, but his words were eager. ‘She came with the building. This used to be her home. The old owner, her son, wanted to sell this bar. He found a better place for his family. But she didn’t want to move. Night and day they fought so much that people were afraid to even walk the street. Anyway, the son couldn’t resist our offer and sold it, and she—,’ he clicked his tongue, ‘she refused to leave with him. And N didn’t want to leave her homeless.’

Azriel didn’t particularly enjoy the conversation as much as his family did. It mattered very little to the server, whose words tumbled out in a single breath. Clearly, it wasn’t the first time he was telling the story to his customers. He would make a terrible spy, Azriel thought. Maybe a decent source.

'N?’

'She owns the place now. She gave the hag that hall. That’s where she and her husband lived before her son built a bar here.’ He sighed. His eyes swept over the rest of the room once he placed a filled glass in front of each of them. ‘It’s not good for business with a front like that. She scares everyone away. But N insisted, and we renovated around it. Most customers don’t even set foot inside after the first time. Some take pity and give her a few coppers. Not that she needs them though. N takes care of all her needs.’

He turned to them with a wide smile, with a server’s politeness. ‘Anyway, enjoy!’ He turned to leave and paused. ‘You didn’t give her anything, did you?’

Every pair of eyes at the table fixated on Azriel. He blinked, ‘A gold.’

‘You better stay away from her the next time.’ The server walked away laughing.

In his long life, and also as a spy, Azriel had met enough faeries ranging from the vilest to the kindest. Nothing fazed him anymore. Though it would have made quite a story on any other day, his focus remained on his family. He would rather figure out a way to coax his friends to leave early than uncover more about a hag and her benefactor. After a long night of searching for a bar which offered wine sweeter than Rita’s, he knew it would be almost impossible.

At her sister’s request, Feyre led Elaine closer to the band, both nursing their drinks in their hands. Loose chairs littered the open space in front of the dais, where they took a seat among other patrons. The musicians nodded at them with a smile. 

Cass slammed his glass on the table. ‘I don’t like this place,’ he grumbled, looking at the well-behaved mob, ‘Where’s the fun here? This is not how a bar is supposed to be.’

‘Why? Is this place too classy for a brute like you?’ Nesta smirked, sipping her drink as she surveyed the place. She fitted right in.

Years of sneaking and spying had ingrained the instincts in Azriel’s very bones, impossible to separate who he was and what he did for his family, for his court. His hazel eyes didn’t miss a thing. His shadows stayed close and whispered in his ears. Careful, calculating.

Between the bar and the band stood two doors—one the servers often drifted in and out of with trays in their hands, a kitchen; and the other too pristine to be a back door or entrance to a storage room. An office, maybe. No one entered or exited it since his family took their seats across it. 

His brother was wrong. The patrons enjoyed their time, but not the way people did in Rita’s. Like his family, they bundled together and shared a drink and a laugh with their loved ones. Their glazed eyes and flushed faces proved they indulged in the drinks as much as Cass did. A few cleared the space in front of the band, shifting the chairs around and waltzing to the music. A sense of belonging lingered in the air, unlike the mindless chaos that stained Rita’s.

As warned, the bartender declined drinks to a few. Even the ones who posed the most threat to start a fight walked away without resistance. Not one sound of protest or trouble followed.

Elaine and Feyre returned when the band paused to start their next song. As Elaine settled into the seat across from him, she gave the widest smile to Azriel. He smiled back. Rhys filled Feyre’s glass and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. Cass and Mor still disagreed with Nesta on the essence of the true bar experience. Rhys took Nesta’s side only to watch his brother seethe with anger. With the remaining sisters returned to the table, it became clear Cass and Mor were losing the battle.

To add salt to their burn, Azriel trailed a finger along the rim of his glass and smirked. ‘I like this place too.’

‘You weren’t on board all night and now you have an opinion?’ Cass waved a hand of dismissal but his eyes burned with betrayal, ‘Go back to your brooding.’ Azriel grinned.

Laughing and stumbling, Mor headed to the bar. The bartender blushed so red that it wasn’t a mystery what she was up to. Minutes later, she returned with a bottle of amber liquor and a glass of a blue-green drink.

Bottles were emptied, banter was shared, and laughs grew contagious. Even though it was harmless, raucous laughter, they attracted the wary eyes of the server. Azriel knew where they were headed. 

He slid Rhys’s glass of whiskey out of his grasp, who turned to him with an arched brow. He mumbled with a sigh, ‘We’d need more than one ride tonight.’ 

Rhys didn’t argue. He limited his drinks as much as Azriel that night for the sake of his mate. Ever since Feyre, his brother’s usual recklessness waned. He became more attentive and considerate in ways he had never shown before. 

Both his brothers were equally troublesome. Cass with his wildness and brutality, and Rhys with his cunning and sly. And yet, after finding their mates, they were still all that and a bit more, someone better in every sense. 

Azriel looked at Mor pressed to his side, drunk and smiling. The woman he once loved. And then, Elaine, the woman he wondered to be his mate. 

Even with the passage of time and endless disappointments, his heart refused to let go of hope—such a fickle thing for an immortal life. An everlasting pain that turned the kindest of souls into a force of cruelty—worse than love, worse than torture, worse than death.

To have heard of and believed in a spiritual bond with another was one thing, but to see it with his own eyes and not long for it was not something even a damned soul like him could resist. 

Who wouldn’t want something so precious divined by Mother herself, to be blessed by her, to be born fortunate to have a mate in their lifetime and find them? 

Azriel knew love, he’d felt it. But how was it any different from a mating bond? Would a love be enough to save his wretched heart from himself? Could a love be as profound and sacred as a mating?

He looked at the happy faces of his family. Four of the seven—mated and in love. One with her supposed mate. 

Rare of the rarest.

And there he was. An ordinary rock amongst gems. One Mother didn’t deem worthy enough. Maybe she was right. What was he, after all, but an unlucky bastard? What would it take for Azriel to be one of them? Shadowsinger. Warrior. Servant. Brother. Friend. Survivor. Tortured. Abused. Broken. What more did he need to be to appease the Mother to bless him with one miracle? 

What would make him one of the deserving?

He took the glass he snatched from his brother and downed the drink in one gulp. The liquor burned his throat, a good burn, almost as good as the one his hands endured a long, long time ago.

Rhys turned to him with a blank stare. Azriel checked his mental wards and averted his eyes. It was pathetic enough to long for something that he couldn’t have. He refused to warrant pity from his brothers as well. 

His family was together and happy. He breathed in the sweet aroma of the blue-green liquor Mor swirled in her glass. 

It was a good night. 

As he drank a little more, his shadows ventured out weaving through tables and shuffling feet. Azriel allowed it for a while before he reined them back. But they never answered when they returned, only dancing around his shoulders.

Moments later, they tried again, crawling down his back. The tug and pull of control slipped out of his hands as if an invisible force stripped them off him. A gentle caress over his shoulders, coaxing him, easing him to let go. And his shadows were willing to follow this force, betraying their loyalty to him. Azriel didn’t touch his drink after that. 

As expected, the server approached their table and looked at him, the only one sober enough to be reasonable. ‘We won’t cause any trouble,’ said Azriel before he could speak.

His shadows swayed around the back of his neck and leaned to peer beyond the male in their path. They stood still, unmoving, watching, and then crashed into his shoulder, turning into a dark mist.

The server watched them wide-eyed. He shook his head and glanced behind him at the once-closed door, now open. ‘Maybe they could get something mild. Don't let N see them like this.’ With those words, he stalked back to the bar.

The room in front of him lacked the soft ambience of the bar with its golden lights and cosy furniture. A desk with a chair occupied the small space, giving a partial view of the bar outside. A woman bounded down the stairs that ran up from behind the door. She headed to the bar, exchanged a few words with the bartender, and went back inside the room. The servers paused by the door to greet her before they moved on.

N.

To own a bar for high fae and lesser faeries alike, to have her workers and customers fear her, N was laughably docile. Azriel had spent long enough around women of strength and courage to never judge one by looks, but he couldn’t help it. 

In her simple dark pants that flared at the hem and grey-white shirt, N was underdressed than her workers. She was as tall as Feyre, maybe a few inches taller. Her face held a hint of innocence, not close to Elaine’s, but something about her convinced she was harmless. Unless she had a sharp tongue like Nesta or had someone like Mor or Amren to do her bidding, it was unlikely she managed to keep her patrons in line by herself.

‘Azriel,’ called Mor from beside him. Her eyes were unexpectedly fierce after all the wine she had. ‘You’re drinking, right?’ She waved the empty glass in her hand.

He knew he should’ve said no. He glanced at the server across the room, but Nesta and Mor had already left for the bar. His attention drifted to the three drunk males who stood too close to a young fae trying to get away from them. She inched closer and closer to Mor who whispered into Nesta’s ear making her laugh. The shadows on his shoulders grew restless, creeping up and down his arms. He should have offered to get the drinks himself.

Cass was in the middle of narrating an elaborate plot of his fights in Illyrian war camps from their childhood days to Elaine as she leaned over the table with enthralled horror in her eyes. Rhys smiled smugly at his exaggerations while Feyre looked over at the bar, thinking the same as Azriel.

The crude comments of the three males circling the fae made the bartender stare between them with nervous eyes. The air silenced around them, nothing but their obnoxious laughter echoed. The smile on Nesta’s lips vanished, and Mor noticed. His friends at the table paused their conversation. 

‘Come now,’ one of the male carried on, ‘don’t be like that.’ 

N looked up from the paper in her hand. She stared ahead at the wall where the male would have stood if it hadn’t been in her way. Dropping the papers onto the table, she reached inside a drawer. She stepped out of the room, cradling a leather bracelet to her right wrist, pulling its straps taut against her skin. 

The bartender breathed in relief as N eased next to her and took a step back. N gathered her hair, securing it at the nape of her neck as the bartender whispered in her ear. Chunks of hair slipped free and framed her face. Her eyes swept across the bar, took in the faces seated before her, deliberately shifting over the three males. She stood in front of them, mixing drinks with precision and expertise on par with the bartender. She didn't lift her eyes up again.

The male moved close to the fae who immediately backed away. ‘Come on, love. It’s free drink. You should be grateful.’ He spoke into her ear but loud enough to be heard across the room.

A minute longer, and Nesta would have ripped that fool’s tongue with a shard of her broken glass. Azriel had seen enough bar fights—started a few and ended too many—to know when one loomed around the corner.

N’s eyes darted to the man’s hand reaching for the fae and then his face for a second while her body gave no sign of her attention on anything but the tumbler in her hand. A smirk tugged at Azriel's lips.

Maybe it was a bad idea to let Mor and Nesta murder a few males in a bar they had never visited before. Maybe it was a bad idea not to interfere with their authority which usually saved time with vermin like the male. Or maybe it was a bad idea to let the situation escalate, putting the fae in danger only to see N’s reaction.

But Azriel was not above making bad decisions to quell his curiosity. He leaned back and brought his glass to his lips.

‘She’s not interested,’ said N in a voice so soft and smooth. With her eyes on the pink liquor she poured into a tall glass, she added, ‘And she has a drink.’ Her eyes met the fae's, gentle yet firm. She pushed the glass with her index finger. The fae heaved a sigh of relief and reached for it.

The male turned his attention to N with a wicked smile. ‘The coins are to shut your mouth, pretty.’ He ran his vile eyes over her and winked. ‘I’ll come back for you later.’ With a bone-grating chuckle, he returned to the fae who backed towards the tables. He blocked her path with his hand, ‘So, what do you say?’

Oh, how Azriel wanted to tear every tooth from his jaws. 

N finally looked at him. Her eyes were calm and intense, a reassured stillness in them. She straightened and placed her hands on the counter. And it was enough to shift the air around them. The woman who commanded respect from her patrons was in the room instead of the quiet, lingering spirit that drifted in and out moments earlier. The band slowed their music, and the ones who refused to look at the ruckus dared to glance their way.

‘I’m going to ask you to leave.’

The male let out a grunt, mean and vulgar. ‘Shut up, you bitch.’ A grimace of impatience replaced his smile. He hissed at the fae, ‘You’re starting to make me angry.’

His eyes widened as a hand grabbed the back of his hand and shoved it face-first onto the wood of the counter. His arms flailed miserably to stop the impact, only to fail. The following crunch made the fae flinch away.

N let go and walked around the bar, her steps calculated and leisured. Her dainty fingers slipped through two gold rings attached to the inside of the bracelet. ‘You okay?’ she asked the fae softly as she pulled the fingers away, two cords of metal unwinding between the rings and the leather. Once she got a frantic nod from the fae, she diverted her focus to the crying male who swiped at his face and stared at his bloodied hands.

Cass snorted. His drink sprayed through his nose, drenching himself and poor Elaine. Rhys’s eyes gleamed with amusement. Feyre looked between N, Nesta and Mor.

The male screeched to no one in particular, ‘That bitch hit me.’ His nose flared and spurts of blood leaked soaking his shirt. ‘You’ll pay for this,’ he lunged forward.

N sauntered ahead with lazy steps and swerved when his fist came close. Her left hand went around his head once. The male stumbled forward by the wasted force of his body and his neck caught in the cords.

N pulled her hands back to her sides, the cords went taut, and the male fell to his knees. His bloodied fingers pried at the noose around his neck. His breaths grew shallow and raspy. Blood sprinkled from his nose with each strain of his chest. His pained cries echoed in the quiet. Not even his friends attempted to help him.

‘Whining on the floor,’ N curved her wrist around his head again, watching his eyes grow wider, ‘Leash on your neck. You sure you aren’t the bitch?’ She looked down at him with void eyes as her fingers clawed his jaw open.

Her other hand reached for a bottle on the counter, her eyes never leaving his. She tipped the bottle close to his mouth and his breath left his chest in a painful heave. ‘It’s free drink, love.’ Her voice was a lover’s purr, low and soft. As the liquor filled his mouth and streamed down his shirt mixed with the red of his blood, she gritted her teeth, ‘Be grateful.’ The first emotion she showed.

It was inappropriate. 

Utterly inappropriate. 

A deep chuckle ripped from Azriel’s throat, loud enough to warrant the glances from his family and the ones beside their table.

When the male choked and his eyes blurred, N stopped. Her fingers released him and slipped out of the rings with a simple flick. The rings whipped spraying drops of amber-red in the air before it latched onto the bracelet again, the cords disappearing between the black of the leather. She turned to his friends, ‘Don’t come back.’

They nodded, their eyes wide, and began to back away. The cries of their friend brought them out of their stupor and they carried him out with his blood staining the once perfect floor. 

N blinked. 

Once they were out the door, she went back behind the counter, and time resumed. The band began their music again. Servers shuffled to clean the floors and check on the fae. The bartender wiped at the splotches of blood on the counter with a rag.

N cleaned her hands and continued with her other orders. As she offered drinks to the ones still waiting at the bar, she smiled. Azriel set his glass down.

When she reached Mor and Nesta, she studied their faces and uttered a few words. Mor pointed at their table with a grin, her eyes sparkling under the light swaying over her head. 

N spared each of them a glance. Her eyes paused at Cass and his wings, Azriel and his wings, and finally Rhys and behind him where his wings should have been. The shadows didn’t appreciate the scrutiny. They went erratic around his shoulders and for a moment her eyes returned to the shadowsinger again.

‘She’s judging us,’ Rhys muttered through his grin. The amusement in his eyes flickered and N held his gaze. ‘Rather harshly,’ he chuckled. 

Feyre frowned at him. ‘Stop it!’

Rhys’s smile fell from his lips. He hummed, staring at N for a beat too long before he turned to his mate. ‘It’s not my fault. Her mind called to me,’ he kissed her cheek.

Azriel wanted to ask what his brother meant, but knew better. His shadows quietened around him, still as midnight air, draping over his shoulders with their ghostly weight. They didn’t sing to him much that night.

Mor and Nesta returned with a tray of drinks. N wrapped an arm around the bartender and whispered in her ear. Her eyes were soft and her lips still held a smile. The bartender relaxed and sighed. Azriel wondered if there was more between the two. N rushed out of her room at the first sign of trouble and took charge of every responsibility while the bartender stayed safe and recovered.

‘I like this place!’ Mor exclaimed as she slumped next to him and handed him a glass after taking one for herself.

Cass only cursed under his breath. ‘Because she gave you free booze?’ He stole a drink for himself, ‘But that show was fun.’

‘So was yours,’ Nesta laughed and pointed at his soaked front.

N accepted a sealed plate from the server with a smile and headed to her office. Her fingers paused at the doorknob. She looked down at her shirt. Crimson spotted along her torso below her ribs. She ran her fingers over them once, slowly. She blinked and wiped again at the dried stain. And again. Then she closed the door.

Once the glasses were emptied, Mor hated the place again. The drinks N offered sobered them completely. Grumbling and muttering their disapproval at the trickery and betrayal, Mor and Cass walked out of the bar with the others trailing behind them. 

Azriel sneaked a glance at the locked door smiling before he joined his family. It was indeed a good night.

Next chapter: Sanctuary

[the-offside-rule]

Max Verstappen (Red Bull Racing) - Shouldn't Have Happened

Requested: yes

Prompts: 4) "You deserve better." 15) "You're a wonderful person and don't you ever forget that." 28) "Have you been drinking?"

Warnings: drunk max

The streets of Monaco were quiet other than the distant echoes of laughing and cars fading into the night. Y/n Leclerc walked through the cobbled alleys, her steps echoing in the silence. She had chosen to bot drink too much tonight, watching over her friends who had indulged a bit too much in the celebration. As she rounded a corner, she stumbled upon an unexpected sight—a figure sprawled in a flower bed. She scoffed before she continued walking and only to see a familiar face. Max Verstappen. Concerned, Y/n approached him, gently shaking his shoulder. "Hey, are you okay?"

Max stirred, groaning slightly. "I'm fine... just needed a moment with the flowers." He slurred, sounding very....drunk.

"A flower bed in Monaco." Y/n muttered somewhat amused. "Are you hurt?" Max sat up slowly, rubbing his temple. "Just my pride, I think." Y/n noticed the faint scent of alcohol clinging to him. "And you've been drinking?" Max laughed, his gaze shifting from the starry sky to Y/n Leclerc in a red dress, holding her heels as though they were a handbag. "Yeah, too much, I guess." He replied, sitting up, denying Y/n to help him. "Why?" Y/n asked, curiosity and concern mingling in her voice. Max hesitated before confessing. "My girlfriend um- she cheated on me. My friends convinced me to go out looking for a rebound, but I ended up feeling like shit and getting sad again."

"I'm not trying to be insincere but it was very obvious she would do this." Max looked at her, his eyes turning into one of anger. "Think About it Max. She never went to your races and whenever she did, she either paraded herself around or was glued to her phone. It was so obvious she was using you and cheating." Max groaned, nearly falling back into the flower bed. "Okay, just-" Y/n hoisted Max'sarm over her shoulder and began walking up the steep hill. "Jesus, I thought you guys liked to stay light." Y/n mumbled. "Did you just call me fat?" Max blabbered. "Oh shut up. Charles is the same." Max didn't speak. He couldn't and he didn't want to. "You deserve better." Y/n said firmly, her eyes reflecting sincerity. Max down, meeting her gaze. "Do I, though?"

"You do." Y/n insisted. "You're a wonderful person, and don't you ever forget that." As she got to the top of the hill, Max reached into his pocket and pulled out a swab for the apartment complex front door. As Max struggled to get the swab to work, Y/n took it and opened it for him. "I'll come up with you just just you can open your actual door." She mumbled. "Oh, Y/n. I didn't know you cared." He teased before Y/n slapped his chest. "Shut up! Get inside!" She began giggling upon seeing Max laughing hysterically at his own joke. "I'm serious! Come on before Charles calls me to see where I am!"

Finally, Y/n opened the front door, letting Max fall in and stumble to the kitchen. Y/n looked around in awe. This looked nothing like her brothers apartment. As a matter of fact, it could possibly be much nicer. "Drink?" She turned to see Max opening up a huge liquor cabinet. "I think I should get going." Max shrugged. "If you have to. I mean, I have two glasses here and one is going to be very lonely without the other." He sang, pouring both glasses. Y/n eyed them for a moment before she gave in. "Okay, just one."

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

"When did you and your girlfriend break up?" Y/n asked as Max poured another glass. "In like-" Max thought for a moment. "September? I just couldn't let loose and drink like I can now so I have been bottling everything up and now I'm here drinking with the littlest of the Leclerc's." Y/n and Max toasted before she downed the drink yet again. "You seem to need that vodka. Need something stronger?" She shook her head. "No, but maybe a red wine?" Max turned, grabbed a brand new bottle and placed it in front of Y/n. "I have and its my most expensive one." Y/n looked between Max and the bottle. "Well don't give me the expensive one." Max shook his head, opening the bottle. "No, no. Drink the good wine on a bad day because on a good day, all wine tastes good." Y/n smiled. "My mother always says that."

She poured herself a glass before taking a sip. "So, why are you so down?" Max asked. "University. Its getting to be too much and I'm honestly thinking of dropping out and becoming a hairdresser like Mama." Max sighed. "Well, I think you would be great in whatever you want to do. I actually think you'd be a really good therapist." Y/n smiled. "I'm in university to be a sport psychologist actually." Max nodded. "Very good. I'll come to you about all my problems from now on." Max chuckled. "Maybe that would stop me from thinking of looking for a rebound."

They sat in silence for a moment, simply looking between eachothers eyes and lips. "You're not the rebound type, Max. That's not who you are as a person." She whispered, her words resonating in the night air. "How do you know what kind of a person I am?" Max mumbled, sipping his whiskey. "Charles talks about you sometimes. And you forget I bumped into you I a club on my birthday last year." Max looked at her yet again. He felt safe with her. He didn't know if it was the alcohol or her aura but he felt safe. "And you figured me out that quick?" Y/n shook her head. "No, but I'd like to figure you out. You seem lovely."

As the night wore on, Max's shoulders seemed lighter, his smile more genuine. And as they walked back to Y/n's apartment, the air crackled with an unspoken tension. "Have you had a rebound? Have you had anyone since her?" Y/n asked as Max drank his wine and Y/n looked up at him intently. Max hesitated, his gaze flickering uncertainly. "No. Too busy, but Im hoping now with the off-season, I could get a chance to explore new possibilities and people." He replied. "New people. Does this mean men are included?" Max shook his head, nearly spitting out his drink. "No, Jesus. No. I like women. I'm a big fan of the breasts." As Y/n and Maxs laughing quietened down, they could feel the electricity in the air, their hearts pounding in their chests. They leaned in closer to one another, slowly. "Are you going to just stare at me or-" And then, in a moment of boldness, Max leaned in and kissed her.

