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janumun · 13 days

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A Practical Demonstration (LaDS Sylus - NSFW)

Rated: NSFW/18+ Words: 9.8k Pairing: Sylus/Reader

Tags: size difference, oral and vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, rough sex, mild mentions of stalking (not Sylus or Mephisto for once LOL), inexperienced (NOT virgin) reader, edging, drinking, [im]proper use of evol, explicit sexual content

Summary: When you end up disclosing a mortifying truth to Sylus about your dating life, deep in a drinking session; drowning yourself within a bottle — or three — of alcohol until you black out is the only option left to you to avoid that sharp, intuitive gaze for the rest of the night.

That is, until Sylus throws a counter offer your way, one that sounds far too tempting to your scrabbled brain. Being the brilliant voice of reason you are tonight, you accept.

[A fic where Sylus shows you exactly how good sex with a perceptive partner feels like when you confess your less than optimal dating experience.]

Author’s Notes: Truly clown moment when I believed this fic would not exceed more than 4k words and yet again, here I am sitting on an almost 10k monster. I love what being horny for these men has done for my inspiration. Thank you so much to @chibamari for providing the prompt that birthed this fic. Already working on a religious desecration imagery angsty sex fic with Xavier and Queen MC, based on his first myth, as we speak.

The lingering remnants of your foiled meeting are muted with the press of rouged lips against the cusp of your cool glass, the liquor within, sliding easy down your throat with your fervent swallow.

Placing it back down with a defeated sigh, you lean your arm against the counter, cradling your warming cheek against the crook of your palm.

You never should’ve let Tara talk you into an impromptu date with a mutual acquaintance she’d considered ‘the perfect match’ for you; her giddy excitement and enthusiasm to get you a date had been too difficult to turn down. You cursed yourself underneath your breath at your inability to say no to those big, wide eyes and cheery smile; exactly the components that had saddled you deep into the disaster you’d considered that date to be — if it could be called as such.

You’d excused yourself half-way through the man’s self-absorbed prattling — ruining the taste of the expensive steak in front, one you’d been wanting to try for ages — on excuse of an urgent mission coming up.

A hand tucking your phone close to your ear, to reinforce your hasty lie while the other had slipped your card to your assigned waiter, making hasty work of settling your end of the bill. You’d swept up your coat and purse, striding out the lavish restaurant on swift-heeled steps before your sputtering date could so much as lift a hand in protest.

Which is what had now landed you firmly in your current predicament, within the confines of a cosy, well-known bar, not too far from where you’d started.

Nursing a budding headache within the bitter notes of alcohol, to help ease at long fraught nerves. In between the ever-looming threat of Wanderers and the obstructive wrench thrown into your investigation into the Ever group, along with how busy work usually kept you, you were exhausted, suffice to say. The insignificant man tonight had just been the icing on this long-ruined cake.

Tara’s suggestion; to put yourself out more and ‘let loose’ for a bit, had ended in mild regret in going along with it, in the first place.

It had been far too long since you’d been in a relationship — let alone enjoyed a date with a man; your professional obligations kept you busy, coupled along with an extremely low desire to invest yourself into the dating pool, to wade and weed through to one that matched your wavelength.

A flash of an alluring garnet gaze sparks through your mind’s eye in passing, at the thought, one you physically shake yourself out of.

Now there was a man entirely on the spectrum opposite to your frequency. Your inability to resonate with him had only been just one of many failures toward mutual understanding.

“Another one for you, Miss?” The bartender inquires; you’re nodding before you can think it through.

“Yes, thank—”

“She’ll have a mojito instead. The usual for me.” A deep, rich voice drifts at your back — before it scotches down, involuntarily and low into your belly — just as the large hand you feel slip across your shoulder in greeting. You close your eyes against the intrusion, hoping the hazy apparitions of your mind would gift you a damn break just once tonight; as if having had him conjured out of mere musings. You shudder.

The alluring man at your side does not dissipate as you’d direly wished, seating himself down onto the stool next to yours, completely at leisure at having snuck into your space, unannounced once more. You hated how infuriatingly easy the Onychinus head found himself able to pervade your every space, along with each of your thoughts — the latter of which you did not wish to dissect apart tonight. Or, ever, if you had the choice.

“What are you thinking of, with such a severe frown on your face?” He speaks, as if he does not know the exact reason for your irritation. “You’ll put a permanent knot in there if you don’t stop.”

You choose to ignore him in lieu of offering a resigned nod to the bartender for the order Sylus had placed on your behalf. You could use a less inebriating drink now, especially so if you were to deal with the man beside you.

“What’re you doing here, Sylus?” You sigh against the dredges of your last drink, letting the bitter liquid warm your throat.

“Has the alcohol numbed your memory as well, sweetheart? We had an appointment, did we not?” Your respective orders are deposited in front, just as he moves to take the drink in between long, tapered digits, bringing it up to his mouth for a taste.

The slow drag of his Adam’s apple against his throat as he drinks, tugs your gaze towards it — an involuntarily reflex you aren’t able to control. Sylus’ scarlet gaze canting sideways to capture yours is what finally has you wrenching away from the delectable sight, cursing your fast settling inebriation for the mis-step.

He was an attractive man, your mind had long made begrudging peace with the fact, even if you’d both started off on an extremely wrong — horrid, actually — foot. And he’d proven himself to be a reliable companion, when the two of you had caused waves within N109’s criminal hub, in a quest for the Aether Core. His side of the bargain he’d kept, in exchange for your deal to forge a steady resonation with him. One you had no thoughts of reneging on, you’d keep your promise to him for the massive aid he’d provided. And yet, you could not help bemoan the fact that this very man confounded you, to your very core, to the point you weren’t sure what to make of his intentions. And yours.

But surely, you weren’t this physically deprived that Sylus of all people was beginning to sprout this visceral a reaction from you?

“And I texted you I couldn’t make it tonight, sweetheart.” You quip, pinching your forehead in between thumb and index. “This really isn’t the time, Sylus.”

He raises a careful brow at you, and God help you, even that gesture is incredibly beguiling to your slushed brain.

“And you couldn’t make it because” he prompts, tapered digits drumming against the marbled countertop. “you wished to spend your time out here, dressed to the nines, in a party of one?”

“So what if I wanted to?” All your prickly response earns you is a discerning gaze, zoned in on you. You exhale hard through your nose, shoulders steeling to utter your next words. “Oh alright, I had a blind date tonight.” You’re not sure why exactly you’re divulging something this private to the man.

The way his brows shoots in simmering surprise before they bunch in at his forehead in a frown is almost comical, you would’ve snorted at the expression he’s pulling if not for his next words. “So that’s what had that imbecile out there on your trail, lingering at the door for.” He scoffs. “You may not have enjoyed your date but you certainly got yourself a love-struck fool nipping at your heels, kitten.”

“Wait, what?” Bewilderment wars cold within your mind at the disgusting revelation of the man tonight having possibly followed you and Sylus having caught him dead in the act. “What did you do to him?”

“It’s fascinating how your first assumption is that I did anything to him.” His pleasant chuckle curls within your ears; a low, throaty burr. And when you give him one of your own looks, “Alright, don’t look at me so. Mephisto presumed you had a far dangerous stalker on hand than that sorry bastard, when he saw him lurking about you.” He swirls his glass of whiskey in between casual fingers. “I gave him some cordial talking to and sent him on his merry way.”

A million queries hurtle within your mind — what did his “cordial talking to” ensue exactly? Why had Mephisto been trailing you? Why did Sylus feel the need to step in and personally take care of your potential stalker?

You reach to take a swig of your own glass, feeling that headache pinching once more at your brow. “I don’t appreciate you having your silly crow keep tabs on me, Sylus. But,” Reluctant gratitude stirs at the tip of your tongue as your mind slowly processes the situation at hand. If it hadn’t been for Sylus’ interfering ways, you might’ve been saddled with a problem far worse than the infuriatingly suave Onychinus leader on your hands tonight. “Thank you for taking care of that creep for me, I guess. I appreciate it?”

You think you catch the strains of barely there surprise within his gaze, along with an amalgamation of emotions you aren’t able to parse before they’re shuttered out of sight. Replaced with a cool smile, he angles at you. “The alcohol has you honest for a change, kitten. I can’t say I dislike it.”

That infuriating remark has you almost wanting to take back your thanks, almost.

“Your engagement for the night has scurried off home with his tail in between his legs, leaving you to your celebration of one.” His touch is a flitting, warm caress against the shell of your ear as he folds a stray lock of hair back in place. “Are you going to say why you’re out here by your lonesome yet, furiously downing liquor, instead of back in the safety of your house?”

A gibe sits sharp across your tongue at his probing, wanting to tell him to back off and out of your business, he had no reason to be asking whether you chose to go out on a date or throw yourself a self-wallowing party, to let loose for one damn night. You weren’t even sure why Sylus pricked at your nerves the way he did — riling you up in the manner he did. Each single touch, every look fraught with meaning. He did and went as he pleased, without a care for what people made of him; self-assured as if the world itself, he held, in between those devious fingers. And he probably did too, his reputation one of absolute power within N109 Zone and without.

That very same man — the one who’d told you he’d make full use of you, as you did him — perched atop a bar stool by your side, asking you a question that seemed devoid of his usual ribbing. And perhaps, it’s because of that one sole thought that you find your mouth moving — or simply, because the alcohol has sniped your inhibitions. “Tara’s been on my case lately, insisting I need to get laid to blow off some stress.”

“Oh? That hunter girl with the bob, the very eager one.” Sylus looks immensely amused; your mind sifts through memories to recall how exactly Sylus knew her before it clicks: ah, the company retreat you’d stumbled into Sylus a few weeks back at. How could you ever forget? The day had been a nightmare.

“The very one,” you blink. “Hence the failed date tonight and my immeasurable disappointment.”

“Why? Were you planning on sleeping with that loser?”

You shake your head at him, horrified at the mere thought. “No, it actually went as well as I was expecting it to. Bad, that is.” You take another enthusiastic swig of your drink, a modicum of clarity returning to your stuffed head. “The sorry state of the dating pool at large, for a hunter with limited time on her hands isn’t exactly stellar. Even less so for men who know what they’re doing. And my luck in that regard seems particularly disastrous.”

In hindsight, you knew you were word vomiting your thoughts out at this point, with way too much candour than was appropriate for the situation, you’d regret it tomorrow perhaps — no, most definitely. But at the moment, underneath the glazed pleasant bubble of alcohol loosening your tongue and the enticement of an extremely alluring man, who had his entire attention focused upon you, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

He huffs an amused half-laugh. “What sort of men have you been with exactly, kitten?”

“Not that many.” You retort. “...Two and both during my schooling years, very briefly. I was a giddy teen, excited at the prospect of a loving boyfriend. Both their expectations from the relationship were obvious from a mile away, though.” You scrub a hand through the carefully primmed fall of your hair, not caring for the accessories you knocked askew. “God, I don’t think they even knew what to do with a woman, outside of getting their dicks wet.” You laugh at your own odd joke, tumbling within your brain.

“It’s actually crazy how I’ve never had a man make me properly come in all my years—” Your words die within your throat at the realization of your horrifying admission.

Surely, you’d thought them within your own mind and not just blurted your entire sob fest onto the man in front? A wretched sound of dismay leaves your throat at the inscrutable look upon Sylus’ face, shredding apart any sliver of hope you’d had that you had only been musing in thoughts.

Gods, Tara was right, your idiotic self did need to get laid, you’d gone mad at long last. And made of yourself, a fool in front of the man you were begrudgingly attracted to. There was no coming out of this and you woed the fact that you’d even let yourself drink in the first place.

“It does seem like your dating life has been rather disastrous up to this point.” Sylus responds, at last, insouciantly plucking his glass of whiskey off the counter for a swig, so at counterpoint to your rioting emotions.

“Sylus.”

“What is it?”

You reach over, a hand securing about his broad shoulder, as you tip precariously close into the man’s space, plucking the glass straight out of his hands.

“Hey—” Before darting back as far as you’re able, a feat Sylus did not think a woman even half-drunk was capable of.

Taking a large gulp of the acridly strong liquor down your gullet, in a prayer to knock yourself out like you’d originally intended to before Sylus had walked in all over your small parade. Anything to blot your memory of the knowledge of your mortifying words to Sylus. But curling vines of red and obsidian are cleaving through your plans just as swift, one sliding about your waist to prevent your precipitous tilt upon the narrow stool while the other plucks the liquor clean out of your hands after a single pitiful swig.

The swirls of misted red disappear just as furtively swift as they’d appeared once they have you righted upon the stool and out of harm’s way.

A low sigh rings heavy above your head at your absurdity. “That’s enough. We’re leaving.”

Affording you no room for feeble protests as he slips a cool palm around yours; long, thick fingers reassuring in between your own before he tows you away from the glittering inebriation of night life.

Clarity from the merciful remnants of your intoxication is unwelcome tonight — like cool gunmetal pressed fast against your temple, siphoning the entirety of the alcoholic flush from your system. Having utterly failed at your attempts at getting hammered so you would’ve had at least an excuse to fake post drunken amnesia in the face of your shame tomorrow.

Instead, here you were, deep within Zone N109 once more, incarcerated to the room Sylus had appointed temporarily as yours during your first visit to the place. One that had over time, turned into your housing and personal space, indefinitely, for whenever you happened to drop by on business with the Onychinus head. On business, you firmly reminded yourself. Even as the significance of the fact that Sylus had thought it fit to make space for you within his very own — his home — was not lost on you.

You remembered trying to sweep a kick to the back of his shins, back at the bar, for having you bodily dragged out into the sobering night air and towards where his car awaited, parked by the curb.

“Let go of me, you big brute.” Those vexing vines of red had curled about your leg mid-motion, tugging you up sharply before your world upended and you’d been tossed unceremoniously like a sodden sack of rice onto the broad expanse of one of his shoulders. You’d dug your nails into his back in punishing protest at his audacity.

Earning yourself a derisive snort for your efforts. “Continue pawing at me like that and I’ll have you trussed next, kitten.”

Your mouth had curled into a silent snarl, thumping futile fists against his solid back. “Try me.”

“Don’t think I won’t.” He’d warned mildly before he’d continued on his merry way, wide stride that had barely faltered with your struggles.

You sigh in defeat, scrubbing your palms down your face in recollection of the memory — your reflexive annoyance at his actions stemming more from your own mortifying situation than any real anger at him.

He’d brought you back to his place, closer from where the bar was located, instead of back home, where the two of you risked running into any of your acquaintances, Xavier for one.

And you couldn’t afford to let the people around you know of the Onychinus head — Sylus understood that instinctually, even if you did not speak of it. Content though he seemed to perpetually keep you in a state of life-threatening heart palpitations with his goading ways; absently recalling how Sylus had been Tara’s first man of choice for her date plan, owing to how he’d found it fit to barge in on their last team retreat.

Shaking your head, you press a hand against your forehead as you move to wipe your body clean, having opted for one of the more comfortable outfits to change into for the night, you’d brought over from your place to his during one of your earlier visits — amusement sparking at you to witness how Sylus had thought it fit to buy you a couple new dresses, to add to your sparse collection, hanging within your wardrobe. As if you two were something more than acquaintances and professional partners.

Your mind really seemed to have free reign over mad thoughts tonight.

A knock resounds through the quiet of the room, effectively piercing your thoughts. “Are you done yet?” His familiar, welcome burr sounds from the other side of the door.

“I am. Come on in.” The handle glides open, revealing Sylus standing in the doorway, having swiped his outerwear for a casual dark red button down, the sleeves rolled up to reveal the firm strength of his forearms; a sight you aren’t able to tear your ogling from, as he steps into the room. He closes the distance in between you in three easy strides. Crowding you within a room that feels too small and sweltering all of a sudden.

“Feeling any better now?” His voice wrenches your gaze away from the sliver of skin revealed beneath the top two buttons of his shirt unfastened.

You sigh, cursing at licentious thoughts. This man, in his incinerating, sensual entirety, frustrated you to no end. “I am, Sylus. Thank you.”

“Good.” He hums. “Because you should stay awhile, a day or two at least.”

“What? Why?”

“I have to make sure that weasel you had tagged to you tonight doesn’t try getting too smart. Mephisto caught him lingering close to your streets after the whelp bolted following his wretched stalking attempt.”

The revelation has nausea stirring at your gut; what had you gotten yourself into with that despicable creep? You were going to throttle Tara the next time you saw her.

You sigh. “While that is disturbing behaviour and I’m grateful for the concern but I think I could’ve handled that idiot fine on my own.”

A frown belts at his brow. “He’s a colleague from work, isn’t he? Despite his absolute spinelessness, that weasel is a trained Hunter with an authorized weapon on hand.”

You raise a questioning brow at him, half inquisitive how exactly he knew your date happened to be a work acquaintance. Barely a few hours spent on his radar and the sorry fool already had all his information scraped and into the Onychinus head’s clutches. You did not envy his position, at the moment, massive creep though he was, having stood witness to how Sylus wiped his enemies clean out of existence.

“Sure you’re capable, sweetheart, and your weasel is an idiot but do you want to be vigilant, glancing over your shoulder for a stalker, round the clock?” He pitches his head, waiting for your answer.

His words give you pause, his reasoning not entirely without weightage. You mutter a quick curse underneath your breath, frustrated at how terribly disastrous tonight had turned out to be.

Sylus’ smile quirks, taking your expletives for the affirmation they are. “And besides,” his hand shifts against your cheek, skimming a thumb down the curve of it, “you did enthusiastically mention your hazardous luck with dates. Might as well take care of this one before the vermin starts to fester.”

A skitter of irked embarrassment bruises at your ego. “Are you making fun of me right now?”

“Not in the slightest.” His thumb has switched towards your bottom lip, trekking a ghosting path across the swell of it. A different kind of emotion spurts within your chest along with the simmering annoyance, at his testing touch. “On the contrary, I was going to make an offer, one of mutual benefit.” His voice skims an octave lower and scotches deeper into your belly. “What do you say? Would you like to hear it?”

His searing touch drifts down your chin, sweeping against your jaw. You’re unsure of the mesh of emotions that are surging through you at his evocative touch; indignation, surprise, reluctance... desire. You can barely focus on the words issuing from his mouth.

“Well?” He prompts. “I don’t recall taping your mouth shut, sweetie.” His thumb returns to caress a path across your parted lips as if to make a point; a hushed throaty laugh leaving him at the hitch of breath that action elicits. He knows what he’s doing to you and he’s rousing you on purpose; the absolute scoundrel.

“What’re you trying to say? Speak clearly, Sylus.” Your tongue darts forth to lap a quick path across the bottom of your lip; Sylus’ gaze rolling down your face to settle at your mouth when you do, a sudden simmer of heat flaring within blood-red. “I despise riddles.” Another deep chuckle issues from his mouth, one that stirs into your belly without permission, much like the man himself.

“What was it that you said earlier?” The tip of his thumb edges just past your lips. “Ah yes... you’ve never had a man make you come.”

You flush at the recollection, cursing yourself for the umpteenth time tonight. You’d made a terrible mistake and you swore you’d never drink again, if it meant Sylus would just fucking drop it. Or you would, and the ground would swallow you whole. You’d confided a mortifying secret within a man who confounded you to no end.

“So what?” A challenging grimace drags at your face, just as you sink a bite into his invading digit, hard. He does not so much as even flinch, his smile tugging wider instead.

“What a spirited kitten I’ve lured into my hands.” He muses. “I like the face you’re making right now.”

His eyes crinkle in at the corners, a mild thread of tenderness you think you catch streak through the simmering heat of his garnet gaze. It makes you want to turn away from the look, not wanting him to scrabble your heart any more than he has.

“No,” A tapered index and thumb curve about your chin, firmly tempting your gaze back to him. “Don’t look away, keep your eyes on me.”

And for that one instant, you listen. “My proposition is earnest, sweetie. Despite what your consensus may be, I’m quite fond of you, more so than you think.” Your breath snags in your throat at the admission; you’d be blind to not catch the clear insinuation in his words.

His mouth skews into a smile. “Would you be averse to the idea of me showing you how it’s done?” He swipes at the swell of your bottom lip, his voice several octaves lower. Yes?” A sensual caress in the opposing direction. “No?” Your eyes flitter in hooded desire at the allure of his rich voice, scotching low into your belly to pool in between your clenched legs.

You take a moment to inhale, slow, processing his words. Reaching a hand out to trace careful fingers against the strength of his jaw. “Do you realize the weight of what you’re implying, Sylus?” An inane question by all means. You’ve never known a man more self-assured in what he desires; you admit it’s rather arousing.

“Oh, I do.” The distracting curve of his smirk pulls wider. “But do you, sweetheart?”

Your fingers leave his face to drift across the open collar of his shirt, pulling him close. “You’ve been lodged in my mind for a long time.” You allow him a moment of that infuriating self-pleased smile. “Even without that pesky Evol of yours invading my skull.” Before you’re fisting his collar to rise on the tips of your toes to press your lips hard against that irksome, delicious mouth.

Sylus’ hands curve about the give of your waist, fitting you firmer against the hard planes of him, without hesitance. He allows you free reign for a while before he chases your retreating mouth with his own, not sparing a moment of reprieve for the hungering breath you try and draw back into your lungs. His tongue slipping past your lips instead, granting you a taste and breath of what he alone affords you in that moment.

Your hand flies to grip about the base of his neck, appreciating the firm musculature of his upper back that flexes beneath your touch when he moves to snare an arm about your waist. Fingers sinking harsh into your hip as he grinds you impossibly close to his body, siphoning the rest of your breath from your lungs.

You’re near dizzy with the way his tongue licks into your mouth, tip teasing its way across the roof before it withdraws to slick a path against your wet bottom lip. You insist your grip harder against the back of his neck, dragging him back to you in the swelling smile he presses against your damp sighs — the drench of them flaming across your chest to pool low into your belly and settle deep in between your legs.

Sylus lets out a low grunt against your skin — a sound that has your insides clenching in on desire — before his clutch upon the flare of your hip tightens, hand curving downwards about the swell of your ass before he lifts you up entirely on the strength of one firm muscled arm. The whimper you’re unable to tamp even against the aggression of his mouth, at his show of unrestrained desire.

“Hold on tight now, sweetie.” He murmurs, sultry, against your lips.

Sylus strides you both further into the room without breaking your kiss, the corded strength of his arm sturdy beneath your ass and you take that moment to appreciate what the position allows you access to, fully. Covetous fingers you run through the hair at the base of his neck to tug him into the kiss as you wish — his rewarding grunt in answer, warming your belly — against your mouth.

Rushing down the buttoned line of his shirt, making quick work of undoing more of his buttons. A hand you slip past the edges of his shirt once the cloth against his chest is no longer impeding you, caressing your fingers against the hard planes of his pectorals. Sylus’ chuckle reverberates deep within your mouth, your fingers flexing into his shoulder at the sound. “Someone’s eager.”

He stops at your bedside before he tosses you back onto the soft of your sheets. Not giving you the chance to even hoist yourself up on your arms before he’s towering over your body — crowded against his large frame.

Chest heaving from the earlier stretch of your kisses and how he’d hurled you back onto the bed, you press a halting hand against his torso, playing at the lower buttons you weren’t able to undo earlier. Making hasty work of your remaining task before your fingers slide in welcome against the defined warmth of his abdomen.

Your mouth parts in breathless wonder, eyes drinking him in voracious need, before they slip lower towards the straining length of his arousal through the placket of his pants — a sizeable bulge visible even through the pitch-black material. “Like you’re one to talk about being eager.” you quip, inquisitive digits dipping lower to ghost across the clothed length of him.

His breath deepens at the touch, a thick chuckle slipping past his lips. “Point taken.”

Your hand slips to curve against the swell of his cock above cloth, once more, feeling for the shape of him; larger than any you’ve had before, it sets a flitter of nervous anticipation into your chest. You want to see it, him.

Sylus cocks his head at your inquisitive touches but doesn’t move to stop when your fingers work at the confines of his pants, until his arousal is far prominent beneath the remaining layer of his briefs. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight — he truly is big. Rather intimidating, entirely exciting.

“Having fun?” He inquires, capturing your fingers in between long, tapered digits to bring them up to his mouth in a brushing kiss, a keen garnet gaze that refuses to relent from yours.

“Yes,” you answer honestly.

“That’s a good start.” He hums. “My turn.”

Red and obsidian spiral about the length of your body, toying at the straps of your camisole, the edges of it at your belly before they’re dragging the material up across your body, and with the reveal of skin, Sylus’ eyes follow; the serrated intensity of his heated gaze, enough to have you try to squeeze your legs together on instinct to relieve some of the overbearing burn in between them.

You can feel how mortifyingly wet you are, and yet in that moment, your mind cannot seem to muster shame.

His thick fingers trail next across the waistband of your shorts — vined red making quick work of the ribboned bindings of the silken material before Sylus’ thumbs hook on either side, to drag your shorts and panties, torturously slow, down the plush of your thighs in one go.

He’s hunching over to overshadow you entirely before you can make sense of it, face sinking close into the space in between your legs, hot gaze drinking in the sight of the thin strings of arousal that stretch from your pussy to your underwear before they bow and break into the sheets beneath. You watch him hum his approval, your head raised to observe the erotic picture he paints, in between your legs.

A moan scratches free of your throat, your head falling back in shuddered pleasure when Sylus does not waste a single moment in ruining you; the broad pressure of his tongue you feel against the length of your quivering cunt as he swipes up a taste for himself before withdrawing once more.

“Sylus.” You protest, fingers rushing to catch at his hair to pull.

His gravelly laughter is devious against the inside of your thigh — so close to where you want him. “That’s a beautiful sound you’re making there, kitten.” He blows a hot breath against your centre, your pussy spasming at that bare action. “Let’s see if you’ve got any more of those for me.”

“Sylus.” You try and let the irritation ring in your tone this time but all it sounds to your ears is a licentious plead.

“I hear you, sweetheart.” He pulses a kiss against your outer folds. “I made you a deal, didn’t I?” He wrests his now loose shirt off his body before his touch returns to you once more, this time without the barrier of clothes in between you both.

You're entirely vulnerable and naked underneath him, held to his mercies as his forearms flex about the pliance of your thighs as he hooks them about his broad shoulders. “You’re going to let me make good on my word tonight,” your legs spasm against his back — useless — as he keeps them held within steeled grips at your knees; large fingers sinking deep into the soft flesh. “and witness it too, with your entire body.”

You feel the corded, hard strength of the muscles of his back flexing beneath the heels of your feet as Sylus ducks closer to your slit to suck at the pleasured bead of your apex. Your hips fly up on instinct at that first brush of stimulation, a moan crippled free of your lips. His smug smile you feel buried against your pussy when it gushes further against the skewed stretch of those lips. “And you know I never renege on an agreement once made.”

Your thoughts blank entirely the next time that adroit tongue lands against your drenched folds, his mouth swallowing you up entirely as he works at your slick with all the practised propensity of a devil set to wrecking you within your sheets.

You’ve never had a man’s mouth down there before; you didn’t quite think it were possible to feel anything remotely close to what he was doing with your body at the moment.

Sparks of jolting pleasure thrum throughout the length of your body, you’re not even fully aware of how hard you buck against his mouth. How Sylus thwarts each unconscious attempt of escape by dragging your pussy back to his mouth each time you squirm from the overwhelming sensation.

His growl of pleasure is what drags part of your hazy attentions back to how white knuckled your grip is within his hair, tugging at the strands as if they were your sole lifeline to sanity. And you were beginning to suspect they were.

Sylus’ knuckles brush against your tightened clit, knocking a groan of pleasure out of your throat. “You’re so wet.” He hooks a thick, tapered index up into your walls, clenching at his filthy words. “That’s it, sweetheart, keep doing that for me.” His laughter is a deep, hoarse sound. “I’m going to take all you’ve got for me.”

He laps a path up against the junction of your thigh; a second finger teasing at the rim of your slit before it joins the first, in a slick easy slide.

“Sylus,” You’re no longer caring; to your sounds, to the fact you’re dripping enough you’ve wet the sheets beneath his thrusting fingers. “Oh God, don’t stop. O-oh. God.” Not caring for the slight twinge of heat that sparks with the roll of your head to catch Sylus watching your entire downfall from in between the space of your legs; fervid scarlet gaze fixated to yours, the bow of your mouth in a constant, pleasured O curve as moans of senseless appreciation and babbled curses tumble from it. Even as his tongue laps a languid path against your outer folds, at screeching odds to the deft fingers he works into you.

“Yes,” his growl is vehement, pleased. “Scream louder, no one’s going to hear you mewl down here, kitten. Let go.” The squelch of your arousal is loud within your ears, the pads of his terrifyingly nimble digits lighting up nerves against that one spongy spot deep within you that has stars wheeling within your wide gaze.

And just as you think this is how he’s going to end you — the pinnacle of pleasure — he betrays your expectations once more with the hot slide of his tongue back against your clit. You nearly sob at the stimulation, a silent scream clawing up your bruised throat at how close you feel to breaking.

“I-If you—” your words are garbled, hard to breathe. You're so, so close to a peak you’ve never fallen off of, in this manner before. “—I’m... hah, going to come.” Never had your own toys or hand or even another human, scrabbled your brains out this hard; a height so vehemently approaching, you’re afraid to fall.

Sylus seems to understand you even through your incoherent babbling, stretching you open on his fingers in harder thrusts. “Then do it. Come on my tongue, darling.” His mouth sucks the abused flesh of your clit deep into his mouth. A peak so in sight, you hurtle into it, your pussy spasming about his fingers, his mouth so hard, you’re near thrashing your limbs about the broad strength of his shoulders. Sylus creeps a hand beneath your ass, to lift your back and shove up deeper against his mouth as you sob out his name in senseless prayer.

“That’s it, you’re so hot like this, you know that, kitten?” His guttural words, muted within your pussy and lost through the white daze of your prolonged orgasmic haze. Sylus continues to lap at you until you’re tumbling into buzzing overstimulation; the heavy weight of him like iron fetters at your legs as you weakly push at his face, his steeled shoulders in whimpered protest.

“I— give me a break, Sylus.”