Y/n's heart fluttered, her head spinning with a whirlwind of emotions. Max deepened the kiss as Y/n's hands flew up to the back of his head, pulling him as close as he could possibly go. Their pants and puffs filled the room, knocking over glasses as Max hoisted Y/n up onto the countertop. It was then Y/n pushed him away. "Wait. No. This is so, so wrong on so many levels." Y/n whispered to herself. "What do you mean?" Max asked. "I mean, I am not going to be your rebound because its just so fucking wrong. I haven't Eve done that kind of stuff before. Jesus!" Y/n hopped down off the counter, muttering to herself in French as Max grabbed her back for her. "Who said you were my rebound?" Max asked.

"Max! Regardless, I don't think I could do this. You race my brother, you just got cheated on and you've told me multiple times you just want a rebound. Well, I'm sorry, but that's not what I'm looking for." As she turned to head for the door, Max pulled her back. "Listen, I don't want you as a rebound. I'm not doing this because I'm drunk, I'm doing this because I genuinely like you and I'd like to get to know you better." Y/n's chest rose and fell quickly as she took deep breathes to try and control herself. "Then take me out for food or something first at least." She replied. "Okay." Max took out his phone and handed it to Y/n. She looked up it skeptically. "Put your number in. I'll text you in the morning and we can go for breakfast. Better yet, I'll bring you for lunch on my yacht." She scoffed. "Yachts don't impress me, Max."

"Maybe not, but it would give me a chance to actually get to know you." She typed her number in it and added a heart for good measure. "How's that?" She asked. Max smiled. "Perfect. I'll see you tomorrow."

-----------

Y/n groaned, her head pounding as she stumbled into the kitchen to the sound of her mother's concerned voice. Whilst she had done her hair up and changed into more respectable clothes than the night before, there was no denying that she probably felt like she was dying. Arthur and Charles exchanged mischievous grins, eying her with curiosity. Her mother, worried, placed a bowl of cereal in front of her. "Are you okay, dear?" Pascale asked, rubbing her daughter's head. "No." Y/n replied miserably. "There is some pills in the cabinet to help your headache. I just need to go go the bathroom and I'll get them for you." Pascale said, heading towards the bathroom.

Before Y/n could respond, Arthur and Charles jumped in with sly grins. "So, how was your night, Y/n?" Arthur asked, taking a sip of his coffee. Y/n felt her cheeks flush as she recalled the events of the evening—the chance encounter, the heartfelt conversations, the stolen kiss...and everything that happened after that. "It was great." She replied, her voice quiet and shy with a tone of embarrassment. "You definitely stayed at a guys house last night. Admit it!" Charles chuckled. "No! I'm back here, aren't I?" She defended herself. "Yes, but I heard you open the door at nearly 5 this morning." Charles and Arthur laughed. "I do have friends you know. Plus, there wasn't even a guy last night. It was just me and my friends." Y/n replied, trying to disguise the fact that she was in fact talking to a guy. "So, care to explain the mysterious hill-walking we saw on TikTok?" Charles asked, shoving his phone in her face. Sure enough, there it was; Y/n and a mysterious man walking up a steep hill as they argued.

Y/n sighed, realizing her night out had become the latest family gossip. "It's not what it looks like," she mumbled, bracing herself for the interrogation from her cheeky brothers. "I- That's not me. Im-" She paused when she heard her phone buzz. She quickly answered it and her heart skipped a beat upon seeing the message.

Max🧡

I'm in Cafe de Paris. Unless you decided you don't want to join me

She smiled to herself before she pocketed her phone and headed towards the door, now a bounce in her step. "Well, as much as I'd like to answer you and your false accusations, boys. I have a Cafe to head to and a person to meet so, au revoir, á bientot, et bisous." She smiled, closing the door behind her and leaving her brothers curious.

[daughterofyore]

George and the Pond.

King George x f!reader

[[Queen Charlotte (Netflix)]]

category; heavy smut, fluff, angst (lil bit)

wc; 2,249

music inspired;- apocalypse

a/n:: George has a manic episode by the pond, you manage to calm him and he’s so thankful for you he fucks you to show it :)

TW!: NSFW, George porphyria episode (Venus), heavy smut, breeding kink, Good ol fast sex

Venus begged George to find her. She pleaded with him to search, to save her. She was his one true love. She needed him! He ran through the palace grounds, in the distance behind him there was a cacophony of shouts, someone begging for him to turn around. It was Venus’ ex lovers, surely. They didn’t understand the love they shared, the adoration of their coupling. Her beautiful, pale skin and blemished face. Glowing like a fading star against the ebony blanket of the night sky. An infinite amount of white blazing stars surrounding her like a halo in all her glory. Oh, how he longed to be by her side. How he dared to get closer to her. He needed to feel her glow upon his skin, so without a moments hesitation he ripped his clothes from his skin. Silk pyjamas made of the finest lapis lazuli blue discarded into the mud of the pond. He raised his arms to her, crying for her to join him on this mortal plane. For the goddess of love to bless him with her prowess. He could feel her compassionate deposition seep into his very pores, touching his bare, sculpted body. Casting shadows along the dips and ridges of his muscles.

“George!” You cried out to him, watching as he bared his body to the entire garden. Reynolds raced ahead of you, reaching before you could. You were still adorned in your glittering evening gown. Made of a deep fiery scarlet, as if it was made of the last embers of a great fire. Silver lining cascaded down its centre and bodice, elaborate lace adorning the contrasting peachy cream underskirt. It flew around you as you gathered the skirt into your arms, heels clicking off the cobbles and then sinking into the finely kept lawns. You stumbled and struggled to reach your husband, you could see his eyes glistening as he stared at the planet Venus. He cried of his love to her, his devotion. How is it I don’t receive that love? You scoffed, a moment of clarity as you were still unsure as to why he acted this way. You had suspected it for some time now, his comings and goings from Kew. The secrecy surrounding him and the protectiveness of not only Reynolds but his mother too.

Your voice was like an arrow through the fog, piercing the hazy clouds in his peripherals. Venus seemed to fade into the background as he spun to look at you. You weren’t Venus, you were you. Shining brighter than she ever could. As he watched you approach, the sparkles glittering from your dress enraptured him. He felt himself falling in your direction, before a voice called him to turn around. Venus, competitive as always. She challenged you for his attention. He laughed incredulously, how lucky was he to be fought over by the Goddess of Love and her rival? Reynolds stood at his side, begging helplessly for him to return to the castle. He gathered his clothes in his hand, looking at him with a pleading gaze. Continuously he requested for the King to go inside, tried to reason with him. You knew you had never seen this before but maybe, just maybe he would recognise you.

You reached his side, letting go of your dress. It fell on his feet and pressed into his calves. He turned to you, eyes wide, hyperventilating. “You won-“ He whispered looking at you, as if it was the first time he truly saw you. He turned towards the sky, laughing. “You lost Venus! Imagine that!” He returned to face you but upon seeing your worried expression, his celebrations halted. “How come you are not happy? You have won, have you not?”

“George, it’s time we go inside now.”

“What, why? The night is beautiful we-“

“George, Venus has lost this game but I would prefer to celebrate with you indoors.” He stood very still for a moment, dark brows scrunching together as he tried to concentrate and discern exactly what you were implying. His brain felt jumbled, mixed and confused. Like he wasn’t allowed to understand, as if there was a black alabaster wall separating from the here and there.

“I wish to stay here. Let’s celebrate here.” You paused and gazed at him, studying him carefully. You spun to Reynolds.

“Cover the windows and leave his clothes here. Ensure nobody enters these grounds or can see us.” Reynolds pressed his lips into a thin line before muttering a ‘Yes, your majesty.’ He left, grabbing Brimsley by the elbow and guiding him indoors. You turned back to George, your husband. Your king. You rested a gentle hand on his chest, and he stilled. He sucked in a devastating shaky breath before raising his arms to hold your shoulders.

“You, you saw- oh, wife I- oh I am so sorry.” His eyes began to water, a new clarity crossing them. His face slackened, now an evident frown replacing his once maniacal smile. You hushed him, gently guiding him to your chest as you snaked comforting arms around him. You held him in your embrace, rubbing soothing circles on his back as he let silent sobs escape him. He sniffled, clutching onto the fabric of your dress as he eventually sunk to his knees. “My dear I am so sorry, I am sorry I have avoided you. That I have tried to hide I-“ He couldn’t get his words out but you put a comforting hand on his head. Intertwining your fingers with his brown locks, you gently massaged his scalp.

“Do not apologise George. I understand you. I am here for you. Come, let us lie and look at the stars together.” You smiled at him, holding his hand and laying on the lawn. He tentatively lay beside you, he finally noticed his nakedness and his hands rushed to cover himself. You once again shushed him, grabbing the many layers of your skirts and draping them across his waist. “No need to worry about what I have seen before darling.” You chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. He smiled, sucking in a breath after as he looked to the sky.

“I could be married to a pompous wench right now, who wouldn’t give a damn about me. Who would run in the opposite direction if she saw what I did tonight..” he turned his head, gazing at you. You met his eyes and smiled. “Yet you stay, you lie with me. Why?”

“I believe I see myself in you. Trapped, misunderstood.” You took a shivering breath. “Sometimes all we need is a little kindness and a show of stability. I wish to be that for you.” His eyes began to glaze, he sucked in his bottom lip as it began to quiver.

He turned on his side, a new light coming to his eyes. Slowly he raised a leg to bend at an angle across your thighs. Bracing himself on an elbow he gazed at you. His face inches from you. “I do not know what I have done to deserve a woman such as you.” Slowly he lowered his lips to yours, kissing you softly. You reciprocated it, lips merely mingling before he slipped his tongue across them, asking for entry. You obliged, parting your lips as his tongue slipped by. He licked the bottom of your teeth, before dancing around your tongue with his. He sucked on your lip, biting it gently and sucking the sting away. You gasped, a hand travelling up his side. You could feel his muscles shiver at your touch, he manoeuvred over you, straddling your hips. His cock pressed against your stomach, hardening. His hands travelled up your sides before reaching your breasts. They were secured behind the corset of your evening gown, yet he managed to push a hand down its front and grope one. He massaged it in his hand, loving the mass and softness of it. His kiss deepened, he peppered them along your jaw and to your collarbone. Reaching your cleavage he looked at you mischievously, recalling his hand and replacing its absence with long, sensuous licks across the top of your breasts. His tongue travelled over them, then between. He licked up from your cleavage to your throat, to your lips. Kissing you again before he backed down, grabbing your skirts.

“And I you, my queen.”

You were breathing heavy, barely able to control the growing heat intensifying between your legs. A steady throb as it begged for attention. Your core tightening in angst of what was to come. This was what your wedding night should’ve been, but you didn’t care. This, this was better. Laying on the cool grass beneath a bright moon and stars that reflected off of a still pond. This was bliss. George hiked your skirts up, laying them across your midriff. He bowed down again, grabbing your pantyhose and pulling them down to expose bare thighs. He looked at you over the mound of skirts, smirking. “Are you alright my love, may I continue?” You nod, breath escaping you. You peered up at the stars between the foliage of the cherry blossom tree. George dipped his head between your thighs, gently pushing them apart. He kissed and nipped at the sensitive skin, licking the sting away again once more.

Agonisingly slow he made his way to your centre, licking over the underwear covering you. He raised a hand, rubbing a finger between your folds and feeling the wetness seep the fabric. He grinned, pushing a finger into you and watching you arch your back. He kept the underwear on, watching you squirm as he teased you. Ever so slowly he retracted the finger, dragging it up and pressing it to your clit. Your juices soaked the fabric now, it clung to your very shape. You jolted at the contact, the pressure on your clit making you pull away. He grabbed your left leg, putting it over his shoulder and gripping your thigh to hold you in place. He spread you with a knee, continuously exploring you over the whimsy barrier of your panties. You moaned, trying to move but he held you firmly in place. “Are you ready wife? Ready for me to take you?” You nod feverishly, his ministrations have built a fiery ache in your core. Begging for his attention. Your cunt wept as it pleaded for him to enter it, to give it attention. George smirked, gently taking your hands and pulling you up. He stepped behind you and made short work of the lace up your back. He quickly pulled the dress off, then the undergarments until finally you were bare before him. He smiled, standing back and admiring you. “My beautiful wife, in all her glory.” His eyes were ravenous, without a moments hesitation he was back between your legs. He kneeled, grabbing your hips he hoisted you into an awkward position, your legs dangled above his shoulders while you lay only on your shoulders and head. He held you in his grip, his lips placing tender kisses across your cunt. He licked, slow as of tasting your every essence. His tongue slipped into you, to which he began to lick inside you. He left it begging for more and turned his attention to your clit again. It throbbed for him, and he knew it did. He wrapped an arm around your leg, balancing your ass against his chest as he spread you with two fingers. He began to taste you, sucking on your clit. He nipped it, sucking it better straight after. You squirmed in his grasp but he still held you firmly, refusing to let you move. He lapped at your pussy like a thirsty dog, drinking you up. He turned his attention back to your clit, sucking intensely on it. You moaned, cried out his name. He seemed to only grow more excited and you could feel his length pressing into the small of your back. He sucked, and sucked, and sucked until finally the growing tension ruptured. You screamed his name, yet he continued to suck and lick you through the orgasm. You were trembling at the end, and he lay you down, kissing your stomach. He looked up at you as you threaded fingers through his hair. “I’m going to put a baby in you, my queen.” He smirked and you swore it nearly undid you again. He sat back on his knees, his cock long and hard as it stood. He grabbed your hips, pulling you towards him. He grabbed his dick, rubbing it’s tip along your slit. He pressed a firm hand down on your stomach as he slowly pushed his way in without any warning. You stretched, moaning around him. His sheer size pushing you close to ecstasy.

Once he was in he let loose a shivering sigh, looking back to you. “Are you alright my love?” You nodded, placing a hand on his as it pressed into your stomach. He could feel the faint mass of his cock in you, it turned him on even more. Slowly, he pulled out and pushed back in again. Keeping a slow and steady rhythm till you had adjusted. Once he could feel you relax, he began to pound into you. Growing in intensity. Gasps of air escapes him each time he fucks you. You were a moaning mess, barely able to breathe. Your breasts bounced up and down at the ferocity he pounded into you. His balls clapped off your ass, sounding through the garden. You felt like you were in heaven. He looked up at you and grabbed one of your breasts, squeezing it. He pinched your nipple, pulling it slightly as he fucked you. You were in ecstasy. Every inch of your being burning, yearning for his touch. He grabbed your hips, spinning you around to be on all fours as he stayed inside you. He gripped your hips and continued his merciless fucking. “George! Oh fuck George-“ You screamed for him, moaning his name.

“I’m going to cum inside you pretty queen-“ He moaned your name, deep and guttural. “And watch you grow with our child, our heir.” You cried out for him again, and it was all he needed to slam himself into without mercy, he reached a hand around you, rubbing your clit with no remorse. It was so intense you couldn’t think straight.

“George I- George I’m going to cum!”

“Do it, do it for me my queen. Do it together.” He moaned above you, continuing his ministrations. The pair of you cried out, heads thrown back in ecstasy. You orgasmed, and he spilled his seed into you. It’s warmth spreading through your core. He stayed in you for a moment, breathing deeply. You were gasping for air below him. Eventually he slid out, pulling you down to lay beside him. He held you close, running a lazy hand up and down your side.

“My beautiful Queen, fucked by the garden pond.”

[jar0fhoney]

PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3 (NSFW) / PART 4 /

PART 5 (NSFW)

“What was he talking about? With you and your mother? And the Farm?”

You didn't like talking about it. You had been perfectly content with avoiding that reality until either your mind or your body gave out. Unfortunately, you had a primal will to live like all humans do. Despite how bad you wanted to, giving up was never going to be an option.

"Dad left us two years ago. There was something wrong with him. Now it's just me and mom and it's getting harder for her to work the fields and if we aren't prepared for winter Milo is gonna let us starve or freeze which ever gets us first and I'm having that dream about dad again and- and- URGH!"

You couldn't stop the word vomit flowing from your mouth. Your rant stumbled into an animalistic growl. You just wanted to run and never stop. Run until your feet wore down to the bone.

He kept glancing down at the red marks on your neck, and then back up at you with his big brown doe eyes. Gods, he was so pretty. “May I?” He walked over to you slowly, and you tilted your neck to give him a view. You felt your heart skip a beat when he brought his hand up to gently thumb over your skin.

“I know you don't need my pity. And I know you don't need my help.” He motioned for you to tilt your head to the other side. He didn’t smile or laugh the situation off, just continued running a very delicate thumb over the marks, “But can I ask a favor, y/n?” He looked down at you through your pretty lashes. You gave a little nod.

“From now on. Do not hesitate to ask anything of me. I want to court you… formally. If you will accept me.”

You looked into his eyes, slightly stunned.

“I’ve done a horrible job at courting you. You’re going to teach me to read. You made the eggs. And this whole time you've been... suffering. There's so much that you deserve-”

“You saw an opportunity where I could be making more money, and you helped me get there. I feel like you... respect me. Milo never respected me.”

It took you standing on your toes to connect your lips with his. He was so much taller. You used his shoulders to steady yourself, lowering back onto your feet. Both of your faces were flushed at such an innocent kiss. He leaned down and nudged his face into your neck, you sighed at the feeling of his tusks nudging against your jaw.

“Y/n…” He chuckled your name into the crook of your neck, “I’m gonna hafta’ teach you how to have higher standards, if that bastard is your only experience with courtship.” He peppered soft kisses over the marks on your neck. You accidentally let out a breathy moan at the sensation. He pulled you closer to him. You started to let your fingers wander over his torso. “No…” He stopped your hands as they grazed his lower stomach. Your face grew scarlet red with embarrassment “I- I’m sorry-”

He pulled you into a deep kiss before pulling away. “Not here. Not now. I want to meet your mother first.”

“Quite traditional, are we?” You smirked. He gave a bemused expression, "I'm going to court you the same way orcs have courted since the beginning of time. I’m serious about this." Your heart fluttered.

“Come to our home on Sunday, Khargaad. We can start our lessons, and you can meet my mother.” You took his huge hand into yours, running a thumb over his calloused knuckles. He still couldn’t believe his luck, that this was happening. This lovely little human was giving him a chance… even after completely embarrassing himself at his first courting attempts. You were so smart, so generous, so capable. A mate that he could depend on to have his back, and him yours.

He had been trying to ignore that word that had been floating through his thoughts. “Mate.” He would have to be careful with that one. He would never want you to feel like you were being claimed without your expressed agreement.

-

He offered to walk you home, lending his arm for support on the dark cobbled road. When you made it inside, you watched him walk away until he completely disappeared into the darkness.

“Who was that, y/n?”

You swore your soul levitated right out of your body. The sound of a match striking came from the little dining table on the other end of the room. The cheeky face of your mother became illuminated in the warm glow of a candle. “Ugh- Ma, you scared the shit outta me.”

“When were you going to tell me about your new friend, y/n?”

You stared at her with a stupid look on your face. “What do- What do you mean?”

She settled back into her chair, the corner of her mouth lifting into a little smirk.

“Who’s the orc?”

Your mother spent a lot of time praying. She prayed for your sisters, and she prayed for the vegetables to grow big and juicy. She prayed for her knees to stop aching and the leak in the roof to fix itself.

But when you weren’t home, she whispered a prayer for you with fervor. She wanted you to find someone. She wanted you to find someone that would treat you right. But most of all she prayed that she wasn’t the reason you were sticking around this place. This god-awful place and that god-awful town. She saw your father’s poison everywhere, seeped into every crevice.

“I’m teaching him how to read.”

“Oh?”

“And so he’s coming here on Sunday. And… he wanted to meet you.”

“Oh!”

She probably would've started weeping with happiness if she wasn’t already plotting out your future together in her head. “Stop doing that, Ma…” You jolted her from her thoughts. 

“Stop doing what?”

“Getting ahead of yourself.” You smirked at her, slinking into your bedroom. Sleep came quick for you that night.

And for the first time in a long while, you didn't have that dream about your father.

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

Once again, I cannot believe so many of y'all are enjoying my silly little story <3 It means so much to me. I ended up restarting this chapter several times cause I was just so stumped, but I'm pretty happy with what I ended up with.

(Note: Do not fear, the slow burn will pay off next chapter iykwim >:3)

@reads-stuff-quietly @loo-looland @sluttygirl123 @beaniebaneenie @blushycadaver @sunndust @whyiamadegenerate @the-attic-of-porcelain @freakyotaku059-blog @youknowits-derea @thoughts-of-bear-undercovers @allthecraftandthings @gruffle1 @kennedyabraxas123 @queenies1x1 @jellyslimesofficial @jasminedragoon @rangoismyname @the-queen-of-sorrows @the-dumber-scaramouche @heddaloddafun @swimmingrascalbatdragon @hellodollstuff @wingedghostpepper @pistachioinfernal

[hyunnie04]

crown prince! bang chan x reader, fluff, royal au | m.list

wc: 1.1k words

a/n: dipping my toes into writing something a little out of my comfort zone! this is also lightly (heavily lmao) inspired by one of my fave games fe3h and it's support conversations.. 👉👈

you had no idea what chan might’ve wanted from you when he had invited you out for a cup of tea on the courtyard. it was unlike him to host such frivolous activities like tea parties out of the blue since he was quite busy these days, dealing with his royal duties and what not.

you haven't really crossed paths with him since your academy days and even now, you only ever caught glimpses of him here and there because of your parents' business involving relation matters, so the sudden invitation came as a surprise.

the said academy was for royals and nobles alike, shaping them up to be the future leaders for the next generation. it was how you both came to know each other. chan is the crown prince of the kingdom up in the frigid north, revered to be one of the strongest knights the kingdom has ever seen. polite, charming, not to mention extremely good looking as well.

you however, is just the eldest child of your family. house l/n had strong ties with the kingdom, your parents being close with several affluent families and being valuable members of the kingdom’s council.

"here we are." felix, his right hand man and closest friend, had stopped in front of the cobbled steps, leading down to the beautiful courtyard before sending you a grin. you thank him earnestly, giving him a smile back.

from a distance, you could see chan sitting quietly in the meadows, the lush grass and flowers crowding at his feet, cupping his chin in thought as the wind lightly blows through his hair.

he looks serene compared to the stressed look he adorns whenever you see him hunched over the castle’s conference room, going over his army’s battle tactics.

you bowed upon reaching his presence, the sunlight illuminating his handsome face. “thank you for inviting me, your highness.” chan stands right up, a slight shock on his face before swiftly recovering.

"i told you before, y/n. there's no need for formalities, just chan is fine." he sends you a warm smile and pulls out a chair for you.

the spread before you was amazing. tons of decadent pastries and cookies were laid in a dessert tier, making your mouth water in anticipation. 

“please, help yourself to some tea.” he takes the beautifully painted porcelain pot, pouring some of the aromatic tea in your cup. the steam from it flows up to the air, filling the table in it's light and refreshing scent. the atmosphere starts to dwindle into quietness, the breeze and wildlife surrounding you filling in it's silence.

"...was there something you'd like to talk about?" you cock your head to the side. he looks a little flustered, but ultimately nods. 

"-yes, actually." chan sighs out while he traces the rim of his tea cup, evading your curious eyes.

"did...your parents ever bother you about marriages?" he slowly manages to get out, stumbling through the sentence.

the tea cup you held in your hand freezes in place. now that he had mentioned it, your father and mother always brought up the idea of marrying. they were always pestering you, wondering when their only child was going to settle down. they stopped one day however, just like that. you wondered if your years of rejecting the idea itself had worked or they simply got tired. but you wondered what brought this on? were his parents arranging him with someone?   

"forgive me, i do not mean to be so straight forward." chan coughs into his hand, noticing the lack of reply and turned his head away in slight embarrassment.

"it's alright." you place your cup down on its saucer, secretly admiring how the tips of his ears redden so quickly. "but now that you've brought it up, yes i have."

"i see," the tea was abandoned now, left to cool in the summer shade. “i’ve heard my father speak about an arranged engagement for me a few years ago.”

you politely nod, urging him to continue. now you’re curiosity is piqued. although, you’re not entirely sure why he had come to talk to you about this, plenty of your shared friends and acquaintances had gotten proposals and arrangements.

“that was back then, however. my father got tired of me refusing to settle down and dropped it all together." you rest your chin on your palm, his words strikingly familiar.

“he never told me the specifics but i’m pretty sure he was talking about you.”

something between a choke and a sputter left your lips, “what?”

“it’s true.” he says it as if it wasn’t earth shattering news for you. "father wanted me to marry the heir to house l/n."

you could only gape at him akin to a fish, not knowing how to digest the information given to you. 

"truthfully, i didn't know you well back then, that's why i declined." chan shifts in his seat, unfolding his legs and turning fully to you. so that was why they had stopped. "but i would have been happy to accept it now, if i had known it was you.” 

an intense heat started to creep up your neck upon his confession, a rosy hue dusting your cheeks and tinting your ears impossibly red.

“you mean-” chan nods at your conclusion and smiles, his eyes crinkling in amusement. he would have accepted?

“i don’t think we would have been close if we were married.” you say whilst scooping up a spoonful of cake, distracting yourself from the violent wave of emotions you felt. it was contradictory, but chan seemed to hum in agreement.

“i think you’re right. i’m glad we met this way though.”he sucks in a breath- a cute habit of his that you have observed even back then. 

chan then asks you in a soft voice, staring deep into your eyes. “we can start over if you’d like.”

“i’d like to get to know you.”

you lean your elbows on the table, the wind flowing gracefully through your hair as you muster out a grin. "i would like that."

the rest of the afternoon was spent comfortably in each other’s presence, finally eating the sweets laid before you two while catching up.

“t’was such a pleasure.” chan offered his hand for you to hold when it was time to retire back inside, placing a chaste kiss on the ridge of your knuckles. 

“my, my. you flatter me.” you chuckle, covering your mouth.

from the corner of your vision, you could faintly make out felix in the grassy meadow, sitting down in what seems to be his own table and sipping his own tea. he sends a cheery thumbs up upon seeing you and chan glance at him. chan’s face reddens, hiding sheepishly in his hands as you laugh.

[fayesia]

Freak

Martin (In The Modern World - Fontaines D.C.)

warnings: nsfw 18+, readers lowkey mean to Martin, p in v, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, doggy style, handjob, squirting, fingering, spit play, creampie, hair pulling, rimming (brief), p with a little plot, filthy words on a screen :D

You were always cautious. Walking the same route home. Past the cobbled roads, the dark forested pine trees, and old abandoned buildings. None screamed safety nor comfort, neither of which you expected when moving into the area.

As long a you were free. Successfully escaping the pressures in your life, the heavy weight of hands pressing and pulling you, moulding you, into what they wanted you to become.

So, yes, maybe walking the same route every day to get home wasn't ideal. But neither was the sight you had to witness as you walked across the parking lot in front of your house. The car parked in it. The only car.

In it was him. Your neighbour. That freak. That beautiful fucking freak. A man clambered out, shoving the passenger door open while blood ran from his nose and mouth. His neck marked with ligatures of varying pink and red hues. Pushing past the small crowd forming he briskly stumbled away, the crowd shifting as people left and newcomers joined.

You know you should've kept walking, walking the same damn route, but you didn't. What's that's saying? Curiosity killed the cat. Well, consider yourself the cat.

Making your way over to the edge of the crowd, you stood watching, keeping at least a meter distance so as not to draw attention. His head turned to the window, the side one facing you. His mouth dropped open to reveal a blue stained tongue. Freak. You grimaced. Yet your eyes were unable to remove themselves from the sight in front of you. Your legs were stuck, glued to the cement, your brain ordered them to move, but no movement was made.

Your eyes focused on the scene in front of you, snapping you out of your disassociation, the shuffling of the crowd parting ways. Boys rode off on their bikes, women clutched their bags whispering with one another, and hooker resembling teenagers scoffed sauntering off, losing interest at the dark-haired man in the car.

The very one slumped in the car seat, heavily battered and bloodied as well as unconscious.

You turned to leave, taking two steps before swivelling back on your heels. You stood considering for a few moments the result of what your actions may cause. If the butterfly affect would, in fact, impact what was to happen due to your next decision. Well fuck that, you don't really care about the result of your actions, at least not since you moved here.

Pulling the drivers side door open, you leaned in, tentatively you waved your hand across his face. Was he awake yet? No.

Fuck. Well then. Poking him didn't work either. Grabbing his shoulders, you leaned closer.

"Martin. Martin. Wake up, Martin!"

He grumbled, regaining consciousness, but also the from the pain of his injuries. Pulling him up from the seat, a task proven easier than expected due to his thin build. It suited him. In his own way. Wrapping his arm around your shoulder, you hauled him the short walk to your house beside his. The height difference made it more a half drag on his part. You spoke in hopes of providing some comfort.

"Nearly there, Martin. Nearly home."

You didn't really like the freak, but you weren't a heartless human. His reptiles had escaped to your garden more times than he'd like to take responsibility for, and so had his toy helicopter. Resulting in more hostile neighbourly conversations between the both of you than you'd have liked, considering the majority of them happened at 2am, when he was normally awake.

Unlocking the front door, you manoeuvred Martin's flopping body onto a kitchen chair, dragging it across the floor with a loud screech that jolted him awake.

"What are you doing?"

"Calm down. I'm just trying to help. Now sit still."

You didn't mind the silence, wetting some paper towels with rubbing alcohol as you gently wiped the blood and grime off his pasty white skin. The kitchen was filled by the low hum of your broken refrigerator and the hisses coming from Martin's mouth with every swipe against his skin. His eyes followed you, throwing away the dirty tissues and packing up the first aid kit, placing it in the cupboard before making your way back to the sink.

Stood across from the seated Martin he looked up, shifting in his seat with a pink hue dusted over his cheeks.

"Guess I should go then."

"Umm yeah, let me see you out."

You both walk to the door in silence until his voice scratches out down the hallway.

"You wouldn't happen to have seen my snake have you...I left the side window open again...you know-uhm the one across from your garden."

"Again! Seriously! How many times have I told you. I don't want to see that creepy snake in my garden. What if it bites me -"

"Hey! He's friendly."

"No, i doubt that. It's probably a freak. Like you!"

He angered at your words harshly shoving you against the hallways narrow walls. There was barely any space for two people to walk, so being pinned left you feeling even more trapped. It was like the temperature had increased ten fold, your eyes widened at the close proximity between the two of you. He breath was hot and heavy against the side of your face, daring you to keep talking, but you knew better, rather content with glaring at him.

His fingers dug past the material of your faux fur coat while yours held tightly on his forearms. The silence seemed to drag on with the two of you looking into each others eyes. But it was more than that, both looking past each others iris, the pupils and the nerves, looking into each others souls.

And then he kissed you. Just like that.

His lips were on yours, and you could taste the distinctive artificial flavoured candy only just overpowered by the cigarette he must've smoked earlier.

It was suffocating and comforting. Yet freeing and ferocious. As if you had finally given into a craving after so long, like you were sinning after years of celibacy.

Your hands grappled at each other clothes, needing to remove the thick confines you were in. Various articles of clothing littered the hallway, creating a breadcrumb trail to your bedroom. His hands dug into your hair, only deepening the kiss once you were straddling his lap on your bed. Oxygen wasn't a necessity in this moment. It was the taste of each other that you both were surviving off of.

Discarding your bra, Martin removed his shirt, leaving him in his boxers. He positioned you on all fours facing away. Cold, long fingers dragged your panties off you, and you were bare to him, no feeling of shame, just need, as your arch deepened. His hand caressed the path of your spine where he lay gentle kisses, kneeling behind you, he played with the softness of your thighs and hips. The silent room was now filled by your whines of pleasure.

His mouth was on you, exploring every part of you, tasting and savouring you like it was his last meal. His tongue traced from your leaking hole down to your clit where his lips suckled more noises from you. He brought two fingers to your cunt, spreading your folds as his tongue moved through the mess of your juices and his spit, only spreading it down your inner thighs. You pressed back against Martin's face, moaning out in pleasure but his hands hooked around your thighs holding you in place while his mouth worked on you.

You were so close. "Fuck yes just like that, I'm gonna fucking come don't stop- don't you dare fucking stop."

Your words only spurred Martin on, his thumb prodded at your hole wetting it with a mix of fluids before unexpectedly moving it to your tighter hole above. The action drawing out even louder noises from you. He smiled at that and you could feel the change of expression against your pussy. "Come for me."

You didn't need asking twice, clenching the bedsheets you whined into them, your cunt gushing around Martin's tongue and drenching the bottom half of his face. Small droplets ran down his chest as you fell flat against the mattress, angling your head to see a smiling Martin.

God, what a freak.

But you thought it with a small smile this time.

One that was covered by Martin's lips once again, his body embraced yours. You tugged at his boxers, and he pulled them off barely separating from you before leaning his head back to groan up at the ceiling. Your hand wrapped tightly around his cock. It fit comfortably in your hand, what lacked in girth was made up by length.

He thrust into your hand, jerking to feel more stimulation from you, which you were sure to provide. You were comfortably laying with his cock in your hand, his hand moving to separate your thighs, leaving you open to him. His hand coming down to explore your pussy while your hand continued working on him. Entering two of his fingers you arched at the movements, your own fingers were not of the same length or thickness. Moaning out, Martin was kneeling beside you, your hand jerking him off as his fingers worked in and out of you, his thumb occasionally rubbing against your clit.

It was art. The type the Greeks would've painted. The type found in the Renaissance era.

Pure pleasure and carnal desire.

You felt your release nearing, but when Martin twitched in your hand, he removed his fingers and moved. You huffed in annoyance about to speak your mind, but his hands grabbed your body, quickly flipping you over, the same way he did to the men in that car.

Pulling your hips up and pushing your back down, you were in the same arched position as before. He breathed heavily, almost hesitant, but the teasing movement of your ass was almost too much for him to bear. Holding his cock he spat onto your cunt as he pushed the leaking tip through your folds, only further adding to the mess of your pussy.

The tightness wrapped around his cock, almost pushing him out, but the further he entered, the more your cunt sucked him in.

The two of you made noises that bounced off the walls and were certainly heard from outside your window, neither you could give less of a fuck though. His hand clutched your hair while the other guided your hips back against him with each thrust. There was nothing gentle about his movements but that only made you crave more, the feeling of his cock entering you roughly with each movement had you releasing more liquid along the length of him. It collected around the base of his cock making his movements pass easier.

He hauled you up by your hair, his front pressed against your back, his lips against your ear, licking and nipping at the soft flesh. Bringing your hands up to his head, you pulled him into a kiss. Your fingers ran through his slightly greasy hair, the black soft locks tightly wrapped around your fingers while his tongue explored your mouth.

The change of position only prompted his dick to reach even deeper inside of you. Your moans increased while his hands moved around your body, first around your throat, then down to your tits where he roughly grabbed at them and pulled at your nipples, finally coming down to your clit where his fingers rubbed harshly, spreading more of your wetness around.

That was your breaking point. Your hands reached for anything to hold onto, which was Martin's forearm. Your sharp nails dug harshly into his skin, marking it with red crescent shapes, and his dick pummeled harder into you. The both of you were nearing release. Whispering into your ear, he urged you,

"Come for me. Come around my cock, wanna feel you fuckin' tighten your pussy 'round me."

And so you did.

With a few more thrusts into you, he bottomed out as you threw your head back, moaning Martians name. You doubt he would realise with how much noise it was said with.

But he did. He relished in it.

He'd go so far to believe its what made him cum as quick as he did after you. Still deep in you his cock released his cum, with near animalistic groans and arms that embraced you tightly, willing to never let go.

The thick liquid collected inside you and as his now soft dick was pulled out you could feel it drip out between your thighs, his face nuzzled into the side of your neck as the two of your softly caught your breath, relishinng in the sex of pent up tension. The sheets now soiled by your choices. The result of angry words said in the flurry of an argument.

The consequence of fucking your freak neighbour.

[rayveneyed]

cw: ares!bakugou x aphrodite!reader, fem!reader, mentions of war and violence, bakugou who is so pathetically in love but doesn’t know it

he finds you in a place unlike any other he’s previously found you in — sitting on the ground behind a quaint little market stall near the sea, where purple weeds grow from old brick and the streets are worn and dusty. the sun shines bright here, always has, but illuminates your little corner something special — golden and honeyed, reflecting off the jewellery hanging from your ears and wrists.

this is not the sparkling marble and iridescent gold of mount olympus; this is not the illustrious facades of athens, nor the rich fabrics and skilfully carved stones of abyssinia. you’re selling flowers — clay pots of red roses and white geranium; dandelion bulbs for next spring. they pour over the stall and onto the ground, long, frond-like leaves and jewel-toned petals, encapsulating you in an orb of beauty. it suits the city, with all its charm and narrow streets, but at the same time you eclipse it all. it’s only natural, he supposes — godliness rarely ever goes unseen, and you most godly of all.

his boots are caked in dark mud; his sword clangs loud at his hip, and the crowd parts for him instinctively. those who have any sense turn away from him, scurrying along with their baskets of fruit and loaves of bread, smart enough to avoid soldiers and smarter, still, to avoid those of his nature; those who are perhaps more foolish turn to gape at him as he nears you, taking in the slope of his broad shoulders and his unpleasantly-contorted face. he imagines it almost comical, the juxtaposition between you, but he is no stranger to your treachery, nor your barbs.

you do not regard him when he nears, but he would be a fool to think you haven’t noticed him — as expected, your pretty lips split in a smile when his shadow falls over you.

“aphrodite,” he greets, plain and frowning. “what business have you here?”

it is more respect than he allows most other gods, except perhaps his father and mother — but you are you, born from sea-foam and gore, and he knows your power as intimately as he knows his own. if his power is drawn from combat, from war and blood and guts, yours is much from the same; jealousy, dark and curdling, crimes of passion, blood-coloured rubies and garnets. it is only this that stays his irritation, bubbling instead as something just as fierce and red-hot in his chest.

“here, i am known by one name, and one name only,” you only say, demure. a sharp blade in your right hand, and a thorn-ridden in the other, you make quick work of slicing the hardy stem in half. “they call me _____. it is a good name. what name have you taken in this form, dearest ares?”

he stares at you — eyes the roundness of your shoulder beneath your robes, the embroidery of which is delicate and expertly done. your eyes are half-lidded, cast down to your work, the shadows of your eyelashes curving over your cheeks. it has never been a question of his (or any other, for that regard) as to why you govern all matters of beauty. it is clear as the sun in the sky.

your eyes flicker up from the flower blooming in your hand. he realises that he did not avoid your question quickly enough — his head still stumbles over dearest ares. no matter. you’ve never bristled at his misanthropic silence or brutish remarks — only brushed them off with a knowing smile or distracted sigh, like he was nothing more than an overexcited puppy nipping at your ankles. it should annoy him more than it does, perhaps, but there are more pressing matters to attend to.

“war will find its way here,” he says shortly. looking away from your face and finding his mind clearer, he takes in his surroundings more fully; the cobbled streets, the wooden crates of produce, fresh and shiny. the smell of salt in the air, the heat of the sun. if he had such an appreciation for beauty, for aesthetics, he would perhaps feel worse about the sorry state this place will surely be in once the fighting is over. this is wholly against his nature, though; he cannot deny the chance of a good fight sparks something in his stomach. still, he attempts to dull his blood-thirst when he turns to you once more, and says: “most will die. blood will fill these streets, and fire will burn these stalls. none will inhabit this village for the next hundred years.”

he hadn’t expected tears from you, to be sure, but he still finds himself surprised when you simply respond: “hm.”

the stem is cut in half again. then, methodically, your blade slices away at the thorns.

“does it please you, sweet ares?” you say, then, peering up at him from below those gods-forsaken lashes — and he is frozen once more. “to look here, at that peaceful horizon, at these swarms of mortals, and see war?”

“yes,” he says. honest. you know his nature.

“hm.” after another pause, you raise a hand; beckoning him close with a simple wave that he is all too weak to resist. his knee finds the cobblestone, his other forming a rest for his arm. he is not unaware that this could be regarded as deference. better you than apollo, or hephaestus, or dionysus, or any other.

you lean forward. he bends towards you, too, until less than the width of your stall separates you. would he be a mortal man, this proximity would have already ruined him for all others.

“by the time this village is in ruins,” you say, voice a low whisper, eyes boring so pointedly into his — so close that your breath heats his lips, and the smell of roses clouds his head, “i will be gone, or perhaps i will be among it. and i will find another town just like it, or a city thrice its size, or a village not even half of it. and you will follow me there, as you have followed me for millennia, sweet…?”

“katsuki.”

a toothy grin suddenly eclipses your face — all hints of secrecy or solemnity vanished. his cheeks are hot — he hadn’t even meant to reveal it, the inconsequential name of his current human form — but before he can snap at you, snarl his embarrassment away, you reach up. that same flower you had been carving away at is deftly tucked behind his ear, fragrant and blooming, and he is equal parts enraged and astounded by it. you can see it on his face, too, and laughing, stand to your feet.

“sweet katsuki,” you say, turning away from him, “let us meet here again. bring your war. i will bring mine.”

you disappear around the wall — or perhaps in the fluttering of a butterfly’s wing, or a ray of golden sunlight.

katsuki — ares — is left, with his mud-stained boots and his face contorted somewhere between anger and incredulity, a rose in his spiked hair.

[newfoundstateof]

but she fell in love with an english man | b.b. x reader

summary: Academy friends drag Benedict to a tavern to watch Irish fiddle player!reader perform. He buys her a drink. But who can play a fiddle and drink a pint at the same time?

word count: 1.2k

warnings: suggestive but none

a/n: definitely not inspired by those tiktoks of dirty talk bar maids at ren faires, who said that???

“They are spectacular,” Rupert Norton declared with an arm slung over Benedict’s shoulder.

The rest of the Royal Academy students hummed in agreement. Already drunk from the party they left minutes ago, a small group of them stumbled down the cobbled streets of Soho. Earlier that night, news broke that a band that visited a few weeks before Benedict enrolled at the Academy had returned to much anticipation. In an instant, pipes were dropped, coats were gathered, and boots were marching to The Intrepid Fox tavern.

“They’re from Ireland,” someone said.

“I’ve never danced so much in my life,” another added.

“And the fiddle player is quite easy on the eyes,” Rupert slurred into Benedict’s ear. “Try and buy her a drink if you can. That usually gets her attention.”

Benedict laughed. “I’m just here to enjoy the music. As should all of you scoundrels.”

Once inside the tavern, a few of the men beelined to the bar to order whiskey shots for the fiddle player despite the empty stage in the corner. Benedict simply took a seat at the bar, observing the growing crowd. The band’s reputation must have preceded them, as he was soon shoulder to shoulder with the eager fans. But for the next twenty minutes, only chatter filled the room.

“They always like to keep you waiting,” Rupert grumbled into his ale. “But it’s worth it, I promise.”

“I don’t mind,” Benedict smiled. “It’s good people watch-”

The room erupted into cheering, and he turned toward the stage. Sure enough, two men climbed the small wooden platform. One carried a fiddle, the other a flute. The room roared even louder when you emerged with your fiddle, waving a good-natured hand to the audience. Your smile was wide and disarming. Your gaze was equally piercing. Looking at the gleam in your eyes, Benedict knew just how aware you were of your control over the room. Soon the clapping died down, and every soul waited with bated breath to what you would say.

A scrawny kitchen hand hurried up to you and set a tray of shots down on a small barrel.

“Wow,” you breathed. “All this for little old me?”

Benedict found himself chuckling with everyone. As you threw a shot back, his stomach dropped. You were certainly not like the young ladies of the ton. 

“This crowd is mighty impressive, isn’t it, boys?” you asked your bandmates as you all started tuning your instruments. “We appreciate you for coming out. If you don’t know us already, the lad on the flute is Johnny. My fellow friend on the fiddle is Patrick. And I’m Y/N. I have a favor to ask of you all… From now until the last of you sorry lot leave this building, I hereby decree this an Irish pub! That means we will be clapping along to the songs, singing if you know the words, and if you are so inclined, I would love to see some dancing tonight.”

Someone in the audience whistled, evoking more cheers.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” you grinned.

The trio launched into Seven Drunken Nights, a popular jig even Benedict knew. Though his classmates were rowdily singing along, he could only stare at you. Johnny and Patrick generally kept to their places on stage, but you swayed across, drawing your bow theatrically compared to Patrick’s controlled movements. He was the main vocalist, but during the wife’s lines in the song, you sang with the crowd. 

“Ah, you’re drunk, you’re drunk, you silly ol’ fool. Still, you cannot see, that’s a lovely tin whistle that me mother sent to me!”

Benedict couldn’t decide if you were a better fiddle player or singer, you were impeccable at both. But without a doubt, you were the best at simply putting on a show. You encouraged people to dance along as you skipped across the stage. Benedict could only imagine how taxing it was for you. Dancing, singing, and playing an instrument all while not breaking a sweat. He eyed the tray of shots, turned to the nearest bartender, and ordered something more refreshing for you.

As you strung out the last note of Seven Drunken Nights, the same kitchen hand ran the mug of beer up to your tray. You sighed to yourself.

“Which one of you did this?” you cried out, lifting the mug high.

Heads spun every which way. Benedict froze. Was liquor the only appropriate drink to tip a musician? He wasn’t sure, he’d never been to something like this. Awkwardly, he coughed and raised his hand.

Your eyes found him in the sea of faces, and you smirked. “Don’t be shy, come here!”

 Rupert clapped Benedict on the back. “Don’t screw this up, Bridgerton. She might go home with you tonight.”

Though he had been with many women and dangerously close with a few men, you still intimidated him somehow. Nothing intimate had been on his mind before Rupert’s comment, but now his heart skipped a few beats at just the thought of it. Benedict snaked through the crowd, trying to read the expression on your face. But all you looked was smug, and he wouldn’t be surprised if you poured the ale on his head. 

“Finally,” you breathed as he stood before you. “One of you buys a lady a real drink!”

He exhaled in relief.