He affords you a modicum of mercy, glistening mouth and chin withdrawing to rise from between the confines of your legs to fix a skewed grin at you. And when you meet his gaze, he makes a deliberate, erotic show of sweeping the broad of his tongue, slow, feral, against the edge of his upper lip.

His fingers maintain their languid position still within your sensitive walls, each measured thrust has you shivering against the intrusion.

You cup a hand about his strong neck, dragging him down towards your mouth. His voice low, heated in between the taste of yourself he sweeps into your mouth. “Enjoying yourself?”

You secrete a hushed sound of approval against his exploring tongue. “I’ve never come this hard in my life,” you confess, breathless. “You’re crazy.”

“I’ll take that as an enthusiastic compliment.” Knocking that smug grin of his only wider. And then, a softer whisper settles against your wet mouth. “You’re so good for me, sweetie. You drive me insane.”

You withdraw from him to catch the simmering heat of his fervid desires and affection commingled within that scarlet gaze you’re so taken with. Sweeping a thumb at the clinging wetness of arousal, against the angle of his jaw, you marvel at the sensual sight he paints. “...I’m no different.” You meet his gaze, your honesty heavy on your tongue.

He chuckles at the confession, canting his head to catch the plush of your thumb against his teeth, worrying at the flesh as he laves it up into his mouth on an obscene suck.

The way he looks at you has arousal flushing anew within your cheeks; your insides clenching in on the fingers that languorously thrust into you, stretching you open. Lashes nearly trembling shut when his thumb traces a whispered touch against your clit before withdrawing, having your hips juddering up into his hand.

Restless digits quiver down the length of his sculpted torso, working at releasing him from the rest of his un-wanted clothing; cut, well-tailored pants you’d more than once found yourself admiring him in but at the moment, you couldn’t survive a second longer without uncovering the entirety of his captivating body to your gaze. Sylus gently pulls out of your pussy to help you along, thick fingers running along yours at his buckle to slide is smooth out its confines before his Evol curls about the belt to toss it easy, at the side of his bed. His pants and briefs follow soon after and you nearly choke at the sight of him revealed at last to your gaze.

Sylus’ cock is a devastating thing of beauty; thick and intimidating enough it has you salivating at the mere sight of it. You’ve never seen a man this big, blessed in both length and girth, it has your cunt clenching in on need at the sight of him. You wonder how he’d feel against your tongue if you tried taking him in, parched lips you wet with a swipe of tongue, parting at the thought.

“Like what you see?” His self-pleased words wrench you out of your self-imposed stupor until you see that smug grin painting his face too. Your fingers delicately curve about the girth of him in a gentle squeeze; has grin falling open in a low, breathy laugh of arousal.

Your fingers unable to wrap him up entirely within a fist, even as you stroke a slow, steady path up across his length. “You’re right,” you murmur in wanton desire. “I do like what I see.”

“Such an honest tongue.” he groans low, in pleasure at your languid ministrations. Hooking a thumb at your bottom lip to tease it into your mouth and onto the wet muscle.

“Honesty isn’t the only thing it can provide, you know.” You bait, in breathless, risqué whispers around the intrusion of his thumb in your mouth, sucking at him in imitation of what you truly desire from him.

Sylus hums a pleased sound, withdrawing his finger to sweep it across your swollen lips. “Later.” He silences your protests with the wet ingress of his digits back into your walls. “You’ll have me, you have my word. But right now...” Your broken moan mingles with the guttural sigh that tumbles from his lips to witness your face shatter in pleasure. “we’re here to see how good I can make you feel, aren’t we, kitten? So, lay back.” He eases the flat of his palm in between your breasts to push. “And watch how else I ruin you tonight.”

You moan at his filthy threat of a promise, hips rolling into the fingers he’s pressed into you, their rhythmic propulsions turning faster with each moment until he has your crest building once more.

“Sylus.” you gasp out, fingers spasming around the wrist buried in between your quaking legs.

“What do you need, sweetheart?” He draws down closer, body crowding yours against the sheets, the heat of his breath sultry against your sweat soaked skin. You feel the weight of his arousal ghost a searing path against your thigh and jump at the stimulation.

“You.” you plead. “I need you so stop teasing me now, Sylus. I’ll—”

His lips capture yours in an incendiary kiss, a violent clash of tongue, drinking your startled mewls up into his own as his fingers curl about the back of your head to hold steady underneath his assault. “You sure you’re ready for it?” He rolls his hips against yours once more in emphasis, making you shiver underneath the intimidating heat of his arousal.

“I am, I can take it.” you insist against his wet tongue. “And even if I can’t, you promised you’d show me how good it can get, didn’t you?” You shiver. “So quit edging me any longer and put it inside me.” Your back arches in need at a particularly adept press of his fingers. “Sylus.”

His answering groan at your fervent desires burns you higher, his soaked fingers dragging out of your clenching walls. “You really do know how to rile me up, don’t you, sweetheart?” Large hands settle about the swell of your hips as Sylus presses himself in between your legs. Letting the head of his cock, at long last, stroke at the wetness of your cunt, gathering moisture on to it. So close.

His hips undulate in languid pleasurable strokes in between the fall of your legs, and each time the flared head of his cock bumps up at the tight bead at your apex, your hips try and jump against the caged strength of his hands holding you down. Every single stroke — up, down — has your breaths turning laboured in need, each single time he brushes down close to your hole, you clench in on instinctual emptiness, wanting to pull him deeper into you.

“Some restraint, kitten. We don’t want you too overwhelmed too fast.” A low sound of disapproval soughs past his lips at your squirming. “Impatience is not a good look on a Hunter of your repute.”

Your mouth falls open on a silent groan; hooking a leg about the snatch of his waist, you try and urge him into you. Earning an amused, guttural laugh for your efforts. “You’ve had me plenty ready. You’re just baiting me at this point.”

“But you like me being this way, don’t you?” And God help you, if your brain wasn’t entirely mushed at what he’s done to you, you would’ve tried refute his observations with a lie of your own. But in this moment, you let him have his victory.

Sylus curves a palm about the crook of your leg, fingers ghosting the underside of sensitive skin, up, until his hold catches at your knee. Keeping you fixed firm down onto the bed with the other, while he rolls his hips against you once more. “Keep holding tight,” he taps at your knee hooked at his back one last time before his hand drifts to curl about the base of his cock, pressing more of your slick up against the bulbous head.

The first breach of him burns you open in pleasurable bliss, you hiss at the intrusion, back arching on instinctual chase of the man you’re so drunk on. Just the head in has you dizzy around him, grateful for the anchor of his large hand holding you grounded, at your hip.

More of his member pushes past your rim; Sylus’ grunt of pleasure breaking in the tight scrunch of his brow in concentration. A thumb flits about your pinched bottom lip, end to end, before he’s coaxing it open with a firmer press of the pad of his digit against it. “Breathe for me, sweetheart.” You don’t think your body is capable of drawing air in at all but you try and trudge past the closure of your throat, gulping in a few, needed breaths. “That’s it, yeah, take me in. Slowly now.”

It’s only when your body shudders underneath his with the ingress of almost his entire length settled into you do you realize the sheer, unyielding size of him inside, Sylus’ throaty groan of arousal, he bites into the sensitive skin of your wrist he’s had curled in between thick digits. Your cunt feels stretched impossibly wide around the shape of him, in a manner that has you whimpering on his next few testing strokes up into your walls. Sending him curling impossibly deep on each long, heavy thrust up into you until you feel him nudging, as if at the very ends of you.

Your head rolls in restless need across the down of your pillows, your fingers skittering up the length of his arms, sinking harsh into the taut muscles of his biceps. Angry crescents you’re sure you’re marking into the skin but all it seems to do to him is make him push into you with greater need, approval heavy in the fervid grunts that issue from his mouth.

One of his hands steals beneath your body to press in between your shoulder blades, guiding your body deeper against his as his hips piston into you. The wet squelch of your arousal heavy in the space, commingling with your damp, thick groans.

Sylus withdraws from your body on his next slide, nearly all the way out, before he pulses back, slick, without resistance; each time, your body taken by the pleasant shock of how fully he sheathes himself into you, the stretch sending you into a dizzying spiral of mounting need.

And despite it all — the hazy pleasure, his long, deep strokes into you — your ravenous body needs this man closer, a desire you aren’t able to word coherently.

Sylus’ diligent handling of you — although, a gesture appreciated — is not what you require of him in the moment. He’s your first in so, so long; desires shuttered in since forever, along with the intense need to be thoroughly loved over by this man; your need to have him fuck you without restraint, after a heart so long spent in warring against its yearning for him, overflowing off the cusp of your poor control. Manifesting in the fingers you rush about the angled cut of his hips to squeeze, your legs tightening their hold at the back of his waist to pull deeper inside.

Your eyes meet his in fevered haze; a slip of your tongue to drench parched lips, falling open to voice your desires before Sylus’ face crowds your vision. His mouth pulsing a quick kiss of violence against yours, it siphons your entire breath from your lungs at the aggressive curl of his tongue into you. “Alright,” he utters on a wet, hoarse whisper against your lips. No more questions, no more unsurety. “I’ll give you what you need.”

He’s gingerly worked himself into you up to the near base of him when large hands move to grip on either side of your abdomen, the pads of them pulsing into the pliance of your skin — heated scaffoldings of flesh. Heralding the slow, squelching withdrawal of his cock from your depths up to the tip. Until Sylus plunges back into you with a force vehement enough you see stars white the scape of your vision with the audible slap of hips meeting the back of your ass.

And it isn’t until he starts driving into you in that punishing pace, manoeuvring your body as if you were a mere doll meant to house his cock do you realize with primal joy that you love how he’s taking you. You’re delirious on the feeling of his cock ramming up into your walls — the massive stretch of him, each single inch of hot, unyielding flesh — hard enough he’s driving you up the sheets, your voice you do not realize is a shrill scream of pleasure.

Everything — you, him, your hot, clenching insides around him — is all too much, all of a sudden, you’re drowning in the ecstasy of the feeling of him overwhelming your senses.

And the man above, an unfettered beast; he folds you deeper into the mattress with the ardent swing of his hips, large hands gripping hard onto your waist as he guides your own weak thrusts back onto his cock with ferocious precision. Each single glide of the swollen head of his cock dragging him deliciously against that one spot inside that has you quivering apart around him. A deliberate assault of your sweet weakness. Truly, he knows your body as if he’d had you before several times already; the thought is as exhilarating as it is terrifying, having your pussy spasm around him on instinct, dragging a vicious growl out of him that has you whimpering at the sound.

The sweat slicked concentration and fervid arousal that knits at his powerful brows is addictive, the heated flush of pleasure and effortless exertion — all of him an erotic sight, meant to throttle you into finishing ruin. The violent tatters of your orgasm you feel crumpling within your belly, fast approaching.

You try and buck against his hips faster, pace paling in comparison to the near bestial propulsion of his cock into your depths. Sylus groans at a particularly harsh squeeze of your cunt; a hand leaving your waist to feather his knuckles against the drenched slide of sweat and tears at your cheeks you know are ruddy in desire. “You’re taking me so well, kitten, so deep inside that small body.” You might’ve offered a word of approval if your throat wasn’t so swollen from the breathless moans and ruinous pleas he’s knocking out of you instead. “You’re clamping so hard around my cock. Do you not want to let me go?” His large hand drifting against the lower stretch of your abdomen, before he presses the flat of his palm in deep, as if he could feel for the place his cock pounds up as if against your very womb, angling his hips to brush at the sensitive bundle of nerves at your apex and you nearly weep at the tight stimulation.

“C-Clo—” is all the words your battered throat can manage out before your head’s falling back against the pillows, tear-strained gaze blown wide with the unrelenting intensity of his pillage of your body.

But Sylus groans in approval, understanding of your broken prompts. “I’ve got you. Let that pretty pussy of yours weep more for me, sweetheart.”

You moan unabated at the filth that issues from his lips, your body immediately moving to obey his instruction in the spasm of your walls.

His hand slides against the length of your hooked leg to hoist it up and over a broad shoulder as his large frame arches over you, nearly folding you in half. The new angle driving each of his wild thrusts hard against your swollen clit. Your back nearly snapping with the force of its curve up towards him with your next shrill scream of his name. “What a perfect, perfect girl for me.”

You're no longer coherent, a garbled speech and cotton head your constant companions — only dimly aware of the muted sounds of wood striking against concrete walls as Sylus drives your body violently up against the headboard. The distant absence of pain you only realize is possible when your cheek curls sideways to sink against the simmering warmth of the red and obsidian mesh of his Evol, keeping your head pillowed against the strength of his thrusts.

His face descends towards you, a thick hand easing beneath sweat soaked locks to grip at your neck, holding firm for the ravenous mouth that plunders yours, choking your moans against his tongue. Your spit trails useless past swollen lips, Sylus’ tongue immediately following a broad path against your jaw, your chin to lick at the combined essence of sweat and spit. His guttural moan at the taste, sending you nearly into your orgasm, so close at hand, you’re spasming useless about the great length of him.

Long, tapered digits flex about the delicate expanse of your neck, coaxing your pleasure-drunk gaze up towards his. “The way you’re looking right now...” You catch the flex of his other arm at the corners of your vision as it slinks in between your bodies. “a man could get addicted, sweetie.” His thumb presses against the abused bead of your apex in that instant, knocking a scream free of your parched throat, body arching in the slick slide of your breasts pressed flush against the broad planes of his chest. Even that stimulation at your nipples is too much; the heat in between your legs tempered to an inferno.

The precise, perfect strikes of his cock into your walls, along with the insistent pinch and press of your clit in between adroit index and thumb has your crest rising. White hot heat undulates through your entire body. The merciless sting of a delicious bite you feel Sylus sink at your straining neck, right beneath your jaw, “Come for me now, sweetheart,” accompanying the hammering thrusts of his cock, his thumb at your bundle of nerves is what finally has you ripping apart on an orgasm so intense your gaze blanks entirely.

Jaw falling open on a shriek so unlike yours, you do not recognize the sound of your own battered voice until Sylus presses two thick digits into your slack mouth to toy at your wet tongue as if he could capture that sound for himself. “You’re so damn beautiful.” His pace unrelenting through the violence of your orgasm, stretching your own peak so long, spasming about the wet heat of him until Sylus’ hips too stutter as he finds his release into your welcoming depths.

Pulse after pulse of ejaculate so abundant, hot, it drives you into another release — or perhaps, you’d never even stopped coming — a pinnacle so high, your fall from it is prolonged, pleasurable. Your mouth sucking hard at his fingers, willing them to serve your anchor.

Sylus’ gaze meets yours from across the small pocket of space in between your faces, heated and stifled with your breaths. Scarlet eyes, simmering, pupils blown so wide in low settling arousal as the two of you breathe deep in unison. Several moments of reprieve, you allow your bodies as you come down from your highs.

A small part of you distantly realizes a single session with Sylus has effectively ruined you for life and you’re unsure if you’re bemoaning the fact or thrilling in delight at it. You think you just might be far more infatuated with this infuriating man than you’d initially thought and the notion of being this adoring of him mildly terrifies you. Just as the sliver of tenderness that threads through that garnet gaze as he pushes back sweat soaked strands from your face to study you. “You alright there, sweetie?”

You can’t deny it any longer. “Never been better.” you wheeze past a sore throat. And God help you, the grin that skews at his beautiful mouth at your answer has your heart refusing to settle into rest, even after your mind-numbing release.

“That good, was it?” You do not have the energy to refute him, settling for a light slap at his bicep.

His arms flex about your body before he rolls you both over. Releasing himself, slow, from your depths — you groan weakly at the muted stimulation before he hoists himself onto his arm.

You reach a hand forwards, curving it about his face, thumb sketching at the angle of his jaw. “Stay with me tonight.” you ask of him quietly.

Mild surprise flickers within blood-red garnet before it’s replaced by the tender quirk of a strong brow. “Didn’t plan on leaving, sweetheart.” He tips his head further into the crook of your palm, pulsing a quick kiss onto the skin. “Sleep tight, now. Your eyes are glazing over.”

And for that one moment, you listen, letting the warmth of his engulfing embrace shepherd you into dreams of scarlet eyes and amused smiles — the only ones you’ve been able to think about for a long time now.

End Notes: Tagging as requested: @samanthagnicole , @catboi-anon , @bitches4lifebro , @beebumbo , @hellinistical , @chocomii-chan

If you’d like to be tagged in my future stories, you can fill this short form here. If you’d like to be removed, shoot me a DM!

You can also find me on Ao3 and twitter, if you’d like to chat or just squeal with me about hot characters, in general.

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jamminvroomvroom · 4 months

Note

congrats on 5k queen! you’re writing is so brilliant beyond belief and you deserve all the love and support this site has to offer. can i request lando+angsty smut (the best combo)…prompts along the lines of “i don’t think im ever going to love anyone the way i love you”//“i don’t think i want to love anyone else”

how did it end?

ln x famous fem!reader

in which it ends, until…

i love this fic with my whole heart. thank u sm for this request, anon, and for being so absolutely for gorgeous and kind <3 kicking off the 5k celebration with a big, sad, sexy bang! lemme know what you think, hugs n kisses

songs to set the mood: how did it end? by taylor swift

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, angst angst angst, fluff, happy ending! exes to lovers, just. a lot going on. sad!lando, sad!everyone, so many feels, r is a big deal model, alcohol consumption, mentions of smoking

4.1k words

one gasp, and then…

“how did it end?” the woman strokes your arm, soothing, tentative.

you don’t know her all that well, she’s signed to the same agency as you, you see her in the halls sometimes and sit next to her in makeup chairs.

you stare blankly at her, registering. news travels fast apparently.

you smile, small, fake, tilting your head to the side. you mumble something about different schedules, timezones, right person, wrong time. she watches your face intently, with sympathy. you want to throttle her. she’s being kind and you despise her for it right now.

“i won’t tell anyone.” she affirms, her fingers still smoothing over the skin of your arm.

yes you will, you think. all of her friends, the rest of the building will know exactly what you’ve told her by the time you get to your meeting. you don’t begrudge her, though, that’s the nature of the industry.

“well, it was good to see you.” you nod, even go in for a quick hug, and then you speed away, beelining for the elevator. the ride is short, your managers office somewhere on the third floor and you shuffle down the corridor, ready to be informed of what your life will look like for the next three months.

fittings, shoots, paris trip.

mhm.

swimwear season, charlotte tilbury, meeting with the vogue journalist.

cool.

week off, few days in london, monaco grand prix.

no.

“what? no.” you splutter. out of habit, you reach for a necklace, frown when you realise it’s no longer there.

“what do you mean, no?” she narrows her eyes at you.

“i can’t go to the race. no.”

“girl, i love you, but did i ask?”

“you know i can’t-“

“you won’t have to see him.” she reasons.

“but what if i do? he’s obviously gonna be there, and the events before and after- no. no.”

“lando norris is not gonna be the end of you.”

you stifle a laugh, one that sounds more like a strangled cry.

what if he already was?

look who we ran into at the shops,

walking in circles like he was lost

lando stares at the shampoo.

specifically, the one you use. used. he can’t be too sure anymore, he supposes.

he’d popped out for a loaf of bread, about an hour ago. he didn’t want to acknowledge how long he’d been staring at the women’s toiletries section.

you seemed to live on, everywhere. lando could see you in his apartment, the passenger seat of his car, the back of the garage. even the fucking supermarket wasn’t safe. you were very much alive, moving on with life, and yet you haunted him like he’d killed you himself.

perhaps he had, in a way.

the basket grazes the outside of his leg.

that’s the shower gel he’d buy for you, the one you only used when you stayed with him in monaco.

there’s the tampons you asked him to buy, crying back at home on your- his bed.

oh, and there’s the shampoo that you made him buy, the one that you told him made his curls feel extra fluffy when he was between your legs-

“lando?” a voice calls, drawing lando out of the mist.

“oh, alex. hey.” lando croaks. he hasn’t noticed the lump in his throat until now. he clears his throat, running a hand through his hair.

“what you doing, mate?” alex asks, eyebrows furrowed. he scans lando’s face, puffy eyes, watery.

“shopping.”

“for women’s shampoo?”

“no, no, just… looking.” lando stutters.

“when was the last time you slept?” alex’s voice is laced with concern, apprehensive. he doesn’t know what to say to his heartbroken friend.

lando smiles weakly.

“i’ve been sleeping.”

alex sighs.

“okay, when was the last time you slept properly, then?”

lando’s shoulders visibly sag.

“about a month ago.”

we hereby conduct this post-mortem

“we can’t do this anymore.”

the words fall from your lips in a whisper, but they reach him like you’ve screamed them at him. he sits opposite you, in the arm chair, so far away, only a metre or so.

“i know.” lando breathes shakily.

“i don’t want this but…”

“yeah.”

it’s been such a good year. you’re in love. it’s not enough. there’s too much distance, too many outsider opinions, too much longing for someone who’s on the other side of the world.

he’ll be in london. you’ll be in brazil.

he’ll be in australia. you’ll be in amsterdam.

it’s too much.

“i love you, though.” you remind him meekly.

“don’t know how to not love you.” he sniffles.

your heart shatters, the pieces flying over the room, spilling across the floor. they mix with the splinters of his, painting the room red. all you feel is blue.

you cry in his arms when he takes you to bed, his own tears spilling over your collar bone when he buries his head in your neck, licks over the marks he’s left there. to remember me by, he’d muttered dryly.

when you’re both finished, he lays there for a moment, still on top of you. damp with sweat and tears, the taste of one another still lingering on your tongues.

“how is it possible that i miss you already?” he pants, lips grazing just below your ear.

“i get it, lan. i’ve been missing you for a while.”

you’re gone when he wakes up.

and so, a touch that was my birthright became foreign

come one, come all

it’s happening again

the empathetic hunger descends

there are about six cameras pointed at you when he asks the dreaded question.

you’re in new york, sat on a talk show hosts sofa, lit by stage lights and his inquisitive eyes. two hundred people sit in the audience, on the edge of their seats waiting for you to spill your secrets.

“so, what happened there, with lando?”

you plaster on the fakest smile to date, crossing your legs anxiously.

“we’re both just so busy, you know? he’s doing amazing things in f1 and i’m all over the place with work.”

“we love both of you over here, it was sad to hear.” he sympathises, adjusting his tie and leaning back in his chair. his fingers drum over the wood of his desk, waiting for more.

vultures. everyone is a vulture.

“and we still have a lot of love for each other. he’s a wonderful person.”

there are tears in your eyes and bile rising rapidly in your throat when you shake hands with the crew, the host, and retreat to your dressing room. you stumble into the en-suite and throw up. then, you fall onto the sofa and cry. you fix your makeup at godspeed and reply to the text from your team, inviting you to drinks at some rooftop bar, promising to meet them there. you punctuate the text with one too many exclamation marks, feigning excitement.

“we still have a lot of love for each other.”

translation: i can’t understand: how did it end?

lando watches your interview. of course he does. he watches everything that you do, watches the way you set the world on fire.

he can’t help himself where you’re concerned, like an addict craving the next hit. you look so pretty on tv, glowing. you look fine.

god, why do you look fine?

he hates himself for hating just how fine you look. he is not fine.

“he’s a wonderful person.”

your words ring in his ears. they anger him, because if he’s oh-so-wonderful, why aren’t you here? why isn’t he there with you, waiting backstage? why can’t you just hate him? why can’t he just hate you? maybe you will, if he shows you just how not wonderful he can be.

he gets drunk that night. forces max to hit the clubs with him. sticks his tongue down a pliant woman’s throat. doesn’t ask her name. let’s her invite him back to her place. it has to be her place, he can’t fuck someone else in your bed, the one you used to share. he leaves minutes after he’s pulled out. he’s sure she’s lovely, too good for him and his bitter fucking heart. he feels utterly disgusting.

lando goes home, scrubs his skin red, and then does it again. he doesn’t go to sleep, watches from his balcony as the sun begins to rise over the sea. he hikes to the highest point he can reach in monaco, where it’s quiet and there’s no one to judge him, or worse, sympathise with him.

he stands at the edge of the cliff. screams once, twice. he sits on a rock, and lets himself cry.

the deflation of our dreaming

leaving me bereft and reeling

my beloved ghost and me

sitting in a tree

d-y-i-n-g

your stylist is plying you with options.

you can wear the denim with the cream OR you could do the red and white? or we can go full glam! or! or! or! we could-

you drown her out. you don’t give a fuck. not a single one.

what you wear to the monaco grand prix is quite literally the least of the your problems. your biggest problem, of course, is that you have to go to the fucking thing.

visibility is important, get people talking! the words of your manager ring in your ears until you have a dull migraine brewing behind your ears.

you leave the fitting not entirely sure what you’re wearing, but your stylist will be sending the clothes over so you can pack.

when you land in all too familiar nice, there are cameras. when you get to the hotel in monaco, you and lando are already trending on twitter. well, at least he knows you’re coming. when you’re getting your makeup done before your first event, you get a text.

i’ll try and keep my distance.

try.

try is such an interesting word. the fact that he has to try to stay away makes your belly flutter with embarrassing, self loathing butterflies. don’t try too hard, you want to respond. you don’t.

should’ve told you i’d be here you shoot back.

you think i didn’t already know?

of course he knew. he’d probably asked god knows how many brands to invite you. you try and feign an illness but your team drag you kicking and screaming to the event.

there are no two ways about it: you’re drunk, on a tuesday night, somewhere in the principality. a few cocktails with a jewellery brand turned into a night on the town, bar hopping with people you hardly knew and barely recognised.

you’re shaking your ass in jimmy’z, pretending to have fun when you see him.

lando stands at the bar, watching you, jaw tensed, eyes solemn. you exit the club faster that his car down a back straight, stumbling into the smoking area. you bum a cigarette from a guy who tries really hard to convince you that he’s the son of a british lord, and sink into the corner, ignoring the people recording you.

depressed model shame smokes outside monaco club because she is fucking pathetic, the headlines will read.

“thought you quit that shit.” his voice washes over your body like you’ve been set on fire, smooth tone, ambiguous accent making you ache.

“i did but then i got forced to come to monaco, so.” you shrug.

“forced?”

“‘m here for work.” you sigh.

“i guess i am too.” he mumbles. you raise an eyebrow.

“you live here, lan.” you tease. lan rolls off of your tongue too sweetly.

“doesn’t feel like it anymore.”

how can it, without you? he wants to scream at you. he can’t, you don’t deserve it.

“how are you?”

you want to touch him.

“shit.”

he needs a taste.

“yeah.”

you put your cigarette out. it tastes like shit, half smoked.

you stand there, stare at each other.

take me home, you want to beg.

come home, he clenches his fists, trying not to grab you and remind you how you’ll always be his, right here, up against the side of the club.

“good luck, if i don’t see you.” you whisper. you linger, praying that he’ll beg you to stay so that you can crumble into his arms, without having to make the first move.

lando ponders his options. his head and his heart wage a war.

logic wins, unfortunately.

“thank you.”

you take that as your queue to get the fuck out of there, and disappear into the night.

it’s raining on sunday. the dreary weather seems to perfectly sum up what has been the worst week of your life.

you’ve seen your ex boyfriend more times than you can count, ended up with about four hangovers as a result, and with a pounding head, you have to sit in the paddock club and wait for the sound of engines to split your head in half. it was your own doing, so you’d suck it up, recognising that you were a disgustingly privileged bitch, and there are people who would sell their kidneys to do what you’re complaining about.

you never complain, not usually. but your heart hurts and your body hearts and your mind hurts and it’s just not fair. lando is gorgeous, and you miss him so badly, and your shoes are digging in. who the fuck thinks it’s a good idea to wear heels to an f1 race?

you see him before the race, mouth good luck from afar. he winks. it’s something you used to do before every race. old habits die screaming.

the rain falls harder, the track slick. you say a prayer and take your seat.

“norris has this in the bag, he’s bloody good in the wet.” you hear some old guy say behind you. you are cursed with the knowledge of just how good in the wet he is, and you end up flushed.

he wins. his second one in three races. you pray that no one notices the way you weep. everyone notices.

you make a mistake and rush for the podium, your pass giving you access. he graces the top step and you sob, grinning like a fool, soaked through with rain. the anthem plays, the champagne pops. he finds your eyes in the crowd. your hair falls, stringy and curled, mascara smudged. you are the most breathtaking sight. he stands still, washed with an onslaught of champagne, watching you like he’s scared to take his eyes off of you. his boyish grin and hopeful eyes render you weak - you’re there for him, after all - and he can’t help but bask in that little fact.

dangerous territory. you break, and disappear.

say it once again with feeling…

the photographers barely get a second to snap a picture of the top three, because lando is gone. he takes the stairs two at a time, descending from the podium and throwing his pirelli cap and a shaky apology at his pr rep. the adrenaline spike makes his blood rush; he needs to find you and stop you and tell you that he will never be able to stop loving you.

the exit is the natural assumption, and he nearly slips a thousand times as he sprints through the paddock. the ground is wet, but he figures that if his car made it, so can he. the gates are in sight, and so are you, your clothes sticking to your shivering frame.

he calls your name, thunderously travelling towards you, his voice hitting your ears like a sonic boom. you freeze, turn slowly until your facing him. the rain splashes around you, not letting up.

you’re within his reach, and he pulls you in, hugging you tight. you melt into him, clinging like he’s a life force. he inhales you, your scent that he’s missed so horrifically. you crumble, and so does he, pieced back together as one.

“i can’t do this, i can’t.” he kisses the words into the cold skin of your neck.

“no, neither can i.” you choke wetly with emotion.

“miss you too much. it’s too hard, it’s stupid, it’s-“

“wrong. it’s wrong. ‘m sorry.” your breath fans his face, breathing life into him, life that he’d lost four months ago.

he grabs your shoulders, lowering so that his eyes are level with yours. his curls fall over his eyes, sodden from the rain.

“i don’t think, no, i know: i’m never gonna love anyone the way i love you.” lando speaks slow, convincing. your chest is tight.

“i don’t want to love anyone else.” you croak, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe.

“come back to me.” he mutters, pleading.

“don’t think i ever left.” you breathe, hushed.

your lips slot over his easily, it’s like breathing. the kiss is messy, helpless, and he engulfs you whole, his body wrapping around yours like a blanket. you latch onto his race-suit, drawing him in, and then you both seem to remember where you are.

lando norris caught kissing ex like horny teenager in monaco paddock!

you pull away with breathless chuckle. the air is fresh, and you feel alive. he steals another peck.

“wait for me at home. i’ll be quick.” his hand finds you ass, just for a second and you scold him playfully.

home.

yeah, home.

“don’t make me wait.” you grin.

his brain short circuits.

“do you still have your key?” he splutters, refocusing.

you scoff. “never took it off the chain.”

you pace the apartment, taking in the space. it hasn’t changed, but it’s messier, a visual representation of lando since you left. the pit of your belly swirls with anxiety, anticipation. he’ll be back soon, and he’ll kiss you, make love to you, remind you that you’re home and that it’d be stupid to leave again.

you’re still damp from the rain, shedding layers until you’re left in your vest and jeans, ridiculous heels kicked off by the door, your jacket airing over the back of a chair.

he hasn’t taken down the pictures of you together. he hasn’t moved your ugly collection of magnets from the fridge. he hasn’t changed the blinds that you chose, but he didn’t really like. your candles sit on the bookshelf half burned, the teddy he’d won you at a fair sits neatly on the sofa. the L pendant and it’s chain is strewn over the coffee table, right where you left it the morning after it ended. your breathing is heavy.

the front door opens behind you.

you don’t move, your eyes still fixed on the silver chain, overwhelmed by how empty your neck feels all of the sudden. he comes up behind you, his head resting on your shoulder, arms finding home around your waist. you often used to find yourselves in this exact position; while you brushed your teeth, made coffee. the room is deathly silent, breathing and the distant buzz of post race festivities the only thing you can hear. lando follows your gaze.

“kept it. knew that one day, you’d come back for it.”

“i came back for you.”

“and that necklace will stay with you when i can’t be there.”

you nod. he kisses your neck.

“missed you so bad.” you gasp. he licks your skin, bites down softly.

you spin in his arms, his hands pawing at your hips and everything blurs when he kisses you.

shaky fingers work over zippers, buttons, clasps, and then you’re both bare. you sink into the mattress that you missed so much, his body moulded with yours when you both tumble into the sheets. this is messy and frantic, utterly lovestruck. the lightning strike of his touch has you keening, sweating beneath him already.

“missed you. missed this.”

“do something, lan.” you cry, quiet against his shoulder.

“missed my perfect girl.” he grunts, lips working your chest while his fingers leave a trail of goosebumps over your inner thigh.

“please.” you sigh when his fingers dip between your folds, sliding over your wet flesh. his lip catches between his teeth, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of you.

he thumbs at your clit, stroking over you in slow, firm swipes, and then he’s sinking a digit into you, slow and steady. your toes curl, tears pricking your eyes at the intrusion, but you don’t have much of a chance to adjust, a second finger joining the first. he fucks you full, the stretch of just two fingers making you whine, one hand threading into the sheets while the other slams over your mouth. you want to hide, the pleasure rendering you a mess across the pale grey linen.

“no, let me look at you.” lando rasps, spare hand tugging at your wrist. you whine, writhing when he curls his fingers. “why are you hiding?”

you can’t hold back the choked cry that sounds from the back of your throat, his palm bumping your clit as he grinds his fingers deep.

“gone shy on me, baby? where’s my good girl gone?” lando coos, moving so that he’s leaning over you. the angle change sends your legs flying, kicking out at the sweet torture. “‘s because you haven’t been fucked right in so long, hm? can’t remember how to behave?” he’s smirking down at you, scanning the changing lines of your face.

“need it, need-“ you stutter, the words dying on your tongue.

“words, pretty girl, words.” lando encourages, false sympathy dripping from his tongue.

“need to cum, want you to make me…” you trail off.

“was that so hard?” he tuts, and everything speeds up.

the sound of him working you so sweetly makes you shake, your thighs clenching tight around his hand. the wet squelch hits your ears and you blush, cheeks coloured deep with embarrassment, awe, desperation.

your mouth drops open, screaming silently when it hits, your thighs slick. you drip down his wrist, his hand covered in your release.

“there’s my girl.” lando sighs, diving down to kiss you hard.

you can feel the damp press of his fingers as they dig into your thighs and you squirm beneath him, finding your way into his mouth.

“fuck me.” you slur, teeth knocking with his. he swallows you whole, groaning into your mouth.

“not so shy now, hm? been dreaming of hearing you beg for it.” lando shudders, shifting between your legs.

you can feel the press of him, thick against your cunt and you wiggle your hips, pushing to meet him halfway. the stretch burns deliciously, and you grab at his shoulders, dragging him in.

“fuck, baby.” he breathes, sinking into you slowly. “feel like heaven.” disbelief coats his voice, like he can’t reconcile that this is real; you’re back here, his, in the bed you were always supposed to share.

“it’s so good. feel so good for me, lan.” you whisper, lacing your fingers through his hair.

“love you so much.” he kisses you like he means it, rocking into you with purpose.

“can’t believe i lived without this.”

“can’t believe you’re all mine.”

the release builds, every thrust reminding you of what you could have lost for good. there was no lack of love, in fact you were starting to wonder if you had loved each other too much before.

“never losing you again. can’t live without you. my beautiful girl.”

your tummy grows tight, and he finds your clit when he feels you clamp down on him. he pulls you through the pleasure, guides you to your orgasm and you blindly follow him. you’d follow him anywhere, you decide.

you tell him you love him when you let go, spilling all around him, warm. he’s panting, kisses your forehead gently. he rolls off of you, and you feel the slow drip instantly, but you curl into his side and he wraps around you.

home.

“promise me something.” he whispers. you feel the way he shakily inhales.

“hm?”

“don’t leave again. you belong here, too. with me.”

your eyes are watery.

“i’m staying. ‘m yours.”

“about that…”

lando springs from the bed, naked, disappearing from the room. you watch, confused, cold all of the sudden.

you can hear his footsteps padding through the hallway, and then he’s back, his figure in the hallway. he runs, jumps, lands gracelessly next to you. endeared, you laugh softly.

“sit up.”

you do, leaning up to sit next to him. his fingers skim your shoulder, pushing your hair out of the way. cool metal dances over your skin.

“back where it belongs.” lando smiles at you, eyes wide and stunning.

you toy with the L. something heals in your chest, right around where your heart is.

“the sweetest boy.” you shake your head in disbelief, grin up at him like a fool.

“bath?”

“you know me so well, noz.”

come one, come all

it’s happening again

oh, my heart. there is something deeply wrong with me

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azrielbrainrot · 2 months

Text

Moonlit Shadows - Act I

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Description: When tasked to find the once famed Temple of the Moon Goddess, Azriel only expected to find old, forgotten ruins if anything at all. He could have never imagined that not only would he find a temple but also someone who would change his life forever.

Tropes/Tags: Star Crossed Lovers (in a way), Forbidden Romance (kinda), Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, some Angst with a Happy Ending

Warnings: a bit of angst

Word Count: 12,4k

Rating: 18+ (this part is actually kinda chill)

Notes: Just as a warning (?) reader has white hair and white silvery eyes in this story but those are the only physical descriptions I will make, they're kind of part of her magic. Also when I started writing this I totally intended on it being a one-shot but the story got away from me and I decided to split it up into 3 parts. I really hope you enjoy!

You've been pacing in front of the temple's door ever since the sun set over the mountain, the warm rays slowly being replaced with the brilliant pale moonlight. You keep wringing your hands together and smoothing down any possible wrinkle on your dress, repositioning the diadem perched on your head to make sure it sits perfectly. It's not often you get visitors up in the temple, let alone any your Goddess went out of Her way to warn you about and gave clear instructions to help in any way you could. You can't quite distinguish if the anxiety building inside you is the result of excitement or wariness - possibly a healthy dose of both.

The last time someone climbed these steps had been almost a full decade ago. It was a quite short affair as well since the visitor only needed a book long forgotten in the temple's library. You'd read it multiple times before, and offered it without hesitation, prompting the traveler to thank you and immediately start descending the mountain, going on his way all the while muttering about finally having all the knowledge he needed to achieve his goal. That small interaction served as a reminder of your purpose in this temple, filled you with a sense of accomplishment you usually felt in such situations, but you've been alone in between these walls since then.

After almost four centuries you're more than used to the quiet, to the way your steps echoe in the grand empty space. The loneliness had been a more prominent companion, but even that had come and gone throughout the years. You had no place in the world, nor family or friends waiting for you anymore. All you had left was your duty to the temple. But you're still only fae and the longing for some company catches up to you every once in a while. At times you think you only want the reminder that you're still alive.

There wasn't much to do around the temple either, it magically gave you food and kept itself clean so you didn't even need to bother with that. You could recite every book in the library at this point and you found you weren't the best artist as you tried your hand at painting and sculpting, even music and dancing. The flowers around the temple seemed to grow effortlessly, not even needing you to tend to them either. Even keeping a journal proved inefficient as there was little to write down, the monotony of your life not interesting enough for such a thing. When tasked with guarding the temple, you would never have imagined boredom would end up being your biggest problem.

You still recall the day your hair started turning white and your eyes dulling, losing their color slowly until they turned into the silver, almost white color they were now, mirroring the moonlight. At first your parents thought it could be some disease or even a curse, they were scared for your health and safety beyond measure, but when the Goddess contacted you and sent you the amulet you now wear religiously around your neck, it guided you and your parents to this very temple hidden in the mountains of the Night Court. She then told you Herself what the fates had written for you, presenting you with an oath and sharing her power with you, making you the Keeper of the Moon Temple.

Everything had seemed impossible to believe at first, the time of the Gods had passed millenia ago, it was hard to find someone who could even name any of them anymore, you certainly couldn't at the time. So when you were told what your role in life was going to be you had been completely blindsided, not even knowing what to make of your new occupation, of being trusted with such an important task when you weren't even three decades old.

Truthfully, you expected at least a few people to show up every once in a while, asking for help or guidance. You even prepared yourself for there to be some threats to the temple, but things had been mostly peaceful and quiet, so quiet. You understand why guarding the temple is important, this type of knowledge and power can't ever fall into the wrong hands, the safety of the world depends on it, but sometimes you wonder what your life could have been like if you hadn't been chosen by fate to hold such a heavy burden by yourself.

Your heart stalls in your chest when you feel a presence approaching, used to feeling them pass by unannounced as the temple remains hidden in its protective spell. When it's clear this is the visitor the Goddess had warned you about, as they entered the wards seamlessly, you take a deep calming breath, adjusting the diadem one last time, and open the heavy doors, revealing the temple to the moonlight. As the stairs come into view, you step up to the threshold and clasp your hands together behind your back, waiting to be of help as your Goddess instructed you to.

Distractedly rehearsing your greeting, unused as it was, you almost miss the dark shadows swirling up the milky steps, passing by you and escaping to all corners of the temple before you have time to react. Your head snaps back to follow them, breaking the calming character you were falling into in preparation to fulfill your duty. Some of your power drips down to your fingertips, casting a white glow under your skin, as you study these shadows intently. Not finding any ill intent in them, as strange as they were, some of the tension leaves your body. They simply lay before you, more and more of these wispy shadows gathering together as they swirled around themselves, not paling even a fraction under the bright moonlight or your powers. Strange little things indeed.

You wonder for a moment if this was the visitor the Goddess had mentioned, not knowing what to make of it or how to approach such a situation. She had not specified if the visitor was fae, though you're not so sure how you would be able to help shadows. Before you could embarrass yourself in trying to speak to these creatures, the same presence you felt earlier makes itself known, much closer than before. Looking up at the starry sky, you find strong, dark wings carrying someone directly to the temple, a glimpse of blue shining over their dark form.

This was already the most interesting visitor you've ever had. You'd never had the pleasure of meeting any winged fae before, and, given their reaction to the fae approaching, you were confident the shadows were under their command. Those were definitely even rarer than winged fae - Shadowsingers, you remember them being called.

As they fly down closer to you and the temple, slowly letting the wind guide them, you feel a strange tug on your chest, and then another, this time strong enough that it makes you look down at yourself with furrowed eyebrows. Your confusion only deepens when you notice a bright string connected to your heart, raising your hand to try and touch it. Your fingers pass right through it, as if it wasn't there in the first place, and soon after you try catching it, the string disappears from sight.

You lay a hand down over your chest, feeling your heart beating under your palm. The string was invisible now, but you could still feel it tugging incessantly, as if urging you to look up. You follow its silent command, almost gasping out loud when you find the winged fae a lot closer than you had expected, catching him as he lands with a harsh tud on top of the steps, arms bracing out to maintain his balance as if he isn't quite used to landing yet. The shadows swirling at your feet rush to him, and a bewildered expression takes over his face, likely mirroring your own, as he stares at you, mouth agape.

Wide leathery wings stand behind him, open in a somewhat awkward angle as he stands frozen in place. As the moonlight filters through them you realize they're not quite black as they appeared before, the insides actually have a beautiful crimson hue to them. Your eyes seem to have a mind of their own as they keep cataloging his entire form, taking note of every detail as if it was crucial information. He was covered from head to toe in black leathers, you recognize it as an armor of sorts. It clung to his every muscle, showcasing them as much as it protected him from harm. You find the same blue light from before twinkling in the midst of all the black, studying it closer to find it came from gems scattered across his armor, you're almost certain they hold some of his magic somehow.

Moving up his neck, you find tan skin shining under the moonlight and black hair curling into his forehead softly, locks messy and a little damp from the flight. The stranger also had striking hazel eyes, and you find yourself struggling to not get lost in them, only bringing yourself to break eye contact when you notice the glittery string once more in the corner of your eye, only this time it's connected to his chest.

Your breath catches in your throat as you follow its path slowly, careful not to lose the thin thread once more, finding it leading back to your own heart. You feel another tug, prompting you to look back up at the male in front of you. A hand falls over your heart at the implication, right where you could feel the phantom string had tied itself. Yet another tug confirming your suspicions.

How could this be?

⭒.˚ ☾⭒.˚

Azriel wasn't expecting his evening to turn out like this when he was called to Rhys' office. While he knew there was going to be a mission of sorts, he never imagined it would involve a temple no one has ever heard of or a Goddess long forgotten. Even with Amren's knowledge and the old books she found corroborating her words, Azriel was still anticipating coming back to Velaris empty handed. He's flown over these same mountains at least a million times in the five centuries he's been alive, and never once has he noticed a temple or any signs of magic.

The woods under him looked completely untouched as far as he could tell, no one choosing to live so far from the neighboring towns, isolated between the trees and steep mountains. His shadows filtered through the woods in case he missed something from his high position, even if he thought this search was in vain, it didn't mean he wasn't going to give it his best to fulfill his High Lord's order. He felt almost naked without his shadows latching onto his body though, the single companion still perched on his shoulder in order to relay him information not giving him nearly enough coverage to feel at ease when he was so far from home.

Mission and discomfort aside, the wind felt heavenly hitting his skin on this warm summer evening. It had been a while since he was able to fly for this long without dreading his destination as it usually meant he was visiting the Illyrian mountains, the Hewn City or a much more gruesome mission than the one he found himself in at the moment. It also feels good to step away from the full houses he found himself in nowadays. As much as he loved his family, Azriel had always valued his alone time and it was getting harder to find himself completely alone in the midst of missions and the ever growing inner circle.

As he was flying over the edge of the mountain, Azriel was getting ready to make the trip back and throw a very satisfying “I told you so” at his brother's face when his shadows suddenly disappeared right before his eyes. The abruptness of it made him panic for a few seconds, clapping his wings so he was hovering in the same place and was able to study the space ahead of him, trying to feel for any type of ward or shield but coming up empty. He could still feel his shadows, and knew they were alright given how calm the remaining one was as it sat on his shoulder and simply urged him forward, as if confused why he had stopped in the first place.

Azriel trusted his shadows blindly, they had never steered him wrong after all, and so he did as he was told and slowly started moving forward once again. After living for five hundred years surrounded by magic, there isn't much that can surprise the shadowsinger, but he can safely say he's never seen anything like this. He felt his body pass through some sort of gateway, one that went unnoticed by him until now, and as he did his surroundings began changing as if they had only been a mirage before.

In between the trees a path carved in white stone could now be seen, glinting under the moonlight in complete contrast to the rest of the dark woods. As his eyes followed this path, going up stairs of the same stone carved into the side of the mountain, he found a white temple sitting right at the top. It wasn't a huge building by any means, but the white eerie glow it emitted made it impossible to miss had it not been the spell covering it - one that would make the one who kept Velaris safe for centuries pale in comparison - and keeping it hidden from the world and unwanted eyes.

Amren had been right after all, something that happens more often than he would ever care to admit. The Goddess of the Moon still had at least a temple left in this world, leaving it behind when She took to the sky. Not much is known about the old Gods, but Azriel, born and raised in the Night Court, felt himself relax as he looked up at the moon shining above him, not believing this Goddess could be anything but benevolent. She had watched him fly over from Velaris after all, it almost felt like he was guided here.

The entire temple was made of white stone - it appeared to be the same type of stones used for the path and stairs leading up to it, only more polished. There were silver highlights carved into the walls and columns, these glowed with an intensity Azriel had never seen. Most of the roof was a huge skylight, likely so the moon could illuminate Her temple and Her followers could bask in Her brilliant light.

Given the color scheme of the entire building, his shadows were easy enough to spot, which would have been a big problem had he decided on a more covert operation when coming to the temple, he was more than glad he came here in peace. His little companions seemed perfectly content as they swirled around and over themselves right in front of the temple's doors, a few steps from a figure completely clad in white.

Even after finding the temple where he had only seen trees and shrubs before, he couldn't help but feel even more surprised that there was someone inside it. A sudden spark of magic has the shadowsinger moving faster, a gasp catching in his throat when he sees bright, pale light coming from the figure's palms. Even this wasn't enough to send the shadows that would be at the receiving hand of it into alarm, something curious on its own as they were usually as suspicious and careful as their master.

Azriel was already within earshot when the person in front of him decided his shadows posed no threat and the white light disappeared from her hands. At first glance she might have looked like a regular high fae female, but there was a different kind of power flowing through her, as shown by the strange way this light magic manifested itself, something Azriel had never felt before.

Upon flying down closer, his feet almost touching the top of the steps in front of the temple, he realizes she had not been wearing a white hood or veil as he initially thought but her hair was completely white. There was an unnatural element to it as each strand shone under the moonlight, almost rivaling it in its intensity. The floor length dress she wore was of the same color, made of a light, breathable fabric, almost translucent in certain areas, swishing softly in the faint breeze. She had not looked up at him yet, seemingly intrigued as she watched her own chest. Perhaps looking at the pendant she wore around her neck, the magic coming from it could almost be seen in its intensity.

Azriel took this moment to take her in, not knowing what to say since he was the one possibly trespassing. She was absolutely gorgeous, truly mesmerizing in her beauty and demeanor. It was almost impossible to believe she was real, standing right in front of him and not a Goddess walking his dreams. For a moment Azriel wonders if this is truly the Goddess, if She never left the land of the mortals as it was once believed, instead keeping herself safely hidden in these uninhabited mountains, but when she looks up from her necklace, eyes falling on him for the first time, all thoughts evaporate from his mind. White, silvery eyes meet hazel and a sudden rush of inexplicable feelings hit him right in the chest, squeezing his heart tight and taking his breath away. It felt as if the world had broken apart and put itself together, as if everything finally made sense. The only thing he could make sense of was one word, swirling around in his mind and completely taking over every cell on his body. Mate. You were his mate.

In his stupor, Azriel forgets he was still up in the air, wings freezing along with the rest of his body and sending him falling towards the ground. Thankfully, he hadn't been too high up, and was still able to land on his feet, knees only buckling under his weight slightly as he steadied himself. This had to be the most ungraceful landing he's performed since his brothers were training him between giggles and harmless teasing when he first joined the Illyrian camps. If he wasn't so surprised and his brain was able to formulate a single thought, he would be cringing at the fact that you had just witnessed it, his mate had witnessed it.

It takes several moments before he starts catching on to the situation, the ringing in his ears subsiding and the rest of the world re-emerging around you. He hadn't even noticed his shadows had returned to him, ecstatic for their master finally found his equal. Azriel tries to school his features in an attempt to keep at least some dignity, in fear of coming on too strong as well, especially since it seemed you were in the same predicament as him, a curious but stunned expression locked in your beautiful face as you studied him. His stupid Illyrian senses make him flare out his wings a little before he has the chance to fully take control of his body. When your gaze finds his once more, his heart stalls in his chest before speeding up at an alarming rate. You haven't even spoken a single word to him, but his heart already sang for yours.

⭒.˚ ☾⭒.˚

The oath you made before your Goddess rushes into your head as you study the handsome male in front of you. How could this be possible? The fates had decided your life lied within the temple long before you were born, so why give you a mate? A bond like this is extremely rare, you'd never seen one in your entire lifetime, albeit you lived isolated from the world for most of it. Still, this was something only a few were blessed with, a bond stronger than what mortal minds could even comprehend, so why waste it on you? Could the fates and the Mother be this cruel?

You can't even bring yourself to hope he didn't notice the brilliant bond forming between you - an angry twist pulling at your heartstrings when you dare to think of hiding it - considering the expression on his face and his silence, it seems he's already more than aware of it. All it took was a single glance and it had fallen into place for both of you.

In the midst of the rushing thoughts invading your brain, you try to remember what you've read about mating bonds. There was a book talking about them in the library, of this much you were sure, but its contents were evading your racing mind.

Gaze falling to the floor, trying to sober up from what you imagine to be one of the most intense occurrences anyone could go through, you almost miss the step he takes towards you. The surprise of it makes you flinch slightly, but it was enough for him to notice and take the same step back, wings coiling up tightly to his back and shadows moving to cover him almost completely, excitement wiped off his face and replaced with a hurt expression.

Your gaze falls on him once more, a self loathing feeling crawling up your throat and making you want to beg for his forgiveness on your knees at the thought that you put that expression on his face. This bond would take some getting used to, in what world would you kneel before a male you've just met. Still, you didn't want him to think he scared or even disgusted you in any way, mate or no mate, that was extremely rude.

You clear your throat softly, remembering the weight of your role in this temple and trying desperately to fall back into character, hoping the familiarity of your duties will bring your mind some peace and help you get through this moment.

“Forgive me, it isn't often that we get visitors,” his entire body tenses up even further at your words, but it relaxes as you keep speaking, “I welcome you to the last Temple of the Moon. I'm the keeper and sole habitant of this temple. I've been tasked to keep it safe from any possible threats, but also do my best to help anyone the Goddess deems worthy of being shown the way, just as you have been.”

You try not to look too long in his general direction in fear of getting lost in his eyes once more, but that's close to impossible when you're talking to him and he might be the most beautiful male you've ever encountered. Taking a step to the side, you hold out a hand towards the door, inviting him into the temple, something you should have already done.

He nods his head once after watching your outstretched arm for a moment longer, and then makes his way inside slowly. As he passes by, you can't help but breathe in his scent, it feels intoxicating and it takes every bit of strength in your body to not let your mind linger on how well it would smell mixed with yours, until you couldn't point out where one ended and the other began.

A gasp pulls you out of your betraying thoughts, a smile finding its way to your lips, knowing the sight was making him speechless. It always sparks a little pride in you when someone gazes upon the temple for the first time. Even after living here for centuries, this temple's beauty still takes your breath away. The entire floor was made of replandescent white stones, silver gems weave highlights into them, creating patterns across the entire room, maps of constellations and lunar phases, and giving it a particular glow of their own. They were illuminated by the giant skylight making up most of the ceiling, as to allow both the moon and sunlight to enter. You've tried identifying the materials used in this construction before but ended up coming up empty. It seems the precious stones and gems used no longer grew in this world, perhaps they never did.

At the far corner of the room there was an altar, one without statue or offering table, but an altar all the same. Even when She walked this world, your Goddess never accepted gifts or ever allowed anyone to replicate her image because even that could end up leaving traces of her power behind. The altar looks empty right now, and you catch yourself wishing he could be here to see it on a full moon, when the moon rays fall right over it and you can communicate with and receive any orders the Goddess might have for you. The entire room holds an even more intense glow during that night of the month as well, you're sure he would find it fascinating.

Making your way around him, careful not to step too close or accidentally touch his wings, you catch sight of his awe stricken face, tan skin glowing beautifully under the moonlight. A small, fond smile appears on his face when his gaze falls back on yours, and you almost curse the Mother for the challenge she just put in front of you. His beauty was truly otherworldly, it rivaled every shiny gem and stone in this room, maybe even the moon herself. How were you supposed to act normally knowing this was your mate?

“I've never seen anything like this before,” he admits softly, eyes never straying from yours. The sound of his voice makes you pause, it feels strangely familiar, like something you've been waiting to hear your entire life. There's a curious kind of magic around mating bonds, you don't know how it's possible for someone you've just met to already have so much power over you, even when you're trying your best to ignore him.

“I still find myself at a loss for words when gazing at this room as well,” you agree, wanting to cringe at the bashful expression you know has fallen over your face. Your plan of keeping a detached demeanor while fulfilling your duties was doomed from the start. You clasp your hands behind your back before continuing in what you hope is a professional voice. “The Goddess warned me of your arrival and left orders for me to help you in any way I can. If you tell me what you seek, I will give you what you came here for as long as it's within my abilities.”

His eyebrows furrow slightly at your words. “How did you know I was coming?”

“The Goddess knows more than us mortals will ever be able to grasp,” you explain as vaguely as possible while hopefully not raising any suspicions. There's not a single cell in your body that thinks he's untrustworthy, but they're incredibly biased, and the inner workings of your role as the Moon's keeper must be protected.

He seems satisfied enough with your answer, but there's a different kind of air about him now. As if remembering he doesn't know you, and has found himself at your mercy.

“You haven't told me what you came for,” you remind him. If you sit in silence for long your thoughts will start drifting again.

“Right,” he clears his throat, a pinkish tint covering the tips of his rounded ears. “I come on behalf of the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court.” Your eyebrows raise at this, not expecting him to be such an important person. “One of the High Lady's sisters has been turned into a seer recently, and given that she wasn't even born fae, these powers have proven extremely hard to control.”

You've heard the story of the human who saved the fae from the evil clutches of Amarantha, and her sisters who were tragically thrown in the cauldron by King Hybern and turned into fae against their will. Your Goddess had even told you one of the sisters vengefully stole her powers from the cauldron, and the other was gifted seer abilities. Given the circumstances in which this all went down, it's understandable that she has been having trouble controlling her powers. Being a seer is an exceptionally heavy burden, and she's still so young too.

“We have some books that might be able to help, both in controlling one's power and pulling an entranced fae out of any visions or dreams they've found themselves stuck in. Was that what you were hoping for?”

“Yes,” he admits, apparently relieved at having found what he was looking for, “We found texts mentioning the followers of the Moon Goddess often had prophetic dreams, and wrote entire manuals on how to navigate them. Since Elain wasn't born with these powers these books seemed perfect to help her, and so the High Lady sent me searching for them.” You nod, motioning for him to follow you as you turn and start walking to the library, already making a mental list of all the books that might help his friend.

Even lost in thought, you sense him stopping in his steps as you're walking down the corridor, overwhelmingly aware of his every move as you were. This prompts you to turn around and face him in question, only to find him watching you in amazement.

“You're breathtaking,” he blurts out before he can catch himself, making heat rush up your neck and settle over your entire face. He looks away embarrassed for a moment, one of his shadows crawling up his neck and over his ear, before looking back at you with a bashful look. “I'm sorry. I just- Is it normal for you to glow like this?”

This power has been a part of you for so long, you almost forget about the way your hair lights up in the dark, an aura surrounding you as well, giving you an overall ethereal glow. “Yes, I harness power from the moon and She glows so…” you trail off, biting your lip as he keeps studying you. “The library is right up ahead,” you add, turning your back to him once more so you can gather your thoughts for the nth time since he stepped foot into this temple.

As you navigate through the familiar rows of shelves your heart finally calms, easily picking up the pertinent books. You can't help but keep watching him out of the corner of your eye, not out of suspicion, but curiosity for his every reaction. He seems content with following after you as he watches the decorations and studies the books sitting on the shelves, not once asking you what you're giving him, simply carrying the books you hand him. It makes you wonder if he usually trusts everyone this easily or if it's something reserved for you.

When you hand him the last book, you move to the back of the room slowly, the place where you keep some important magical amulets and tools, waiting on any sign from the Goddess forbidding you from lending him any of them. He comes to stand beside you then, likely noticing your hesitation.

“There is also an artifact that I think could help your friend,” you start, picking up the bracelet in question and holding it up as you explain its power, “This can help numb one's powers.”

“Like faebane?”

You shake your head, “No, this is completely painless, but it's vital that it is only used when she's finding herself lost in her visions and you're struggling to pull her out. This is not to be used as a crutch. If she used it to suppress her powers too often, she might never be able to take control of her full powers and this bracelet could become something she can't live without.” He nods, hopefully understanding the gravity behind your words. “It's also extremely rare and dangerous so I ask that, as soon as she has a better grasp of her abilities, I would say within a few years at most, this bracelet is delivered back to the temple so it can be kept safe.”

“What happens if we don't return it?”

The question makes you tense up and close your hands around the bracelet, your voice coming out clipped as you answer him. “I'm not entirely sure as no one has ever attempted something so foolish as long as I've been here, but those types of transgressions are handled by the Goddess so I imagine you would not be able to keep it even if you tried.”

“I wasn't considering keeping it. I was merely curious,” he rushes to explain, sincerity dripping from every word and making you relax a bit.

“Curious?”

“If you would be the one to come for it,” he confessed.

A warm tingly feeling spreads through your body as you digest his words. Would he seriously consider stealing from a God just for a chance to see you again? Even if it meant being at the end of your wrath? Can you be confident the bond wouldn't drive you to such extremes as well?

“I can't leave the temple unattended,” you murmur, much too softly for your own good. Your emotions are running all over the place, it almost seems like they're fighting to see which one will take control of your body, and unfortunately, you have an inkling as to which is winning as his scent overwhelms your senses once again.