“I’m afraid I’m quite thirsty though,” you pout, getting down on one knee. The stage was barely a foot off the ground, putting your face directly in front of Benedict’s wide shoulders. “And we need to get on with the next song, but I don’t have enough hands. Would you help me, good sir?”

Without waiting for his response, you shoved the drink in his hands and looked up to the ceiling. Before Benedict could blink, you were poising your instrument and drawing out a note with your bandmates following suit.

“We’re lucky I don’t sing in this one,” you smile, giving him a pointed look. “Get on with it, now. I’m parched.”

Never one to argue with a lady, Benedict slowly tilted the rim of the glass to your lips and poured the liquid steadily down your throat. You looked up through your lashes at him, daring him to look away. But he didn’t. Only when some of the ale dripped down your chin and onto your bodice did his gaze break yours.

“Should I stop?” he asked.

You shook your head, “No,” as much as you could with your lips around the glass.

As you neared the last dregs, your head tilted back more and more to get it all. The eroticism of it all was not lost on Benedict, especially as you swallowed the last gulp and moaned audibly. The growing friction in the front of his pants was no help. But once the glass was finished, you rose to your feet and sent him off with a wink. As you spun to the other side of the stage, the hem of your skirt brushed his groin and he mindlessly reached for the fabric. But you were gone. In a trance, Benedict walked backward to his friends at the bar, adjusting himself. 

“Has she done that before,” he coughed.

“I’ve never seen that before,” Rupert crowed. “And I’ve seen them perform at least five times since I started at the Academy.”

“You’ve got to talk to her after, Bridgerton,” someone urged.

“Can I come along?” a voice teased.

“You’re the luckiest bastard on earth right now,” another sighed.

Across the room, you caught him starring and blew him a quick kiss.

“Yes,” he murmured. “Luckiest bastard on earth.”

[dontsh0vethesun]

captured

kinktober 2023 masterlist

wandanat x reader

18+: alcohol use, smut; kidnap fantasy, cnc, threesome, intox play, drunk sex, restraints, blindfolds, mommy!wanda, daddy!natasha, strap use, fingering, face sitting, dom/sub, degradation, slight dollification, voyeurism, very slight spit kink

wc: 2k

Natasha and Wanda watched you drunkenly amble towards the bar’s bathroom, making your way through the crowds of people with stumbled steps. They smirked at the sight of your retreating body, your head blurred and hazy - perfect for the evening they’d planned. 

When they’d taken the three of you to the bar you were unaware of their plan; you took the numerous drinks they passed to you throughout the evening, swallowing them down with your demeanour growing less coordinated with each passing minute. They adored the sight. The way you grew ever closer to them, using Wanda’s shoulder to keep your head upright with slurred murmurings in reply to their conversations. 

You were their perfect little doll, a toy so easily pliable and desperate to go along with their each and every want. 

“Ready?” Natasha asked Wanda, taking her hand to lead the way outside. 

“More than ready,” she returned, smiling at the thought. Just the knowing of what was to come had her thighs clenching together beneath the table. 

When you eventually made your way back out to them you found the table you’d once occupied to be empty. The glasses you’d been drinking from were left discarded with the only reminder of their presence shown in the lipstick print on Wanda's tumbler. 

Making your way outside was tricky with the groups of people getting in your way and with the drunken tiredness sinking in it was hard not to begin to panic at the loss of your girlfriends. You thought that, perhaps, they were waiting outside but once you’d pushed through the doorway into the cold night air they were nowhere to be seen. 

The screen of your phone was bleary when you scrolled through to their contacts, unable to form a text message before a body was pressed to your back. 

You stumbled into their harsh hold, the strong arm that wrapped around your waist. 

“Keep quiet,” the voice rasped against your cheek. You could feel the heat of their breath against you through the baring of their teeth and you whimpered against the hand that forced you into silence, covering your mouth with their palm. 

You had no control over the tears that glossed over your eyes; in fact, you had no control at all. You were at their mercy, their strength withstood any fight you mustered up as you were led towards a car that seemed familiar. But with the fear and the liquor it was hard to make much sense of anything. 

You were pushed into the back seat and immediately pulled down until your head was resting in a lap you recognised. Though not much was making sense within your drunken daze, the scent was a source of comfort. Floral perfume and coconut lotion, the car air freshener that smelled of cinnamon and pine as well as a distinct musk of cologne from the leather jacket that lay near. 

You let your eyes close, listening to the low-volume radio music while slender fingers stroked through your hair and words were spoken that didn’t float into your consciousness. 

Once the engine began to dim into silence, you let hands wrap material around your face; your vision blacked out and hands useless with the rope that tied around your wrists. Those strong hands graced you again with a tug that pulled you to stand on a cobbled driveway before they took a possessive hold of your waist to guide you forward. 

“C’mon, sweet girl,” Wanda spoke as she twisted her keys into the lock of the front door, accompanying Natasha’s hands with a touch to your lower back. You hummed at the feeling of her soft lips that pressed to your neck whilst you were ushered toward the bedroom, leaning your head away to provide her access which she accepted gratefully with the sharpness of her teeth digging into you.  

By the time your head was against familiar pillows, you were achingly ready for anything that was to come next. You didn't see her approach but you soon felt Wanda’s body positioning itself above yours, her knees planted on either side of your hips. 

Her lips claimed yours eagerly and she laughed against you when you uselessly tried to hold onto her, struggling with your bound hands and obstructed sight. You thought she might offer a little reprieve but, instead, her hand on your wrist only lifted them above your head, pushing them firmly into the pillows to keep them still. 

Your lips moved together with fervour, her tongue pushed against yours while her free hand groped along any part of your body she could reach. You let the second pair of hands pull your trousers away from you exposing you to the air around you and the hungry eyes that took in the sight. 

“Such a perfect little slut,” Natasha breathed as she approached, keeping her gaze on the heated kiss whilst she took a swig from the bottle of vodka in her grasp.

“Mm, she is,” Wanda nodded, pulling away for you both to catch your breath. “And so well behaved.”

When you were allowed to see again you were rewarded with the sight of Wanda above you, her upper body bare and her fingers wrapped around the neck of the glass bottle. Natasha held onto your jaw and took in the sight of your pleading eyes when you watched Wanda take a drink, wiping her lips that glistened afterwards. 

“Open up,” the redhead rasped, forcing your jaw to slacken with a rough digging of her nails into your skin before taking the bottle for herself to hold it above you. The harshness of the alcohol burned your throat when you swallowed it down, choking on the liquid she forced into your throat. You drank as best you could from where you lay and the women laughed at the way it made your eyes water as it dribbled from your lips, wetting your chin and your neck where it trickled down. 

“Messy girl,” Natasha laughed before claiming your lips with a dominant kiss, licking the excess with a hum; the way her tongue glided over the thin skin of your throat to clean you up and her teeth sucked marks into your flesh made you shudder. You were so consumed by her actions that you were hardly aware of Wanda moving to your side, taking her new place with a hand cupping your bare cunt. 

You moaned into her mouth at the finger that slid through your soaked folds, teasing your entrance and flicking over your clit. 

“She’s soaked,” Wanda muttered, easing a finger into you as Natasha pulled away to rid herself of her clothing. “Mommy and daddy got you wet, huh?” 

“Mhm,” you nodded, lifting your hips into the hand that toyed with your throbbing clit. “Fuck, mommy, please,” you whined, craving a firmer touch than what she was giving. Your hands grasped the pillow in your fists, desperate for more and itching to touch her - to pull her into you. 

“So needy,” Natasha spoke from across the room. You craned your neck to catch a glimpse of her, her naked body situating a strap-on around her hips. “We caught you, sweetheart. So take what we give you.” 

“Yes, daddy,” you all but whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Wanda was feeling generous, especially considering your obedient behaviour, so pushed two svelte digits into your wanting hole, rubbing your bud with the pad of her thumb perfectly. You sighed at the way her rhythm never faltered, how the curling of her fingers felt so sublime. The other woman watched intently, made ravenous by the scene playing out in front of her; your pussy taking fast-moving fingers hungrily, covering them with the glistening slick between your legs. 

Both of the older women listened to the sounds pulled from you, the ramblings of their titles uttered into the room, and the lewd, wet sound of your cunt getting filled with Wanda’s fingers. Your pathetic body that squirmed at the pleasurable touch made them ache for you, their own wetness pooling. Natasha kneeled between your legs, creeping her hands under your shirt to palm at your tits, pulling your pert nipples with the fast-paced beating of your heart beneath her hands. 

“Cum all over your mommy’s fingers,” she uttered, scraping her teeth over the soft skin of your belly. “Bet you’re so desperate to get your pretty cunt fucked by your daddy, hm?” she asked, huffing a laugh at your feeble whimper and the nod you gave her. “Pathetic little fucktoy.” 

The words washed over you with your orgasm closely following before Wanda finally came into sight again with her tongue licking her fingers clean and her naked, sopping cunt against you where she straddled your waist. 

Natasha soon directed her attention to the other woman, putting on a show that you enjoyed. Her hands grabbed at her breasts and her lips trailed over her neck with Wanda moaning out at the suck to her pulsepoint. Blunt nails trailed down her sides before a musing fingertip made its way to her slit to find the wetness you’d created - she knew that she was the same. 

Wanda yearned for your mouth but the way you stared up at them was too entertaining to pass up the opportunity to prolong it a little further; they let their moans fall onto your ears and Wanda leaned over you teasingly to grab the bottle from the bedside table beside your head. She offered a drink to the woman behind her who took a sip before she did the same, taking another before hovering her face above yours. 

She prised your mouth open forcefully before releasing the harsh liquid past your lips; vodka pooled on your tongue in a possessive mix with her saliva.

“Put your filthy mouth to use, little doll,” she murmured before making her way further up your body to position her cunt above your lips. Whilst she sunk down onto your face, Natasha nudged her cock against your hole, easily inching into you with how dripping you were. She was relentless with the immediate thrusts she fucked you with, rough snapping of her hips burying her dick into you as she played with her own clit. Both women were desperate for their release - their perfect little prey had them aching and wanting. 

Your tongue lapped at her pussy with her sweet taste filling your mouth, lips latched around her swollen bud with a suck that made her moan out your name. One hand held her body upright with a white-knuckled grasp on the headboard, whilst the other gave the same treatment to your wrists, pushing them down with the weight of her body. She kept the antsy moving of your fingers still, loving the way you so desperately wanted to touch her. 

The walls of your pussy pulled Natasha’s cock into you and she reveled in the feeling, the wanton rutting of your bucking hips that searched for your climax. The way she held onto you was guaranteed to leave fingertip-sized bruises in its wake; she’d kiss the forming marks later on before diving in to taste you and she’d watch Wanda do the same. 

“You’re taking me so well,” she grunted out, biting into her bottom lip at the nearness of her release. “Your greedy pussy belongs to us,” she added, making you moan against Wanda’s pussy. The vibrations elicited a high-pitched moan above you and a quickening of the grinding of her cunt into your lips.

“God, you’re doing so good, honey,” she stuttered. “So close. Fuck, make your mommy cum.”

You could hear Natasha’s grunts of pleasure and you knew she was close; the heat of it all urged on the tongue that played with Wanda’s clit, that swallowed every drop of her as your own release soaked your daddy’s cock. 

You basked in the loud moan you pulled from the woman atop you, riding her through her orgasm as she filled your mouth with her distinctly sweet taste; you drank it down like honey, gifted to you by the perfect woman who mumbled your name. It wasn’t much longer until Natasha’s grip grew even harsher as she came, riding herself through her high with no regard to the sensitive cunt she fucked into. 

You were just their little toy for the night and you’d take anything they threw your way no matter how painful. Even when, hours later, you were a whimpering and incoherent mess you’d just bathe in their attention.

[cvlutos]

"DELIVER" Pt.One

✦ | 03.27.23 |

✦ | TWST!VARIOUS X GN!READER | TWST: MAFIA AU

✦ | Violence | Sexual Themes | Smoking | Murder | Gore(?) | Blood | Tread carefully, my love.

✦ | Synopsis: | You deliver letters all across the eight districts and Ramshackles. A quite fulfilling job, until one day you and your neighbor have a horrible mix up. He's involved in something he shouldn't be and you just happened to be the last person he talked too.

[OVERVIEW]

Mafias are no joke.

They're dangerous. Violent. Some more than others. Yet it has been covered in gold, glamorized til the point of no return. Yet it isn't senseless murder, but only a few words can deem any murder from senseless to meaningful. It's best to not interact with them at all, it's best to simply know they exist and avoid them. Unless you desire end with them, or below.

Splattered drops of rain beat down on his form, shoes slippery as he turned down alleyways, shoulders and body slamming into the stone walk, nearly falling over himself to run away. His sight blinded by his wet hair, and clothes stained in dirty and blood.

He's been deemed a thief.

He can hear the loud shouts of orders from behind, the barking of dogs, and heavy footsteps that didn't stop and falter in the rain, an unmoving force that was moving faster than the boy. He continues twisted and turning, praying to any god, that he survives, he has to survive, the people have to know. They must. He stumbles out into the empty street, hands frantically wiping at his face, gasping and spitting out water, a moment to slow.

The sound of a gun rings out, ripping through the flesh of the boy, his body within moments topping over from the sheer-velocity and force, feeling the bullet rip through skin and rest painfully within his back. He blinks the tears from his eyes, as his body lands face first into the cobble stone ground.

Lifeless.

Those chasing him slow, staring the dead body be continuously beat down by the rain, and the rolling crackle of thunder, there's a hushed spread of commands, 'Grab the body. We'll show the Boss.' Voice is blank, as if almost grieving at the unnecessary loss of human life, before turning to his partner- his "friend", who easily tucked the gun away. A shark-like smile spread across his lips.

"He was wanted dead—Now he's dead." He merely shrugs, while the man with a spade symbol upon his face scowls.

"He was wanted alive. You went against the rules." The merman merely shrugs once again, making a 'blah' sound at the mention of the Queendom's rules.

A senseless murder to one, meaningful murder to another.

══════ ♡ ════════════ ♡ ══════

Death Certificate letters are the worse letters to ever have to deliver.

The road bumpy beneath your bike wheels, your leather satchel within your metal basket. You offer smiles to those you pass, those who worked in the gardens, picking and planting fresh vegetables and fruits, a group of older women and young girls, that always offer a wave and without outfail a dinner invitation, always adding 'the more the merrier' and there right, it's fun to not eat alone.

You ride your bike over twisted and bends, passing a small library where the owner watered his windowsill flowers, waving at you, and you wave back with a small smile. He's an old man, wrinkly and gray, with a single wooden leg, some say he got it during a fight with the Octavinelle Mafia, though most the others think he's lying, but a good lie never hurt no one.

The Ramschackles are diverse and lively midday, pressing on the breaks as a young man and his children blocked the road, letting his cattle walk through, leading the towards the pasture on the other side. He greets you, asking about your day, as his son climbs the old fencing shouting for the cows to go faster, and his daughter begs to ride the cows, pulling on the pants of his father. You remember the birth of the twins, nearly 6 years ago. You can't help but smile, giving each kid a piece of candy which you got from visiting Heartslabyul, which the father silently mouths a 'thank you', his wife had died in the last fall.

Once the last cow passed, your sped off, familiar with every bump and lump, though all the large rocks having been removed by a group of men, promising to make the road safer for you, and they did. Even covering up the major holes with dirt to make it even. Even amongst the mass of houses and homes, you can see the house that the certified was for, Ms. Louis, a widower, and now, a mother without her son.

Turning a sharp curve and halting in front of her home, kicking down your kickstand and climbing off your bike, yanking you satchel from the basket and fixing down your hair and clothes as you walked up the narrow stops, skipping the creaky board, as your rummaged through your bag. Before you can even knock, the door swings open, just as you grab the envelope.

"[Name], you're here." She speaks with a soft inhale, as if she ran from her kitchen to answer, she has deep eye bags, and her black hair is messy and undone. She attempts to smile, but you can tell by the shakiness of her hands, she's panicking—scared.

You pass her the envelope, yet you can't speak, far too afraid that your voice would crack, and you'd witness this woman all five stages of grief before she could open the yellow envelope. She doesn't wait til your leave, ripping off the edge immediately, you can see her green eyes begin to water, she already knows what awaits her. She tosses the packaging aside, hands running over the thick cardboard paper, fingers tracing the words of her son. She breaks down in sobs, and you hold her, feeling her frail form lean against you, arms wrapped around your shoulder, as she cries and speaks in broken sobs.

"H-he's dead! They-They kill-killed him!" She hiccups, voice cracking, you can feel her already broken heart shattering. Her crying gains the attention of others, some already sure of the fate that her son befell the moment he left the safety of the Ramschackles. Others asking to look at the certificate, as your pull away, watching them read over the piece of paper.

"Bullshit! That boy was no thief!" A neighbor, he shots angrily, holding the paper firm in his hand, as he points to Ms. Louis. "He ain't no thief!" His wife pats his arm, wiping the tears from her eyes, shaking her head at her husband's outburst. "He ain't mean it, Liz. He just hurtin""

"I know. I know." Liz let's put an exasperated laugh, shaking her head as she wipes her tears, walking down the steps and taking the paper back. "I know my Tommy was doing good," she lets out a shaky sigh, before turning back to you, "he always does good. Forgive me, it's been long since I've cried so hard. I know my boy wouldn't want be sobbin' over him like that."

"It's good to cry." You respond with a smile.

"They'r right. Tears ain't hurt nobody.” The husband speaks with a firm headnod, wagging his finger as Liz merely laughs making her way the steps to her house.

"Im in the process of finishin' that onion soup, with the chicken, if you wanna stay for lunch." The husband and wife immediately agree, the wife promising to get the newest loaf of bread to eat with it, as the husband made his way towards the house. Liz glances at you, hopefully. You feel bad, but pat your satchel.

"I got a few more letters, but save me a bite." You hop down the steps as she laughs, climbing back onto your bike and ringing the bell a few times, with a chuckle, before racing off.

The Ramschackles have always and will always be resilient.

"You had not the jurisdiction!"

Within a room of Crowley Hall, surrounding a table stands seven people. The Red-Rose Tyrant, The King of Beasts, The Deep-Sea Merchant, The Silly Sultan, The Fairest, King of the Underworld, and lastly The General. Tension is thick, palpable, you can almost taste it on yourself tongue.

Vil Schoenheit, The Fairest, was the first to speak, a clear scowl upon perfectly glossed lips, hair pulled back into a bun, clearly tired and annoyed. "Azul, we were supposed to agree,"

"And we did. Forgive me if Heartslabyul was too slow. Floyd is of course an uncontrollable force, and we wanted him dead, no?"

Azul Ashengrotto, The Merchant Of The Deep, has a faux pout, his voice drenched in fake concern, a heavy trench jacket hanging over his shoulders, eyes behind silver glasses beyond amused.

Riddle Rosehearts, The Red-rose Tyrant, stucks in a breath through his teeth, clearly angry, with the furrowing of his red brows. "You had no right. Under law, Floyd's head he be placed along my wall. Our suspect was not supposed to be killed."

"He was a thief. Isn't theft against your laws?" Leona Kingscholar, The King Of Beasts, stands directly infront of Riddle, still across the wide table, a deeply bored expression upon his face, yet his eyes seemed to glow in amusement.

"Exactly. I don't see why I'm such a target for such hate." Azul lets out a pitiful sigh, causing Riddle to slam his hands against the table, nearly knocking over various glasses, he glowers at the mafia boss of Octavinelle.

"If he fought back! You mercilessly killed him upon Heartslabyul soil! Do not deny it!"

"He had information, why give him a chance to live," Azul pushes up his glasses, a cruel grin spreading across his face, "unless you were working with him?"

Leona shakes his head, eyes fluttered close. "For shame."

"That wouldn't be a good look upon Heartslabyul either." Azul continues, before a clearing of a throat cuts him off.

Lilia Vanrouge, The General, the stand in for Diasomnia's Boss. "He had information. Information he shouldn't have. Information that resulted in his death. A shame it is..."

"It was senseless." Riddle crosses his arms, a scowl deep on his face still.

"But the information made it meaningful." Azul continues to keep his artificial smile, eyes on Lilia. The fae merely clears his throat, crossing his arms, a smile child-like grin on his face.

"We cannot go back in time to do differently. Our next step of action is to find if he could've possibly told another person. Any ideas Idia?"

Idia Shroud, The King Of The Underworld, his eyes dart across him screen before nodding. Using his fingers to spread out a image of the Ramschackles, showing the image of a tiny hovel with a rickety iron fence and old stone pathway.

"Hey, [Name]! This is absolute gold! I gotta tell ya!"

A young boy with blonde hair, and freckles walks beside you as your push your bike. He's holding a letter that you delivered to him simply moments ago. He waves it excitedly. He was a mafia fanatic, loved anything and everything about the place. To the point it had you concerned sometimes. The letter you had given him was from the Thomas Louis, or Tommy.

"Let me tell ya! If I get this to the news! Ooh Wee! Imagine! All that money." He punches the hair, and you shake your head.

"Don't go messin' with the Mafias."

"They aint gon' hurt no nobody like me." Henry has always been excitable, there's not a moment you haven't seen him without a smile that rivals the sun. "Well, I ain't gon' be a nobody for long." He voice quiets, but the smile is still there. Silence.

He opens his mouth to speak again, until a familiar chime of a bell and a holler of 'Henry' sounds loud and clear. "COMIN' MA!" He glances back at you with a grin. "Tomorrow. Imma tell you all about my big plan."

"I'm excited to hear about it." You watch him let out a happy laugh, before running off with a final wave. You spot your home in the distance, picking up your pace, as your place your bike against the metal fence.

Now, you love your home within the Ramshackle, your Lil hovel, and your small garden with your cat. You love it, truly you do. You love your neighbors, and you love the festivals that the Ramshackle holds. You love it all.

Your leather satchel hangs off your hip, filled to the brim with different letters and papers from your most recent trip. You just returned from Scarabia, having a good easy delivery for the old man that lives up the street, and after a long day, you're finally home.

You push past the old rickety iron gate, and up the stone pathway, eyes searching along for your familiar feline friend. He usually waits for you. Hopping the old creaky steps, until you stop right in front of a card. Perfectly placed with gold decor. 'For Ramschackle's Perfect. You're invited to Crowley Hall' written directly on the front. Ramshackle's Perfect was only a joke type name among the people that lived in, said Ramshackle.

Who else would call you that?

You pick up the letter, glancing around the porch, before slipping inside your home, and closing the door behind you. Crowley Hall, also known as the Grand Dinner Hall, a place where all important events took place, especially the meeting of all seven mafia leaders. Why would someone invite you with no other information?

You flip the card, there's nothing else. Your shoulders slump, you shouldn't go. Yet, you stare at the words once again. It could be important or lead to trouble for the other people of Ramshackle. Your eyes drift over to your clock. It was only 7 pm.

You had five hours.

You glance back at the thick fancy card. Five hours before 12. You feel a familiar purr, and glance down at your cat, Grim rubbing against your legs. Five hours, and well, as long as you're back before midnight. You'll be fine.