“Of course,” he says, taking a small step closer to you, shadows mostly retreating from his body, “Forgive me. I didn't mean to upset you.” Must his voice sound like a cup of hot chocolate after a day spent playing in the snow?

It doesn't help that you've been in this temple for so long that you can't even recall the last time someone touched you, not even sexually, no one has so much as held your hand or hugged you in decades, ever since your parents passed. Looking at him, you know you could get lost in his arms, your head resting against his strong chest.

It's only when you squeeze the bracelet too hard, a bit of its power zapping through you, that you're finally able to pull yourself from the beautiful hazel of his eyes, and your consuming thoughts. Clearing your throat and handing him the bracelet. He only hesitates a second, likely pulling himself out of the moment as well, before carefully taking it from your hand, conscious of not letting his skin touch yours, much to your dismay.

You can feel your eyes widen at the sight of his scarred hands before you have a chance to school your features. The armor he wears and the sword strapped between his wings tell you he's a warrior, but you can't imagine what could have happened for this injury to scar like this. Someone employed directly under the High Lord must have access to the best healers in the court. Suddenly, anger bubbles in the pit of your stomach at the thought that someone dared to hurt your mate.

This time he's the one to pull away from you abruptly, shadows returning to their master, and that infuriating string tugging at your heart as he does. It makes you want to reach out and hold his hand, reassure him somehow, but thankfully your brain catches up to the thought that might be overstepping, and so you simply nod at him and ask him to follow you back to the temple's main room once more.

The walk back is filled with a heavy atmosphere, not only considering your oversight, but also at the realization that you must send him away now, likely never to see him again. If you're lucky he will be the one to return the bracelet, and you will be able to see him in a few years. The thought makes you slow your pace.

It's only when you reach the heavy doors, that you allow yourself to turn to him, his face reflecting your feelings perfectly. You briefly consider mentioning the bond, at least to make sure he feels it too, but you fail to see what good that would bring. You still can't leave the temple and, now that he's gotten what he came for, he will not be able to return either. This will be the last time you see each other, regardless of your feelings.

He studies your face carefully, perhaps wondering the same. It seems he reaches a conclusion as he speaks up, “Can you tell me your name?” He sounded hopeful, but somehow scared of asking, as if denying him could hurt him beyond comparison.

You whisper your name hesitantly, knowing this isn't just another stranger, this was your mate. He repeats it, tasting it on his tongue as he stares at you with an intensity you almost couldn't bear, but were unable to look away from.

“My name is Azriel,” he offers willingly, like he wanted nothing more than to hear you say his name, and who were you to deny him this when you were already withholding so much? You repeat his name the same way he did yours, the impertinent little silver string connecting you and your mate reappearing as the delicious word left your lips.

You keep repeating it in your mind as he thanks you for your help and you watch him take flight, hesitation written in his entire body language as his wings slowly carry him over the clouds, looking back down multiple times as if fighting himself to keep moving. You repeat it once more out loud, when you can't see him anymore and you know he's out of earshot. This time his name is followed by a broken whisper of an apology.

⭒.˚ ☾⭒.˚

The flight back to Velaris was one of the hardest ones Azriel has ever attempted, noticeably taking him much longer than it would have under normal circumstances. He has had to fly back home on an injured body and even injured wings, carrying another with him – Cassian of all people – and he's had to fly through the most extreme weather, heavy rain, snow and the torrid desert sun. All of those things had seemed easy compared to what he was experiencing now with a well rested body.

Both Rhysand and Cassian had mentioned how the mating bond made them act differently, how it seemed like it was taking control of their body and pushing them to act a certain way, but he didn't expect it to be this bad. His every instinct was screaming at him to turn around and go back for his mate.

He even had to take a break along the way, after watching the temple disappear right before his eyes, hidden inside the spell that had kept it safe for millenia. As the sight of the brilliant building was replaced with trees and rocks, the only thing going through Azriel's mind was that he might never see his mate again, the mere thought sending his heart into disarray. He spends a good while sitting under the moonlight, looking ahead at where he knows she is, while his shadows do their best to comfort him. Trying desperately to wrap his head around everything that happened, and how much his life changed in such a short time.

If he had been given a warning, a chance to prepare himself, then maybe he would have approached things differently, but getting blindsided by a mating bond wasn't in his plans. In fact, it had been a good while since he had stopped hoping for a mate.

He had longed for one most of his life. For someone that not only was his equal, but was also able to connect to him in ways only those who have experienced such a thing can begin to comprehend. A person that would accept him no matter how wretched he was, how much blood he has had to wash off his hands for the sake of his court. Someone he would love with every breath in him, even if it ruined him completely.

So many don't truly believe in mating bonds until they see them in front of them, but Azriel always did. He'd seen the worst this world had to offer and knew that if there was such darkness, then its counterpart would be equally as strong. And what could be stronger and brighter than love?

It wasn't until his brothers found mates of their own within a year of each other that Azriel started truly wishing for one though. Before, it was nothing more than a dream, just as he had dreamt of flying when he was locked in his cell, of seeing his mother when his cruel father kept him away from her, but seeing the happiness the mating bond had brought his brothers and how amazing the connection they shared with their mates was, he couldn't help longing for the same.

That was until enough years passed, everyone around him happily mated or in loving relationships while he stood by and watched from the same dark corner of the room. Azriel had convinced himself he wasn't worthy of a mate, even now after seeing you he can't help but feel the same. You were perfect in every aspect of the word, a beacon of light even kept away in your temple, while Azriel was nothing more than a monster. The feared Spymaster of the Night Court. Always ready to drench his hands in blood for the sake of his family and his home, always covered in shadows. A lesser fae, Illyrian of all kinds.

You deserve someone better, of that much he's sure, but the Mother had decided you were equals, and Azriel didn't mind doing his best to be worthy of you even if he had to work for it for the rest of his life. He's been waiting to love someone for so long, has been saving all of that inside him, and he wants nothing more than to shower you in affection, in reverence. Except it didn't seem like he would have the chance.

For most of your interaction, Azriel was convinced you had also felt the bond forming between you two, but he couldn't be sure, not when you hadn't even mentioned it or alluded to it before showing him out. Maybe he had read too much into things, let his own feelings bleed into his analysis, or maybe you simply didn't want a mating bond, not with someone like him. It didn't seem like you knew of him, but who's to say you haven't heard of the awful things he's done, and decided you didn't want anything to do with a monster like him.

The thought had his shadows rushing to soothe him once more, whispering vehement denials of his unworthiness as they covered him. Unfortunately, they wouldn't answer any of his questions about you, claiming it wasn't their place to explain your feelings or situation. In a way they were right, but that left him with no idea of what to think.

Azriel sat on that mountain, mulling over everything that had happened until the first rays of the sun started rising over the horizon. It wasn't until Rhysand reached out to check on him, worried at his spymaster's unusual tardiness, that he resumed his trip back to Velaris, this time passing through shadows along the way to cut his time shorter, hoping his brother hadn't caught glimpse of the heartbreakingly beautiful female consuming his every thought. Trying desperately to clear his mind as the cool wind hit his face, preparing for the meeting that was waiting for him as soon as he got home.

“So the temple truly exists?” Rhysand had been as skeptical about the temple's existence as Azriel, finding it hard to believe that such a thing could be hidden in his own court without his knowledge.

Azriel nods and sets the books you've given him on the dark desk, dropping the bracelet on top of the pile carefully, trying not to be reminded of the way you had handed it to him, or focus on your scent still clinging to it faintly. Shaking himself out of it and letting the spymaster mask fall over his face, he starts explaining how he had found the temple behind a powerful spell, going into detail about the building itself, the keeper who had helped him and the books and bracelet given to him, including the warnings you gave him, making sure to stress the fact that the bracelet was to be returned as soon as Elain gained enough control of her abilities.

“You really didn't feel the wards around the temple?”

“No, if my shadows hadn't disappeared right before my eyes I wouldn't have even noticed they were there.” So much had happened that Azriel almost forgot how peculiar those wards were, in fact all the magic present in the temple and in you had felt different.

“And this keeper?” His heart speeds up treacherously, enough so that Rhys gets a curious glint in his purple eyes, undoubtedly noticing it. “Tell me about her.”

A soft scowl takes over his features, a strange possessiveness creeping up before has the chance to quell it. “She was waiting for me at the entrance. Apparently the Moon Goddess warned her there was a visitor coming.”

“She can talk to the Goddess?”

“It seems so,” Azriel hesitates for a moment, “Her magic is different from any fae I've seen. Her hair is completely white, and her eyes aren't much darker, maybe a bit more silver. There was a certain aura about her, her entire being seemed to glow beautifully under the moonlight, even more when we moved inside. She truly looked otherworldly. In that moment, she looked even more radiant than the stars and the moon combined.”

A moment of silence falls over the room as everyone digests Azriel's words, tiny gasps leaving Feyre and Elain, who had been out of it for most of the conversation as a result of yet another one of her visions, and Nesta's jaw dropping significantly as they were not used to hearing the Shadowsinger muse about someone like this. Unfortunately, the others have seen him drunk enough when he was younger, so it wasn't as much of a surprise.

“What was that, brother?” Cassian's teasing voice cuts through his thoughts, “I thought you didn't resort to poetry.”

Azriel looks up at this, heat rising to his cheeks at the amused looks shared by everyone in the room, realizing he had lost himself in his descriptions of you, unable to keep them as clinical as he normally would, especially when it came to a mission.

“I just meant her magic manifests in a way I've never seen before,” he finishes lamely, one of his shadows oh so helpfully crawling up his neck to notify him that no one seemed to believe his excuse.

“Right, her magic,” Nesta mocks, suddenly interested in hearing about the temple after focusing on the books that would be helping her sister.

Thankfully, Amren didn't care about whether he found the keeper beautiful or not, and wanted to keep the conversation on track, a bored expression on her face as she pulled the attention back to her and the topic at hand.

“You said she called herself the keeper of the temple, correct?”

Azriel nods at her while checking his mental walls just in case, lest he also let them fall in his moment of distraction, and his High Lord or Lady saw something they shouldn't. He can only guess what feelings and thoughts would be attached to your image in his mind. If they saw this he would never hear the end of it.

“I believe she not only can communicate with the Goddess but also shares some of her powers. It's hard to determine just how powerful she truly is,” the ancient one turns to Rhys and Feyre, a serious look taking over her features, “She could become a threat to us.”

“She's not a threat,” his voice cuts through the room, protecting his mate instinctively.

Rhysand raises one annoyingly perfect eyebrow at Azriel's sudden outburst. Some of the amusement still lingers around the room, but the anger behind his statement was undeniable, creating some tension and confusion between everyone. It's not often they see him so on edge, to the point of raising his voice at Amren of all people.

He tries to calm himself as much as possible, knowing this is a symptom of the mating bond and that his brothers and sister-in-laws might be able to figure that out, and tries to explain himself once again.

“I was the one who talked to her, there were no ill intentions when she guided me through the temple and gave me the books. She even added more books than we wanted or knew existed, and the bracelet. She helped us willingly.”

Amren studies him through narrowed eyes for a moment longer before finishing her earlier thought. “Even if she had any ill intentions, keepers are bound to their temples and can't physically leave, so there wouldn't be much to worry about.”

It feels like the world stops when Azriel hears these words. Every little hope he was clinging to in regards to your bond escaped him in that moment. If what Amren said was true, you couldn't leave the temple, even if you wanted to come and find him, and he couldn't find the temple unless he needed something and the Goddess showed him the way. He could very well never see you again, or only once more, when Elain got better and he had to deliver the books and bracelet back to the temple. Was that why you ignored the bond? Because you knew there was no hope for the two of you?

Azriel spends the rest of the meeting in a sort of trance, barely able to listen to what his family was talking about, or even register what they decided when it came to helping Elain use the books. It was impossible to focus on anything when it felt like his life, a dream that had barely started was crumbling right before his eyes. He only tunes back in when the meeting is over and most of the Inner Circle starts leaving, hoping he can at least go rest from his flight, take a long bath and find a quiet place to be alone and digest these life changing last few hours.

He was already on his feet, dragging his exhausted body to the door when Rhys called out his name, making him turn around in question. “There's something else we need to discuss.” His brother was always the most perceptive at the worst times. The last thing Azriel wants to do right now is discuss his miserable fate with anyone.

Everyone filters out the room then, even Feyre who drops a kiss on her mate's cheek before following her sister out - a gesture he's more than used to witnessing but bears a different weight today - leaving the two brothers alone in the quiet office. Azriel doesn't move from his spot, standing in the middle of the room with crossed arms as Rhysand studies him, daring him to start the conversation, secretly praying he simply has another mission to send him on instead of the conversation he's almost sure is about to start.

“Are you going to tell me what happened with this keeper?”

Azriel has to physically stop himself from sighing. Why couldn't the Mother let him have a moment after everything that has already happened in the last few hours?

“Nothing happened,” he sounds defensive even to himself, his mind too preoccupied to try and mask his emotions, “She gave me the books and then I left.” This much was true, unfortunately.

Rhys simply hums, always sounding irritatingly sure of himself. “So you wouldn't mind showing me your memories of last night, right? I'd like to take a good look at the temple. It seemed quite intriguing,” he pauses for a second, head tilting a fraction to the side, mouth forming into a smirk, “and so did she.”

A snarl escapes Azriel's mouth at his brother's words. Even if he knew he was being baited, controlling this damned bond was impossible right now. Rhysand's smirk only deepens, like a predator who successfully lured its prey, since his brother gives him the exact reaction he was expecting with that little comment. No wonder Azriel has to work so hard as his Spymaster, it's a miracle Rhys has lived this long.

“You look very defensive of a female you've only exchanged one simple conversation with.”

“Like I said before,” he says, that snarl not quite leaving his lips no matter how hard he tries, “She helped us without a second thought, even more than we expected. I just don't understand why everyone keeps insisting that she might be a threat.”

“I didn't say she was a threat, I simply asked you to show me what she looked like.” The High Lord taps his purple painted nails on the table, waiting for a response. When it becomes clear that Azriel isn't taking the bait, Rhys keeps going, “Can't blame me for being curious of how this keeper beautifully glows under the moonlight. She looked otherworldly, you said?”

The thought of assassinating his loving brother crosses Azriel's mind. He doesn't even know what to respond knowing those were his own words, and any reaction would be amplified by the mating bond. The High Lord had him right where he wanted him.

As he keeps staring at his brother, shadows climbing up his body until most of him is covered from those intense violet eyes, Rhysand's expression changes, a somewhat defeated look replacing the earlier amusement as he accepts that he'll have to pry the truth from his spymaster.

“Azriel, I've known you for over five centuries. I can tell when you're hiding something from me,” his face and tone turning even more serious as he continues, “I also know what a fresh mating bond feels like, the emotions it evokes in us.”

Azriel stares at his brother for another moment, before realizing there was no need to try and pretend he wasn't right, letting out a sigh before sitting down in the chair across from him defeatedly, shadows settling while his wings drooped, enough to touch the floor.

“If you already know, why are you asking me about it?”

“I didn't expect this to be your reaction,” he says, thoroughly studying Azriel's face. “I don't understand why you wouldn't be happy. I know it can be scary, but you've always wanted a mate, Az.”

“There's nothing to be happy about.”

Rhys simply rolls his eyes, “I know a bit more about mating bonds than you do. Trust me there's a lot to be happy about.”

His temper rises at this, emotions still not having settled - he's starting to wonder if they ever will. Even his shadows were becoming overstimulated, not knowing how to soothe their singer in these circumstances.

“Didn't you hear what Amren said? She can't leave the temple, she's bound to it, and I can't go back there since it's hidden under whatever spell that was,” the words almost caught in his throat, “I'm never seeing her again.”

Saying it out loud makes the whole situation unbearably real. It's not often Azriel sees himself in conversation such as these, always one to ignore his feelings for as long as possible, and then isolating himself when they become too much, but his brother knows him too well, as he said before, and was prying out everything too easily.

“I don't even know if she wanted this,” he finds himself whispering.

“Why wouldn't she?”

Azriel swallows all the self-pity, the unworthiness he felt when it came to you, or anyone else really. Diving into these feelings would lead them into a different conversation, one he wasn't sure he could handle, much less right now, and so he opts for the simpler answer.

“She didn't mention the bond once, she was ignoring it – if she even felt it at all,” he leans back and runs his hand through his hair, “my feelings were muddled the whole time I was there so I can't even know for sure.”

“You didn't tell her you were her mate either,” Rhysand reminds him.

Would things have gone a different way if he had? Or would you simply let him down as soon as he brought it up? Did it even matter? Would he be able to survive your rejection?

“She told you the temple showed itself for the people who needed it, right?” Azriel looks up at his brother, nodding. “Seems to me like you need to talk to her.”

⭒.˚ ☾⭒.˚

You're not entirely sure what one is supposed to do after finding their Mother-blessed mate, and then proceed to send them on their way, possibly to never return. Not being able to get even a wink of sleep and spending the next few hours searching your library for any information on mating bonds seems appropriate though. There wasn't anything written in these books that you didn't already know about mating bonds: extreme attraction, a connection of emotions, feelings of primal possessiveness, the possibility for a love unlike any other.

There was no mention of the silver string you'd seen tied around both of your hearts, but the bond seems to manifest itself differently for everyone, and the magic your Goddess has poured into you was peculiar to say the least. Even Azriel might not have seen or felt it manifest the same way you did, but that doesn't mean it's not there. Denying it is out of the picture at this point.

The section about rejecting mating bonds caught your eye, but it quickly soured your mood. It seems there's no way to reject a mating bond and hope for life to ever go back to normal, especially for males as they would always feel like a part of them was missing. The book didn't exactly go into depth on the topic – there can't be too many other idiots thinking of turning down a mating bond, – so it didn't mention anything about just ignoring the bond. Would it just fizzle out until you could barely feel anything, or would it end up with the same effects of a rejected bond? As much as you knew this bond was doomed from the start, you didn't want to convict Azriel to a lifetime of madness, or even worse. It was bad enough he couldn't get a mate out of you.

After your mood deflates at the bleak prospect for your future, and the sun has already replaced the moon, you decide to indulge yourself for a moment. Since your encounter had been so brief, you ended up not finding out too much about Azriel aside from his name, and, as much as there was a voice nagging at the back of your mind, warning you that trying to learn more about your mate won't help you in successfully ignoring the bond at all, you're still only fae and curiosity got the best of you. How could you not be curious about your mate?

You'd heard stories about a shadowsinger working under the High Lord of the Night Court, but you didn't know if that was him as the High Lord had changed since then. If it was though, this would make him a truly important figure for this court, country even. You can't help but feel proud at the thought.

Your search for information on Shadowsingers soon proves fruitless, not being able to find much else aside from their abilities to communicate with shadows, rare as they are, so you move onto researching winged fae instead, in hopes of finding out what kind he is. There are various kinds, this much you know, but for some reason you've always imagined them all to have feathered wings. It's at times like these that you wished you had traveled more when you were younger.

Most of the day is spent like this, tucked into your favorite sofa in the library, the temple refilling your teacup and offering you little snacks as you search for any bit of information that could help you understand who Azriel is. A tug on your silver string finally pulls you out of the moment, body immediately going into alert as you feel your mate nearing. These feelings are entirely too abstract, there's no way of knowing if he's flying over the temple or simply a bit closer than he had been an hour prior - which could still be halfway across the Night Court. You'd also found in one of the books that mates could attempt reaching out to each other through the bond, the descriptions of the resulting feeling appearing quite similar to what you were experiencing at the moment.

You try to ignore it and carry on reading your book on wings - the irony not lost on you - but the string keeps tugging incessantly, even more firmly now, and you suddenly get the feeling that he was actually close, possibly even trying to reach out at the same time or following the bond.

Had he come looking for you? You told him the temple kept itself hidden unless the visitor needed something from within these walls and the Goddess allowed them passage. He had to know that he wouldn't find anything more than trees and shrubs in this forest, the temple keeping itself out of sight even if he had been here before and knew its exact location, such were the wards around this place.

Putting away the book and sitting up on the sofa, you wonder what you should do. There's no way of communicating with him, and you won't be able to let him in, no matter how desperate you were since that decision was not your own to make. Your role was to protect the temple, but you knew he wasn't a threat either. Were you to simply stand by and watch while he looked for you, only to be met with silence? The Mother seems to have a twisted sense of humor.

As you were preparing yourself mentally for what you assumed were going to be a tough few hours, you feel the unmistakable sign of someone passing through the barrier, prompting you to stand up and winnow straight to the main hall, opening the front doors in a rush, only to find a familiar dark figure waiting for you.

If you weren't witnessing it with your own eyes, if your heart wasn't beating at that rhythm that seemed reserved solely for him, you wouldn't have believed this to be true. Your feet move of their own accord, carrying you towards your mate as he stands at the entrance to your temple, a contagiously hopeful expression on his face as he watches you move to him.

“How did you get here?” You can't help the dumb question, not being able to understand what is happening in the midst of your surprise and every other feeling that came with his presence.

“I needed to talk to you,” he explains in a breathy tone, smiling down at you like he wasn't sure if this would have worked either, if he was actually going to be able to find you.

The Goddess showed him the way, if She hadn't he wouldn't have been able to find you, even with any shadowsinger trick he might have had up his sleeve. Could She know he's your mate? She had been the one to warn you of his arrival the day before after all.

You're still trying to gather your thoughts when he continues, skipping over all the pleasantries as if he couldn't keep the words in any longer.

“You're my mate.”

Hearing the word coming from his mouth makes your heart soar, a tingling feeling spreading over your entire body as if lava was now running through your veins. This was not a confession you needed to hear, but the bond welcomed it anyway.

“I know,” you admit, a bittersweet smile overtaking your features.

“Are you unhappy with it? With me?” You quickly shake your head in denial, but he continues before you have the chance to explain, “I would understand it if you were, and if you don't want the bond, I won't force you to accept it. I promise I will never hurt you.”

Is this what has been going through his mind since he left? That you wouldn't want him? The thought makes you swallow, you've only wanted to spare him as much pain as you could, not hurt him more yourself.

“Azriel, that's not it. There's nothing wrong with you, or any reason I wouldn't want you as my mate” you assure, “but I swore my life to protecting this temple, and I can't physically leave the grounds. That's not fair to you.”

He doesn't seem to be surprised at the information, meaning he was probably already aware of your predicament and decided to come talk to you anyway, but he still takes a moment before speaking, thinking through his words as he watches you, shadows coming up to whisper in his ear.

“Did you make a vow of chastity or anything similar?” The question takes you aback for a second, heat rising to your cheeks at the implication.

“Not explicitly, no,” you clear your throat, “but it's hard to keep a relationship when you're bound to a temple hidden in the middle of nowhere. I can't even walk past the first few steps.”

Azriel looks behind him at your words. If he took a few steps down, you wouldn't be able to follow him, a different set of wards keeping you within these grounds. When he meets your eyes once again, you add carefully, “This isn't a relationship worth pursuing when we both know it won't end up working.”

“I think I would like to decide that for myself,” he says as he takes a small step closer to you, “if you'll allow me.”

“What?”

“I would like to come visit you whenever I can, and get to know you. This… I don't think we should throw away a chance like this so lightly, not without at least giving it a try.” He closes most of the distance between you, raising up his hand and holding his palm up for you to take, “Even if it never becomes a romantic relationship, or if it ends up breaking both of our hearts, I don't want to be the person who didn't fight for something so special in fear of getting hurt.”

You watch his hand as you mull over his words. It's not as if he doesn't make sense in his argument, you're more than aware how downright stupid it is to throw away a mating bond when some people spend their whole lives searching for one, but you're scared, for both of your sakes. Letting your mate into your life, even without accepting the bond, knowing that there will come a time when you will want more from it than what you're capable of having would not simply hurt you both, but change both of your lives beyond recognition – it could even kill you. And yet, staring into his hopeful eyes every little reason why you should be turning him down, walking back into the temple and closing the door behind you, seems to escape your mind.

When his hand lowers slightly, wings drooping as well, possibly taking your hesitation as denial, your hand moves to hold his instinctively, surprising the both of you. You had been kidding yourself into thinking you could fight a bond like this. The smallest sign that your mate would leave and your body moved to keep him by your side. Your decision has been made. You can only hope the Gods will have mercy on you.

“I would like to get to know you too, Azriel,” you say, squeezing his hand in yours as a blinding smile takes over his devastatingly handsome face. “As long as the Goddess shows you the way to the temple, I don't see anything wrong with… talking.”

He lets his thumb run over the back of your hand before raising it to his lips, sending your heart into disarray as he leaves a soft kiss on your skin. A flush covers the tip of his ears, and you catch a flash of the silver string connecting the both of you.

“Then I promise to come see you as often as I can.” He lets your hands fall between you two, fingers still intertwined as you stare at each other like fools. You catch yourself after a moment, thanking the Mother for living in this isolated mountain for once so no one could witness this.

“Do you want to come in? You must be tired after your flight,” you invite, letting go of his hand, missing the warmth of his skin immediately.

His gaze drops to your hand before meeting yours once again and nodding, following you inside into the main hall he had been in before. It looked different in the light of day, his hazel eyes studying it once more.

“I didn't fly all the way here,” he starts, gaze still stuck on the stone covered walls, “I can travel through shadows, similarly to how most high fae can winnow.”

“Oh.” You watch as his shadows move lazily around him, coming up his legs. “Is that one of your shadowsinger abilities?”

“Yes.” You wanted to ask more, your earlier curiosity returning, but you find a conflicted expression when he meets your eyes, you can also feel it in your chest, and so you wait for him to decide if he wants to share it with you.

“I'm not high fae,” he admits.

“Right, the wings,” you let out, much too excitedly, as your eyes fall on the huge appendages on his back, “I've never met anyone with wings, and haven't even heard of featherless wings. I searched in the library for types of winged fae, but most of our collection is a bit outdated, and the Goddess was never too interested in those sorts of things so I couldn't find anything that fit your description.” Your mind finally catches up to your words then, eyes widening before falling to your hands as you play with your fingers, and add lamely, “I have a lot of time on my hands here, and I didn't think I'd see you again so…”

You dare a look at his face when his silence drags on too long, finding him watching you with a surprised expression, wide hazel eyes staring into your white ones. His shadows had crept up his neck once again - singing to him you suppose.

Azriel finally finds his words after another moment, your eyes not straying from his for a second, “I'm Illyrian,” he starts, studying your face carefully before continuing, “As far as I know, we're the only ones whose wings have no feathers.”

“Illyrian?”

“Have you heard of it?” He seems scared somehow, but you're not exactly sure why he would be. You try to remember where you've heard the word before, only taking you a moment to remember them as people who live in the mountains up in the north, and were part of the High Lord's army.

“Yes. I know they're people who live in the mountains, and fought in the war but I didn't even know you had wings,” you gesture to them, “I didn't get much of a chance to travel before I came to the temple, so I've never met any Illyrians.”

“That's all you've heard?” You nod slowly, eyebrows furrowing at his insistence. “Illyrians have an unfavorable reputation. The males train their whole lives to fight, and the females aren't regarded as much more than a means for procreation,” he explains further, “Some have started changing their ways, slowly, but most camps insist on their traditions, no matter how cruel. They- We just don't have a good reputation.”

You start understanding where he was getting at. Some fae had trouble opening their eyes to how the world was changing around them, choosing to remain willfully ignorant to the harm it brought those who were different from them, who they deemed as lesser. He was scared that, had you heard about whatever cruelty he's seen from his peers, you would judge him for it. You feel a little offended that he would think so lowly of you, but the truth is he doesn't know you at all, or you him.

“It's hard to outlive archaic traditions when we live for centuries. I wouldn't ever dream of passing judgment on an entire group of people for the beliefs some of its members insist on clinging onto,” you clasp your hands together behind your back, shrugging as you smile up at him, “and I might be biased, or even wrong, but I think you're very kind, Azriel. You came all the way here to help your friend, with no real proof that you'd find what you were looking for, and then you came back to ask permission to visit me, even when you thought I might not accept it. Cruel is the last word I'd use to describe you. I'd rather go with sweet.”

“Sweet?” He asks, a flush rising to his cheeks and a bashful smile finally erasing that conflicted expression off his face. “You think I'm sweet?” You hum in agreement, your grin growing so large it hurts your cheeks. “I'll have to let my mother know at last someone agrees with her.”

You let out a laugh, the image of a baby Azriel getting showered in praises from his mother entering your mind. You almost have trouble imagining him as a child, but you have no doubts he was more than sweet, adorable even, with his round cheeks and small wings.

“So…” You lean back on your heels, intertwining your hands behind your back. “Do you want me to show you around the temple?”

“I would love to,” he agrees with a blinding smile on his face.

#azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fic #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader

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venmondiese · 6 months

Text

Stress Relieving Purposes

For @targaryen-dynasty sleepover challenge, again thank you so much!!

Trope is friends with benefits and the AU is College AU. The prompts are 23: “this is a one time thing” and 129: “i can’t hold back anymore”

Summary: Exam week is probably one of the worst things humankind has to experience in college, so you have a brilliant idea for you and your bestfriend; get laid. For that, a study group might help you get closer to those you wanna get with. but fate is always a funny thing

✧Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader ✧Warnings: MDNI 18+, p in v sex, masturbation (m), (kind of?) sex video, car sex, praising kink, degradation kink, dom/sub undertones, oral sex (m receiving), ✧Word Count: 10.5k ✧taglist: @qyburnsghost ✧˖°⊹♡ @cupidelocke ⋆⁺₊⋆ ✧Note: I am so happy and excited, because i loved the trope, au and prompt given to me. I spent days thinking how to make it perfect (i wrote like 4 versions of this, lol) and i am proud of the results. Yes, I went insane and wrote exactly 10529 words, but hey, who is counting?

Aemond Targaryen was always an unconventional man. Even so, an unconventional friend. Maybe you spoke too much, always an extrovert, and he was more reserved. You were always admired by many, and he was always repealing the simps.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Aegon’s party?” You ask almost offended by him, as she comes to sit by his side. He rolls his eye as he turns to look at you.