Right?

ⓒ 2023 cvlutos — all rights reserved. Any sort of plagiarizing, copying, modifying, translating, editing of my works are strictly prohibited.

[lixie-phoria]

[10.0 americano fiasco] BETTER THAN REVENGE !

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you would have thought that the campus walk ways would be empty considering the match that was about to start in less than fifteen minutes, everyone eager to get a good seat, but it's surprisingly crowded as you and hyunjin walk down the old, cobbled path.

"-and then changbin fell down smack on his ass. funniest thing that's ever happened during practice," hyunjin finishes his story, throwing his head back to laugh. "i wish we got that on camera."

the wind is cold, kissing your skin as it pushes back your hair, and you're slightly concerned at your friend's insistence to drink his iced americano despite the weather.

"you will never let him live it down, will you?"

"of course not!"

hyunjin's excitement is contagious, because you find yourself laughing along as he skips ahead, forcing you to take bigger steps too.

"sometimes i feel bad for him. but then i remember how he keeps stealing my protein powder!"

right. of course. every few days you are reminded your best friend is only a man whose brain is hard wired into thinking about two things - the gym and girls. specifically in that order.

"and-" here hyunjin stumbles over a crack on the ground, squealing a bit.

"careful or you're going to be the one falling on your ass."

he rolls his eyes playfully at your poke, correcting himself and removing the skip from his step before falling into line with you.

"anyways so-"

"hyunjin!"

you halt, turning back to see jeongin jogging down the path towards the pair of you.

"chan hyung said you should come back for some final strategy discussions!"

you hear your best friend groan beside you.

"we've discussed our plan a million times before!" he all but whines, stomping his leg like a toddler. "why does he want to go over it again?"

"not our choice, is it? the coach said we have to."

you pat hyunjin's arm as he slouches in defeat.

"it's fine hyune. i should probably go get a seat too or all the good ones will be taken."

"sure," he mumbles, spinning on one foot to sharply turn towards you. "bye-"

you see it happen in slow motion - hyunjin's mouth opening to finish his sentence when a large body collides into him from the back, sending the boy stumbling into you.

but you feel it before you see it - ice cold americano splashing all across the front of your white top, soaking the fabric and diffusing through it in a few seconds.

"sorry!"

you faintly hear a foreign voice apologize, their figure walking ahead without stopping to clearly notice the damage they had just caused.

"holy shit," jeongin whispers, wide eyes looking between you and hyunjin, who is also frozen in his spot, hand slapped across his mouth.

"that bitch."

the culprit is long gone, melting into the sea of people ahead, and you're still too scared to look down and see exactly how much of the drink had landed on you. but you can see hyunjin's now empty cup that had been filled nearly to the brim only a few seconds ago.

"yn-" hyunjin's voice is only a whisper, and from the horror painting his face you would have thought he had seen a ghost. "shit, i'm so sorry-"

"no time for that," jeongin interrupts, recovering first, and you turn to look at him. "hyunjin did you carry an extra t-shirt or sweatshirt with you?"

the boy shakes his head.

"just your luck," jeongin mutters as he shakes his head. "i have my spare jersey from last year. yn you can borrow that."

it's like a switch goes off in hyunjin's head as he stands straight, his horror slowly morphing into annoyance.

"that won't be necessary-"

"do you want her to freeze to death?"

"well obviously not-"

"then there's no time to waste."

"why can't we ask chan hyung or someone for their jersey? maybe-"

"i have my bag with me right now. do you want to go back to the lockers and explain to hyung what you were doing drinking an ice cold americano ten minutes before a match?"

hyunjin's mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, searching for something to say before he slumps in defeat.

"yn are you fine with this?"

you shrug. you really didn't have a choice.

you didn't want to agree seeing the miserable look on your best friend's face, but the drink was really starting to soak through the cloth and the cold it brought was not welcomed by your bones. you could feel the goose bumps lining your skin.

and so you find yourself accepting the jersey from jeongin, trying to reassure hyunjin it wasn't his fault. but the boy wouldn't even meet your eyes.

"thanks jeongin."

he flashes you a reassuring smile before pulling hyunjin and the two are on their way, leaving you to walk to the washrooms alone.

and it isn't until you're in one of the stalls that you really realize it's jeongin's jersey, and it has his name printed on it in big bold letters.

oh.

it's jeongin's jersey, and it smells like him - the same pepper and vanilla mix you had caught on to the at the party.

it's jeongin's jersey, and it falls around you perfectly, but it's nowhere near as nice as it would look on him - highlighting all those muscles you had felt that night.

it's jeongin's jersey, and you're wearing it at his game, something you once used to do for yeonjun.

it's jeongin's jersey, and-

shut up!

you have to physically slap yourself, shaking your head as the sting spreads across your skin.

something was wrong with you. this wasn't that big of a deal. he was just helping you out. he probably doesn't even care.

yeah. he doesn't even care. that's right. it's okay, you shouldn't be flustered about it either, you think, shoving your own top into your bag and marching out determinedly. you were not going to let yang jeongin and his nice smelling jersey cloud your thoughts.

you were here for hyunjin today. he would have your full attention. you were going to support him and then go for lunch without thinking about-

"for fucks sake watch where you're going!"

you yelp in surprise as you face plant into a hard body, stumbling back in shock. it really wasn't a good day for you.

"i'm so sorr-"

"yn?"

you freeze.

no way.

"what are you doing here?"

no fucking way.

"...yeonjun?"

he's right there. in front of you. hair slightly tousled from when you crashed into him and eyes wide as he stares at you.

"yeonjun what-"

he saves you from your rambling by stepping closer, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"what are you doing?"

"is that yang jeongin's jersey?"

of course he noticed.

you want to turn right back around, dig your grave, and bury yourself alive.

"yn. are you fucking wearing jeongin's jersey right now?"

"no?"

you wish you were six feet under the ground.

"stop lying-"

"bye! gotta go!"

you push him aside, running down to occupy the first empty seat you see in the crowd of spectators, losing the boy somewhere at the back.

fuck. your. life.

taglist 1 - @thisisnotjacinta @jiisungllvr @hanjsquokka @abbiestearsricochet @adestayskz @thisrandombitch @adr1an4 @alnex05 @cheesemonky @endlessheadache @tiapatito202278ok @queen-in-the-shadows @heeee24 @chanceonceli @amesification @conwunder @weareapackofstrays @taejun-sunlix @lofasofabread @untilthesunrises @jinnie-ret @darlingz99 @kibs-and-bits @143lix @simp4myself @thisrandomgoofy15 @vixensss @luvkpopp @skz-streamer @luvenus702 @syds-dead

©lixie-phoria, 2024

[brummiereader]

PREVIOUS PART MASTERLIST

Don't Fear The Reaper (Part Three/ Dark!Tommy)

Summary: After a restless night and chaotic start to your day, you arrive late for work. Unfortunately for you, your day of misfortune doesn't end there when Tommy's jealousy becomes uncontainable and he calls you into his office for some stern words and questioning as to where exactly your priorities lie.

Warnings: Language, angst, fluff, stalking, obsessive behaviour, supernatural themes, dark romance, manipulation of time, dark!tommy (This is a dark series with heavy potentially triggering undertones, please read the warnings before continuing)

Word Count: 4164

Authors Note: "Sweet Afton's" are a brand of cigarette seen in the show, smoked by Tommy. The two other brands of cigarettes mentioned in this chapter were also popular at the time. Sorry for being so late posting this part everyone. I hope you enjoy it!

How long had you been awake? A simple question anyone could ask themselves but a wasted one on you as you frantically rushed past your granddad through the cramped hallway, sending him no more than a faint smile as a greeting the very next morning as you made your way out onto the streets of Small Heath. A lack of sleep and an exhausted mind from countless hours of mulling over what you were sure you had seen the previous night consequently had you stumbling over your feet the very moment you stepped onto the cobbled path, and into a hard object you could only assume was a fellow human.

" Steady there love" a young man said, catching you before you landed face first onto the ground In front of him and further embarrassing yourself in your already flustered state.

" Sorry..." you replied abruptly pulling away from his hold, finding yourself studying his face longer than what anyone would consider socially acceptable let alone polite as you stepped back with caution. Was it him? You thought to yourself as your glare narrowed in on every feature his face possessed, his puzzled eyes turning into ones filled with nervousness when your stare failed to divert from examining each movement he made in an awkward, almost unbearable silence.

"Well...G'day to you miss" he said tipping his hat to you as he walked past your insistent eyes, his slow strides and labored limp absent of the speediness the dark shadow displayed last night quickly snapping you out of your unfounded accusations.

"Shit" you sighed under your breath as you straightened your hat that was now lop sided with a knotted ball of locks contained under it. In all honesty, you looked a bloody mess. A tangly haired, red-cheeked, nervous ball of mess. " Good day sir, and...and thank you!" You apologetically called out waving to the young man who your suspicious mind had all but convinced you in the space of a few seconds was the same creep that had been watching you. "Jesus Y/N, get a fucking grip" you scolded yourself under a heavy breath as you headed in the direction of work which you was already twenty minutes late for, the same place of work that just so happened to pass by the very spot said creep was standing in. As you approached the corner of the alleyway you came to a stop, your eyes briefly darting down to a burnt out cigarette on the ground you was convinced only one person could have been smoking. Bending down you picked up the rolled tobacco with the unintelligible charred words "eet ton's" printed on the filter, bringing it to your face as if you could distinguish the authentic smell of whatever tobacco had been used. In reality, you had no idea what you were looking for, but with wishful thinking and your nagging brain telling you to pocket the discarded cigarette, you did exactly that. Placing it between your hankie and carefully folding it within the embroidered fabric, your eyes shot up to the gulley that was devoid of anyone mere minutes ago when, just like the previous day, someone caught your attention. She was there again, watching you. " Hello?" You called out as the man that never ceased to be absent from her side made his presence known as he turned the corner, a bellow of smoke pummeling to the heavens with every swift stride he took.

" She can see me, Tommy..." Your panicked voice gasped as he approached you, his hand gently resting on your lower back, his bitterly cold cheek pressed against your own as you watched in unison the woman standing at the end of the bricked pathway, a woman that looked in every single way identical to you. Was Tommy right, was that you?

" Shh now darling" he soothed your worries away, his hand creeping under your jacket and grazing over your blouse, his fingers desperate to intimately feel the warmth of your soft skin he had longed to touch once again. This would have to do...for now. "She won't get any closer, I'll make sure of it" he assured you, closing his eyes as your intoxicating perfume brimming with notes of aldehyde and lemon filled his senses, transporting him back to the very year you were standing in, the very same day you were standing in.

"She's coming. Tommy, she's walking this way. Make her stop, please!..."

"Can I help you?" You asked, squinting into the distance as you strategically stepped around a muddy pothole whilst you made your way through the morning mist when a loud crashing of metal onto the cobbled path had you falling ankle deep into the very globe of sludge you was doing your up most to avoid. " Fuck sake. You again" you huffed as the black feline from the previous night ran out from behind a lidless bin. " You're doing this on purpose, aren't you? Made it your life's bloody mission to torment me" you ranted as he ran past you without a mere ounce of remorse whilst your eyes followed his nimble steps to the end of the alleyway that was now suddenly empty of the couple that had been standing there. " I'm losing it" you said wiping the whispers of hair from your face, grimacing as you pulled your muddy foot from the deep hole. " New job, no sleep and... I'm finally losing it" you continued to ramble to yourself, unwilling to speak of the very thing that had you in such a state as you took one last quick glance to the end of the path hoping that the past two days' unusual events were just a figment of your over-tired imagination. Fatigue. The only likely, rational reason...right?

" What the fuck-a-doodle-doo happened to you?" Ethel rather flamboyantly asked as you came thundering through the offices looking at you from head to toe, her and everyone else's eyes now fixed on your muddy stockings and disheveled appearance.

" Ethel!" Betsy scolded her. Her dear friend and colleague never able to, or willing to stop herself at any given opportunity to further elaborate whatever thought had entered her mind.

"Dear lord" Ada said wide-eyed as she looked to her Aunt who's lips were tightly pursed together, desperately holding back the humor in your uncanny resemblance to the local pigeon lady that had taken up residence on the church steps of Small Heath.

" I'm sorry love, It's just ..." Polly started to say, covering her mouth behind her cup of tea before her and everyone else burst into a fit of giggles, you quickly following suit as you got a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of a glass cabinet in front of you.

" Well Christ" you laughed, slumping down into your chair as you pulled your hat off.

" Dare I ask?" Ada said through a smile as she sat on the edge of your desk, receiving only a grunt from you in response. " Late night maybe? Followed by some cross-country hiking?" She teased, arching a brow as she looked down at your mud-drenched tights.

" Stepped in a pothole" you huffed, burying your head in your hands suddenly feeling sorry for yourself.

" And the birds nest currently residing on top of your head? " She asked as you ran your fingers through your knotted locks. " Getting there..." she smiled affectionately to you as your hair started to smooth down into something more manageable. " So, are you going to tell me what's got you looking like you was pulled through a hedgerow backwards ? " She asked as you started taking of your shoes, your lack of clothing in your frantic departure from home that morning making it near impossible to unbuckle your three-inch heels with your now, numb fingers.

" You know, they really should do something about all those potholes, Ada. I could have broken my ankle"

" Y/N"

" A foot deep, it was like a trench"

" Y/N!"

" Nothing" you replied, avoiding her gaze as you hitched up your skirt and unhooked your stockings, simultaneously avoiding Ada's worries and your own. With a room full of women, you were at no risk of further embarrassing yourself. Or at least you thought you were, when not only your boss but his two brothers and another man accompanying them sauntered in, coming to a sudden stop at the sight of your toe balancing precariously on the knob of your desk draw, the clasps of your garter belt on show and a stocking halfway down your leg. Oh, for fuck sake.

"I think I've just died and gone to heaven. Catch me Arthur..." John said, falling into his brother as a thunder of laughter resonated through the building, all but Tommy's that was.

" Get off ya bleeding egit" Arthur said, giving his brother a sharp elbow to his side.

" Gents" Tommy cleared his throat, motioning what might as well have been the entire British army and all the Kings' guards into his office as your face reddened, and you felt like bursting into tears at the sheer embarrassment of them seeing you in such a predicament.

" Kill me now. Just kill me now and throw me in the cut" you mumbled under your breath, tucking your legs under the desk as Tommy glanced back at you, his jaw tightening in what you could only assume was annoyance at your inappropriate display in a work place.

" Oh stop it" Ada scolded you as she rolled her eyes at your dramatics. " It's not like they've never seen a pair of legs before" she said placing a cigarette in her mouth as she tried to downplay your small mishap.

" Yes but maybe not at eight in the morning, and legs belonging to someone they hardly know" you huffed pushing your forehead into the palms of your hands, pushing the disastrous morning's events from your thoughts.

" You do realise you're in Small Heath, right?" She giggled, pulling a laugh from the frustrated pout that had weighed down your lips as you shimmered off the rest of your stockings under the cover of your wooden desk. Small Heath, you was begining to realise just what kind of place it was.

The remainder of the morning was thankfully a lot less eventful. You'd spent almost the entirety of it signing for letters, each delivery boy hanging around for a chat to see the latest newcomer to the Shelby offices after word had gotten around about the pretty-faced girl Thomas Shelby had hired. Though, every interaction had not gone missed by the watchful eye of the very man who had brought you into his firm, the same man who was starting to get increasingly angry with what he thought were your distracted priorities. Unbeknownst to you, you had already handed him two documents that didn't need signing for another month, and the ones that did have a deadline had all but gone missing. Second day of work, and you were unknowingly still making a mess of everything. The next interaction, or what Tommy believed, distraction, would be one he'd swiftly put a stop to before the annoyance his Aunt Polly had burdened him with got any ideas.

"Y/N love, come and meet Michael, my son" Polly ushered you over to her desk as you scooted out of your seat, catching the eye of Tommy who was watching you from his office through the glass windowed door separating you.

"It's nice to make your acquaintance again, Y/N" he said reaching his hand out for you to take as Polly looked straight ahead at her nephew who was now stood up at the window watching the whole interaction, his deathly stare enough for her to know he was getting progressively frustrated at the attention your presence had brought to the office. Was his dear, loving Aunt doing this on purpose? Tommy seethed to himself as he watched you smile to his cousin. Never having been able to stop her nephews' depraved ways, maybe this was her attempt at bringing Tommy's "Hobbies" to an end. For she knew better than anyone how your innocent beauty had already captivated him, how he'd already set his sights on his next endeavor. If his Aunt thought he would not take the needed measures to dispose of her beloved son, her judgment in his determination to get what he wanted was severely lacking, severely.

" Right yes, hi" you said, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks having now learned of whom the third man was that saw your misfortunate leggy display. " Sorry you had to see that" you said looking up through your lashes as you fidgeted with the pendant of your necklace sitting on your chest.

" Well, it was certainly one way to leave a lasting impression" he replied with a chuckle as you silently begged for the floor to swallow you up, and not leave one ounce of you left to endure the remaining embarrassment you were sure you hadn't heard the end of.

" Alright that's enough, leave the poor girl alone. She's had enough ribbing from us lot all bloody morning" Polly said as she lit a cigarette, the corners of her eyes turning up to match her smile at her son's less than subtle enamorment with you. " Y/N's been having trouble with her typewriter Michael"

" Uh huh.." Michael could all but reply as he watched your lashes flutter in the evening sun beaming through the windows as your fingers flicked through the file of documents on Polly's desk.

" Maybe you could show her...how to change the ink cartridge?" Polly encouraged him as you finally looked up to see the young man staring back at you.

" Erh yeh, sure" he promptly replied, sending you a smile to diffuse the look of confusion on your face. What had him all flustered? You thought to yourself furrowing your brow as you showed him to your desk whilst Polly sent her nephew a satisfied smirk. So she was doing this on purpose, purposely getting under his fucking skin. Tommy thought to himself as he marched to his door.

" Y/N, my office. Now" Tommy's voice boomed as he waited, checking his pocket watch in what could only be a blatant sign for you to, hurry the fuck up.

"Excuse me" you said bolting away from the young man with Tommy's appointment book in hand, tucking your hair behind your ear as you entered what felt like a triangle of stares between Tommy, his Aunt and cousin.

"Don't have something to do, Michael?" Tommy asked with a quizzical brow, not bothering to wait around for a response when his cousin opened his mouth before Tommy slammed his office door shut. " Sit" he demanded, his tone of voice absent of the niceties from the previous day as he leaned against the frame of the window lighting a cigarette, his eyes studying you from head to toe. Whatever did happen to your stockings? Tommy mused as his eyes darted down to your bare legs, his tongue wetting at how far up those legs he had seen mere hours ago." Now correct me if I'm wrong, but did you not say you were serious about your position in my offices? No distractions? Is my cousin a distraction for you Y/N?" Tommy said clearing his throat, flicking a scattering of ash into a decorative glass dish resting on the windowsill as he looked out onto the streets below him. Day-dreaming would have to wait.

"What?...No, no! You replied profusely shaking your head, feeling your emotions bubble up from an overwhelming start to your new life in Birmingham, and the telling off you were undoubtedly about to get from the most feared man in the smoke-fogged town.

"And the delivery boys are they a distraction too?" Tommy said as he blew a cloud of smoke up to the ceiling before the heavy sound of his pristinely polished boots traveled across the room to the edge of the desk in front of you, the buckle of his belt at eye level causing you to glance away in embarrassment. Well, isn't that sweet? Tommy chuckled to himself, your blushing cheeks giving him enough reassurance to know you weren't a woman of loose morals like the others.

" No. No...I was just being friendly, I..." You said feeling your eyes suddenly brimming with tears as he sat down on the edge of the desk. You had made a fool of yourself, once again.

" Friendly. Anyone else you plan on being friendly with love? Does the whole of Small Heath have the pleasure of looking forward to your charm?" He replied with a tone of disdain and irritation as you searched for a response. You were just trying to get by in what felt like a completely different world, just trying to be nice. " And here's me thinking you were serious about working for me" Tommy said with a look of disappointment spread across his face as he glanced down at your eyes fixed on your thumbs frantically rubbing against each other as a shame you hadn't felt in your attempts to be cordial suddenly heated your cheeks to a fiery warmth with every loud thump of your quickened heart. " Maybe you're not suited for this line of work, hm? Tommy said arching a brow as he went to stand up, and you, without an ounce of reflection, grabbed hold of your boss's leg.

" Please don't fire me..." You sobbed, your emotions finally getting the better of you. " I was just...trying to be nice" you wept, clutching onto him as Tommy's lips parted at the unexpected, but undoubtedly welcome contact of your delicate grip on him." I'm sorry" you said quickly pulling your hand away suddenly realising how inappropriate you had been. Is that what he thought you were, an immature girl that loved the thrills of flirting with any man in her presence? You thought to yourself as you tucked your hands under your thighs, shamefully looking up at your boss and the piercing stare he was now giving you.

" Y/N, there are two things I expect from my employees. Professionalism and trustworthiness. But from you, I expect a third" Tommy said as he watched your tears stream down your cheeks, hanging on to every word he said. " Loyalty" he finished as your fidgeting suddenly stopped and you locked eyes, Tommy's briefly darting between your own and your cherry red lips now stained from your trickling tears. Everything about you was so intoxicating, even that expensive perfume you had probably spent half of your life savings on. Lemon and aldehyde was it? Chanel No5. My my, someone was trying to make a good impression. Was this all for him? Tommy thought to himself as he watched you nod your head in agreement, desperately trying to hold onto your new life, and it's future he now held in his hands.

"I'm sorry I disappointed you. It won't happen again " you replied to the very man who's whole agenda has suddenly become, you.

" Good " Tommy ended his interrogation as you wiped your tears from your cheeks, searching in your skirt pocket for anything to dab away your embarrassment when your handkerchief fell onto the floor. " Sweet Afton's" Tommy chuckled, raising a brow as he picked up the burnt out cigarette between his fingers you had found that very morning. An unusual thing to save. He thought to himself when he suddenly realised, had you seen him? Had you been... meddling? " Would have taken you for more of a Craven A girl" Tommy said throwing the burnt rolled cylinder of tobacco in a bin next to his desk, clearing his throat as you watched your only evidence and reminder of the previous nights events being discarded of. "Here" Tommy said pulling out a fresh square of neatly folded cotton from within his suit jacket and handing it to you as he bent down to pick up your own, his finger grazing momentarily over the smoothness of your leg as he swiftly placed yours in his pocket as you wiped you cheeks.

" It's not mine" you confessed without realising the severity of what you had just said. So you had seen him. Tommy thought to himself as he tried to gauge exactly how much. " Sweet Afton's, I've never heard of that brand. Is it new? " You inquired as you sniffed away your remaining tears.