“I thought you were in Epistemology by now”

“I was” you say to him “But do I care? no. I care more for why you didn’t tell me, Cregan Stark was there” You say to him and patting his shoulder as if wanting him to realise the seriousness of the situation. “Cregan Stark!” You repeat in a low tone.

“Maybe that’s why I didn’t tell you...” he says trying to refocus on the paper in front of him, both hands in his temple as he tries to ignore you, yet you appear in his good eye peripheral view.

“Come on, why didn’t you invite me? I thought we were friends” you say looking at him like a wet puppy.

“Do not start-”

“I’ll ask Aegon to do another” you say quickly “He’ll let me go”

“He’ll be the one to try to get in your pants” Aemond says, not looking at you. “And you need someone to present to you to Jace, so he can present Cregan to you. Aegon will do no best than to embarrass you”

You hum, as he knows your intentions well. He was your best friend since the start of college, and you two… worked together. He had your back, and you had his; he heard you ramble about your weekly crush and you heard about the books he read. Of course a friendship between you both was good, as you have managed to get along and become close. Yet, Aemond could not deny the sexual tension sometimes.

As if you didn’t catch him looking at your boobs. As if he didn’t catch you looking at his body in the gym.

“So go with me to convince him” you beg him.

“I am not in mood for parties”

“Because of Alys?” She asks, sighing and rolling her eyes “Get over her, it’s like the twentieth time you two broke up.”

“Seventh time, and it’s not that” he corrects you, turning his head to look at you, and you roll your eyes.

“It is that, I know you” You say looking at him and she takes his right hand and she inspects it “Aha!” You turned his hand to his face “The body of the crime. You have been picking your fingernails” You expose him so easily.

“It was one time, and it is because I have a damn exam Monday that my brain cannot seem to want to study” He says, sighing, and showing you the papers. He looks stressed, like the little eye bags under his eyes tell you enough.

You look at him, and you press your lips together. “Then you need a distraction, like.. Going to a party?”

“Absolutely not” he says, rolling his eyes. “University is for study. Not for parties” He says, looking at you almost scolding you.

“Come on, what did you do when you needed to relieve stress from the last exam season?”

“Alys” he responds with a smirk, which makes you gag. “And things with her that you don’t wanna know.”

“First of all, ew” You say looking at him as you are basically seated on the weirdest position by his side, your elbow resting on the table as you are turned to him, keeping the conversation alive. “Second of all, Alys? Really? You could go to a party and..”

“No parties”

You remain silent a bit as he starts to refocus his attention on his papers, but you can’t just keep quiet, it seems.

“Then get laid”

“I swear to the gods-”

“But think about it!” You say, and you can hear the ´shhh´somewhere in the library, so you sigh “Think about it” You repeat almost in a whisper “Let’s say, I present to you… Floris Baratheon, or anyone else from my friend group. You present me Cregan Stark, and we both get laid. You then, wake up tomorrow with a renewed energy to study to your political philosophy exam, and you get a perfect score as you always did… before her”

“Do you truly think getting laid will help me study? You are so delusional” He shakes his head as he searches for his last essay to have something to study.

“Ouch, rude.” You state “But it will help. She broke your heart!” Your whisper is loud, as if scolding him. “And you are miserable for it, if you don’t believe me, ask your fingers; if they are not too busy bleeding” You add sarcastically.

He squints his eyes at you, and he sighs. You were insufferable, in more than one way. But most of the time, you were right. In an odd and annoying way, you were right. He wasn’t concentrating, at all. No matter how hard he forced himself, it wasn’t working.

“It is clouding your mind. You have to get rid of the problem by root; you either let your frustrations go away, or we just gonna have to kill Alys” You say shrugging.

“Absolutely not.” He says and he rolls his eyes.

He looks at how you really want this, and he sighs. Maybe he could do something that could benefit you both.

“Maybe I could invite them to our study session” He says, almost instantly regretting his choice, but you seem too excited to care.

“Oh… That’s brilliant!” You say excited and you lean to kiss his cheek in excitement, and you lean back.

“I’ll invite Jace, and tell him to bring his friend group. The northerner will be there” He added.

“That is brilliant, truly brilliant” You repeat, and he has to roll his eye at how amazed you seem by his ideas. “We get to study, and then get laid.”

“It’s a study group, not an orgy” He clarifies.

“I know, imbecile. I mean, study… and then after, Cregan and I go to your room…”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT” he clarifies very quickly, and someone also shushes him. “It's going to be in Aegon’s house. I am not risking my own home for people to come, besides, Vhagar hates visits”

“Whatever, it is so exciting!” You say clapping happily as he collects all his papers and books, and the same student at your side tries to shush you again. “I’ll invite Floris and you Cregan”

“You just want to get laid” Aemond says in a sigh.

“You do too” You say, smirking. “For stress relieving purposes”

The thing that Aemond finds annoying, apart from your obnoxious talking, is how indecisive you were sometimes. You would worry and obsess over the smallest details out of control. And it probably bothered him because he was the same.

Much hours later, he was sitting on your bed, as he checked his phone. The photo of him and Alys was still one of the last things in his gallery, and he often looked at it, looking at her smile, at her eyes, and how her hand rested on his leather jacket. He looked happy; as happy as Aemond can look. She has her typical red lipstick, and her hands with the perfect manicure that he liked when scratched his hair.

He sighs, and he bites his lip without knowing what to feel, he hates her, he misses her. But he knows it is for the best to let her go.

“Do not tell me you are looking at her photos” You say on the other side of your dorm, as you apply the last parts of your makeup.

“Can’t I miss her?” He asks you.

“You can, and you will. She was your girlfriend.” The little shrug and how you look away knows you are not teasing him as usual. “You weren’t on the same page”

“How can someone… old can be so… indecisive and not know what they want?”

“Old but immature” You say, rolling your eyes. “I am not one to hate women, you know it is not my style, but I swear, that woman..:”

“I know” He says, turning off his phone, and he turns his head to look at you. “Do you think I'm over that so fast?" he sighs, feeling a little bit of relief as she is serious about the matter. Even if she always teased, she was a good listener when needed. "I don't know what is wrong with me. I miss her, and every time I see a woman I compare them to her" he mutters rubbing his eyes a bit.

“I have been there” You say as you keep applying some blush on your cheek, looking at yourself in the mirror as you keep the conversation flowing. “It is not the end of the world. It sounds mean, but… Nobody died, the world didn’t explode…”

“I know” he murmurs, and he sighs. “But I miss her” he insists.

“Oh, yeah” You roll your eyes as he clearly didn’t hear anything you said at all, turning your head to face him. You smirk almost mischievously as your eyebrows raise a bit “Poor Aemond, missing his sugar mommy”

“She was not my sugar mommy”

“She was the grandma to your Aaron Taylor Joy. The Elvis to your Pricilla, the… Woody Allen to your… I don’t know the name of his stepdaughter.”

Aemond has to laugh at that, because as ridiculous you were, you always made him laugh with your stupid things. It makes him feel better, because he is always serious, and you are so unserious.

“Shut up” he says laughing a bit, and he sighs, feeling slightly better.

“Point is, she is much older and you are much… inexperienced in the field.” You say with a nod “And you are far better not having to live up to her expectations” His hum is the only thing he does, and at least you know he heard you.

“I thought you liked her. When we were together you always were friendly, sharing makeup and stuff” He murmurs.

“I am always going to be a friend of your girlfriends, and a hater when they are your exes.”

You stand up after finishing your makeup, trying to look tidy and clean before the mirror, and you accommodate your hair so it looks fine. It is a bit endearing how you try to look as best as possible, as you reach for perfume before applying it from head to toe.

You look amazing, he has to admit. You wear a green skirt with a black tie front top, very revealing in his opinion, but it was still cute. You even took the time to search for a headband to match it all, which made him chuckle a bit. Even your makeup noted the effort you put into this outfit, and he knew very well what you wanted; to get laid.

“So, I thought that maybe the heels were too much, but these boots are really..”

“We are just going over to study… Wait, are you ovulating?” He asks, looking at the date on his phone, and he looks at you.

“Maybe? Are you asking me that because I wanna get laid?” You say unsure why he asks. “Shut up” you murmur amused at the idea.

He knows you are, for sure. He wasn’t too sure what the effect of ovulation was on women, but for some reason, they were always hotter in those days. At least, you were right now; your figure was well defined, he could even swear your breasts were rounder and firmer. His fingers tap his own thigh as he thinks deep about it, as you ramble about your outfit.

“I can see your ass” He says, looking at you.

“That’s the whole point” You add moving your top a little lower, so your boobs are practically spilling out. “To make him drool for me”

“In a study group…”

“If I like a man, I wanna see him hard just from the sight of me” You clarify as you accommodate your hair.

Aemond is not listening to you. You move slightly as you look in the mirror, and the way you lean to make sure your tits look decent, tempting but not obscene. He has a good view of it, your tits are definitely different. Is it because you are ovulating?

Because you look absolutely gorgeous, showing skin yet it isn’t so indecent. Suggestive? Yes. But it doesn’t make you look bad. It is reasonable. Why do you look so good, though?

“I think I know what is missing” You say as you walk to search for one of your favourite earrings.

As you lean to grab your earring, you quickly put them on and you nod at yourself; you look good. You like it, you feel confident enough to go to a man and flirt.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask, feeling Aemond’s eyes bore into your skin, and you look at his reflection in the mirror, and he looks back at you.

“Like what?” He asks in a raspy tone as he accommodates in the bed, sitting with open legs as he plays with his phone in his hands.

“I don’t know” you shrug. “Is it so bad?”

“Horribly bad” he says, trying to tease you but it sounds strangled and you nod satisfied.

As you finish some touches on your outfit, you look at him and nod, “ I am satisfied with that”

He hums, using his phone once again and seeing the image of Alys that was still there when he unlocked his own phone. She was radiant, of course. She was always so… Convincing. But for now, at least, it isn't her who he lusts after. It feels a bit like a betrayal, even if he wasn’t hers and she wasn’t his anymore. Yet… he does not feel guilty.

“One would say that at the seventh time you would have learned something” You say teasingly, and you are quick to move and grab his phone from your hands. “To delete the pictures”

“Give it back” he says trying to grab his phone, quickly standing up and moving his hands, following yours as you try to dodge his attempts. “It isn’t funny”

“It only hurts you, you look like a wet puppy-”

“I don’t want to let her go”

“You must” you insist and he has both arms at the side of your waist, his hands trying to grab his phone behind your back. “Let me delete them. You clearly can’t”

“No”

“You need it”

“It is the only thing I have left” He insists, a bit defeated by it all, he was stubborn (As you also were)

“Trust me” you say softly, looking at him with your kind eyes. Kinder than his ever were. “Trust me” you repeat looking at him.

He sighs, his body against yours and his arms grabbing your wrists. He lets go of his firm grip, but he doesn’t move. He looks at you, with deep eyes and lost in thought. Maybe too close, for your opinion, since his chest practically presses against yours and his breath hits your own face.

“I don’t want to be here when it happens” he murmurs.

“Wait in the car then” you say looking at him. “I’ll delete most of them. Won’t take me more than five minutes”

“Don’t inscribe me in a essosi gay porn site or something, my mum would kill me if she ever-” he says looking at her with slight worry.

“Go” you insist, taking his phone in his hands.

His lockscreen was a picture of Vhagar, the little grumpy thing frowning as much as a cat can, even if it is adorable it was still just a quick change from the Alys wallpaper.

Aemond is probably the most organised person in your friend group,so when you enter his gallery you see all the carpets with photos.

Alys pops up first, as her name started with the first letter in the alphabet. You look at the photo in the cover of the file, and you roll your eyes at the photo. You press the file and it is all photos of her, some with him, some alone. You press one, of where he seems all smiles and she kisses his cheek, and then you select all of those and you sigh.

It was even hard for you, it felt a bit wrong. But you just press delete all the files, and then all 148 photos and videos are gone. You watch the album disappear and back the rest of the albums.

There was one of you.

You frown a bit confused, and there are a lot of moments with you that he organised. You can see some of the photos of the plates you eat together and you posing at the background, ruining his photos (as you like to call it)

There are some selfies, and some photos of you, totally unaware of his doing, you have to giggle a bit, because probably half of them you looked terribly, but you knew he was a gentleman enough to delete those ones

And there is the video.

You do not recognise what it could be at first, the photo of the preview was oddly just the ceiling and the top of his silver hair. You frown confused, because it was mildly recent and you do not remember a video. Aemond wasn’t a fan of videos either, he preferred the immortality of photos.

You hesitantly press it, and the video starts as Aemond sat on his couch. Was it his apartment? Yes. By his clothes, you knew that he came right after the gym. He was wearing that tight black shirt and his sweatpants.

“Tis’ stupid” he murmurs as he sits, and he sighs. You see how he accommodates the camera on the coffee table in front of the couch, and he takes a bit to get it at the right angle. You don’t understand much, as the angle only shows his lower body part, from his torso to his knees.

Once you understand, he is already lowering his sweatpants to his knees, and he sighs. You freeze in place as his very prominent erection comes to light, almost jumping once free from his pants, and he is quick to grab it with his hands, just taunting it softly.

“I’m really horny” he says and he chuckles a bit, embarrassed, you could tell. He was a bit awkward as he presented his erection to the camera. “For you, really…” He admits in a low murmur.

You really don’t see what happens with his hand off camera, but he then starts to slowly caress his erection. That man, your best friend. And you are paralysed looking at that. As he whimpers and masturbates for a camera, his pale skin from his thighs and abdomen showing, and you could see the ring with dragon scales that he never takes off.

“That’s it” he murmurs in a low tone, almost muffled by the microphone as he leans back on the sofa, showing you more of his chest and part of his chin, as he licks his lips. His hands stroke his cock softly, as you can see his right hand goes down to fondle his balls, as the palm of his left hand moves to the tip of his dick and starts moving around it.

It’s… weird, to say the least. You never saw, or thought about him this way. Okay. Scratch that. You never had entertained the idea of him doing this. The idea that Aemond… could be hot. Of course you knew he was hot, but it was different seeing him masturbate as he whimpers and fucks his hand for a camera. And it was… strange. The pleasure accumulating on your belly as you heard him curse. It felt… betraying. Somehow.

“Fuck, Alys-”

You instantly pause the video at that. The name of her is like a bucket of cold water thrown at you, and you snap back into reality. You can feel your cheeks red, and embarrassment floods your senses. Almost trembling, you close all applications and then sigh.

He must have organised it wrongly. You are sure of that. Maybe he meant to delete it? And accidentally ended on your carpet? Weird, but somehow ended there. He must have not meant it, of course… It wasn’t like a tribute to you, probably meant for Alys, since he obviously moaned her name and talked to the camera as if putting on a show.

Ew. Alys really managed to convince the reserved Aemond Targaryen to do this? You are actually quite intrigued and a bit impressed by her.

Once you enter the car, Aemond is resting his head back on his seat, and he barely opens his eyes to look at you, barely turning his head to watch you.

“And?”

“I successfully did the task. And now you joined the Night’s Watch, so don’t worry about that”

“Ha ha” he says, taking his phone back, without more suspicion he just puts it in his pocket. You blink a bit looking at his arms and his lap, and you turn your head to the road.

You two stand in silence as the short drive to Aegon’s apartment, and since Aemond gets brother’s privileges, he totally uses Aegon’s parking spot.

“And his car?” You ask, confused as he parks in the place that clearly has an ‘22F’ and not the one for visits.

“You think that he still has a car? He probably already crashed it while drunk”

“To be fair, I didn’t know what I expected” you shrugged “And I suppose that his career…”

“Yep. He dropped out of Graphic design.” Aemond says without much care, since everyone was used to Aegon just dropping out of college each week. He turned off the engine and looked at you. “So… Cregan Stark”

“Yes, Cregan Stark” you say, as it is your main goal for tonight.

“What is your plan?” He asks leaving the keys in his pocket as he turns to look at you still, the car was off but you two stayed there.

“Well, I go there and I greet him”

“Uh huh…”

“No, no, your nephew. Yeah, so you present me to Jace. And you ask him to present me to Cregan”

“But… what about the impressions?” He looks at you expectantly “You don’t want to be the weird friend from my best friend’s uncle”

“Well, I can’t just… go there and throw myself at him.”

“Okay” He says resting his hands on his thighs, and he taps them “Pretend I am Cregan”

“That is so lame…”

“We did that when I wanted to talk to Alys, remember that you pretended to be her?” He says with a smirk, and he looks at you with a nod.

“Look where it got us” You murmur and he rolls his eyes “Fine, okay, I’ll… stay there”

You step out of the car and sigh. Luckily, there was no one else in the parking lot to judge your weird tradition. You play with the door handle and pretend that you are truly going to talk to Cregan Stark.

“Hey” You say sitting and looking at him.

“Hey” Cregan would say. You move your hair a bit and you smile a bit.

You present yourself and extend your hand, and Cregan would shake it. He was surely very polite, you both knew. So you continue.

“I just saw you from afar and wanted to talk to you” You start saying, as your fingers play with the edge of your skirt as you look at your lap. “Like, outside from the study session, of course…”

“You have to look at him” Aemond murmurs, stepping out of character.

Right. “You surely have seen me in some of Jace’s parties, and in some classes” You add.

“Oh, yeah. I remember his Sevenmas party” Cregan would say, and crossing his arms.

“Yeah! You remember…” Your voice is more light, and you would look at Cregan. “I had a good first impression from you”

“From accidentally throwing Jace’s Sevenmas tree downstairs?” Aemond Cregan would laugh, and you laugh a bit as he leans back on his seat, his hands in his pockets. He is attractive, and you press your thighs together as you accommodate in your seat as well, your body turning to face him even more as your attraction increases.

“It was a bit funny, but it wasn’t… It was a human mistake. I thought it was cute” You say with a thin smile.

“You helped to clean that mess, if I recall” He would point out.

You nod. Even if the real Cregan doesn’t know that, because he was not aware of what happened after he threw it, since he was very much intoxicated and they took him to another room. Aemond and you helped Jace to clean the place.

“I assure you it was nothing.” You insist “I saw you in the campus another times, and I never had the courage to get closer to you”

“Oh, why is that?”

“Well… You don’t…” You hesitate to open your feelings, but fuck it. “You don’t seem the type of men that like girls like me”

“Girls like you?”

You nod and smile a bit embarrassed, looking down at your lap. “Well, You are obviously out of my league”

“I wouldn’t say so” His voice hesitates.

“I would. You are like a superstar in College. I am not.” You shrug a bit, and hum in deep thought.

“Maybe” Cregan would say “Doesn’t feel like it”

“You surely are after pretty girls, like… Cassandra Baratheon or.. Elinor Massey”

“I am looking at a pretty girl” His hand reaches yours, and you look up. His hand is warm, much bigger than yours and very comforting as he squeezes your a bit. Not Cregan, but Aemond. “What makes you think that I don’t like you?”

You blink, a bit unsure. “I…”

“Because I certainly like you very much” Aemond goes on, smiling very subtly, but it was very alluring to you, and his thumb caressed the back of your hand. “You certainly are a beautiful woman. Who wouldn’t want you?” He asks, leaning a bit closer to you and you look a bit hesitant.

“You must be jesting with me” You add, trying to remain confident, but Aemond was doing his doings.

“I certainly am not”

“Then I must insist on kissing you” You add reincorporating and also leaning close to him. “It would be a waste if not…”

Aemond smirks, and his breath hits your face. You knew that he smoked as he waited for you when you deleted his photos, because he smells like cigarettes. You look at his face, his eye looking at your lips and then at your eyes briefly. You both look at each other as your breath and his are practically merging.

“Isn’t it logical?” You murmur, looking at his eyes, and tauntingly you move your chin closer.

You would kiss him right here and now. You remember the video, how you could see his pretty lips and the whimpers that came out of it. How his big and firm hand caressed his cock, up and down and how his abdomen tightened thanks to it. How his balls seem so full and ready to cum…

He smirks. “It sounds like it…”

His phone rings.

You two separated, breaking off the fantasy of it. You sit paralysed in your seat, looking at the other cars parked horrified.

It was your best friend. Yes,you knew he was hot, you knew he was attractive and you certainly know how perfect his cock is, in more than one way. But we are talking about your Aemond. The one who wiped your tears away and the one who would pass book summaries for classes, and his notes for shared classes when you fell asleep.

“Aegon wants me to… uh, buy something…” He says, a bit awkward as well, as he doesn’t look at you, but just assumes you are hearing. “So… I’ll go, you can go up and wait there, yeah..”

Once you step out, you would hope for something else, but he just closes the door as you step out and he leaves in his car.

Other times he would give you Aegon’s house keys, for you to enter normally and do whatever you wanted, since you get brother’s best friend privileges. And Aegon never denied you hanging in his house.

So that is how you find yourself in the middle of the room with a terrified look as you look at the group of people seated in Aegon's living room.

“Hey, Aemond’s shadow” Aegon teases you as he stands up from the couches, and you look at him, a bit embarrassed since all of Jace friend’s

“M’not his shadow” You say trying to defend your image in front of the group.

“You definitely are” He says amused “Nothing to be ashamed of, darling”

“Oh, shush” you say hitting his shoulder “Have you started studying, anyways?” You ask him curiously.

“He told me you wanted to meet Cregan Stark” He whispers close to you, almost too nonchalantly to your taste.

“What, but… b-but Aegon, you’ll embarrass me!” You whisper in panic, as he drags you along, but he shakes his head.

“Aemond told me all ‘bout it. Don’t worry, you’ll be fucking him before you realise it. I’ll even let you fuck in my bedroom” he whispers in your ear before practically pushing you into the living room.

You frown a bit disgusted at the idea, and you hit his shoulder again. He could be very charming and fun, but you knew Aegon and his weird fixations. Who knew, maybe he even had a camera in his bedroom and you certainly didn’t want him to see that.

That reminds you of Aemond’s video. Gods be good, you say as you have to blush a bit at the memory.

“Here she is” Aegon says amused, and you tense your shoulders. Jace greets his uncle and you look at Cregan more shyly than you anticipated.“You sure met this lovely shy flower?”

You cringe at how he presents you, this is exactly why you wanted Aemond to do this job.

“Oh, yeah, yeah you helped me clean my Sevenmas tree when Cregan threw it downstairs” Jace recognizes you and you nod, giggling.

“Yep, it was me”

“Ugh that was so embarrassing” Cregan groans and you laugh a bit.

“it wasn’t as terrible as you think” you shrug.

“You just broke the millennial seven pointed star from my great great great… great great great grandfather Jaehaerys” Jace says, mocking him.

“I’m pretty sure you exaggerated the ‘great great great’ grandfather part”

“It is old as fuck” Aegon confirms with a nod.

“You wouldn’t know a relic even if it was in front of you” Sara mocks him. Aegon rolls his eyes as he goes to open the door of his house, since his other cousin, Baela also was invited.

“Oh, this is Sara, my sister” Cregan takes advantage of Aegon’s disappearance and introduces her to you, and you introduce yourself to her with a smile.

“Lovely name” she says smiling to you.

“She is my uncle’s best friend” Jace adds and Sara knows in acknowledgement, she then looks at both and asks.

“Which one, the hot one or the other?”

“The hot one” you respond with a confident nod.

“The other one” Jace contradicts you and you both look at each other blinking.

“Ohhh” Sara says a bit confused, amusedly as she looks between you both.

“Wait, you find Aegon hot?” You ask to Jace with a face frown

“Handsome in comparison” He clarifies making room for his dignity “And you find Aemond hot?”

“In comparison” You reply back with the same words. “He is my best friend”

Once you are all together, you think how silly this is. Studying together, how an awful excuse to get closer to Cregan. Aemond comes in some minutes later, sitting by your side on the couch. He doesn’t talk much as he takes out his books and notes.

“Floris, you came” you say as she was the only stranger in the group, and you make a space between Aemond and you, after all, you were playing cupid too. “Sit here!”

The thing with study groups is that everyone is on a different boat. You didn’t have many complaints, you have the same class but on other days, so you just swallow information as Aemond, Jace, Baela and Cregan are the ones more interested in the concepts since their exam is earlier than yours.

You watch Cregan speak, and how he is a bit wrong in central ideas, which Aemond is quick to point out, but you try to correct him smoothly and without making him feel useless.

At one point, you all agree to give up and ask for a pizza in the break, and after it to keep study (That’s what all study groups say before doing the opposite)

In the break, you can hear how Aegon, Baela, Jace and Sara are in the kitchen. Fighting with Aegon as he makes the call for the pizza, screaming at him how they do not want any pineapple on it. Floris has gone to the bathroom, and Cregan went to the balcony to smoke in peace.

You look helplessly as he leaves, and soon Aemond is talking to you.

“And?” he asks curiously, looking at where Cregan disappeared.

“He hates me” You tell him, looking at him with a sigh “He clearly has no interest in me, I didn’t know what I expected”

“I told you Aegon would fuck thing up” You roll your eyes and cross your arms.

“It is not fucked up” You add, stubbornly. “I still have a secret weapon”

“Showing him your tits doesn’t qualify as a secret weapon”

You hum in annoyance and decide to subtly change the subject “And Floris?”

“Too… perfect” He murmurs, not looking at you “I should go back to her.”

You look at him incredulously and hit his chest “Too perfect?” You ask with a snark “Just… hook up. She wants to” You shrug and pat his back

“Fine. I’ll hook up with her. Do not ask for a ride, because I’ll be busy”

“Hopefully, I will too” You say, excited at the idea “I'll be with him. Can you handle me a fag?” You ask.

“You don’t smoke” He says incredulously at the idea that you would fake smoking for a man.

“Ugh, fine, I’ll have to ask Cregan, how bad” you say mockingly as you stand up with a smile and walk to the balcony to open it.

Cregan is there and he turns to look at you. He acknowledges you with a nod, and you smile shyly as you close the sliding door.

“Hey. Care to share with a poor lady?” You say

He chuckles and handles you the cigarette, now minding to look at you as he leans on the balcony to look below at the ground. You put the cigarette in your mouth and before you can cough, you throw the air out. A pathetic attempt, but Cregan was not watching you anyways.

“I thought.. I thought you went to Winterfell’s Uni” you say looking at him, leaning on the balcony too as you pass the fag back to him. “Since, well, your family basically founded the institution”

“Oh, yeah, yeah” He says in a raspy tone as he scratches his beard a bit, crossing arms as he leans against the balcony to face inside of the flat, watching how Floris comes back from the bathroom. “But, Jace did two semesters there, and so as his best mate, it’s my turn to do the semesters… here” Cregan says with a nod.

“Oooh, how fancy” You say without really knowing what to say. With Aemond it had been easier, you just talked to him and flirted with him naturally (Because he was just acting as Crean, no other reason), but with the real Cregan it was awkward. “And… ehm, do you like it here?”

It was painfully and horribly awkward. You were tense, and more than attracted to him, you looked terrified.

“Yeah, yeah, College is fine, I guess” He shrugs, not really immersed in the talk as he smokes looking at the inside of Aegon’s flat.

“We… We actually share another class” You dare to speak again “Logical thinking, Wednesdays in the morning” you say looking at him with a bright smile.

“Does he always look at you like that?” He asks, pointing at the living room with his cigarette, before smoking another puff.

You turn your head to look where he pointed out, and you blink a bit. Aemond looks at you as Floris Baratheon is talking to him, she wears a pretty floral yellow dress and her long dark hair is loose. Floris has always been as beautiful as kind, and you know she has been interested in Aemond long enough. Not a crush, you’d say, maybe for a hookup.

“He is just looking after me” You clarify looking back at Cregan.

“Hm” he says, the cigarette on his lips, he lets out the smoke.

Cregan either didn’t care about Aemond, or he just ignored him, as he passed his cigarette to you, not looking if you properly smoked it.

“Thank you, you didn’t have to” You say smiling to him, and you hear how Jace and Aegon talk about drinking some vodka or tequila to ‘suppress the stress in the room’

“It was no problem” He says, with a chuckle looking inside again “You like vodka?”

“A little too strong for me” You say with a laugh.

“Oh” He says looking at you “Well, in the North you can buy one basically in every corner. More when it is Winter”

You blink a bit, and you nod. Did you just fucked up? Because you remember how offended Aemond was when you told him Dragons weren’t that cool. Maybe it was the same for Cregan… You look at him, and he is inside once again, not really minding at you.

“I am sure in the north it is more tasty” You try to save the situation, and you briefly look at where Floris is, but not at the sight of Aemond. “Which is your favourite flav-”

“Do you know Alysanne Blackwood?” He asks suddenly, and your cheeks burn due to that.

“Oh?” You ask confused.

“I do not mean to be rude” He adds, looking at you “You are a lovely lady, but you see.. I am after another girl. Like Jace’s uncle is after you”

“Aegon is not-”

“The other” He says as if it was obvious. “And I have been wanting to get with Alysanne for a long time, do you know about her business with Frey's girlfriend?”

You blink confused at him, and you shake your head slowly.

“No, not really…”

“Oh, a pity. Jace and I have been dying to know about it, to know if she is single, I mean. And if she is interested in men as she is to women..” From the start of the conversation, this is the most he has talked about. And it didn’t involve you. But his crush who he was after.

“I am pretty sure that…” You say looking at your hands, a bit nervous “That Oscar Tully must know, he is into gossip and-”

“Thank you” Cregan says smiling to you, before patting your shoulder and leaving you alone at the balcony, as Jace calls his name from inside to decide between vodka or tequila. You remain confused, ashamed and a bit awkward.

You walk inside to spot Floris once again. She has a juice glass on her hand and she is talking to Baela, both sitting on the couch, but you didn’t see Aemond.

“Hey, Flo” You say, patting her shoulder, and she smiles as you join them. “Have you seen Aemond?”

“Aemond?” She asks with a laugh, and she shakes her head “He wasn’t that interested in me, y’know, like I even offered to go to one of Aegon’s rooms, but he wasn’t in the mood.” She shrugs nonchalant, because that was Floris, she never made a deal if things didn’t end up happening.

“Oh” You say, a bit confused. He said he was going to go with her. “And he didn’t say..?”

“Nope” She shrugs “Maybe Aegon knows”

“If he is not too busy fighting with Jace about the drinks. Thanks”

As you pull Aegon aside, you can see how Jace and Cregan take out the vodka drink from Aegon’s collection and they offer it to everyone (Which is only the other three girls, but it was a majority)

“No idea. He said he was going to go to the gym, but I don’t think so. He took his cigarettes, so probably smoking” Aegon shrugs, as he makes himself a drink with tequila (You are very sure he got the measures wrong, because no drink has that much whisky) “Maybe he is in his car, texting Alys like the sad meow meow he claims to be”

You roll your eyes, but you thank him. You leave the apartment, in a different way you thought you would be leaving. Hopefully, with Cregan it was your bet. Now, it was all alone and in search of Aemond.

Once the lift leaves you on the parking floor, you walk a bit to encounter Aemond, his back leaning against the copilot's seat by his car, his phone on his right hand and a cigarette in his mouth. He doesn’t look like someone who was at a party, less someone who seems to be having fun.

“Hey” You say softly, finally speaking in a normal tone after so much noise.

Aemond looks up, frowning to see you in front of him like a wet puppy. “What are you doing here? And Cregan?”

You sigh, and you look at the ground. You tried, so hard. You did all kinds of juggling, for nothing. He wasn’t even interested in you, the whole time.

“Hey” He says as he throws his cigarette to step on it, and he saves his phone from his pocket, two steps and his arms are all around you, hugging you safely in his chest as his chin is in the top of your head. “It’s okay, it’s okay..” He says soothingly, rubbing your back as if he knew you would cry.

And you normally wouldn’t truly, but his soothing actions and caring nature makes you a bit more vulnerable than usual. Not crying, but you feel more disappointed as he tries to make it better.

“He is an asshole, you will get over him..” He says softly “It’s fine, do not…, I’m sorry” He says rubbing your back

“Tis not your fault” You murmur as you lean your head on his chest.

“I should’ve been the one to pair you with him, not leave Aegon to it”

“It would have gone horribly anyways.” You say, passing your arms in his waist to hug him back. It was nice to have him close and hugging you. “He is just… Not interested in me” You add, a bit frustrated. “Because I apparently suck and am the most boring girl ever”

“You are not” He says sternly, moving a bit back to look at you, and you look up at him “You don’t say that, you are…” He looks at your face, as if finding words as he tries to remember each tiniest detail of your expression; how your eyes look up to him, how your mouth is like a pout, and how your cheeks are a slight shade of pink. “You are incredibly amazing.”

You look at him for a moment, both of your faces so close and you look at his lips. He was so charmingly handsome, and the way he comforts you makes you feel secure enough to gain some confidence. And for him… he couldn’t bear it any longer, he can’t physically hold back.

The kiss you two share is maybe purely impulsive, or maybe it is the consequence of a long shared tension between you both. But at the moment, neither of you pay any mind to the fact.

In his arms, he has caged you and his hair briefly falls,touching the sides of your face and some of your cleavage. You squeeze him a bit in your embrace, kissing him back eagerly and it is slow, passionate and something that it was obviously longed for.

Aemond moves your hair to take it in his hands, his fist grabbing a handful of your hair as he moves his arms away from the hug, now holding you to stay as he deepens the kiss and his (and your) desire grow and grow.

Maybe you both didn’t want to stop the kiss not to face the consequences, how kissing a friend would potentially ruin your friendship, and nothing will ever be the same. You certainly don’t want the after talk about it afterwards.

“Mhm” Aemond says as you both separate. “This is much better, Yeah?” He says nuzzling his nose in your cheek as his voice is like soft silk. You were a bit confused of this all, of this weird way of comforting you. “You made sure to look so beautiful for a useless boy, mhm? Cregan Stark cannot call himself a man when he cannot appreciate a pretty girl like you.” He says softly, his hands caressing your back, and going down to the lower of your back, where your naked skin shows.

You are a bit confused, still leaning to his affections because damn if they aren’t nice. Your body practically craves it, part as to why you were so looking forward to getting laid.

“Aemond, we…”

“Shh, I know…” he murmurs as he leans to leave a little kiss on your neck. “But… we had a goal for tonight, hm? Didn’t we?” His tone is soothing, almost hypnotic. “It could do good for us” He adds softly, moving your hair to plant another kiss on your neck.

“We… we are best friends…” You say, a bit worried about ruining it. There was a clear difference between platonic and other feelings, romantic or sexual. And as clear as it came, it was also very thin.

“This is only a one time thing…” He murmurs, his hand still caressing your back and waist. His head slowly rises from your neck to look at you with his eye full of lust and starving desire. “For stress relieving purposes, yeah?”

You are convinced by his words, because Aemond could always be convincing enough. You knew that, but you also knew that you longed for him. It was as if all the day was aimed up to this moment; the video, the small tease in the car and now this kiss.

You quickly realise that you want him, as much as he seems to want you. At the same time, you both need it. Alys, Cregan, the exams and all had you on your nerves. It was like walking in eggshells around the other, because your body and mind couldn't take a break after one thing, because in fact, life never waits for you to recover, just goes on and you are expected to go along on or get lost in the way.

“Yeah. yeah, fuck me” You murmur in his lips as now it is you who kisses him back, pressing boldly your body to his, as your hands move away the hair from his face. He still smells like cigarettes, and his scent is masculine, maybe the new cologne that he bought a few weeks ago. The way that he grabs your waist, pulling you closer to him was almost desperate, almost as if he never wanted this to end. He is craving it, he is starved.

He basically handles your body to the copilot’s seat, pushing it all the way back and lowering the backrest a bit lower, but not too much. He sits on it and practically drags you to his lap as he desires, closing the door behind you. You have to lower your head a bit, but he takes no time in passing his hands under your shirt and all the way in your back.

“You are not wearing a bra” he notes looking at you raising his eyebrows.

“Doesn’t the building’s parking lot have cameras?” You ask looking out the windows.

“Answer me” He says, looking at you. “You are not wearing a bra”

“No. The shirt is a bit tight on the chest area, it basically is like a push-up..” You murmur looking the other way “Are you sure that there aren’t any…?”

“I don’t care” He murmurs, his arms wrapped around your waist as he pulls you against his chest, as he kisses and nibbles your neck. “I hope they do. We could have a sextape of this moment” He says smiling as he moves lower to your collarbone.

“Aemond!” You say a bit flustered, and his hot kisses feel so good in your skin, and you move your hands to grab his hair.

“You make me so hard, I cannot hold back anymore” He says desperately, moving your chin to share another kiss between you both. You were as desperate as him, but you were more subtle, he thinks, because he knows you well.

He knew that you were cautious, following his lead. You might be confused, and a bit hesitant to ruin your friendship with him. But not doing this probably will do, he is sure of that.

He takes your hand and moves it to the bulge on his black pants, and you look down. Gods, even when clothed, his cock was huge. You had seen it in video, but touching it and looking at it, made you drool. You looked at him, and he was staring at your eyes, pink cheeks as he looked flustered.

“You make me so hard” he murmurs, looking at you “So, so hard. Your slutty green skirt, and that shirt that barely hides your tits, Gods woman, you were right, you could make any man drool for you” he says moving the hair out of your face.

“I wanna suck you” you murmur, your eyes hesitant and almost innocently looking at him. Fuck, he could cum just at those words coming out of your mouth.

You accommodate as you can in the floor of the car, a bit awkward and your upper body forcefully is forward, right at the height of his cock. You look up at him as you unbuckle his belt, the little metallic sound makes your pussy more wet, as Aemond looks at you almost amazed.

He lifts his hips as you lower his pants and underwear, his dick jumping free, standing fully hard and leaking a bit of precum at the tip, which is a little red and it is a bit swollen. It was better in person.

You lean a bit, as you spit on the head of his cock, and pass your hand through it, as Aemond lets a low “Fuck” as his hips tense and hesitates, as if he was holding back.

“Cregan Stark doesn’t deserve you” He says as your hand goes up and down on his cock, and you look up to him. He likes it, how powerless and innocent you look sitting between his legs and stroking his hard cock. It makes his ball tighten more. “Look at you, a needy girl for a cock” He says moving his hand to caress your cheek, and his thumb caresses your lower lip.

Your lips encircle around his thumb, and suckle just a little bit, as your hand keeps stroking his dick, slowly but firmly. Your pussy is aching with need, one of your hands barely touches your pussy over your panties, and you melt a bit as you suckle his thumb.

“I love your cock” You admit, looking at him with needy eyes, and he knows your words are sincere. “Tis better in real life”

Aemond frowns as he tilts his head, confused as to what you mean. “Hm?”

You don’t respond, as you stroke it and move to leave little kitten licks in the top, but he moves your chin away, as you forcefully try to get back to sucking his dick.

“No, tell me what you meant” His voice is like one when scolding a child, but you shake your head, trying to get your way. “Don’t be a brat”

“I saw it before” you say, moving his hand away, and he doesn’t make it go back. “In a video, earlier. It was in your gallery”

He realises what you mean, and he slaps your face slightly with his right hand. It wasn’t harsh, but you realise two things. The power this man had over you, and how much you liked that fact.

“Needy whore” he murmurs, looking at you, and you almost whine as he slaps your hand away from his cock. “It was not meant for you to see”

“It was on the carpet with my name!” You say to him.

“You touched yourself while seeing that video, hm?” He asks, leaning a bit, sitting back as his face is over yours. You almost whine again. “Your pussy was always so needy for my cock, hm? You couldn’t even get closer to Cregan tonight. If he was the one fucking you right now as you slutty brain wanted, you would still be thinking of my cock”

You lick your lips as his eyes are penetrating on yours, and you don't respond to his words. It may be a harsh truth, but how it turned you on.

“Little needy thing you are” He murmurs, leaning back again so he can rest against the back of the seat. He takes his dick on his hands, and smirks mischievously as he slaps it on your check. “Needy for this? This is what you want?” He mocks you as he slaps his cock in your cheek and closer to his mouth.

“Yes” you murmur blushing and trying to lick it as he does so, and he lets a shake breath at your naughty action.

“Open your mouth”

He grabs your hair again in his fist, the same hair he saw you so dedicatedly to make sure it was perfect, and he lowers your head to suck him off. Your throat takes his cock as he bobs your head, moaning breathlessly as he uses your mouth for his pleasure.

And you love it. His hips start to lowly thrust in your mouth, abusing your throat as he looks down at you. You looked so hot, so perfect. He didn’t know how you two didn’t do this before.

“Yeah, just like that” he murmurs fucking your throat before he lets you breathe a bit after so much time without air. You feel as if those minutes were barely seconds as you sucked his dick. “Come here. Take off your panties”

You don’t have to be told twice.

He lifts up the end of your skirt, as he holds your waist a bit. He looks at you, and his thumb moves to clean the drool in your chin.

“There is… there is a condom behind you” he murmurs and you tilt your head “there are condoms in the glove compartment”

You frown, but you take one off, and Aemond is the one to put it on himself, while you watch “How optimistic to save condoms there” you say smirking a bit.

“Oh shut up. Look, it serves for something now” he says smiling as his hand caresses your thigh. “I will prep you” he murmurs, moving his fingers closer to your centre.

“No” You stop his hand and you look at him. He frowns, and of course you want his fingers on your pussy. “I want your cock better”

Now he doesn’t have to be told twice.

You two accommodate as you can, he helps you lower your hips in his cock, and you hold from anywhere you can, really. The sting is pleasurable, and you don’t mind it, not when Aemond has you so wet and aching for this. His hard cock fills you slowly, but it was so pleasurable feeling how it opens you to take it.

“I don’t think this will work” you murmur, and he opens his eye to look at you.

“What…?”

“I cannot… My head hits the ceiling” You say as you have to lean your head to the side to sit properly on his lap. He looks at you, and he chuckles amused. “It is not funny”

“It is!” He argues back, laughing as his hands rest on your thighs, and you slap his chest playfully. “Come here, I’ll manage” he promises.

You sigh amused and you lean forward, pressing your chest to his as he wraps his arms around your waist. You pass your hands to his shoulders and look at his face that is so close to yours.

“Now, it is more comfortable?”

“Yeah” you say looking at him “But I also feel watched, since I can see the window by our side”

“Gods, woman” he says playfully slapping your ass, which makes you jump “Just ride the dick”

It was your Aemond. You know, because you don’t think you have ever been so comfortable having sex. It was natural, and you didn’t feel judged by him. He was your best friend,

Your hips go up and down on his cock, and your little moans are right in his left ear, delighting him as your pussy stretches as you ride him. Your moans are more like sobs, and his hands go over to your ass to help you lower yourself on his cock.

One of his hands moves to the knot in front of your tie front top, and he grabs one end and once it is open, he moves his mouth to eagerly suck on your tits.

“Aemond” Your whimpers come as he starts nibbling on them, and your moans are more desperate, and your cunt squeezes his cock harder.

His hands go back to your ass, and he spanks you as you let a little whine in full pleasure. He made sure to stimulate you whenever he can, and he is succeeding.

“You are a needy slut” he murmurs looking up to you, and you nod.

“Yeah, yeah, please…”

“Only for my cock” he adds, and he slaps your ass again, forcing your hip to stay still on his lap “Not Cregan” he adds “Not anyone”

“Aemond” you whine, winning another spank.

Now his hips start to thrust in you, making you whine and moan again, your body limp as you lay atop of his chest. He always knew you were a pillow princess.

“Who is making you feel this good?” His voice is a grunt, as he moves his hips up and pulls you down to meet his thrusts.

“You” you moan, and he groans as your pussy feels so warm, and perfect.

“And who am I?”

You hesitate to answer the philosophical question, unsure what his point was.

“Who am I to you?” He asks again.

“M-My best friend” you answer as he spanks you once again, the slap stings in your ass, moaning as your head rests on his shoulder, moaning right on his ear.

“Yeah, yeah, your best friend is making you cum, hm?” He says smugly, as he moans a bit more.

Again, hearing him moan and whimper on a video is one thing, but in real life…

“Fuck, fuck…” He says as he starts to feel close, his head leaning back in the seat and he turns his head to his left to look at you, your face on his shoulder and your left hand grips on his right shoulder.

“I am going to cum” you say almost submissively, he finds it so hot.

“I know” he says equally without breath.

“You make me feel so good” you say, your breath hits his face as he does the same on yours.

“You do too. So good, so perfect. You are nothing less but” He starts to ramble a bit, and you whimper as you press your forehead on his shoulder, looking down a bit to see how his dick fucks you.

As you cum, moaning loudly, and your forehead almost nuzzling on his shoulder, he feels his balls tightening more and more, slapping your ass a few times more as you whine from it. Your body is almost limp, and you creaming on his cock has to be one of the best feelings ever.

His cum comes hard and intensely, just as Aemond was overall. You wish there wasn’t a condom in between, but it was equally as good. You look at his profile as his mouth opens as he cums, his eyes closing shut as he spends on the condom.

You two fall into silence, still against each other, sweating and tired. The windows were all soggy and you giggle a bit without breath, at how insane this is.

“What are you laughing about?”

“Nothing” you say.

“Little minx” he says smiling as he looks at your face.

“So, are you more clear of mind to study?”

“I am so going to fail that damn exam” he says with a chuckle, as he looks in front of him and moves some wet hairs out of his face. “Going to be thinking of your pussy all test”

You have to chuckle a bit, and you sigh. “Mm. Maybe.” You say with a smirk.

“But… if we go back to my place, and I fuck you properly on my bed, as you read to me all the concepts, I might pass the test”

You sit straight up, and slap his chest playfully. “Fine, but only because you are so stressed” you say mockingly and he nods, as if he was miserable due to it.

“So, so stressed. How lucky I have my best friend to help me with that”

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gloomwitchwrites · 2 months

Note

You start sending them spicy texts a few minutes after they've left for work. Now they're home.

Bonus if you can have them say "You started it..."

Oh, anon. I am more than happy to fulfill this request. Spicy texts just before leaving work. Them walking in the door with the most feral energy. please. I am here for it. I am salivating. I am barking at the damn moon. I am running around on all fours. I am hanging from the ceiling. I love this prompt. Love love love. Thank you for sending it in!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: dirty talk, sexting, oral sex (female & male receiving), sex toys, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, vaginal fingering, knife play, spanking

Word Count: 2k

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

You sent the texts to be funny—to tease John. He’s leaving work, and you want him thinking about you the whole way home.

Instead, you have an animal on your hands. A man starving for you. It’s far more than you anticipated.

I always want you.

I wish you were here with me. Naked.

Will you fill me up when you come home?

“You started it, love. I’m just finishing it.”

John grasps the back of your neck, pulling you close. Your fingers cling to the front of his shirt, the fabric twisting in your fist. John doesn’t even glance down. He’s entirely focused on your lips.

John smells of work. Of sweat. Of manly musk. You want to breathe him in.

He holds on the back of your neck tightens slightly. “I want you on your knees. Mouth open. Understand?”

You give a little nod, and John eases his grip. His hand transitions to the front of your throat, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. When his hand drops away, John takes a step back. You obediently descend before him, softly landing on your knees.

John won’t move. He won’t take the lead. You’re to do everything.

That’s how he likes it, and that is always how you do it.

With gentle hands, you caress the front of his thighs. Beneath his pants, you feel the strength and power there. John is all corded muscle. Bulky. Thick. Already you’re salivating. Your fingers find his belt buckle. It’s easy, and it’s soon gone. Zipper comes next, and then you’re opening up the front of his pants.

The moment John is in your hand, he groans. You don’t want to tease him now. You only want to make him come. You place a kiss on the head, and then give it a little lick. A tiny bead of precum appears. You take that for yourself too.

Slowly, you run your tongue along the underside of his cock along the vein. John isn’t touching you but his fists clench and unclench. He’s restraining himself. You swallow him down, and John immediately grasps the back of your head. The grip is strong, and you’re unable to pull back.

John wants you to throat him. And you will.

Clinging to the front of his thighs, you go all in, hollowing your cheeks and taking him deep. You are messy. Eager. Showing John exactly how much you missed him today. This is your little gift to him, because after, you know he’s going to fill your pussy until you’re dripping.

You did start this.

And you’ll happily do it again.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Leaving work in ten.

Ten minutes. And then twenty to drive home. That gives you thirty minutes to fuck with your boyfriend.

Grinning, you start devising a series of texts. Kyle is good about not texting and driving. He hates people that do it, so you know he won’t answer, which makes it that much better. You’ll send him these texts, and he won’t be able to respond at all.

It’s perfect. Brilliant.

You send the first one off.

Miss you. Been thinking about you all day.

It’s sweet. Something to make Kyle smile, but that’s the whole point. Draw him in, and then make him hungry for you.

Kyle responds immediately. Miss you too, love.

Not in the car yet then. You wait a few more minutes and then send a response to him.

I’ve been horny all day. Can’t wait for you to get here.

You give it some time but Kyle does not answer. Means he’s in the car.

Kept touching myself. Couldn’t stop.

Still, nothing.

You have no idea if Kyle is reading the texts or not but you hope that he is. His phone connects to his car when he turns it on, so the texts have to be coming through. If anything, he’s listening to them, the system reading your texts aloud to him.

I’m using that new toy you bought me right now.

Lie. You haven’t tried it out yet, but you’ve been wanting to.

Thinking about you while I use it.

So wet.

There isn’t any response, but that’s no surprise. You’re on edge though, every limb tingling, heart racing with the anticipation of Kyle’s arrival.

Twenty minutes feels like an hour, but you hear the front door open from your place in the bedroom. By the time you bring your feet to the floor, Kyle is already in the doorway. His chest heaves, posture poised as if he wouldn’t find you home.

“Kyle—”

“Get out of your clothes and get your ass back on the bed,” he nearly growls, yanking off his shirt before the sentence is even out of his mouth.

“You got my texts?” you ask with a sultry purr, moving slowly to remove your clothing.

“Oh, I did, love. Sure fucking did.”

When you’re down to just your underwear, Kyle is already naked, reaching for you. You shriek playfully, and then you’re flipped onto your stomach.

“I want to see just how wet you are,” he murmurs, bringing your hips up, and spreading your legs wide, revealing your pussy to him.

He groans. “I can do better.”

Kyle’s tongue is on you, and then he’s licking, swirling his tongue up and down your pussy. You cry out, hands fisting the sheets beneath you, toes curling. Kyle kisses your clit, and then sucks it into his mouth before tonguing you to orgasm.

He draws back, and you hear the drawer in the bedside table opening. Kyle rummages around, then you hear the gentle vibration of the new toy he just bought. You swallow, and push up to look over your shoulder.

Your gazes meet and Kyle grins.

“You started it.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

You’ve been stuck in the house all day.

Simon is supposed to be off work shortly. And you want to stir up a bit of trouble.

Coming home soon?

Simon’s answer returns swiftly.

Leaving in five.

It won’t take long for Simon to get home. The man has a streak for breaking every traffic law imaginable. He just doesn’t care. At times it’s down right sexy, but other times it scares the piss out of you.

Biting your lip, you wiggle deeper into the couch, texting out a reply to Simon.

Hurry home, Simon. I need you.

I want you to use me. Your own personal plaything.

Can’t wait to feel you inside me.

You send the texts one after another. Pressing your phone to your chest, you giggle, knowing what you’ve done. Simon is going to storm through that door and make you squirm. And it’s the best fucking feeling in the world.

A few minutes later, his response comes in.

Be ready for me.

You know what that means. Simon wants you naked and on the bed, presented to him like an offering. But you won’t do that. He needs to work for it. If he wants you naked and wanton, Simon will have to do it himself.

But all that confidence disappears when Simon barrels through the door. He is a phantom. A wraith of desire. Simon has you off the couch and over his shoulder in seconds. In the bedroom, Simon drops you on the bed.

By the time you go to sit up, Simon removes his hunting knife from his boot. The tip of the blade catches under your shirt and then it’s gone, your bare breasts on full display.

“That’s better,” he murmurs, twirling the knife end over end before closing it and dropping it onto the bedside table.

You’re just in your underwear, and Simon’s gaze is heated.

“Off,” he demands, and you comply, sliding off your underwear and tossing them aside.

Simon reaches for the front of his belt. It’s off in moments, and then he’s undoing the front of his pants. His cock springs free of its confinement, and your pussy automatically clenches at the sight. Simon grabs your ankle and pulls you to the edge of the bed, pushing your legs wide.

“Fuck. Look at that.” Simon parts the folds of your pussy with his fingers. The sound of your wetness is loud in the room. He brushes against your clit and you moan, head falling back.

And then you’re moaning for a completely different reason. Simon’s cock notches at your entrance, and he slams home to the hilt. Using his natural weight, you’re pinned, taking each brutal thrust.

You said you wanted him to use you. To be his plaything.

And he is. He’s fucking you for his own pleasure. It’s a punishment as much as it’s a reward. You fall back and take it, your breath leaving you in gasps with each thrust. Simon’s hand wraps around your throat, and then you’re being lifted off the bed, his lips nearly touching yours.

“Don’t forget, love. You started it.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

I love it when you grab my hair. When you push me up against the wall. When you take total and complete control.

You send the texts with a mischievous grin on your face. Johnny is at work—about to leave if he’s on schedule. And these texts will only stoke his blood—make him hunger for you.

It’s just a tease. A way to get what you want.

You want him to fuck you, but not slowly. And not with any sweetness. Johnny needs to come home and bend you over the nearest piece of furniture.

Every time I fantasize about us having sex, I imagine you tying me up and having your way with me.

You don’t expect Johnny to respond. He doesn’t usually text and drive. But he does, and you giggle at his reply.

Naughty girl.

Every minute twists in your stomach, making you anxious with longing. You have to stand up and pace around the coffee table to try and expel some of the excess energy. You are so focused on trying to clear your mind that when Johnny enters, you momentarily freeze, surprised at his sudden appearance.

His mouth turns upward into a knowing smile, and then you bolt. Johnny is right on your heels and there is no escape from him. Johnny has you in the air and over his shoulder is less than a minute.

You shriek, and Johnny’s large palm comes down in a hard slap against your bare ass.

“Johnny!”

He laughs, and then smacks your ass again, this time with a softer hand.

“You started it,” he says, carrying you into the bedroom.

Johnny tosses you down onto the bed, and then he’s on you, pinning you beneath him. You giggle under him as Johnny nips and kisses your throat and lips. Playfully hitting him does nothing. Johnny only grasps your wrists and pins them above your head. He transfers both wrists to one large palm, holding you in that position.

“Spread those legs for me,” he croons against your lips.

You instantly widen and Johnny shifts back. With one hand, Johnny pushes your underwear to the side. You’re already wet—already in need of him. Johnny tests with one finger and then a second. They disappear inside your pussy, and reappear glossy and slick.

“Fucking look at you, love,” he murmurs, repeating the motion until your hips buck and move with him.

Your breath hitches and Johnny removes his fingers. He brings those slick digits to your lips.

“Open.”

You comply and taste yourself.

When his fingers are clean, Johnny reaches between your bodies and undoes the front of his pants. He slides home, and then he’s fucking you relentlessly, pounding you into the bed. You take it all, restrained and moaning underneath him.

Johnny groans, his body tensing, and then he’s flooding your pussy with his cum. You’re so full, and it’s only the start.

taglist:

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@enarien @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett

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@arrozyfrijoles23 @gingergirl06 @eternallyvenus @smileykiddie08 @vrb8im

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mcflymemes · 3 months

Text

PROMPTS FOR SHARING COMPLIMENTS AND PRAISE * updated version. assorted dialogue for uplifting remarks, adjust as necessary

i think the world of you.

that was very brave, what you just did.

they owe you their lives.

you made it work.

i just knew you'd find a way to get it done.

you looked at me like you cared, like you saw something of value in me.

i didn't know people like you existed.

no one else listened to me when i came to them. except you.

i think you're doing an incredible job.

they'll never forget you after that.

you've shown me there's more to life than this.

you're getting better at that every day.

you make me want to do better.

your hair looks really nice like that.

you have great taste in music.

you should be very proud.

you inspire me.

i can tell how much time you put into that.

i enjoy spending time with you.

i look up to you.

that was incredible!

thank you for all you’ve done for me.

i’m so proud of the person you’ve become.

did you cook this? it tastes amazing.

i don’t know who i’d be without you.

you saw me when i was invisible.

that was really brave of you.

you did a really nice job.

thank you for caring about me.

that was a brilliant performance.

i’ve always admired you.

i’m so lucky you love me.

you always manage to make me laugh.

i’m very proud of you.

that was great! let’s try it once more.

how can i ever repay you?

it’s so great seeing you do what you love.

you catch on quick.

i loved that book you recommended.

you’re so brave.

i’ve never met anyone as kind as you.

i see you as a role model.

let’s go out to dinner and celebrate you!

you clean up nice.

i love what you’ve done with the place.

you did everything you could.

i couldn’t do this without you.

you have endured so much, and yet you still stand here.

did you do this all by yourself?

you’re really easy to talk to.

i’m a better person because of you.

i knew you could do it.

they never took away your kind heart.

you’re so cute.

your kindness drew me to you.

i always believed in you.

you make it look so effortless.

you always check to make sure i feel comfortable.

your passion really inspires me.

that looks like something out of a magazine.

i always knew you had it in you.

i trust you.

i admire your ambition.

your hard work paid off.

you never gave up. even when they told you it was impossible.

you’re such a strong person.

you have such beautiful eyes.

i admire your confidence.

no one else would listen to me. you did.

i can always depend on you.

i’m so glad we met.

you always care about my input.

you’re my hero.

i’m so glad we’re friends.

you’re more than enough.

you smell really nice.

i can tell you’ve been practicing!

you blow me away when you do that.

you are exceptional.

#rp meme #mcflymemes #rp memes #rp prompt #roleplay memes #roleplay prompt #rp starters #ask meme #ask memes #roleplay meme #roleplay inbox prompts #rp inbox meme #inbox prompt #inbox meme #sentence starter prompt #sentence starter #sentence starters #updated version of an old meme

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vivwritesfics · 11 months

Text

Rookie Season - OP81

Oscar and Y/N hate each other, until they don't

"And that's Y/N L/N in the AlphaTauri in the points!" The commentator shouted as Y/N crossed the finish line in P9.

"Woo!" She shouted down the radio. "Fuck yeah!"

"That's brilliant, Y/N, first points of the season," said her engineer.

"We did it! We did it!" She continued to shouted. "We'll be celebrating tonight, boys!"

It was her debut season on Formula One, after having milled about in Formuma 2 for a couple of years. She'd moved up with her good friend Logan and her old rival Oscar.

She and Oscar. Where were they to begin?

They weren't like other rivals, where they left it all on the track. They really really hated each other. In F2, they were always fighting each other for places, sending the other off the track and going into each others sides. Their fights cost their teams way too much in damages, somebody needed to intervine.

When Oscar got bumped up into McLaren, Y/Ns team thought all of their problems were solved. Y/N could race without fighting Oscar every lap.

But then Y/N announced her addition to Scuderia AlphaTauri F1 team. Still, it came as a relief to her old F2 team. She may still have been battling Oscar, but it wasn't on their dime.

At the start of the season, when Y/N and Oscar was at the back of the grid, things were messy. Y/N had to DNF once because of him and Oscar almost had to because of her.

"Hey asshole, thanks for that one," she said with a sarcastic grin as she interrupted his interview once upon a time.

Netflix was going to have a field day with them.

Now they were towards the end of the season, Y/N and Oscar were no longer fighting each other. Oscar was fighting with the likes of Max Verstappen while Y/N was in the mid field, fighting in an underperforming car.

She missed him.

No, not him. She didn't miss Oscar, not one bit. But she did miss the fighting they would do.

"How did Piastri do?" She asked as she followed Fernando Alonso into the pit lane.

For a moment, Y/N's engineer didn't answer her. She waited, ready to prompt him again, when he answered. "Uh, P3 for Piastri," her engineer answered, somewhat hesitantly.

"Of fucking course," Y/N muttered under her breath as she climbed out of the car.

***

Watching Oscar on the podium. It hurt, but Y/N didn't show it on her face. There was no denying he was a good driver, he wouldn't be in F1 otherwise. She should have been up there with him, though.

No, not with him. She didn't want to be on the podium with Oscar. She should have been on the podium instead of him.