"New enough " Tommy replied, a small smirk playing on the corner of his mouth over something so mundane and insignificant as the brand of a cigarette you naively thought the man that had been watching you only used. Did you think you could fish out the owner of a cigarette that the majority of the country smoked? Tommy quietly chuckled to himself as a glint of mischievousness shone in his eyes, the sweetness in your naivety sending a shiver of goosebumps down his spine. You wouldn't last in Small Heath, even as a Londoner. Tommy thought to himself, waiting for another one of your queries as if this was a playful game, him having the upper hand, of course. But when your sweet voice stayed silent, Tommy could only assume you knew nothing more of his little late night stroll that just so happened to end up in front of your home. " Michael has a particular liking for them"

"Michael, Polly's son?" You asked, your brow quickly furrowing as Tommy watched your thoughts frantically tick over.

"An acquired taste. I tend to be more of a Woodbines smoker. Tobacco of the working man" Tommy lied, betting on your naivety to believe him as he continued to further sow the seeds of your suspicious mind.

" Woodbines? I'd say you've surpassed the class of a working man, wouldn't you Sir? " You replied as you looked around his costly office filled with luxurious rich mahogany furniture and the finest of staples any man of the upper class would possess.

" I'll let you be the judge of that Miss Y/L/N" Tommy replied, his mouth parting at your use of such formalities. Maybe he could do things the proper way this time, the correct way. He thought to himself as his eyes drifted down to the way the small rose pendant on the end of your necklace subtly moved with each breath you took, playfully luring him in. Who was he kidding, he would be a fool to think he could be so patient. And Tommy was no fool.

"I should get back to work" you said standing up, your movements snapping Tommy out of his deviant thoughts as you headed for his office door.

" Y/N" he stopped you, catching your elbow before you opened the door. " I feel I may have been a little harsh with you hm? " He confessed, the sudden softness in his voice catching you of guard. A brief glimpse into his lesser intimidating side piquing your curiosity.

" You wasn't" you looked up doe-eyed, your telling off still uncomfortably too recent to forget. For what was the briefest of moments, you found yourself getting completely lost in the oceans of his eyes as the man that never showed an ounce of fear held your gaze. There was something about him you couldn't quite put your finger on. Was it his charm, the authority he possessed or something entirely different? With each fraction of a second that past, you began to feel he was hiding a whole different self behind his crystal eyes as you sunk deeper into his stare.

"Y/N" Polly's voice awoke you from what had only been mere seconds of you pondering who your boss really was.

" There's a delivery that needs your signature" she said holding the door open as Tommy let go of your elbow, his Aunt looking right past you to her nephew who was now causally leaning against the frame of the door, watching you gracefully walk away.

"Not this one Tommy. You let her be. She's a good girl, she deserves someone..." Polly said standing in front of his line of sight, blocking him from the only thing his mind was hell-bent on having before he cut her off.

" What? Someone Like Michael?" He replied with a scoff as he reached into his pocket to pull out a cigarette. " I feel a change Aunty, a good one" he smiled wickedly, blowing the fumes from his cigarette in her face. " Now, stay out of it" he warned, his smile quickly dropping as the blues of his eyes turned to coal. " We wouldn't want anyone getting hurt from you interfering, would we? He smirked as he nodded to her son Michael in the adjoining office.

" You wouldn't dare" Polly's eyes widened, grabbing his arm as he turned to leave, a mere shrug of his shoulder and a sharp look he had conjured up from the very depths of hell, worthy of his only true fiery opponent enough for her to let go as she stepped back with heed.

" Wouldn't I?..."

NEXT PART

Tag list: @mysticalbouquetwolf-posts @prettywhenicry4 @smayhem49-blog @pacifymebby @indierockgirrl @globetrotter28 @theshelbyclan @zablife @call-sign-shark @red-riding-wood @peakyswritings @everysage

[tadpolesonalgae]

Degraded[*]

Nesta x reader

a/n: I haven’t written anything unhinged in a while

warnings: degradation, manipulation on Nesta’s part, slight dubcon because of that, reader having a vague cnc kink, also a bit of a fear kink, dumbification,  heavy d/s dynamics, collar + leash, intense humiliation, squirting, slight overstim, orgasm denial, Nesta’s definitely a mean domme in this so have fun I guess?

word count: 6,323

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You relish the cool bite of the night air as it nips at the exposed skin of your neck, content to take your time on the late walk. 

The sidra is always lovely at this time of night, with the colours amplified by the darkness of the sky, and the smell of food in the air, vendors selling treats and snacks to other like-minded fae as you, who enjoy taking strolls before bed. 

Alcohol permeates just below the slight smokiness of the night air, but you can manage to ignore it—you’re long past that point in your life of drinking until the sun’s rising, scrambling for clothes that were recklessly strewn off the night before. Yes, that’s all far behind you now. And you’re glad of it. 

Your heels click faintly atop the cobbles, streetlights twinkling high above as you pass through various alleyways, taking your sweet time as you meander through the familiar parts of the city. Maybe it would be worth paying a visit to Rita’s…catch up with some familiar faces. It’s been a while since you last swung by, and you find yourself missing the pleasant comfort that’s always available there. The distinct coziness and security provided by the establishment. 

A hand snatches at your wrist, and you nearly stumble as you’re jerked into a narrow alleyway, the abrasive texture of brick grazing your back harshly. 

Your mouth opens in a yelp, but another hand has slapped over your mouth, nails tenderly biting into your cheeks as eyes the colour of mercury burn into you. Instantly you recognise the female, tension dissipating as you relax into the relief, before your brows are furrowing in question—what’s going on? Her palm recedes from your mouth but her hand remains firmly shackling your wrist, and you look at her in confusion. 

“Nesta…” you greet, nervously. “How’ve you been?” 

“Perfect,” she replies, her voice whispering down the vertebrae of your spine, small hairs rising at the nape of your neck instinctively at that quicksilver sound. “You?” 

“Good…” you hedge, glancing about skittishly. “I’m— I’ve been good.” You swallow, trying to regain your composure. Her lips curve faintly. Oh dear… 

“I haven’t seen you recently,” she drawls, stepping closer so her foot is between your own. “Have you been hiding from me?” 

“Hiding from you?” You question, forcing a laugh into your voice. “Why would I be hiding from you?” Her smile sharpens faintly, a hungry glint in her eyes that has your pulse spiking. Heart stuttering further when she again raises her hand to your cheek, gently scraping a nail below your jaw to tilt your head upwards for her. Pushing a strand of hair away, tucking it behind an arched ear. 

You swallow. 

“So…what are you doing, out this late?” You manage to ask, head wanting to dip so you might be spared from the intensity of her gaze. The ire that seems to be continuously ablaze in the depths of her silver stare. “Evening entertainment,” she muses lightly, fingers grazing a spot she knows you find sensitive just shy of your ear, a spot below the hinge of your jaw. You inhale softly. 

“And you?” 

Your tongue flicks out to wet your lips, momentarily fumbling when she follows the motion. “I wanted an evening walk,” you answer, eyes averted and you glance to the relative light from the street. “Then I’ll be getting to bed,” you smile, forcing another laugh, “I like my early nights now.” 

“Hmm? Has all the fun been drained out of you, lamb?” She drawls, a mirthless laugh slicing from her own lips. “Did Amren suck you dry?” 

“No! No, no. I haven’t seen Amren actually since…” you fumble trying to think back, her pesky nail repeatedly scratching at that spot that has your breath trembling. Her grin widens. “Probably in a few months, at least…” 

“And now I’m to understand you’ve taken to staying in, on nights like these?” 

You swallow thickly, all too aware of her proximity, that wretched nail scratching away at the tender soft spot below your ear. Nod your head. “I enjoy it,” you stammer out softly. “It’s pleasant, to…be alone for some nights…” You wonder if she catches your meaning. 

“Only some?” 

Fuck.

“I suppose…company is nice…sometimes too…” you hedge, nervous to displease her. Anxious to slip out from her dominating presence. Her lips curve into a vicious smile, one that you’re sure would feel like steel across your mouth. “Sometimes…” she muses, eyes glinting with ravenous hunger, “tonight?” 

“Uh, I don’t know about tonight…I’m quite worn out…and I’ve been falling asleep earlier, as of late, so…” 

Her smile vanishes, dropping faster than a millstone through water. Apprehension strangles your throat at that look, heart pounding wildly. Her nails close around your neck tenderly, scraping as she steps closer, able to feel her breath on your lips. “Repeat that?” 

You fumble, lungs trembling as your pulse spikes, and you could swear a bead of sweat gathers on your temple. You look away. “Nesta…maybe you should stay in for the night too. By yourself.” 

Her nails scratch at the soft flesh of your cheeks as she grips you harder, forcing your face up. “I thought you liked being my little bitch,” she whispers sharply against your mouth, marking the involuntary shiver of pleasure that tremors up your spine. The small noise that gets caught in your throat. “Has something changed?” 

“No…! Nesta, let me go…” You mumble beneath her grip, hands beginning to raise to pry her fingers away, but one sharp glare has them recoiling to your chest. “My sexuality is as it’s always been, but that doesn’t entitle you to it…” you whimper softly, fingers trembling beneath that barely restrained ferocity. 

Her temper seems temporarily soothed in the blink of an eye. A bat of her eyelashes and it’s gone. Then the hand on your wrist is releasing you in favour of pulling your dress out of the way, her palm sliding effortlessly between your thighs as she cups you through your underwear. Your eyes go wide, inhaling sharply as your lips part at the violation. The entitlement. Her fingers shift, and your hands ball tight over your chest as she presses at your clit. 

You’re unable to look away, her silver eyes burning into your with a starving, simmering heat that’s bound you tight in her spidersilk, breath beginning to pant from your parted lips as she leans closer, mouth skimming your own. “You like this,” she murmurs, so tenderly, fingers swiping softly between your trembling thighs. “Remember how it felt? How much you enjoyed it?” She asks, removing her hand only in favour of gripping your wrist again, but you don’t think to fight against her as she brings your palm to touch her. 

“Remember this?” Nesta whispers, mouth almost atop your own, hips grinding softly over your hand, riding her scent into your skin. “You loved getting the chance to put your pretty face between my thighs, getting to taste me…” she goads, “and you were so good at it too. Better than any of those males by a long shot. So good with my clit.” 

Your breath stutters in your chest, heat flushing your cheeks with an overwhelming ferocity, hunger paired with fear. “Is that what this is about?” You force a whisper, lips trembling as her mouth returns to its sharp curve. “You’re bored?”

“I’m bored of not finding my satisfaction,” Nesta drawls atop your mouth. You inhale raggedly as she slips your palm into her underwear, inviting your fingers to dance through the sopping wetness of her heat. “And you will definitely satisfy me,” she murmurs, grinding down on your fingers before guiding them away. “As you always do.” 

With an almost tender touch, she plies your lips apart, guiding your glistening fingers to slide into your mouth, pushing her taste across your tongue. “Doesn’t that sound wonderful?” She muses, pressing her leg between your thighs, watching how your pupils dilate at her flavour, the memories coming back to you. 

She can feel she almost has you. 

You swallow thickly, eyes dropping away from her own, glancing downward toward the light of the street. You’re supposed to be getting back from your walk soon…supposed to be settling into bed…supposed to be going to sleep soon… 

Nesta pulls your fingers from your mouth, cupping your cheeks in both hands before carefully laying her lips atop your own. There’s the faintest taste of alcohol, but you’re surprised how sober she is…probably hadn’t had time to visit a tavern before she found you… Your breathing stutters, able to feel the faint caress of her lashes against your cheek, her tongue nimbly swiping out to taste you…and you crumble. 

“Just…just tonight…?” You ask, head slightly dipped when she pulls away. A hair-raising laugh spills from her lips as she gazes down at you, hands still cupping your cheeks. “If that’s what you want to tell yourself, be my guest.” You flush, looking up at her from beneath your lashes, brows furrowed faintly. “Do you want this or not?” You mumble, trying to sound indignant but failing miserably. 

“You’ve crawled on your hands and knees for a taste of my cunt before,” she drawls, pressing her thigh closer between your own, causing your breath to hitch, “you’ll crawl again, before the night is up.” 

“I don’t have to come with you, you know,” you try to argue, but there’s already a distinct heat pooling in your lower belly, and she looks like she’s considering dragging you away herself if you won’t follow of your own accord. “You won’t be coming at all, if you keep up with this attitude,” she hisses, a shiver sprinting up your spine. 

You look away. “You never made me come anyway…you always made me do it by myself…” 

“Give me a reason for you to deserve one.” 

“You…you like my mouth better than a male’s…” you mumble softly. 

“You could put in half effort and still be better than a male’s. Maybe if I think you’re actually trying to make me come I’d be inclined to return the favour.” 

“I always did,” you insist, flushing. “I always made sure you came. You never did anything for me…you just wanted pleasure…”

“Oh please,” Nesta hisses, shoving firmly at your shoulders, making the brick of the wall dig into your back. “Like you didn’t get off on it. I know you loved how objectified I made you feel, how much you loved getting to shut up and follow my orders. That’s why you kept coming back, because you love my kind of degradation. And that’s exactly why you’re going to drop everything for me tonight and fumble your dumb, ditzy way back to my place, just so you might get the tiniest bit of approval from me.”

You stare at her, speechless, arousal thick and heavy in the air as you flush. 

“Now, I’ll ask you again,” she murmurs, and you can feel her breath as it fans across your mouth. “Do you, or do you not, want to be my good, little, bitch.” 

————

Honestly, you’re surprised how clean her apartment is. Sure there’s still some clothing strewn about, but as far as you can tell the sheets are washed and crisp, the duvet recently changed, and only the faintest scent of liquor in the air. You’ll admit a part of you had been antsy at having to go over to her place, where you’d be so isolated, but… well, it looks okay, at least…

“Strip,” Nesta orders, and you turn to look at her. “Do I need to repeat myself for those dim ears of yours?” She murmurs, worryingly softly. Like the calm before the storm. You flush. Look away. “No…”

“No, what?” She probes.

You bite the inside of your lip. “No, ma’am.” 

Silver eyes narrow on you, then she’s turning away, and you glance down at yourself, feeling how swiftly your body has prepared itself for her. The sensitivity in your breasts, the tingling heat between your thighs…you lick your lips, sliding the straps down over your shoulders before lifting the dress up over your head, leaving you bare save for your underwear. 

“Come here,” she commands, your skin prickling at the stern tone. 

Bare feet pad across the wooden floors, and she turns to face you. “You know, I thought you might be a little hesitant to return to me,” she drawls, her hands faintly skimming your bare hips, nails scraping over the thin string of underwear. “So I got you something I think you’ll like.” She applies a pressure to your hips. “Kneel.” 

You settle on the floor, hands in your lap as you look up at her shyly. 

Nesta’s lips curve, them her fingers are deftly releasing the strings holding the bodice of her dress together, allowing the material to go slack over her lovely form, before pulling it away entirely. Leaving her in little clothing. “Do you like the view from down there,” she muses, one palm lightly cupping her breast, the other trailing tauntingly lower, fingers slipping between her parted legs. You swallow. “Yes, ma’am.” 

Silver eyes twinkle, then she’s pulling something from the drawer at her back. When you realise it’s a collar, you hurry to look away to hide the ferocious heat that’s undoubtedly ravishing your body. A single, disciplinary tut has you righting your posture, spine straightening as you incline your chin so she can attach it to you. “I knew you’d like this little thing,” she murmurs, tightening the straps so it fits well, still able to slip two fingers between the collar and your skin, before she attaches the leash. 

“I told you you’d be crawling for me before the night was over,” she taunts, feet parting a little wider as she gives a short tug on the leash, beckoning you up onto your knees. She wraps the lead around her knuckles, keeping it tight when she tangles her hand in your hair. “Keep still. Don’t move until I tell you to,” she commands, giving a punishing tug. 

You release an involuntary whimper as she steps forward while holding you still, a mere scrap of fabric between you and her cunt as she stands over you, close enough your mouth is pressed flush to her clit. It’s a struggle to not part your lips, with her heat and her scent right there. How her arousal is filling your every breath. 

“Now, you’re going to listen carefully because I’m only going to tell you this once,” she mutters, grip tightening on you. “I think you have been avoiding me lately, and I don’t appreciate it. There are a lot of males in this city I could go to for pleasure, but very few of them would actually give it to me. Fewer still well enough to make me want to return to them, especially when it comes to knowing how to work their mouths well.” 

You try to concentrate, but your mouth is watering from how dizzyingly close you are to her cunt, practically able to feel the dampness seeping through onto your lips. 

Another punishing tug on your hair, pressing her hips closer, so Nesta can really only see your nose and eyes, though she’s working on making more of you disappear from her vision. 

“Knowing all that, don’t you think it was cruel to vanish like you did? To deprive me of that pleasure? That only another female could give me?” She drawls, tone sharpening to something icy and bladed. “I went so long without it, you know. Missing the feel of your lovely, pretty mouth between my legs, the way you actually know what to do with your tongue. Even those dumb noises you made when I was particularly punishing to you.” She takes another small step, forcing you to crane your neck back as she settles over the lower portion of your face, nose now pressing to her clit, mouth poised to…you can’t finish the thought…

“So if you think for a second I’ll be warm and welcoming to you, grateful that you’re dumb enough to fumble your way back to me, you’re mistaken.” Her hips buck, rubbing her scent into your skin, giving in to that need to mark you as her own, so nobody else can claim your pleasure. “You won’t be getting so much as an ounce of pleasure from me,” she whispers, thumb stroking with faux-care over your scalp, “until you’ve repaid every night I’ve missed. Every orgasm I’ve had to settle for since you decided to take your mouth away from me, every half-decent lay, and the ones less that that, you’re going to make up for every, single, one of them.”

Gods, your limbs already feel weak. You need more of her. 

“And you’re going to degrade yourself wholeheartedly, because your only goal tonight is to please me. Understand?” 

You whimper in response, wanting to touch her, to wrap your hands around her thighs, but you know you’d only get in more trouble for that. Her lips curve, apparently satisfied with whatever she finds in your eyes, but steps away before you can get a chance to use your mouth on her. 

“Now crawl,” she murmurs, making to walk over to the bed, forcing you to descend onto your hands and knees to follow after her, the leash still clutched taut in her hand. Humiliation pleasantly simmers beneath your skin as you cross the floor, a small portion of you happy to be engaging in this behaviour with her again. After so long without it. 

Nesta prowls onto the edge of her bed, keeping you behind her as she settles on her knees, bringing a pillow forward for her to lie on, looping your lead between her legs. Then she settles down, tugging faintly on the leash to drag you closer. “I’ll take my underwear off when I think you’ve earned it,” she tells you, getting comfy on her bed, and you can make out the rustling of pages. 

She did this a lot when you were with her before—hiding you away beneath her skirts, or tucking you under a thin sheet then turning to a book to conjure up a fantasy. Maybe not the healthiest dynamic you’ve been in, but gods did it turn you on how she demeaned and exploited you. Pretended you weren’t there for the sake of her own pleasure. 

“Are you waiting for something?” She mutters, jerking hard enough on the leash you’re pulled to her cunt, parted lips settling over her centre, and she bucks her hips lightly, thighs spreading wider to get you closer. 

You hastily raise into a sitting position, hungry to start working on her, to please her enough she’ll let you have a taste… She makes no noise of contentment when you lay your hands on her, but her figure relaxes significantly, muscle melting into her bed as she resigns herself over to you, and a kernel of pride blooms in your chest that you could get this terror of a woman to give herself over to you. 

You swallow thickly, one palm resting on her ass while the other thumbs down her centre, getting to work on slowly building up that heat. She prevents abrupt and intense stimulation, but with the added layer of difficulty of her underwear in the way, capping the amount of sensitivity you can exploit from her, you’ll have to take a more slow, deliberate approach. You allow your breath to ghost across the inside of her thigh, nosing lightly at the intimate skin, letting her anticipation build as your fingers trail teasingly across her hind, almost reverently. 

As lightly as you can manage, you press your lips over the top of her underwear, slowly, slowly making your way down, following the thin, grey silk band to where it darkens, arousal having soaked the lovely material. You can feel her tighten beneath your mouth. Nesta shifts on the bed, and a page turns. 

Swallowing thickly, you press your lips to the apex of her thighs, and she snatches at the opportunity you’ve presented to grind back against the tip of your nose, tightening the pull on the leash so you’re flush with her cunt. Smoothly, you graze your palm across the exposed skin of her hind, redirecting sensitivity while you open your mouth. Gently, you lay the flat of your tongue against her clit, giving time for the saliva to soak through, so the material will be less abrasive. 

Nesta shivers as you apply a slight pressure, grip slackening on the leash enough for you to run your thumb down her centre, switching positions to lick at the dip between her thighs, softening the already wet material, sucking on it lightly to better taste her arousal. Her spine curves faintly as you push the pad of your thumb to her clit, oscillating slowly as you focus on working her up, tongue flicking at her entrance. 

When she begins to get impatient, tightening her hold on your leash, you switch back. Your thumb rests over her entrance, circling thrice before slipping beneath the dove-grey silk, pressing flush to her heat. Nesta rolls her hips down, and you kiss up her centre, pressing your middle and further finger against her, soaking them in her slick and it takes all of your discipline to keep from licking at them right then and there. Only in favour of sinking them inside of her, feeling how she grips at your digits, already knowing how much pleasure they can bring. 

“Hurry up,” she mumbles, but you can hear the slightly breathless note in her voice, the way her hips are winding, and anticipation builds in the pit of your belly. 

Focusing on pumping and curling your fingers, you continue applying that pressure to her clit—more than anything that’s been the kind of stimulation she’s been missing, so it’s the kind you will target. Relentlessly. When you have better access to her, that is. For now, you’re searching. It’s been a while since you’ve been with her, and you need to re-familiarise yourself with her— there. 

Her toes curl, body moving atop the pillow as she squeezes at your fingers, clenching around them when you brush up against a spot she likes. Your lids flutter with pleasure, sealing your lips over her heat, pushing your fingers further inside to better rub their pads against that spot, kissing at her cunt while beckoning her closer…and closer… Nesta’s body goes taut, her toes curling as the orgasm releases through her, her fingers gripping the sheets as you push against that spot, not once slowing or shifting your rhythm as she flutters around your digits. 

A quiet curse slips from her lips as you carry her through the aftershocks, pulling back to rub your thumb atop her clit, sending fresh pulses of pleasure through her. 

Nesta raises from the pillow lethargically, like an ancient creature at last waking from its slumber, and she pulls on the leash again, dragging you to her wet cunt as she spreads her thighs, grinding over your face, the lead rubbing against her clit. You inhale deeply, hands tenderly wrapping around her thigh and calf, keeping yourself close. 

A low, mocking laugh drags from her lips, forcing you to remain plastered to her cunt as arousal seeps through onto your skin, holding you there as she rides out her pleasure. “You’ve missed this, haven’t you slut?” 

You whimper at the name, and she laughs again, using you like a pillow to rub and grind against until she’s satisfied. 

“Now,” she instructs, settling higher onto her hands and knees, “I want you to remove my underwear. Don’t use your hands, and don’t lick anything. Get to work.” 