That night, they went out. Most drivers had nothing to do on the Monday so they went out to blow off steam from the race. Well, those frustrated (which now included Y/N) went out to blow off steam, the rest went out to celebrate.

It was Max, the McLaren boys, the AlphaTauri drivers, the Ferrari boys, Daniel, Fernando, Alex, and the Alpine pair.

Y/N spent most of the night dancing with Esteban or Daniel, singing along to the songs and simply going crazy. At one point Fernando had her on his shoulders as he passed a shot up to her.

A little bit after midnight, Y/N went t the bar to get herself another drink. She leaned against the counter, card tapping against the counter top.

But she wasn't alone. No. The very man she hated stood beside her, ready to order his own drinks.

"Fuck you!" She shouted, her words slurring, but Oscar couldn't hear her over the music.

He held out his hand, waited for Y/N to take it and then pulled her in close. "Congratulations on the points," he shouted into her ear, but Y/N could barely hear it.

"Good job on the podium," she replied equally as loud, wearing a scowl as she did so.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

But Y/N didn't hear that. Her scowl turned to a frown as she stared at him, but Oscar ordered her a drink anyway. He passed it to Y/N, who looked at it suspiciously. But Oscar wasn't like that. He wasn't that kind of person. As much as Y/N didn't like him, he wasn't a bad person.

She thanked him, although he couldn't much hear, and turned to find Esteban and Fernando once again. But they were gone, nowhere to be found. It was hard to lose Esteban, since he was so damn tall, but Y/N couldn't see him anywhere.

"Shit," she muttered under her breath and turned back to the Aussie.

There were two important rules Y/N followed when she went on a night out. Keep your drink covered and stay with your friends. She had her hand over the top of her cup as she approached Oscar again.

Wrapping her arms around her neck, she pulled him down so that her mouth was level with his ear. "Can I stay with you? Everybody else has disappeared!"

Oscar nodded his head as he stood up straight.

He wrapped his arm around her and led her over to the dance floor.

At first, Y/N was awkward. She wasn't quite letting loose as much as she was with the others. This was Oscar, her rival on and off the track. She just swayed as she looked at him, an uncomfortable smile on her face.

Have you ever been in the club when your favourite song comes on? How absolutely feral you go? Jumping up and down and shouting the lyrics? That was exactly what happened to Y/N.

She was bobbing her head and swaying when the last song finished up. And then her favourite song came on. Y/N's eyes went wide. She jumped along to the melody and shouted the lyrics at Oscar, who was more than happy to indulge her.

Throughout the night, Y/N and Oscar danced and dank and sang. They went on through the night, dancing until the club was shutting and their feet hurt.

Oscar took Y/N home. He practically had her over his shoulder as he got her back to the hotel room. She'd be hungover for her flight tomorrow, Oscar thought as he took her key card and let her into her room.

***

The last thing Y/N remembered was losing her friends and getting on the dance floor with Oscar. Her head was pounding as she woke up, the light coming through her open window blinding. "Shit," she grumbled and put her arm over her aching eyes.

For five minutes Y/N did nothing. She laid there, trying her best not to throw up. And then her alarm went off, the one that gave her twenty minutes to get her things ready before the car came to pick her up and take her to the airport.

Her movements were sluggish as she packed away her things and made her way out of the hotel room. Sunglasses covered her eyes, the lights from the hallway far too bright for her liking.

"Oh my God," muttered Yuki as he met her in the lobby of the hotel. They were travelling together, since they were such good friends and both heading home to Milton Keynes. "You look fucking horrible."

"Thanks, Yuk's. That makes me feel fantastic."

"How late did you stay out?"

Y/N shrugged her shoulders. "Until the place closed, same as you,"

A laugh left Yuki's lips. She really was in a sorry state. "We left way before it closed, Y/N. You with Oscar so we left you there. Are you guys friends yet?"

That was a good question - one Y/N didn't have an answer for. If she and Oscar had become friends during the night, she didn't remember it. And she couldn't ask him about it now, could she?

There would be nothing more embarrassing then calling up Oscar and asking him everything that happened the night before. Y/N was pretty sure she hadn't done anything too bad. She was pretty sure she hadn't confessed her love for him while they danced, pressed up against each other. She was pretty sure she didn't love him.

Love him? No, they were rivals. Rivals don't fall in love. That isn't how the story goes, not in real life, anyway.

There was a good two weeks Y/N didn't have to see Oscar. A blissful two weeks that Y/N spent at home in Milton Keynes. Those two weeks were filled with training and sim racing, Y/N practicing for the next grand prix.

In those two weeks she didn't think about Oscar once.

Okay, that's a lie. She couldn't help herself from thinking about Oscar, about the last time she saw him, about how much she couldn't remember. Would it really be such a bad thing if they weren't enemies? Would it really be so hard to try and get along with him?

Having a rival wasn't much fun. Sure, it was entertaining for the fans, but it was a miserable existence for those actually involved. A rivalry meant that every time Y/N saw him on the track, this horrible, nasty feeling would bubble up inside of her.

It seemed, though, like Y/N wasn't the only one thinking about this. It seemed like this was just playing on her mind.

Y/N turned her phone off, after that. She and Oscar weren't rivals anymore, but they weren't exactly friends.

Oscar texted her some more, but Y/N didn't answer them. It was such a shift in dynamics, she wasn't sure what she was supposed to do. She didn't text Oscar back, didn't know what she was supposed to say to him now.

Y/N didn't stop thinking about him, though. Actually, things just got worse. She couldn't stop thinking about his eyes, his hands, his lips. The way his eyes would almost close when he laughed, that resting sort of scowl he wore as he walked around. It wasn't a proper scowl, just the way his lip would slightly curl whenever he was doing anything or nothing.

Y/N didn't know what to expect from the next grand prix. She and Oscar always had to do the press conferences together. They'd sit on opposite ends of the couch, the only questions being sent their way being about their rivalry.

When the press conference was over, Y/N made her way outside, into the fresh air. Still, she and Oscar were getting asked about their rivalry, the rivalry that didn't exist. She didn't answer any questions that day, letting Oscar do it instead.

"Hey!" Oscar called as Y/N marched away.

Stopping, she spun on her heel to face him. "What, Oscar? What do you want?"

As usual, Oscar were that scowl, the one Y/N knew not to take too seriously. When he looked at her, his stance was tense. But Oscar dropped it as he looked at her. "Nothing," he muttered as he shook his head. "Forget about it."

With his head down, Oscar turned to walk away. Guilt settled in the pit of Y/N's stomach. They weren't rivals anymore; she didn't have to treat him like such shit.

"Oscar, wait!" She called as she walked after him, reaching over to grab his wrist.

Suddenly they were close, stood closer than they had before. Especially while they were sober. Oscar stared down at her, unmoving, unwilling to walk away. Y/N stared up at him, at that scowl he still wore.

And then she was moving, body moving forward until she was pressing her lips to his. There were probably cameras on them, either Netflix or Sky or some other form of media. The drivers they'd been in the press conference with, who were going to walk back to their garages until they saw Y/N and Oscar and the potential argument about to happen.

Oscar kept his hands at his sides as Y/N moved hers up to his neck. Her eyes were closed; she couldn't see what was happening. But then she felt hands on the side of her face, holding her there as they kissed.

Oh, they definitely weren't rivals anymore. Were they still even friends? Y/N didn't know. The only she did know was that she didn't want to stop kissing him.

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anika-ann · 5 months

Text

The (Un)Expected - S.R.

Type: one-shot, soulmate AU, good ol' meet-cute (soulmates meeting for the first time prompt)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 8k

Summary:

A soulmark shows the first words your soulmate will speak to you. A soulmark tells you there is the person for you out there. A soulmark tells you what to expect.

For that, Steve’s is a source of comfort and anxiety to him. You always had a complicated relationship with yours.

But maybe they will teach you a lesson in the end – that the only thing one should really expect, is the unexpected.

Warnings: brief angst, mention of cancer (not reader), canon-typical violence, mention of death (no major character), blood and injuries, language, FLUFF so take it easy on sugar before reading

A/N: written for the Community Revival Extravaganza hosted by the wonderful @stargazingfangirl18 and @labella420 . Thank you both so much for hosting and stirring life in the fandom! I loved seeing the traffic and positivity on my dash - you're doing god's work 💕

A/N 2: DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; enjoy y'all 🥰

Steve Rogers was a sickly child.

He spent too much time to his liking in his bed – and even more time outside of it despite feeling sick for he couldn’t bear resting anymore, craving to explore the world instead – and was sneaked into a doctor’s office by his mother quite often as well. She only got him in as a favour, courtesy of her own good name – a nurse working double shifts and lending a helping hand wherever she could, a single mother working herself to a bone to take care of and set example to her only son.

A single mother, a nurse, a good person – a beautiful soul. She left this world too soon, but she left an imprint on Steve’s heart larger than any other person, perhaps besides Bucky, ever could.

All that told him, even as indirectly, that his soulmate would be one special dame. She would be kind, she would be brilliant and for that alone, he knew she would be beautiful.

Steve knew that as soon as he could read, as soon as he could decipher the words on his skinny forearm.

In a world where first words your soulmate would tell you were laced into your skin for you and your soulmate’s eyes to see only, his words told him his soulmate was a little miracle.

'I’m not a doctor yet.'

Steve had spent a fair amount of time around nurses and doctors to know that all nurses were women and the overwhelming majority of doctors were men – by the time he was ten, barely a few women were allowed to attend medical schools, let alone graduate. But you, you would be on your way to reach that. Brilliant. Driven. Desiring to help people, to heal.

It was only when other children, other guys and girls alike, began laughing at him for being too little, too weak, too bony, when his heart began to ache for a different reason than illness. If you were to be all these amazing things he had dreamed of, what were you to do with a sickly fella like him? With your words to him being these, it was a fair assumption to make that you would meet due to his health issues, perhaps a smart dame taken under a more experienced doctor’s wing during your studies. How disappointed you would be when your soulmate, the one person meant for you and chosen by destiny itself, would be… that?

That upsetting idea haunted him, hurting more than the bruises that had formed under fists of bullies Steve kept trying to save those even weaker than him from, more than stick and stones and words alike.

Then again… there was a little silver of hope in his heart, a little shy voice in his head. If you were to be his true love, then certainly you’d accept him, yes? If he tried, if he tried hard enough to be a good man, the best possible version of himself, if he worked hard to protect and feed his future family, set a good example for your future children as his mother had, worked towards making a better world, you’d accept him? If he could live with not being as great as others but never stopped trying, you would respect him and perhaps even loved him for what he was?

Then, of course, war came and those thoughts were pushed aside.

Then, he grabbed at his chance to fight that war, to do his part, to help – and incidentally, he also earned his chance to literally grow. Healthy. Strong. More worthy; but remaining good, because that was the one part of him he wanted to hold on to no matter what, that one part he would wish his love, wherever she was, would love him for, even if he suddenly shrank back into the back of skin and bones he used to be.

Then, he lost his best friend Turned into a failure.

And then… then he died.

One of his last thoughts were of you, a beautiful woman with vague appearance but strikingly kind heart and sharp mind. He prayed you’d get a new soulmate somehow, even as those cases weren’t heard of. He prayed you’d live a happy healthy life without him, at least as good as he would have tried his best to give you, to build with you, even as his own heart was breaking to pieces, regret veiling his body as water and snow and icy wind would, regret for missing his chance to meet the most special person in his world.

When he closed his eyes and still saw the white of ice and the blue of the deep sea, he’d swear he saw your face, crystal clear, for the first time – and the last time – in his life.

Seeing you, a stunning mirage, his last thought was that you were an angel gently leading him into afterlife.

When he woke up to a new millennium, one of the first things he did was checking his forearm; he words still sat there, taunting, mocking and heartbreaking, another screaming reminder of him not belonging here.

As years passed by, the sense of alienation subdued. Steve Rogers learned to belong, even as a piece of his heart was missing, longing for the past life – and the life he had never got to have – always humming in his chest quietly.

The mark on his forearm remained, a sad memento to a soulmate he had never met, turning him into a martyr.

But many people had rejected the idea of soulmates in this time, rebelling against their so-called fate, taking off on a path of searching love on their own. Steve learned they did so for various reasons – a sense of adventure before they’d truly find their one true love, a quest to choose the fortune and love on their own terms, a fuck-you to the universe when their soulmate turned out to be less than they imagined and hoped.

His own reasons, as he reluctantly started to look for a person to share his life with, were rather unique, but no one looked at him through their fingers for that. If anything, those who cared about him encouraged him, wishing for his happiness.

It was only when he got Bucky back – one of his greatest regrets not erased, not lessened since Bucky had endured unimaginable pain, but transformed, a piece of Steve’s past brought back to life – that he began to wonder about the almost blasphemous thought he had forbid himself from entertaining when he had been first brought back to life from ice.

Were you still there somewhere?

And then, a shier thought:

Is there still a chance for me to find my true soulmate?

And then, the shiest one of them all:

Is there a chance for me to find happiness with you?

When he had thought of that before, he was certain that since you were still alive – he had read reports of people claiming their soulmark changed colours if their loved one died – he had thought of you as an old lady who had hopefully lived her life as he had genuinely wished for her.

But what if fate, that little minx who had taken his best friend for life from him only to give him back, had somehow blessed Steve with a soulmark decades before you were even born? What he hadn’t lost his chance, what if you were still young enough to build a life with him? Was that even possible? There were aliens, flying suits of armour, other realms, downright magical weapons… he had been given a second chance at life. There were things happening Steve would have never thought possible before. So was there a chance…?

The idea of you being a doctor became much more plausible too – in this century, female doctors were a much more common occurrence. That, naturally, did not diminish your brilliance whatsoever, the fundamental idea of who you’d be never changing in Steve’s mind. The image only became less surreal in one way and a whole lot more surreal in another.

For his own sake, he didn’t give in into that hope fully; at least he told himself that despite lying awake at night, a ghost of a woman he had never met lying next to him, radiating non-existent warmth he wished with his whole being he could touch.

He wasn’t chasing after the ghost, didn’t allow himself that – there was no way to do so to his knowledge anyway – for the chances of success were rather slim.

But there was always hope, wasn’t there?

And the longing for love, whether it was in the hands of fate or in his own to find it, remained, built into his very body; etched into his bones, flowing through his veins, laced into his skin beyond the words on his forearm, always humming quietly in his heart.

In the age of information and science, the concept of having your ideal partner for life chosen by some mysterious abstract entity called Fate was literally otherworldly. Alien. Absurd even.

And yet, it still ruled the lives of many.

Which, in all honesty, was almost even more fascinating than the existence of soulmarks itself – the belief people had for them despite being no logic to them at all.

Perhaps it was the little piece of human soul, an inner child people so desperately wanted to cling to for its own beauty and purity, a child who never wanted to stop believing in magic, fate, dragons, mighty knights and kind-hearted ladies, in all things of fairytales and happy-endings the most. Because to a point, that was what soulmarks were – and little fairytale-like book of destiny.

One that not even science seemed capable of beating.

And you should know; you were somewhat of a scientist yourself. And despite how unfathomable the nature of soulmates was, you could not say that you rejected the idea of them, of someone who was born to belong with you, someone you could share your life with, the right partner in the crime of life. Basic bodily needs aside, wasn’t that the most fundamental need of all? To love and be loved; to belong?

Who wouldn’t wish for that reassurance that they could have that, that some strange force of universe itself created a person like that for them? They were the god’s strongest soldiers you supposed; because you were certainly not immune to that tempting comfort.

But you weren’t obsessed – and you prided yourself in the fact. Mostly because the sheer fanaticism of the world over soulmarks, the one thing that kept defying science – besides alien portals, magical blue cubes, demigods walking the Earth and things alike – was dialled up ad absurdum.

There could be billions of dollars poured into research of curing cancer. Cure autoimmune diseases. Helping the homeless. Slowing down global warming. Erasing poverty and famine. Protecting nature, endangered species. Discovering new worlds, exploring space.

But no. Governments poured billions of dollars into researching soulmarks. How was it they existed? How was it you could cut through skin, you could cut off skin and the mark would reappear somewhere else? What was the grand scheme of them? Why was it that only two people who belonged together could see them and the person speaking the words could only see it on their soulmate’s skin after they spoke the words, almost like a fail-safe that couldn’t seem to be broken with any tricks?

It wasn’t a question of physics as far as people knew; they had tried to build sets-up of various optics, thermovision cameras and complex sets of lenses and mirrors, and none of the reports you had ever heard of claimed success. It wasn’t genetic markers either; no one had discovered a sequence of DNA responsible for soulmarks, let alone turned whatever discovery they would have made into a tool of reading anyone’s but their own and their soulmate’s mark. It didn’t seem to be chemistry either; no one had made a groundbreaking discovery or at least they hadn’t informed the scientific or any other community so far.

But by gods, forget the space race. Attempting to be the first one to somehow read everyone’s soulmark and then create an algorithm to monetize it as the one and only soulmate dating app, now that was a competition overflowing with cutthroat madmen. Not to mention the crowds looking to temper with soulmarks, to make another one appear on someone’s body; or worse, to erase the original soulmark and instead design one capable of manipulating the outcome of a soulmate match.

You found the force of that obsession insane – and frankly, all the attempts morally wrong. While dedicated to science and loyal to discovery, you found soulmarks to be something sacred, one of the things that should not be touched by filthy human hands; god knew humanity, while doing a lot of good, had mucked up about just as much.

You were not alone in that belief. There were, in fact, numerous demonstrations against scientists experimenting with soulmarks, people protesting against anyone creating such tool and using it to temper with natural course of things no one fully understood, not for the lack of trying. However – as expected everywhere where politics and money were involved – these protests were in vain.

They were as vain and futile as the research of the marks itself.

As for your own soulmark, you had a rather complicated relationship with it.

On one hand, it gave you a sense of peace – there was someone for you, even as sometimes it did not feel plausible at all. You had time too – because based on those words, you would not meet your soulmate until in your twenties at least. You had plenty of time to become who you were meant to be before a man could turn your life upside down, even as that was not supposed to be what soulmates did, at least not in a bad sense of the word.

On the other hand, it was a ball and chain. You would not find you soulmate sooner than in your twenties and sometimes, you missed them despite not having met yet. When imagining what your meeting could be like based on their first words etched into your skin, you feared they might be a little disappointed – even as you did not let that stop you from pursuing the life you wanted. And despite you wanting to choose the career either way, it felt like someone – be it god, fate or another cosmic entity humanity was yet to discover – had chosen the path for you the moment you had been born if not before.

'Doctor, are you alright?'

Four simple words that couldn’t be more ordinary and yet extraordinary for they represented one of the most meaningful encounters of your life. The source of as much comfort as anxiety.

You couldn’t stand hospitals ever since you were a child. The cold environment reminded you of the strange icy feeling that had settled in your chest over the months you had been visiting your dying father, your naïve eyes watching cancer bite off his energy and smiles first, before it swallowed his whole body and soul. He had been a ghost long before he passed; and in your mind, despite all rationality even years after, that ghost haunted any hospital you visited.

Learning what your soulmark was as a child, you had spent countless nights crying, soul torn into pieces, pushed and pulled between the visceral desire to live up to your soulmark and the crippling nausea at the mere thought of dealing with people drowned in misery caused by any illness in the cold institution they called a hospital.

However, the curious kid you had been, you had fallen in love with science itself.

And that one day at school, when a classmate of yours had brought their father to the class to talk about his job as a doctor, you had burst into tears. You began to sob in the middle of him explaining to third-graders that he was not a medical doctor, but a physicist with a doctorate earning him the degree of a doctor as well. You remembered your teacher leading you outside of class, concerned and absolutely baffled, trying to sooth you helplessly even as you were completely inconsolable – because you did not need consolation.

You were crying the happiest, most relieved tears of your life.

You could still be a ‘doctor’. And you genuinely wanted to be one, not just because of what your soulmark read. You had always wished to help people indirectly, even as you looked back at your life now. Sure, your soulmark could have been adding fuel to your drive when your motivation had been running low, but this was who you desired and was meant to become.

A molecular biologist. A doctor in making. Researching the effects of medicinal drugs with hopes to improve them.

A scientist not researching soulmarks, thank you very much.

And yes, there was the lingering feeling of missing a person you hadn’t even met yet – especially when Doctor Simmons’ face lit up like fluorodeoxyglucose in PET scans whenever she saw Doctor Fitz – but you had other things to focus on. And you had time. There was no pressure.

You were not a doctor yet, after all.

Naturally, just because you dodged the joys and sorrows of being a medical student and later on, a medical doctor, it did not mean that you had it easy. No one working on their doctorate did. But when you decided to pursue your degree and work in research, you signed up for that.

You signed up for a lot of things.

It was a little peculiar for you to be on the SHIELD campus in the science division without a doctorate. It was a known fact that SHIELD only recruited best of the best, this Science ad Technology in particular: you needed at least one doctorate to even walk through the door, which was something you were reminded a lot because you did not meet that requirement and here you were.

But SHELD owned the best equipment and you were fortunate enough to get in by the lovely game of fate, being good and driven enough and having met the right people at the right time. SHIELD Academy’s Science & Tech division had the unique equipment you often needed for your research. Your research was interesting enough for people who had perhaps more power over your little life than fate itself. Stars aligned.

It was no walk in a parc, but you were no fool; jumping after that opportunity after having one too many doors shut into your face was a no-brainer. Even though it meant signing up for a whole extra load of shit.

You signed up to be the weird girl. The privileged girl. Hell, even the stupider than local average girl, because you were only an engineer at this point.

You signed up for being the young girl, even as you had met a few people there who had started younger, having actually earned their first PhD at age 17 or less.

You signed up for mockery and misogyny, for as you were aware the level was blissfully low here compared to other workplaces, especially where science was concerned; in exact science, you observed, more than anywhere you ever heard of, it was customary to keep that one insufferable employee, because they were simply that good at their job, no matter that they had cost the department a few other employees.

You signed up for living on campus with other SHIELD recruits, which meant living in close quarters with other divisions; as a result, some days the whole area seemed to swim in testosterone emitted by the hulking special agents in making from Operations.

But that was okay. You could do it.

There were bright sides too, many of them. Like pursuing your dream career. Being among like-minded people whose brain, to a large point, ran on the same wavelength. Hooking up with a handsome but notbrainless recruit from Operations or Communication here and there, some flings, some relationships, because if you were to wait for the love of your life, you might as well not wither completely. You were only human and you had needs along with your lifegoals.

You more than willingly signed up for working with Agent slash Doctor Jemma Simmons. With her two PhDs and rich experience from the field, she had left the action behind in order to work on her third PhD and help humanity without having her life on the line every day. She was hard-working, with no-nonsense approach and lovely sense of humour with plenty of stories to back it up; she was overall pleasant person to work and be friends with and despite having been through amazing and terrifying experiences other people couldn’t even imagine, she remained surprisingly down-to-Earth.

Sure, she had her quirks like insisting on having a gun at hand at all times and stashing a few small vials of altered Molotov cocktail, a mixture of chemicals which would ignite upon the vial breaking, in one of the nearby cabinets – but you supposed there were worst things to get used to than that in a coworker or a friend. She used to be an active agent after all; in fact, unofficially, she remained one. Much like anyone, you knew that certain habits died hard and being through what she had been – she confessed to you that she once spent months on a nearly deserted ancient planet, among other things – left a mark. If this made her feel safer, you’d take it.

Another great thing about Jemma, Doctor Simmons, was that she was adorably English and was in dedicated relationship with Doctor Fitz who was a Scotsman, so that was the spice of long workdays at times; especially if you agreed to play Scrabble with them and a few friends in the evening.

But there were things you had not signed up for when following the alluring promise of a prestigious spot and unique equipment.

And one of them was a damn Nazi revival group in the form of fucking HYDRA attacking the lab while you were in the peaceful process of waiting for your PCR to finally be finished.

Influx of men in full tactical gear interrupting Jemma updating you the vacation plans, Fiji and all the rare species of fishes that could be observed there when scuba diving.

When you heard the first shouts, breaking of glass and dull echoes of gunshots from afar, your immediate thought was that you had been having a good day and that the experiment had been coming along nicely – and that whatever mess was happening was for sure about to ruin all your progress.

By the time panic settled in, Jemma was practically tackling you down, hand over your mouth to muffle your startled squeak at the sudden movement, her eyes alert and serious, screaming at you to keep quiet.

The sickening shouts of HAIL HYDRA, COOPERATE AND YOU’LL GET HURT LESS was what sent your brain crashing into reality; that and the distant agonized cries of people, coworkers and recruits you knew and met in the hallways every day, following the sounds of gunshots growing in volume and frequency.

You could hear Jemma shuffling next to you further.

You yourself were unable to move beyond stifling a cry behind your suddenly sweaty palm as another female voice wailed in pain.

Blood seemed to freeze in your veins despite your heart thundering in your ribcage and your temples and it helped you shit at all that you were aware that was such thing was literally impossible. By the time Jemma’s hand grabbed yours again and squeezed hard, you realized you were shaking – half in anger, half in paralyzing fear, half in utter shock. It didn’t matter it didn’t add up.

What mattered was the gun in Jemma’s hand. She was holding a gun, ready to shoot, because there were enemy agents, fucking HYDRA burst through the door, guns blazing. And killing people.

You were whispering with exasperation worth of a shout before you knew what you were doing.

“Why?! Why the fuck-“

“Probably the samples they brought in today, precious cargo,” Jemma whispered back frantically, loading the gun and reaching into another cabinet behind her. You only stared at her in utter confusion and mute horror, rapid heavy footsteps approaching and sending your already racing heart into a madness. “Gun or cocktails?”

“I can’t shoot a-!”

Before you could finish, the familiar sound of the sliding door opening and a horrifying echo of tactical boots reached your ears, a set of vials pressed into your palm.

You gulped, pulse thundering in your temples.

Those goddamn Simmons’ cocktails as you named them since she had insisted on keeping around.

You couldn’t believe the moment was here that you were actually grateful for them, even as they seemed to burn in your hand even with the vials themselves intact.

Your eyes snapped to Jemma’s face to question it wordlessly at least, but she wasn’t looking at you; she was listening intently, lying in wake as if she was the predator and not the prey you felt like.

Your own breathing seemed too loud as you allowed yourself to squeeze your eyes shut for but a moment, a desperate attempt to wake up from the nightmare; but the morning didn’t come.

Instead, a gunshot rang in the room, glass shattering somewhere above your head to your right, sending a waterfall of shards flying next to you.

And causing you to cry out in fright.

Which revealed your position to the agents flowing into the lab.

Without a thought you snapped your eyes opened, jumped to your feet and threw two vials in the direction of a black blur with a shockingly clear red patch of the mythical Hydra monster in the middle; peripherally, you saw Jemma attacking as well, deafening noise of gunshot nearly blowing your eardrum.

You crouched back behind the counter so fast you felt vertigo swing you to the left, sharp pain erupting from your palm. It was pure miracle your right hand didn’t clench in instinct and shatter the two remaining vials, setting yourself on fire as well.

As well.

Someone was screaming – a man, you realized – the acid smell of burned flesh and plastic and various chemicals punching your nose and your stomach hard. You had hit someone with the vial. They screamed because of what you had done. You had-

You had no time to feel sorry. You had no time to properly think fucking serves them right.

More steps, more gunshots, movements you weren’t sure how happened or came to you in the first place, flashes of light and crimson and noise and godawful smell--- and pain erupting in the back of your head and suddenly you were barely catching yourself on the counter with your slippery palm--- your fingers brushed metal, knees weak but hands grabbing with all your might, lifting and swinging, a sickening crack on your right before you were falling, landing on your wrist, back hitting the cabinet door and making even more noise as you sent equipment clattering around.

However, the loudest sound was another gunshot; but the strangest sound was unfamiliar whizzing and metal hitting metal and someone most definitely shouting “clear!” that sounded as distant as a whisper over the ringing in your ears.

Instinctively, your head snapped to the voice as you tried to prop up on your hands to see; the world swam in front of your eyes, dizziness forcing you to fall back on your ass and squeeze your eyes shut in hopes to stop the world from spinning, a sting in your palm drawing a hiss from your lips.

You could hear Jemma’s talking to someone, her words blurred into a mumble despite her voice sounding firm and methodical; footsteps, quick and heavy but somewhat soft, accompanied by a brush of air against your skin, making you open your eyes again just as navy blue with speckles of silvery grey glinting in a flickering light filled your vision.

Then, a face; an extremely handsome face even as a helmet made of blue similar to the rest of his suit covered the upper half of it, framing a pair of the dreamiest blue eyes you had ever seen, as beautiful as blurry as a dream indeed.

Somewhere in the back of your brain it started clicking into place – that the man in front of you looked a whole lot like Captain America and he was there to kick HYDRA’s ass; he was hunk and looked righteous and unfairly pretty, the cut of his jaw sharp enough to appear as if sculpted by ancient masters of art and it might be softened by the leather strap holding his helmet in place but that only brought out the sheer beauty of his lips even with a small bloody split on them.

And he was talking to you, his leather-clad hand gently grasping your arm as you involuntarily swayed to side when moving your head to take in the entirety of his large figure.

“Doctor, are you alright?” he asked slowly, velvety voice sweet and heavy with concern at once, the gentle but firm hold on your arm growing stronger when you blinked owlishly, the connection between the meaning of his words and his apparent intention to talk to you slow and fragile.

Your tongue felt as if made of lead even as it tasted of bitterness of adrenalin, but you willed yourself to answer, a knee-jerk reaction more than anything else.

“’mm… not a doctor yet.”

As you responded, you brain began to clear; and it occurred to you that it was a fair assumption for him to make.

You had grown used to clarifying, but hadn’t done so in months, because everyone already knew. However, he was an outsider to this lab and he couldn’t know you were the exception to the local rule. And you were wearing a lab coat, one that now had to be covered in mixture of chemicals you did not wish to identify, but perhaps you should try, because your forearm was beginning to burn.

The beautiful man kneeling in front of you silently observed you for what seemed like an eternity and half, surprise written all over his face. You couldn’t blame him; you were the weirdo of the lab. The fact the person who had purposely stacked explosives at hand was less of an anomaly than that was a thing to consider, but your head hurt too much to think about that and your heart was still beating unhealthily fast and his error seemed so insignificant in the grand scheme of things of HYDRA having attacked your lab and Captain America being right in front of you, holding onto your arm.