You swallow a moan, rising higher to latch your teeth over the band at the base of her spine, forcing yourself to drag the material away and keeping your mouth to yourself. It’s a harder task than it sounds, watching the slick fabric peel away, strings of silvery arousal webbing between her thighs, the heavy traces of her orgasm difficult to ignore, but you manage to complete your task. Enough so that Nesta shifts on her own, removing her underwear when you’ve tugged it down to her thighs, exposing her to the cool air of the bedroom. 

“Come up here,” she instructs, shifting along the bed to make room for you, and you follow swiftly, crawling up onto the plush mattress. Her lips curve when you pause a healthy distance from her. “Closer,” she drawls, reaching for your lead but you scurry forward before she can tug on it. But still, “closer.” 

You pause when your knees might as well be brushing her own, hands set in your lap as you look up at her nervously. 

“There were a few things that surprised me, when I first decided to try you on,” Nesta muses, letting her fingers roam across the top of your thigh, moving in faintly circular patterns. “One of them was how shameless you were,” she continues, “I couldn’t fathom ever submitting myself in the way you do. But I suppose that’s why I’m the one who does the degrading, not the other way around.” 

Her fingers persist on their travels, skimming to the inner part of your thigh, and when she taps her nail twice, you shyly part them a little. Nesta hums slightly, and her palm slides between your legs, fingers running over the damp material clinging to your hips, dragging them over your sex teasingly, noticing possibly for the first time just how you react to her touch—hands tightening into fists just shy of your knees, the increase of temperature in your skin, that wonderfully bashful look that’s kept in the set of your brows. 

“But I think what I found the most surprising was how, despite your pretty exterior, how you put yourself together, your composure and polite demeanour,” she smiles, and no good can come of that smile. You feel yourself getting wetter, aching for her, but as if sensing that acute need, she pulls away, instead dragging her underwear closer. “All of that was put together to hide that nasty little fixation of yours, hm? Isn’t that right?” 

She circles the tip of her finger atop the mattress, in one of the holes for her legs, and you swallow thickly, catching the way a section of the material glistens with a thick coating of slick. Hers. Her orgasm. 

You’re too busy off in your own world that you don’t notice her hand until it’s gripping your jaw, nails lightly piercing your skin as she holds you still. “You’re so dirty beneath all of that,” she mutters, fingers curling around the band that would settle at her hip, “and yet you have the guile to try and act so innocently to the world. Pretend you’re so sweet, and quiet, and charming. But I know better.” 

She grips her underwear in her hand, fingers squeezing firmly at the hinge of your jaw and you have no time to think as she shoves the erotic flavoured part of clothing into your mouth, holding you still so you’re utterly under her control. 

“So dumb beneath all that, aren’t you? Silly, stupid, foolish girl,” she hums, pressing down on your tongue to draw more whimpers from your throat, mind fogging at her rough touch. “There’s nothing going on behind those eyes of yours, is there? Not a single thought, other than trying to memorise what I taste like, trying to conjure up a dirty little fantasy to help get yourself off. Not even trying to please me anymore, are you?” 

Nesta’s silver eyes glint like mercury as she rubs her fingers over your tongue, infusing her flavour with your saliva, making sure you get all of it in your mouth. 

“How hot and bothered would you get if I tied you up and left you tucked away beneath my bed for a few hours, with my underwear gagging your dumb little mouth to stop it from making any more of those stupid noises?” She croons, moving closer, rising up onto her knees so you have to look up at her. “Would you like that?” She whispers, a power-hungry gleam in her eyes. “What else can I make you do, hm? How far will you go for me, if I tell you to? Wear that collar in public for me? Let me permanently mark those thighs of yours? Spend full days on your hands and knees for me? I bet you’d love that last one, such a pathetic little slut, aren’t you?” 

Nesta laughs, gripping you tighter as a wetness shines on your lashes, able to smell as your arousal spikes, humiliation flushing your skin. 

“Go on,” she mutters atop your mouth, smiling cruelly. “Tell me how you’re my perfect little slut.” 

Your eyes widen, looking away, tongue swiping across your lips when she pulls her underwear from your mouth expectantly. “Nesta…that’s a bit far…” 

“Hm? A bit far?” She parodies, making to lay back on her mattress, that smug, domineering smile staying on her perfectly curved lips. “You don’t get to say I’m going a bit far when you’ve waited hours on your knees beneath my vanity for me to give you the okay to stick your ditzy face between my thighs.” 

Your lips part on a shocked inhale, vicious flame engulfing your body whole, like you’ve been dunked in a slightly too-hot bath and need to be getting out. 

Nesta smirks, laying back into the plush cushioning of her pillows, legs bending at the knees to spread herself open, and you flush further when she beckons you over, a single elegant finger directing you toward her exposed, dripping cunt. “Come over here,” she murmurs, still looking smug. 

Shyly meeting her gaze, you crawl forward, settling lower to the bed as you open your mouth, anxious to finally lay your tongue over her, to bury your face into the sopping wetness of her pussy. But Nesta hasn’t let her original plan go, and you squeal when her nails rake across your scalp, holding you in place, less than an inch from her lovely cunt. So close you could probably lick her, if you tried. 

“I told you to say it,” she whispers in a tone that sounds like it’s trying to mimic care. A little whiney, a little taunting. Wholly mocking.

“Go on,” she encourages, lips curving into that smarmy little smile again, “say you’re a pathetic little slut. Or I’ll be more than happy to toss you back to the streets.” You can guess that’s a lie after how she sought you out, but her pride is fierce enough, and she’s stubborn enough to possibly follow through…

Silver eyes pierce into you. “…I’m…your…” 

“Where are you looking?” She drawls, tugging on your hair once, redirecting you to her cunt. “I know what you are. Tell her.” She pulls you closer, so her arousal glistens on your lips, and it would be so easy to flick your tongue out…

Your toes curl with embarrassment, an arousing twinge of shame unspooling in your abdomen as you lower your gaze to her pussy. “…I’m…I’m your pathetic little slut.” 

Nesta laughs, spreading her legs wider as she pushes you against herself, hips winding against you as her thighs squeeze either side of your head in pleasure. “I knew you’d say it,” she taunts, “too desperate to go without it. Dumb, ditzy, desperate slut.” 

You could moan from how good it feels to be so intimately placed in relation to her bare heat, feeling how she’s lightly riding your face, swiping her hips up and down to glide across your slick-soaked features, liking how your mouth feels pressed flush to her entrance, nose pressing at her clit. “Get started,” she muses, a little breathless, thighs squeezing you with need. “You’ve got a lot to make up for.” 

Your lips part, and her flavour rushes in, pulled further into your mouth with every fervent swipe of your tongue through her centre, parting her until the tip reaches her clit, circling and trailing around it in the way she’s been yearning for. Nesta’s hips buck with pleasure, and you close your lips around her, suckling eagerly while your palms wrap beneath her legs, skimming the tops of her thighs as you drink her taste down, so much more concentrated that what you got from her underwear. 

Gods, she’s heavenly. 

Nesta curses on a low, rushed exhale, grappling for her book again, and you flush as she balances it across her sternum, effectively blocking you out once more. You feel at least a small part of you should be indignant about her obsession at refusing to acknowledge you, but it allows you to focus on her. 

Carefully removing your hand from her thigh, you trail down to her entrance, pushing your tongue against her, lapping and flicking against her as you begin pushing small circles into her clit. She inhales sharply, and you know the sound. It’s always different when it’s someone who understands what’s going on between your legs, who can choose to target sweet spots and use them to their advantage. Your tongue flattens against her, pushing inside, and the circles become tighter; meaner. Rapidly dragging her closer, making use of the sensitivity you’ve created from that first orgasm. 

The curses become more frequent, though they’re all barely muttered under her breath. You switch around, lips wrapping around her clit to suck while your hand slides lower, slipping in your middle and forth finger with arousing ease. 

She’s so wet. 

You know it’s helped on by the first orgasm, but even then, she’s practically drooling slick onto the sheets, even after you’ve spent so long licking it up. 

“More,” Nesta murmurs, voice breathy and undone; you follow obediently. 

You know exactly where to touch, where to rub up against again, curling your fingers and keeping in rhythm with the suctioning pulses you’re creating with your mouth and tongue, pulling her clit between your lips and circling the tip of your tongue against that sensitive part. You can feel how it’s hardened from the stimulation, growing taut beneath your ministrations. 

Nesta’s spine arches, and you keep pushing against that spot, knowing exactly the kind of reaction it’ll reward you with. 

She makes a strained noise in her throat, deep and breathy, book falling aside as she tries to cover her mouth as the second orgasm gushes through her…and from her. You moan as she splashes onto you, a little taken aback, having forgotten what it was like to have her soaking you. 

Heated, silver eyes glance downwards, a beautiful pink flush heavily colouring her cheeks, and you have to press your thighs together when she reaches down and spreads herself apart, making an upside-down V with her fingers, intentionally squirting across your face, taking her pleasure in marking you so territorially. You get the vague impression it’s turning her on more that it is you. 

Nesta doesn’t once look away, practically coming again from the humiliation of it all, her lips curving in a feline grin, dripping feminine satisfaction, sinking into the luscious plushness of her pillows. As if she’s finally back where she belongs, after being denied her rightful position. 

Her fingers shakily roll over her clit, delivering slow, almost lazy circles that cause her thighs to flinch with each pass, and you obediently return to lapping at her heat, gently licking up the orgasm from her dripping pussy, careful not to waste a single drop.

With a steadied grip, Nesta pulls on your leash, and you rise desperately from her heat, your own cunt aching for some kind of relief. 

“Nesta…it’s your turn,” you insist softly, a deep flush on your cheeks from how needy you sound. She arches an eyebrow, and your brows curve with desperate frustration. “Nesta, you said you wouldn’t do this,” you whine, following her pull on the lead until you’re hovering above her, poised  to lower yourself to her breasts should she order you to. “Please, I need to cum so badly…” 

“I didn’t say you couldn’t touch yourself,” she muses, two finger looping directly beneath your collar to pull you closer to her mouth. “I can sit on your face, while you use those talented little fingers on yourself,” she croons, lips brushing against your own, making you release a noise of disappointed frustration. 

“No, you said…” you fumble, recalling that she didn’t exactly say anything. “I’m not… I’m leaving if you don’t. It can’t just always be for your pleasure, you know. I’m serious this time. I’ll leave…” Nesta’s lip curls, silver flame blazing bright in those tormentingly beautiful eyes of hers, inciting both your fear and your arousal. “You aren’t stepping foot outside this bedroom, much less getting to come on your own until you make me do that at least two other times,” Nesta hisses against your mouth, a snarl coming through from beneath. 

“And don’t even think about trying to sneak yourself some relief now,” she mutters, a punishing ire gleaming hot in her silver stare. “Pathetic little sluts don’t get to cum. Now stop whining. I told you exactly what you were in for before we started, so don’t try and act all shy now,” she tells you, her legs moving to guide you into the next position she wants, dragging you back down her body to continue servicing her aching pussy. 

Her mouth shifts with knowing, a distinctly self-satisfied expression passing over her cruelly honed features, voice softened to a mocking drawl. 

“This is exactly what you want.” 

——————————————————————————————————————————————

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[zwhoreo]

A fic of Luffy and Reader first meeting please 😍🙏 ( I love how you write Luffy)

tysm !!! <33 this turned out so cute i think

meeting him - luffy x gn!reader

fluff

summary: while watching the ocean on your front steps one evening, you meet a boy named monkey d. luffy. he tells you about his life as a pirate, and teaches you how to skip rocks in the sea

words: 1.6k

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Evening is just around the corner but the sky is still high enough over those clouds on the horizon that there’s warmth on your skin, golden and marinated. You’re sitting on the stone steps of your front garden and watching the waves crash on the white sand in the distance, because it’s warm enough that it’s still worth it to be here, letting the breeze weave your fingers.

Not many people are around at this time of night, the world is peaceful and still, but that’s why your head turns, in curiosity and focus, at the sound of wooden sandals on the sidewalk ahead, a heavy thwacking of aimless stumbling, the horizon bends with a silhouette of a boy walking down the cobble path and looking ahead, dazed, smiling over nothing.

You lock eyes. Large, brown, thoughtless and friendly eyes. You’re captivated and for some reason your heart folds in on itself in a way you can’t quite explain. His features are delicate, oddly beautiful in an unlikely sort of way, a hazel tan and greasy black hair blowing gently in the wind beneath an old, frayed straw hat. He looks like he’s been out at sea for a very long time, but although weathered he’s incredibly youthful, an older teenager, you think. He’s dressed like a pirate, you know this look well, they come into taverns drunk on cheap rum and leer at the young girls, picking fights, you didn’t think there were many good pirates left these days but something about this boy is so profoundly different. He’s not like anyone you’ve ever seen before, in some way you can’t place.

You watch him, keenly interested now, chin resting on your hands. Maybe this is why he comes up to you, crouching so close in front of you, no shyness present in his face. There’s an old scar under his left eye, tight and pale with age.

“Hiya!” His voice is raspy and loud. “You seen my crew anywhere?”

“Your crew? Mm, I don’t know. I haven’t seen anyone come by here for a while.” You find yourself talking differently than usual, not like you normally do with strangers, it’s something in your voice, your annunciation, that catches you off guard.

“Aw, really? There’s a lady with orange hair and this guy and he’s got green hair and three swords and-” He stops in the middle of a frustrated gesticulation when he sees your blank eyes. “Mm. Ok, I’ll go look in town.”

And just like that he gets up to leave. You’re saddened, but you find your words catching in your throat. Don’t leave.

But he pauses a few paces away, turning back after a brief consideration. “Hey, ya got any food? I’m real hungry.”

You look up, breath hitching. Yes, yes, this is something you can do. “Oh, yeah, I just baked some bread, actually. I’ll go get it if you wanna wait here.”

“Ooh! Sounds good. Hey, thanks!” he calls to you warmly, turning back, trotting to your front steps as you go inside.

The bread basket has been cooling on the windowsill, the crust is golden and steam wafts through the room and wets your hands as you pick it up to bring it to him. But when you come outside again he isn’t on your steps, or in your garden, you look around to find him but he isn’t anywhere, not until you step into the road and look over the rock embankment.

There’s the boy, he’s sitting in the white sand and playing with rocks, stacking them in lopsided towers with great intent. You smile when you see him. He isn’t gone. So you climb onto the beach and come to him, he grins casually, like you had been there all along, and his eyes light up when you set the bread in front of him.

“Ahh! This looks soo good!” Before his words are finished he’s already eating messily, he doesn’t care about the sand on his hands, he’s so focused.

You sit by him. You lean in, admiring his face, finally speaking, “I’m [name], by the way.”

“I’m Monkey D. Luffy!” he proclaims with enthusiasm, still not looking up. “It’s good to meet ya!” And he goes back to eating, as if this simple greeting has made you best friends and now everything is solved, but that name is familiar somehow and you like him so much already and you need to know more.

“Are you a pirate?” you ask with a tilted head.

“Mhm!” Luffy says through a mouthful of bread, “and I’m gonna be king of ‘em!”

“Pirate king, huh?” You raise your eyebrows, you’re charmed by him.

“Mm! Do you like the sea, [name]?” You feel like he’s been shifting closer to you, you hear him all around you now, his chewing remains consistent, loud.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s one of the prettiest things in the world,” you say honestly, the waves glitter in front of you, an infinite land-sky, glitter on pearl on galaxy-blue. Sunspots, stars, they twinkle on its surface.

“It’s real fun to be a pirate,” he chirps, finishing the bread and turning to you, his smile is gleaming and his voice is soft but gleeful.

“Yeah? What kinda stuff do you do out there?” You just want to hear him speak more, you realize.

“Ah man, everything! We go on tons of adventures, and we sing, and we get to make new friends wherever we go… and we look for treasure! We’re tryna find the One Piece!”

He returns your enchanted stare. He makes it all sound so easy, taming the cruel sea. His chest rises and falls, breaths heavy with excitement, his hands palm at the sand and hey, he’s really moving closer now, isn’t he? His eyes are so sparkly, it’s impossible to look away from him.

“Wanna skip rocks with me?” he asks before you have time to reply. He’s distracted so easily, reaching happily for his little tower, weighing the smooth gray stone in his hand.

Aren’t you looking for your crew? you want to ask. But you can’t let go of him yet, this mysterious, perfect boy. So instead you say, “sure, if you can teach me. I’m not great at it.”

“You live by the sea and ya can’t skip rocks?” Luffy laughs at you, tossing his stone into the sea with a snap of his wrist, it bounces once, twice, spinning in the air, a battle to fly from the ocean’s hunger, before it’s pulled beneath, disappearing into the surf.

Your hands touch as he gives you a rock, perfectly round and smooth, warmed from his palm. You throw it but your arm falters, it falls with a splash, gone before it could fly, a ripple of a memory left on the water, nothing more. Luffy laughs at you again.

“Nah, that ain’t it, you gotta flick your arm and keep it straight.” He moves close enough where you can feel his breath on your skin, hot and thick. “Mm,” he murmurs in your ear, voice low and ripe, “like this…”

He’s behind you, leaning against you, taking your arm and positioning you for the right sort of throw. His skin feels strange, like warm rubber, but your mind is so clouded with him, with his musky, overpowering scent and the tickle of his hair, you don’t notice much of anything. By accident, for the briefest moment, his salt-dried lips brush your shoulder, this is like lightning within you. But for Luffy this is nothing, it means nothing to him to be this close, it’s just what seems so natural.

You throw again, a smaller rock this time, aided by his hands on your arm. You’re so dizzied by his touch and you expect it to be even worse this time but to your surprise the rock skips once, a single heartbeat.

“See! Ya did it!” Luffy shouts joyfully, slapping you on the back, a little too hard, before pulling you in for a hug.

This is the best hug you’ve ever had. So tight, so warm, he buries his head in your shoulder, his weight nearly knocks you into the sand. You grab him back, by pure instinct, you want this closeness never to leave you.

But in an instant he’s pulled away again, unfazed by his own affection. He adjusts his hat carefully, looking back at the water, face content. He throws and skips one last stone.

“Mh, my crew’s prolly looking for me, huh?” Luffy stands up, dusting off his jeans, tilting his head at you. And then he offers you a hand, pulling you up with him, you’re face to face again and he places a hand firmly on your shoulder and says, “you can come if you want.”

“Huh?”

“On my crew. You can come be a pirate with me!” And again he has that way of saying things so simply. He doesn’t know you, how could he be so sure? But in his eyes you feel so incredibly, impossibly known.

He turns around, ready to walk away down the beach into the dying sunlight, and he turns to you once more and says, “you gonna be here tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I will!” you call to him, and he flashes you a broad smile, a thumbs-up, before running away into the horizon. You know he’ll come back.

Romance isn’t even in your mind. You just have this intense feeling for him, a certain kind of instantaneous love that goes deeper than any of that. You feel bonded, like you’ve never felt before, and you don’t know how it happened. You just stand there in the sand, dazed and misty eyed. You want so desperately to see him again. Deep breaths, calm your body, tonight you’ll have time to dream about what you’ll say.

You could see the world with him. You want to right now, very badly, so why not? Maybe it is that simple.

[the-midnight-blooms]

ᴛʜᴇ ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴀᴍᴏᴜʀ

previously titled: sanguine metal and pearl

pairing: vampire!song mingi x accusedwitch!reader

AU: fantasy au

word count: 5.8k

warnings: violence

ATEEZ as angst tropes series:

Hongjoong | Seonghwa | Yunho | Yeosang | San | Mingi | Wooyoung | Jongho

masterlist

Trope: Betrayal

Thunder cracked across the sky, the rain beating down on the earth, wind hitting against the frail leaves as a hollow figure dashed across the drenched field. Her boots squelched beneath her feet as she tiredly trudged, panicking as she attempted to seek solace in the large abandoned manor on the hill. By no means did she expect it to be inhabited with as much as warmth, but anything was better than the coarse battering of the rain provoking her skin. Her pale fingers squeezed against the slash penetrated across her abdomen-blood oozing out of the wound like a scarlet river. Beads of sweat formed on her upper brow; heavy pants silenced by the harsh winds. At last, she reached the cobbled roads no longer restrained by the depth of the muddy grass, sprinting down the path. Out of sheer habit, her fists pounded loudly against the wooden door, rapping at the knocker not long before she jerked the door handle. Her body pushed into the foyer, hastily parrying the biting winds the loud slam venerating the hallways.

A quiet sigh escaped from her lips; her eyes fluttered shut relishing the warmth of the atmosphere that eased the tension in her muscles. Despite this, she had lost too much blood. Her dress, her hands all soaked red- the objects in her line of sight all bleeding together. With an agonising wheeze she dropped to the floor with a heavy thud, her mind racing at a million miles per minute.

I could die like this I suppose, at least it’s warm.

A sudden of rush of emotions overcame her, fatigue moulding into sadness as she recollected how she got there. Where a storm now brewing outside the bow windows, the translucent glass blocked some of the light that spilt into the dark foyer- when she came home a few hours ago, the air was soft smelling of the sweet musk of honeydew and freshly cut lawn. The sun was nowhere to be seen, but the white clouds hung in the sky. Painful coughs trickled up her throat, blood dribbling from her lips onto the wooden floorboards her head clouded by the pain- at once tearing her away from the pastoral fantasy. Mind rocking back and forth, stumbling on the thin line between consciousness and unconsciousness.

Through the slits of her shutting eyes, she sought a tall, dark figure looming over her- her body elevating from the ground. Perhaps it was the Grim Reaper taking mercy on her, ready to return to her parents’ side. For his ominous eyes bored into her own, her soul magnetised by its enigma.

Death is a beautiful man.

Peering through the windows of his warm study, the fireplace was lit the embers spitting as the flames oscillated beneath the cracked marble. Rain shot down from the sky, hammering against the porcelain tiles, infiltrating down the drain leading to the gutter as he sought a figure staggering down his pavement.

‘Manyeo’ he heard the servants whisper through the kitchen walls of his almost desolate home. Witch. But there could be no such creature. Not when he had lived through centuries, rendered an immortal being by mortals who distinguished the same face being transplanted down through generations. Just how strong was his family’s genetics really? He respected her resilience, despite the pain boiling within her human flesh she made her way to the door of his home. Mingi ripped himself away from the window, stalking out of his room.

The hallways were much larger than one would anticipate, not all them were covered with wallpaper, but the walls were particularly dark basking his view. They were littered with more candelabras, elegantly carved Greek statues, brushed with a few cobwebs indicating its age and neglect. Paintings embraced the lurid walls, particularly renaissance paintings of the past including many figures rendered to thoughtful positions encrusted in pale browns, reds, soft creams and light blues blending together to create an image of classism. After descending down the staircase, he reached the foyer a feminine figure draped across the floorboards her scarlet red blood blessing the ground beneath her. Slipping his slender fingers around her body, he encased her fragility within his strong grasp holding her close to his chest.

Sunlight streamed in through the crevices of the white chiffon curtain, whirling with the warm breeze that emptied into the large room. With the air brushing at her soft skin, her eyes fluttered open staring at the canopy ceiling above her. A distressing grunt left her as she adjusted her position- sitting up back pressed against the headboard. Instinctively, her hands reached towards where the stab wound was, lifting the hem of the cotton white dress to reveal a roll of bandages securely wrapped the whole way around her stomach. Someone had stitched her up. With furrowed eyebrows, her eyes travelled the breadth of the room. The walls were plastered in ivory green wallpaper, detailed with golden floral patterns. Beside her was a small nightstand, above was an unlit brass candelabra, burgundy red leather-bound books with ochre spines. The canopy bed was draped with white netting, the plush cream bed covers softening her stiff limbs inviting her back to sleep. Persisting against her tiredness, she crawled out of the bed- chilliness shooting up her as her feet dipped onto the floorboards.

Above the dressing table held a large mirror, reflecting her thinning figure lacking the liveliness that it used to have, dark circles embodying her youthful eyes. A crisp card note embedded with dark ink, folded in half grabbed her attention.

Miss Min,

I hope you are feeling much better after a long bed rest. If you feel yourself able, I would like to request for you to dine with me tonight. Please help yourself to any of the dresses in the wardrobe, see it as your own for the duration of your stay here at Song’s Manor.

I shall hope to see you soon,

Your saviour.

Who was this man? How did he know her name? Was the manor not supposed to be empty? The townspeople claimed so, yet they weren’t the brightest or trusting of people. She was still, yet, naïve for believing their words despite all their dishonest allegations. A witch. Out of all the things they deemed her, for being an academically inclined woman at that. With her mother passing early on her childhood, her father, a scholar, was left to take care of her upbringing. What could a man teach her about the ways of the household and domesticity? So, naturally, he taught her all that he knew which was the art mathematics and science. She spent the most of her adolescence cooped up on the brown leather chair analysing diagrams from scientific journals; helping her father with his research by transcribing his words and knowledge as his health dwindled. After his own passing, she was left to survive for herself and with the uprise of paranormal activity in her town- the people pointed a finger towards the scholarly woman. For when people are afraid, they point towards the most estranged person they know.

Dressed in a floor length black dress, black lace netted over the cotton fabric- large bell sleeves covered her thin arms. The dress accentuated her figure in all the right places, addressing the curves of her body that she had not noticed up until now. Her long hair was clipped back by a silver claw clip- she felt everything on her body was too rich to belong there. It was hard to believe that this was one of the simplest dresses amongst the ball gowns hung in the old chestnut wardrobe. Her hands had rifted through reams of silk, satin, chiffon, mesh, cotton of a consistent maroon red, creams, ivory white and black colour palette. There was the occasional green and blue, but the colours so deep it felt like delving into the depths of an uncharted sea.

A small knock venerated through the room, the wooden door creaking open as a timid pair of eyes peeked into the room, the maid slipped in straightening her posture.

“Count Song requests your presence in the dining room, Miss Min.” She felt astounded by the endearment- despite her father being an astute scholar she was never held on a pedestal among others, she was simply one head in a crowd of masses. Miss Min followed after the maid, every step feeling like she was treading on sharp glass, the skim of the substance penetrating her-dreading the cauterise of a thousand hot blades on her skin. Her mind rinsed with the memory of him piercing his knife through her abdomen, every time she closed her eyes-even if it was just to blink- she relived that moment over and over.

The maid had led her into the dining room. The oak dining table stretched over the length of the whole room, patterned with black leather chairs which in itself was probably worth more than her whole home. The dining room was painted scarlet red, and much like the rest of the home, the walls were encased with grand paintings which she had only seen in books. At the top of the table stood a tall man, clad black velvet. With his sharp jawline and narrow eyes, he feigned an intimidating impression, the shadows loomed ominously in his presence leaping of his slender body as if ready to latch and destroy anything in its path. He drifted forward, as if being carried by the shadows that substantiated him. He could only be the infamous Count Song, owner of the manor she once perceived as deserted.

“Miss Min. How do you feel?" he questioned, his deep voice sending a shiver down her spine.

"I'm fine, thank you so much for your hospitality, Count Song." She claimed, ignoring the frequent pangs of pain that seared through her. Her vision blurred ever so slightly-the defined features of his blending together, yet still creating a perfect picture at that.

"There's no need for formalities, you can call me Mingi." He introduced. At once, the suggestive smirk moulded into a warm smile revealing the dimples that adorned his pale cheeks. Her lips formed his name; to soundlessly masticate the vowels on her tongue- it tasted so natural to her. "Come, you must be hungry." He led her to the top of the dining table, adjacent to where his own seat was, pulling it out in a gentlemanly manner. A blush crept on her cheeks as she sat down. A mere minute later, servants compiled into the room, an array of dishes covering the vast half of the large table. Her widened eyes instilled a chuckle from Mingi, he watched with adoration.

Miss Min was a beauty, a sight to behold. All the light in the room revered her, shining towards her figure ever so specifically- so much that you would think she was the beacon herself. The black dress hugged her figure so perfectly, he wanted nothing more than to snake his hand around her waist and pull her closer to him. The smell of her blood so divine, it was driving him insane. He bit his lip, hands balling up into fists as if to hold himself back from digging his teeth into the curve of her gleaming neck. Once the servants had fled from the room, he reached forward to cover her plate with a bit of each dish served before them.

"Mingi-," he silenced her with a hard stare.

"Hush now, you need as much food as you can get. How would you get better otherwise?" This sudden solidarity had startled her, no less. When was the last time someone had given her this much attention? She became so used to fending for herself, that help of others was so foreign to her. Perhaps this was all temporary and Mingi was seeking something from her in return of his services.

"If you don't mind me asking, how did you know my name?" she questioned, as soon as he compiled a few dishes onto his own plate-reaching for the fork. He stopped, slipping his hand inside his suit jacket, pulling out a black book with her name engraved on the front.

"This was in your cloak." Cloak, a word that disgusted her. Almost made it seem like she was a real witch. He settled the book down next to him- tentatively, she grabbed it, flicking through the pages to see if any of the loose sheets she'd placed in there had fallen out. The chances were that they had when she was making her way up the hill. “Took me a while to get my head around that satanic scripture.” He joked, raising the wine glass to his lips. Her head snapped toward him. Cloak. Satanic scripture. What did he know and what was he trying to imply?

My, my, Miss Min. You are sharp.

Mingi held her confounded stare for a few moments before gesticulating for her to eat the food he’d so kindly put on her plate.

“What are you trying to imply, Mr Song?” She challenged, there was no point beating around the bush. If he, as so much thought that she was one of the devils men- then she was treading in the enemy’s territory. She deduced the secretive airs around him, the way he paused before speaking choosing his words carefully.

“I might not get out of the house much but that doesn’t mean I don’t have my eyes and ears everywhere. Did you not think for a second I wouldn’t question why there’s a woman bleeding out to death on my doorstep?”

“If you were wondering so, then you didn’t need to invite me to eat with you. You could’ve asked me the second I woke up and I would have told you.”

“Oh I know you would have, Miss Min. But what kind of man would I be, if I didn’t put food before a starving woman? So, eat your food and if you don’t like it then I can get you something else.” He instructed, salient eyes burned into her own, tearing her stare away she stuck the fork into plate- engulfing her meal hungrily, but in a civilised enough manner that the man beside her didn’t think she was an animal. They ate their food in tense silence, Miss Min still eager to galvanise answers out of him. Mingi scoured through the depths of her mind finding nothing that wasn’t already new to him. Just a young soul brimming with beauty and inquisition. At the end of the night. Mingi escorted her back to her quarters-the pair loitering outside of her door. Mingi, unable to leave until he knew she had gone into the room, and herself thinking of something-anything- that would eradicate the taut atmosphere. She pushed her door open, thanking her saviour for his hospitality. Sometimes it was better to say nothing, than something. Deep down she felt that he would not leave her questions unanswered. Regardless, whatever it was that he was hiding from her- she took it upon herself to find out. One way or another.

A gold, rusted candelabra rested in her palms as she sauntered through the desolate hallways. It had been a while since their last encounter; Mingi's latency around the manor was absent. She tried to pry the maids for information in lieu of her nosiness but they all dismissed her inquisitiveness, instead doting over her lecturing her to rest and take care of herself. A sense of pain still provoked her bearings despite all this rest she was advised to take, deciding the best cure to her apathy was to give herself that tour that Mingi did not give her. Avoiding the steps that descended to the ground floor, she took the staircase leading the the upper floor hands gliding up the railing to secure some stability, she still felt her head rocking from side to side- heavy pants fleeting from her aching lungs as she wandered to the upper floor. The second floor stretched out into a long hallway, around six black, wooden doors all equidistant from each other. To her dismay, three out of six were locked and two were simply storage rooms holding boxes of trinkets, dusty furniture, a grand piano, cello; some other boxes contained velvet curtains, bed spreads and just other menial household items. Reaching for the copper doorknob, she twisted the handle pushing it open to reveal another set of staircases that led further up the building. From the outside, the manor looked to only have two floors, the high ceilings feigning an impression of many more. Shutting the door behind to preserve the warmth, she glided up the staircase, nudging through yet another door before entering a large space. The light from the flame flooded into the room, this room was much more fastidious than the rooms below with white sheets draped over the furniture; carefully arranged in parallel rows either side of the room. Amongst the walls held portraits, an array of people all dressed in the clothing that was deemed fashionable of its time. They were all encrusted in deep reds, velvety purples, pearl necklaces wrapped around their necks. A certain figure on the walls, drew her, his face similar to that of Mingi's. There seemed to be several that masked his features, all dressed differently-as if his face was a family heirloom surpassing generations.

Her eyes latched onto a book perched on top of one of the tables, a thick layer of dust coated on the front cover. Reaching for the book, she wiped away the dust with the sleeve of her arm, erupting into a fit of coughs as the particles entered her nose. Through the little light, her eyes barely made out the writing engraved across the front.

‘Mr and Mrs Song’

“What are you doing up here?” His deep voice bellowed into the attic, startling her. "What's that in your hand?" Clutching the book to her chest, Mingi grabbed at the candle holding it towards his face, his dark eyes glared at her a look of question fulfilling his features.

"It's mine." she blurted, he raised an eyebrow-almost amused by her proclamation. She cleared her throat, looking down at her feet in embarrassment. "I mean...I got it from the library. I also got a little bored. So I thought I'd explore." The cold look on his face softened, as he watched her stumble a little, leaning on the table for support.

"You're still in pain, you could have explored the castle later. Or asked me.” He offered.

“I’m beginning to think you’re nocturnal, Count. It’s actually appalling to see you’re gallivanting through your own hallways in the early evening.” Mingi shook his head whilst rolling his eyes.

“Maybe you’ve just been missing me.” A playful smirk held up on his sweet lips. She wanted to reach out and touch them, hold her fingers on his lips for a while. See what it would feel like to have his skin pressed against hers. The thought itself astounded her. His beauty was certainly a thing to behold but where had she conjured such thought from? “Come with me, Miss Min. We’ll gallivant through our hallways together,” His outstretched hand gesticulated for her to join him. They sauntered down the corridor, the book pressed against her chest. A maid rushed over to them, panting heavily.

"There is a man demanding to see you master. He goes by the name of Choi San." Her blood ran cold, limbs paralysed as the name reverberated at her core. Choi San, the town's exorcist had been the one to spread the word of her 'witchcraft', he had also been the one to plunge his 'holy' dagger into her stomach. Mingi stalked towards the entrance, the maid scuttling back to her duties. Hesitantly, she followed after him descending declining the steps. Listening carefully, she heard San introduce himself listing his many revered titles. 'Priest, Merchant, Scholar'. Yet it didn't take a genius to figure out that San was no god-fearing man and cleverly manipulated the townspeople's naivety to create his own rules and have them bending to his will. If anything, he thought he was God's greatest gift on earth.

"I believe you have something that belongs to me." Looking up at the top of the stairs, he shot her a devious smile. "Why don't you come down for me, dear?" Her body trembled, moving further down the steps. Hiding behind Mingi’s towering figure, his hand settled on her waist behind his back. San, unimpressed, mockingly cocked his head to the side like a drunken father playing hide and seek with his fearful child.

“This is my wife, you are talking to Mr Choi. Maybe you should reconsider your position whilst you are stood in my house threatening my wife and by extension, me.” Wife? Her heart fluttered, indecently, as Mingi’s grip on her waist tightened. Leaning her head against his back, her eyes shut tightly.

“Very well Count Song, I was unaware of this arrangement. I suggest you tame her. A woman like her does not belong here. This is not the last you'll see of me.” San spat through clenched teeth sending her one last sinister look before departing from the manor. Before Mingi could step forward to argue, she tugged at his arm. A breath of relief of escaped her lips, Mingi turned around to envelop her within his embrace- sinking her head into his chest the warmth from his body soothing her.

“It’s ok, nobody can hurt you now.” Her head piqued up, a grateful smile dancing upon her lips.

“Wife?” She teased, Mingi shrugged- a guilty look forming on his face.

“I didn’t know what else to say. It’s final- you’re staying here now Miss Min, whether you like it or not.” A few days later, Mingi had summoned her to his study. She kicked the album underneath the bed the canopy bed that same day-only to find it missing when she returned to find it. Did he take it? What was in that album that he did not want her to see, aside from the possible fact that she was prying around in his home-looking for answers he would not give her. “You marry me, Miss Min and you’ll have my protection. No man can ever lay his hands on you.” Her eyes flickering back and forth between him and the sheet.

“What’s the catch? What do you get out of this arrangement?” He looked slightly taken aback by her inquest, but which man would willingly spend the rest of his life with her? Mingi frowned a little as he read her thoughts.

“I get the pleasure of your company. Not that in that way, of course.” He quickly clarified, a blush creeping upon his cheeks. How cute. “I promise I won’t keep you bored, you’ll have my undivided attention.” She contemplated the thought. It was clear that she couldn’t go back to her home, her seclusion would only provoke San to go after her again and she couldn’t have that. On the other hand, she barely knew Mingi. How much could she really trust him? Then again, how much choice was she left with?

I guess we’ll find out.

The ink spilled out from the nib, her signature sprawled across the page. How bad could it be to be tied to Song Mingi for eternity?

Oh you little lamb, you have no idea of the being I am.

After the establishment of their matrimony, the pair had become a lot more distant than that was usual of a married couple. Miss Min felt it in her to be the wife that her mother was for her father, but did not know how. Mingi felt it in him to be more affectionate or available but his nocturnal nature prevented him from doing so. The servants had prevented her from entering Mingi's quarters, especially during the day. A pang shot through her at the thought that maybe he was with another woman. Her speculative nature had been suddenly inhibited, every time she thought about Mingi's disappearance during the day- the notions were vanquished substituted with the lies he fed her spinning in her mind like mantra chanted by a camaraderie of soldiers. With the days becoming shorter and nights longer, his presence pervaded the household more often- summoning his wife to his study to drink tea together.

“What is it that you do?” Mingi looked up from his book, as wide-eyed Miss Min settled down her porcelain tea cup. “I mean, what keeps you so busy and away from me?” She thought out loud. Frequent he felt his vampiric essence was a curse. He wanted to close to her, without feeling the urge to sink his teeth into her neck. He wanted to hold her in the light of the day, in ways he believed she should be held.

“The boring stuff, like tax collecting, administrative duties, trade. All the stuff that everyone dislikes." Particularly her father. He would always have the tax collectors at their door, every month because he was too invested in his work-he'd forget about his taxes.

"That does sound incredibly dull." Her heart fluttered again at his intoxicating smile. "Does that mean you're somewhat good at maths?" Mingi snorted. Whilst he had been occasionally praised on his academics (a thousand years back when he played the role of a gentry scholar), he knew he didn't hold the admiration for it as much as she did. It was small moments like these which bridged the distance between the two. The tea in his office during the late afternoon had become a ritual for the pair.

One night Mingi was fixated upon writing his report to his superior, when a servant scuttled in.

"Mr Choi has requested to see you again, Master." Placing down his ink nibbed pen, Mingi let out deep sigh permitting the priest to enter his study. A broad-shouldered man strolled into the room, face wrought with wickedness.

"Can I help you, Mr Choi?"

"It's Father Choi, Count Song. I shall hope god forgives you for your disrespect." Mingi bit his tongue, impatience seething through him as he echoed San's devious stare. "It's rather, I can help you. It has come to my attention that there have been reported cases of paranormal activity around the manor." The vampire snickered, knowing it was better to stay relaxed. Throughout his lifetime, he'd been accused of immortality, the matter resolved dubiously.

"Is that so, Father-" San held out his hand, silencing the vampire. Mingi wanted nothing more than to grapple his hands around the man's neck.

"There's no hiding from me. I know you're a vampire Song." Each word felt like taunt, an attempt to instil a sense of action from Mingi that would only prove San's 'allegation' against him. "And I have the cure you've been looking for."

Mrs Song, sped down the hallway to her husband's office. Eyebrows furrowed as she noticed San being escorted out by a maid, attired in the typical black silk gown suited for his position. Staggering to the door, she swooped into the office-ignoring Mingi's dazed look and the formalities.

“What did he want?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry about him. Come over here.” Gently, he pulled her into his laps. Slightly irked by his dismissal, she leant into his touch, fingers circulating through his hair. For a moment, her mind went cloudy, envisioning a blur of a figure transcending down the hallway next to a servant, the throbbing sensation in her temple deepened. Maybe it was just a group of maids making their way to their quarters. “Darling Miss Min, the treasure of my heart, please would you do me the honour of accompanying me in the rose garden?” Playfully, she hummed pretending to be contemplative.

“Darling Mr Song, it would be my honour to accompany you in the rose gardens. Though it's too dark out, how would we see anything?"

"Never mind that, I find that thing's are much more peaceful in the night than during the day."

"Let's just stay here like this." Slumping down a little, she curled up in a ball resting her head against his choice eyes closed as a pain shot through her mind. Her rationality was decomposing, and she hated every moment of it.

All she could think about was Mingi. All she wanted was Mingi. To feel the strong hold of his arms around her forever, to feel the brush of his lips against her skin, forever. Is this what it felt like to love? To adore? Goodness, she used to chastise such emotion primarily because she had felt the predatory gaze of men her whole life but when Mingi looked at her, it was if she embodied of the moon itself. For he, a dead being, felt his heart beat again at the mere sight of her. There was something so pure and domestic about the fact she was wrapped up in his arms, falling asleep to his whispers.

As she had promised Mingi, she accompanied him through his luscious rose gardens- an abundance of deep red roses enamouring the air. Her husband was correct, there was a beauty to the night relinquishing all of the fears that one associated to it. The moon hung serenely in the night, scintillating down at her husband. With the twisting of his stare, she snapped her head back toward the roses. Suddenly, the rain began to heavily beat down, the wind nipping at their skin. Encompassing her smaller hand into his, he dragged her back into the manor. A heavy thud emulated, as he tightly fixed the door. The pair exhaled synchronously, before he led her back to her room. With the candles already the lit, the heat juxtaposed from the chaos of the weather relaxing her muscles.

Mingi stared down at her, enraptured in her beauty. He could not help himself as he glazed his fingers over her skin. Erratic breaths infiltrated the air, leaning closer and closer to each other.

"I need you in all the ways holy and sinful, my dear. I want you as mine, eternally." I love you.

“I’m yours.” She breathed out, lulled by the intensity of their emotions. That was all it took for him to break. His touch eradicated the symphony of aches seething within her bones, the taste of him like opium reaching back for more and more. She could not get enough of him, and him her. Everything about the way the ardour flooded through them that night was divine and if it was all just a passionate dream she didn’t want to wake up. She could spend the rest of eternity stuck within this dream and she wouldn’t complain.

“If I asked you to follow me, without telling you where I was going, would you come with me?” He asked her one evening, tangled in each other’s arms in her room. Her finger drew down the bridge of his nose, over the curvature of his pink, plump lips.

“I’d follow you to the ends of the earth.” She announced. I'd follow you anyway for I am your devoted slave. His dimpled smile and siren eyes, pulled her off her bed taking her to the opposite ends of the manor. As they approached deeper into what seemed to be Mingi’s quarters- it became much more colder. The windows were obscured by thick black velvet, hallways narrower and not a single candelabra in sight to guide them. Yet Mingi seemed to know where they were going, she followed him aimlessly as cattle did to a shepherd.

They glided up a set of staircases, his arms around her waist as glimpsing through the window overlooking the vast lawn. The night was beginning to settle in, the lights from the village evaporating. Resting his chin on her head, he nestled his face into her hair- pressing his lips to the top of it.

A sharp pain protruded through her lower back, an agonising scream terrorising the hallways. Her knees weak from the pain- it was she was being mauled by horses on a race track, their strong legs thumping against her skin. Tormenting sobs illustrated the air, her body sliding down his back- Mingi sinking to the ground with her.

"Oh don't cry my blossom, please."

"How can I not? When you've hurt me. All this time you were just the devil in disguise." Choking on her cries, begging to the Lord to cease her pain.

"I'm not the devil, I am so much worse. For I spoke to him and he begged me not to hurt you. How does even a fallen angel sink to his knees before me?" Tears slid down his cheeks. She had never seen a statue cry before. He had corrupted her so much-even through the incessant pain she wanted to reach out and kiss away his tears.

"Why?" she managed to croak out. Letting out a gasp, his grip on her tightened as he slid out the dagger.

"It's just my nature. I needed you to bring me back to life. You were my key to mortality" He closed his eyes, her body wracking with sobs. San’s words ringing in his head. You have to make a sacrifice, kill the one you love the most in exchange for the gift of mortality. And he had become so deranged with living a thousand years, falling in love with her in each century only to have her taken away from him. Though he had stopped her several times from looking through the album. The truth was that Miss Min’s face lived as long and true as his own. A curse had set upon him when he had first become a vampire, that his lover would be given and torn away from him until the end of time. He just had to kill her this one time to break the cycle, her blood on his hands- the only cure ready to free him from his hellish state of mind.

“I thought you loved me.”

“I do love you. But it’s the things we love the most that are the ones we can’t have. My heart beats to your name. You brought me back to life.” A sudden roar flooded up the hill, the dissonance hitching a breath in her throat.

“You lied to me Song Mingi.” Her shaking hand, attempted to crawl backwards away from him, but with no strength left in her bones- she slipped against the stairs. He took everything from her, all her love, all her purity, all her sanity- moulding it into something that became utilitarian for him. You said nobody could hurt me. You wouldn’t let anyone lay a hand on me. “If I were to be ever reborn, I ask of the heavens to keep me away from you- for being in love with you was the greatest curse that has been bestowed upon me.” In the finality of her receding breaths, her body warped against the staircase- her soul gone with the howl of the wind.

•••

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‘min’ meaning wisdom

A/N: It honestly feels like such a relief having published this. Mingi I love you so much but why did you give me this much grief? also, i didn’t intend to kill so many people off but i cant hold back i guess 🫣 i hope you guys liked vampire mingi <33

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