His soft baffled smile as he hung his head and shook it a bit with a breathless chuckle, and then lifted his downright shining gaze back to you, well that certainly made for a spectacular distraction from such unimportant thoughts.

Did his thumb just brush your arm as he still held you up a bit?

And had anyone ever told him he had a stunning smile that could melt hearts even if it was barely there and it was certainly melting yours?

“Apologies, miss. I’m going to help you get to medical, alright?” he suggested, those damn gorgeous eyes roaming your face with what almost seemed like wonder, even as his voice sounded all kinds of reassuring. “You’re safe now, I promise.”

Safe. You were safe. Because there had been HYDRA agents, but Captain America and actual SHIELD operatives had come to the rescue. And because Jemma was-

Jemma. Your straightened, dull ache pounding in your back as you did so, vision clearing a fraction with the sudden realization that you couldn’t hear your friend anymore. Your friend whom you owed your life very likely, but even if you didn’t, you would have-

You craned your neck over Captain America’s impressive frame, head snapping from left to right, nausea rising with the movement, but that didn’t matter, you had to-

You turned your alarmed gaze back to the man who was still holding you, an urgent question on your lips.

“Jemma? Is she--- Doctor Simmons, brunet, lab coat-“ you paused, realizing bitterly that you had just described half of the Science and Technology. “Female. She’s a doctor and an agent too, she was with me had a gu-“

A warm squeeze on your arm, the concern which had grown even more evident on Captain’s face melting away and giving way to a soothing smile.

“She’s alright. She’s already left to be checked up and to give her statement.”

Your shoulders sagged, your head dropping a bit; the violent vertigo that seized your body at that was not pleasant and you tried to blink it away, gaze catching the reflection of the still-blinking fluorescent lamp on the Captain’s shield.

Oh. That was probably what had made the whizzing sound before. As your brain conjured an image of that, a spinning shield flying through the air, you cursed yourself mentally for letting your mind even go there since you had already felt like you were the flying piece of metal and the thing you’d hit eventually would be the floor.

“My head is spinning,” you muttered absently as you attempted to refocus your gaze, praying to gods of religion and science alike you wouldn’t throw up on the poor caring man.

Why was he still sitting here with you? Surely there were much more important things to tend to than one little post-grad? How was he so kind and gentle? Wasn’t he known for inspiring speeches in a deep serious voice and for beating up villains with both his physical strength and brains?

So many questions and no answer in those pretty blue eyes.

In fact, the number of your questions grew exponentially when the hand on your arm released the pressure and gently rubbed your elbow instead; his free hand carefully cradled the back of your other hand, the contrast of leather and his warm skin surprisingly sensual, suddenly making you understand why so many regency era literature spoke of hand-holding as indecent even as it was barely Fifty Shades of Grey level of filth.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Captain Rogers said, snapping you from your thoughts. “Let me help you up and they’ll check you up too, including this nasty cut, okay?”

Huh?

Purposely slowly as not to make the vertigo worse, you glanced at your hand in his, feeling a fresh sting just by looking at your palm, your gaze instantly snapping away.

And falling straight onto two intact vials full of liquid of a distinct colour, lying carelessly about two feet away from Steve Rogers’ tactical boots. Your heart jumped in your chest, your hazy mind finally growing aware of your surroundings.

“Shoot! Careful around those, they’re highly flammable!” you warned him swiftly, his gaze snapping to the vials in question, while ours slowly trailed over the utter, utter messthe lab had become.

The sheer amount of broken glass, spilled chemicals, broken pipettes, torn papers and unidentifiable piles of junk was staggering and it was actually a miracle nothing had exploded yet – and as a cherry on top, a few feet away, a relatively small portable PCR machine, the very equipment you had been using, downright murdered along with your experiment and a smudge of blood around it. Jesus.

“Okay, that’s good to know. More the reason to get out,” Captain Rogers remarked, slight amusement lacing his voice, only growing stronger as he continued. “Keep a lot of these around?”

You could have scoffed, but you didn’t. You have no idea, pal.

“My friend is paranoid…” you explained, still staring at them, even as you mentally added ‘or not’, since those little things might have very well saved your life. As your gaze returned to Captain Rogers, your eyes caught on something else, having you sit up straighter in sheer horror. “Is that a stab wound?!”

You gulped at the sight, even as your uninjured hand instinctively reached out towards it – as if you could fix it. The already dark suit, a lovely navy blue, appeared downright black at left his side, right where it seemed to be singed by a flame.

Had that injury been there the whole damn time he had been sitting here with you, eternally patient with your slowed brain, Simmons’ cocktails lying around in one huge chemical dump in risk of exploding any damn minute?

You logically knew the answer had to be yes, but it made zero sense – and his answer made even less sense.

“Bullet, actually. Some sort of chemical damaged the Kevlar lining and they got a lucky hit. It’s just a graze.”

“A gra-“ you choked on the word, spit stuck in your throat causing you to cough and a groan escape past your lips as the sudden rapid movement sent your head pounding again.

“Hey, you-“

“You’ve been shot and you called my cut nasty?” you questioned through the tears, earning a smile worth giving up a career for – painfully warm, kind and… almost fond.

You truly must have hit your head hard.

…as if it hadn’t been evident before.

“I heal fast. You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be alright, doc.”

A knee-jerk reaction – again. What was it with him? Had he hit his head, forgetting you had already explained – you had, you hadn’t imagined that, right? – and now he called you a doctor again, turned into a familiar nickname, no less.

“I’m not a doct---- holy shit.”

It slammed into you like a train, struck you like a lightning, even as neither of those things had ever happened to you – yet, you imagined it had to feel like this.

A massive force, a force of nature, realization as bright and as unexpected as a lightning from a clear sky.

Doctor, are you alright?

He had asked that. He had asked that. He had said your words. He had said your goddamn soulmate’s first words to you, what must have been minutes ago, and only now it hit you.

You were left staring at him with wide eyes, myriad of emotions written all over his face, including slight amusement and what you had earlier inexplicably identified as fondness, because the reason why he was still sitting here with you – though perhaps that was what he always did when rescuing, what did you know, you didn’t, this was your first meeting, that was why he had said the words – was that unlike you, he had realized you were his soulmate right away.

He kept watching you, silently letting you process the crucial revelation, a tight but no less kind smile on his lips.

“You said my words,” you said oh so intelligently. “You--- what… what did I—say?”

It was perhaps the stupidest question of all you could have come up on the spot, but you genuinely couldn’t remember – and wanted to know what words he had been looking at his whole life.

…this part of life? Or before the ice too? How did he feel about that? How did he feel about you? Was he disappointed? He didn’t look like he was, but didn’t even know what you had said—

What you did know and remember was that you were supposed to be smart and yet it had taken you an eternity to even notice you were facing your soulmate you had been probably spewing complete nonsense, you were now stammering like an idiot and for someone who had been worried, always, even if in the back of their mind, if their soulmate would find them good enough, you were generally making a bloody awful first impression.

But seriously, what had been your first words-

“You said you weren’t a doctor yet,” Captain Rogers reminded you, voice soft with affection of someone who had imagined hearing those words at least as many times as you had wondered about yours, hoping they would be pronounced by someone who’d respect you and cared about what kind of person you were, and would hopefully, eventually care for you. Loved you even. The tender way the syllables rolled of his tongue, spoken as if they tasted of honey, nearly chased fresh tears to your eyes. Alright, perhaps your first impression hadn’t been as bad as it appeared in your – albeit injured – head. “But if you really don’t remember saying that, that’s not a good sign. We need to get you medical attention. Come on. Hold on.”

Blinking slowly, still processing the light and yet suffocating feeling that found residence in your chest as it was starting to truly settle that this man, this painfully beautiful and criminally gentle man, was your soulmate, he was leaning closer to you, his hands guiding yours to wrap around his neck, a wordless order you had obediently followed, and then one of his arms was sliding under your knees and his other wrapping around the middle of your back.

And then your vertigo hit you anew because you were suddenly up in the air, hands gripping hard at anything you could reach – conveniently, the only thing was him, because he had lifted you upin his arms, some of your weight resting against his chest – despite the pain that shot up your left hand.

“Whoa-“ And then, because your memory did serve you at least a little: “You--- have been stabbed.”

“Shot,” he repeated patiently, fondly almost, and you did recall he had said that.

You recalled despite the scent of pleasant aftershave and peak man suddenly enveloping you as much as his arms and the firm armour – or perhaps that was the muscles underneath? And those pretty blue eyes were watching you with a glint of amusement and a surprising amount of affection for a guy saying he had been hit by a bullet, while effortlessly carrying the girl he had just met in his-- very, very strong, muscly arms and perhaps your head was not only spinning because of the sudden height you found yourself at.

…amusement? How was he amused? Was that-- was that a joke? Was he making fun of his bullet wound, playing it down?

“That’s… really not better.”

He grinned down at you as he made his way to the exit.

Walking. Watching you. Grinning and not even really looking where he was stepping.

Oh no.

Oh no, he was one of those people. You had met men like him at Operations, except for some reason – perhaps some sort of a soulmate telepathy – you had a feeling in him, that the peculiar recklessness many people from suffered, the disregard for their safety, because they could handle it, was dialled up to eleven in him. On a one to five scale. Because scaling mattered; you were a scientist. You’d know.

However, he did make it out of the laboratory without blowing anything up – perhaps at least that recklessness was balanced up by enhanced senses of a supersoldier and indeed, healing fast. And you hoped with your whole heart that walking out unscathed was a conscious effort, be it for him (somehow you doubted that) or for the cargo he was carrying (you had no doubt about that, not when he was looking at you like that). At least he had kept the helmet on; you were thankful for that, even as you’d love to see him without it.

See your soulmate.

You knew what he looked like everyone knew what he looked like. If they had missed the WW II. ed, they could barely miss the news about an alien invasion he had had a hand in stopping, the fall of majority of SHIELD, and other exciting horrifying news.

“I’ll be fine, doc. Now let’s get you away from exploding vials and lab equipment you could knock me out with. I’d rather be safe when I ask you out for dinner.”

You gulped, gripping him a bit tighter as a memory hit you – literally.

The PCR machine. You had done that. You had grabbed it and used it to smash into a HYDRA agent’s face, using the nearest improvised tool of defence. Jesus.

I really did that?

“You… saw that?” was what you asked instead, a few second ticking by as the rest of his words registered in your brain – and god, you really hoped your cognitive abilities would restore soon and the head injury had not caused permanent damage. “Oh.”

As much as your heart started pounding at that, a pleasant somersault in your stomach for a change, it was a little unfair to sort-of ask you when you were in your current predicament. Being carried like that, so close to him, so gentlemanly and tenderly handled despite your weight no doubt straining him, especially since he had been shot – grazed –, yoursenses wrapped in everything that was him and pulling you in, you were fairly certain you might say yes to just about anything he’d ask.

And not just because he was your soulmate.

Your soulmate carrying you in his arms, while wearing a very flattering suit of armour.

“If you’d like, of course,” he added with slight hesitance that only made your heart race further, because he was laying out his own heart for you already, expressive, genuine, and maybe sweetly handsy but not pushy despite his title and rank technically giving him every right to do whatever the hell he wanted. “But either way, I’ll save the real question for when I know you’re not suffering from a concussion. That sounds good?”

“Yes, Captain,” you replied dutifully. It did sound good, his consideration warming you from inside out. His voice sounded good too. “Sounds good to me.”

His smile was bright as the sun itself and basking in its light and warmth felt just as precious. Except he was to be your private sun forever shared with other to a point, but yours. Chosen by fate itself, defying all you had ever believed, beating time by decades, only so you could find each other.

“Looking forward to it, doc. Maybe I’ll get to know your name too while we’ll be at it,” he teased lightly, but without malice. “My name is Steve.”

Steve.

You knew that. You liked that.

Hand trembling a little, but not because you worried he’d drop you as you partly let go of his shoulders, you reached for the clasp on his helmet, a fluttery feeling in your chest eager to indeed see Steve rather than the Captain.

You felt your lips curl up and mirror his when he gave a tiny nod at your brief hesitation, your fingers finally undoing the strap and revealing his face with his help.

His hair was adorably ruffled, a slight shade of dust on his cheeks whispering of where the protective gear had been; but scientifically speaking, as well as speaking directly from heart, he was absolutely beautiful, his tender smile telling you he thought the very same about you.

He was meant to be yours; as you were meant to be his.

And you couldn’t wait to get to know him.

You could tell there were people around you and they were probably staring; but for the moment, you didn’t care at all. You had just met your soulmate.

And you weren’t even a doctor yet.

“It’s really nice to meet you, Steve. But I have to admit…” you said, teasing him with a pause, rewarded by his eyes earning a curious glint, “that the Doc nickname is kinda growing on me.”

Complete masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

Oh this feels like coming back to my roots 🤭 but hey, this challenge is a revival of all thigs good of the past, so why not go with the good old-fashioned soulmate meet-cute with a little angst beforehand, right?

AND BEHOLD I WROTE SOMETHING SHORTER THAN 10K. SHORTER THAN 8K ACTUALLY! It’s an extravaganza miracle 😂

Also. There might be some unrelated smut in the works, but I will not finish that today so... won't be part of the cum together extravaganza... ah well 🤭

Thank you for reading and potential feedback 💕

May the Fourth be with you and the rest of May be kind ✨

#CT 2024 raffle entry #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #steve rogers #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fluff #soulmate au #soulmate steve rogers #the unexpected #anika ann

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the-offside-rule · 7 months

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Max Verstappen (Red Bull Racing) - Embarassing

Requested: yes

Prompt: 3) "His smile gives me butterflies"

Warnings: alcohol maybe idk

Y/n, the brilliant Red Bull strategist, reveled in the success of another 1-2 finish for the team. The victory celebration echoed through the night, and with each cheer, Y/n's heart raced. As the party reached its peak, she found herself drowning her nerves in a bit too much alcohol. In the dimly lit corner of the party, Y/n sat alone, contemplating the stars above. Max Verstappen, unaware of her intoxicated state, noticed her isolation and decided to check on her. "Hey, everything alright?" Max inquired, concern etched on his face as he sat next to her and wrapped an arm around her to show his support.

"I'm just here, having a moment. You know, thinking about someone." Max, intrigued yet puzzled, sat beside her. "Someone special, huh?" Y/n nodded, a dreamy expression settling on her face. "You won't believe it. I'm head over heels in love with Max Verstappen! Can you imagine? His smile gives me butterflies, and when he races, it's like my heart is on the track with him." Max, amused, played along. "You think so?" She nodded. "And his determination, Max never gives up. It's inspiring. Also, that Dutch accent is-" She paused lifting her glass to her lips. "It's something else."

Max couldn't hold back his laughter. "You seem to know him quite well." Y/n nodded, blissfully unaware. "Oh, absolutely! I have have come up up his strategy like all the time. I wish I could tell him how much I love him." Max, enjoying the banter, decided to play along. "Well, maybe you should." Max looked at her with admiration. She was seen as somewhat of a recluse at Red Bull. Yes, she was lovely but she was serious about her job and worked so hard to prove she was serious, that Max and many other team members were unaware she was even capable of being able to love someone. "I will! Next time I see him."

"Shouldn't be too hard. You're in a huge nightclub with him." Y/n nodded. "Yeah. Oh, and the way he talks about racing, it's so passionate. I could listen to him talk about it all day." Y/n sighed, blissfully unaware that she was talking to the very person she was gushing about. Max chuckled, enjoying the unexpected revelation. "Well, I'm flattered. Thanks for the compliment."

"Wait, what?" She turned. Max smiled and put his hand out. "Max Verstappen." He said teasingly. Y/n's eyes widened, realization hitting her like a sudden gust of wind. "Wait, what? Oh my- Max, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to- I mean, I didn't know it was you." Max laughed, genuinely appreciating her honesty. "No worries. It's flattering. Let me walk you back to the party." As they stood up, Y/n, suddenly shy, looked down. "I should probably go. I've embarrassed myself enough." Before Max could even say a word, off she went stumbling away. Max followed, but in the crowded venue, he lost sight of her. The party continued, but Max couldn't shake off the amusing encounter and the even more amusing strategist

The next day in the buzzing Red Bull factory, Y/n immersed herself in her work, determined to focus on strategy and leave the embarrassing incident behind. As she studied data and simulations, Max casually strolled through the facility, inspecting the ongoing progress. He eventually found his way to Y/n's desk, where she was engrossed in her tasks. Max leaned against the edge of the desk, smirking, "Hello, darling."

Y/n's eyes widened, and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I, uh, I think I may have said some things at the party." She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. Max, still amused as he was the night before grinned. "Oh, you mean the Max Verstappen love fest?" Y/n cringed. "Yeah, that. Sorry about that." She hid her head in her hands as Max simply laughed. He interrupted with a playful grin, "No need to apologize. I thought it was cute, actually. If you ever want to show that side of you more often, feel free."

Y/n blinked in surprise, and Max reached into his pocket, pulling out a piece of paper. He jotted down his number and slid it across her desk, winking mischievously. "In case you need someone to talk to about your Max Verstappen crush." Flustered but intrigued, Y/n managed a shy smile. "Thanks, Max. I'll... keep that in mind." Max nodded, giving her a knowing look, and continued his stroll through the factory. Y/n couldn't help but replay the interaction in her mind, a mix of embarrassment and excitement.

#f1 imagine #f1 blurb #f1 oneshot #f1 oneshots #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x oc #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen fic #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x oc #f1 x you #f1 x reader

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the-modern-typewriter · 6 months

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im so obsessed with the touchstarved hero thing that you did ive read it more than 20 times, a very normal amount yes, would you ever think of writing another touchstarved prompt or even a touchstarved villain one? thank you so much for your work

"I don't mind."

"Hm?" The protagonist looked up, brow furrowing.

"I don't mind when you touch me," the villain said. "That is - it's not horrific."

"Well, I'm glad I wasn't horrific. Life goals."

The villain shot them a look.

The protagonist smiled despite themselves. It was too easy to feel lulled, brain at ease for the first time in far too long, buzzing with all the good endorphins. Intimacy. Closeness. It was impossible to dwell on the danger, for as surely as there was attraction, there was danger.

They leaned in, slowly enough to clearly telegraph their intentions, and pressed a kiss to the villain's chest. Half teasing. Half something infinitely more dangerous, like genuine affection for the terrible idea sprawled beneath them.

The villain held their gaze. They almost even smiled back. They tangled their fingers into the protagonist's hair instead, but didn't tug them away. They let the protagonist settle even closer than before, head against their beating chest.

The protagonist was starting to understand that meant something too.

"It's merely that people don't do it very often," the villain said, voice clipped, carefully controlled. "Touch me, I mean. Or when they do, it's with the sort of casual presumption that makes me want to rip their hands off. You do not presume."

"Well, you did look ready to rip my hands off once or twice." They knew what the villain meant though. When the protagonist had touched suddenly, unexpectedly, it had been less about trying to control the villain and more just needing something to hold onto as the villain kissed them stupid. Instinct. Desire. Need. The villain had known that, hadn't they? "But you're welcome. I mean, any time."

The villain nodded. Once. Curt - uncomfortable, perhaps, with such an open and vulnerable emotion. They cleared their throat.

The protagonist felt another stupid swell of warmth. They could hear the villain's heartbeat slowing beneath their ear, trusting, and it felt like yet another giddy thrill for the day. A complicated and tentative privilege.

They lay together, in their stolen moment of illicit peace.

"Besides," the villain broke the silence after a while. "Next time, I can always ziptie your hands to the bed posts."

"Next time?" The protagonist's heart skipped.

The villain shrugged. "You like touching. You'd look adorable begging for it. I think I'd like to see that."

The protagonist was sure they'd gone all wide-eyed again, flushed and flustered, because that time the villain definitely smiled. They hesitated, then tugged the protagonist's hair.

"Come back here so I can kiss you again," the villain said.

The protagonist obliged, even as their brain whirled through all the villain had said.

How long had it been since someone touched the villain like this? Since the villain let themselves be touched? It was clearly something they craved, enjoyed, just as clearly as it was something more complicated than that too.

They stopped thinking as the kiss deepened. They drew themselves a little closer still, ever-mindful of where they put their hands, and only more conscious now because of that of the way the villain's body responded beneath them. The shiver of breath. The thud of their heart. The way the villain pressed in, only to pull back again, like a starved creature that could only sustain itself in small increments before it became too much.

It was intoxicating. It felt just a little like power. A good, perfect, brilliant sort of power.

As they broke apart, the villain studied them for another long moment, expression unreadable, but eyes almost soft.

"Come on," the villain murmured. "Play time's over. Let's go."

#to me this is Johnny and Finch #for anyone who knows those characters #hero x villain #villains and heroes #protagonist and antagonist #heroes and villains #villain x hero #writing #story #touch-starved #i like the thought of a more complicated touch-starvation where the villain is very much touch-starved #but also very much eager to be in control of how they are touched

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reiderwriter · 5 months

Text

reiderwriter 5k writing challenge

hello, my lovelies, and thank you so much for 5k followers~♡ it's been just under a year since I started writing on here, and it's been so fun interacting with everyone and writing for Spencer and the other members of the BAU team! I was a bit unprepared for some of my other milestones and threw some stuff together last minute for them, but I've been thinking about a writing challenge for a while and I finally decided to do it!

Please note: This is a writing challenge! All the prompts below are meant to inspire you to write your own fics and not as prompt requests for me. I hope you can use them as a starting point to write~♡

The theme for the challenge is:

daydreams and shooting stars`☆

There are two sets of prompts to choose from! The daydreams' prompts are based on classic fanfiction tropes that we know and live, and the shooting stars prompts are based on the zodiac signs. There are 12 prompts in each list, and you're welcome to mix and match prompts as you like! Maybe you'd like to combine your star sign with your favourite trope, or two particularly match well, or if you like a single prompt, you can just write for that. I don't mind if the fic is only very loosely based on the prompt, too, do whatever you'd like!

The writing challenge will run up until my 1 year writing anniversary, July 27th, so you have plenty of time to get your fics in! I'll be reblogging all the entries, and at the end, I'll add them to a recommendation list! Be sure to tag @reiderwriter in your fic, or use the hashtag #reidersdaydreams or #reidersshootingstars in your tags! I'll be tracking both~♡ You can submit as many entries as you like!

Rules for submissions will be at the end. Please read them before submitting~♡

without further ado, here are the prompt lists~☆

DAYDREAMS

ONLY ONE BED - a true classic in the sense that I will be reading only one bed fics down to the second I take my last breath. Feel free to invert this to "too many beds," or even "no beds at all, but somehow we're still cuddling," either way, I will read it and likely enjoy it greatly.

GRUMPY X SUNSHINE - which character is grumpy, which character is sunshine? my favourite grumpy x sunshine dynamics are the gloomy character trying their best to become more sunny after a tough life 🫡

FAKE DATING - we, in the criminal minds fandom, have written possibly every undercover mission possible to make our characters make out, but I'm coming in as a simple woman to ask - please do it again 🫶

OH. OH. - the plot revelations! Give me them! The sudden moments of clarity! I'm a fan, goddammit.

IDIOTS IN LOVE - there is nothing better than two huge dumbasses falling head over heels in love with each other in an "aw shucks" kind of way. Also, I'm an idiot, representation matters.

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE - coffee shop AU? Soulmate AU? HANAHAKI AU? If someone could please un- or re- traumatise my favourite characters I will be eternally grateful

SECRET IDENTITY - give the character their Emily Prentiss Lauren Reynolds moment, or just make them dress like a clown for like 30 minutes. Both count.

MUTUAL PINING - This harkens back to idiots in love, but it's about the LONGING, it's about the PITIFUL STARES, it's about the BURNING PASSION.

SECRET RELATIONSHIP - my love of gossip makes me a sucker for secret relationship stories because I truly want to be in everyone's business. Character A and B are dating? Brilliant. It's a secret? BRILLIANT.

SICK FIC - your poor little meow meow has a cold. Or your poor little meow meow has been poisoned with anthrax. Or your poor little meow meow is dealing with possible symptoms of schizophrenia. Or your poor little meow meow has been shot-

PSYCHO X PSYCHO - reidams fans, this one's for you 🥰

ENEMIES TO LOVERS - half of my requests are enemies to lovers requests! Feel free to include rivals to lovers, lovers to enemies, friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers, or any such dynamic that your heart desires.

SHOOTING STARS:

Aries - "I burn for you. I can't sleep at night for wanting you. It's the most maddening, beguiling, damnable thing, but there it is."

Taurus - "There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me."

Gemini - "There's such a lot of different Annes in me. I sometimes think that is why I'm such a troublesome person. If I was just the one Anne, it would be ever so much more comfortable, but then it wouldn't be half so interesting."

Cancer - "I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are an evil."

Leo - "There is no exquisite beauty… without some strangeness in the proportion."

Virgo - "They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered."

Libra - "Somehow, we'll find it. The balance between whom we wish to be and whom we need to be. But for now, we simply have to be satisfied with who we are."

Scorpio - "She didn't understand why, but faced with those decaying buildings and straggling grasses, she was nothing but a child who had never lived."

Sagittarius - "If you tell the truth, you don't have to remember anything."

Capricorn - "There's a low-level, specific pain and having to accept that putting up with you requires a certain generosity of spirit in your loved ones."

Aquarius - "An education was a bit like a communicable sexual disease. It made you unsuitable for a lot of jobs, and then you had the urge to pass it on."

Pisces - "I think it's perfectly acceptable and rather admirable to be moderately delusional."

Rules:

I'm accepting reader insert, an Original Character, a character/character ship, a platonic ship, or a Gen fics for this challenge. It can feature any Criminal Minds character or any character from any fandom you write for. I assume a lot of people will stick with CM, but feel free to write for whoever you choose!

Please tag me in your entries or send the link to me in a DM. It can be already written, or you can write it for the challenge. Again, the tags I'm tracking are #reidersdaydreams and #reidersshootingstars ♡

The fic can be any genre, but ONLY send me smut if your bio states you are 18+. I will not endorse, nor do I want to read smut written by minors. I will check the ages of accounts posting smut.

For smut or angst fics that could include triggers, please include a content warning above the fic so we can be aware before reading!!

Enjoy!!

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bruisedboys · 9 months

Note

hi!!! i luv your writing, congrats on 6k 🤍 for the celebration can I request the prompt:

❛ was that your first kiss? ❜

w/ steve harrington?

hi angel thank u so much for your request!

steve harrington x fem!reader

Steve is looking at you like he might kiss you. You desperately want him to.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs. His lips move around the words seamlessly. You shouldn’t be watching his mouth so closely, but you are, and you can’t seem to pull your eyes away.

Steve must notice this because he brings a hand to your chin to tilt you up ever so gently. You’re pressed very close to each other, sitting with your legs dangling off the hood of his car. There’s plenty of room up here but Steve’s chosen to sit with his thigh pressed to yours. He looks down at you, something in his eyes that you can’t quite make sense of. The gold from his porch light reflects in his deep brown eyes.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks softly. “Please?”

You blink up at him. Is he kidding? Maybe you’re dreaming. Your mouth struggles to form sound, your tongue in knots.

“Yeah,” you finally get out, more of a breath than a real word.

Steve looks back at you. His gaze is so intense you feel as though it could set you on fire. “Yeah?” He asks, unwaveringly kind as always. The corner of his mouth twitches with the whisper of a smile. “Are you sure?”

You swallow hard. You really, really want him to kiss you.

“Yes,” you manage to nod and hope you don’t sound too desperate.

Steve smiles, wide and pretty. He’s got such a lovely smile. It’s the last thing you see before your eyelids flutter shut. Half a second later Steve’s mouth is on yours.

It’s wildly different to anything you’ve ever imagined. It’s eons lovelier. Steve’s lips are soft and gentle, his hand at your chin carefully angling you up towards him. Your stomach explodes with butterflies, fluttering madly in your ribcage. Steve tastes like spearmint and raspberry slurpee. His other hand wanders to your hip, fingers brushing a strip of your skin where your shirt tides up. His palm cups your hipbone, a warm, heavy weight.

Being kissed is like touching starlight, you decide. It warms you from the outside in. Burns your fingertips and makes your chest buzz with white hot electricity.

When Steve pulls away, he’s stolen all the air from your lungs. You’re embarrassingly breathless. Steve doesn’t seem to care. His hands stay on you as he tilts his head to one side.

“Was that your first kiss?” He asks quietly.

You know he’s not trying to embarrass you, he never would, but you flush anyway.

“Yeah,” you admit, shy. “Was I bad?”

Steve shakes his head vehemently. His hair flops sideways. “No. No, of course not, sweetheart.” He brings his hand up to cup your cheek, his touch so tender it aches. “You were perfectly fine, honey.”

“Oh,” you say lamely.

Steve smiles at you lopsidedly. He’s so pretty, you think. You hope he wants to kiss you again.

He curls his fingers over your cheek to carefully tuck some of your hair behind your ear. His other hand slides up your side to rest in the dip in your waist. You feel something in your chest that you’ve never felt before. This lovely explosion of brilliant colours at the realisation that Steve really, really likes you. That you’re liked by someone as kind and as pretty as Steve Harrington. That in itself almost feels like a kiss.

Though, Steve must read your mind, because he angles you up again in line with his mouth.

“Since that was your first kiss …” he says slowly. “Would you like me to give you your second?”

All you can do is nod. Steve gives you your second kiss, and many more after that.

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unboundprompts · 3 months

Note

Hiya, can you write some thunderstorm setting prompts? Such as activities, dialog, how to describe the storm itself and ect? Thank you so much!!

Thunderstorm Prompts

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

The air was thick and charged with anticipation. Dark, heavy clouds loomed overhead. The atmosphere was tense, as if nature itself was holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable release.

"Don't be nervous," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her in a safe embrace. "The storm can't bother us in here."

A distant rumble echoed across the sky. A warning of what's to come. The wind picked up, swirling through trees and knocking leaves from branches. The scent of rain hung heavy in the air.

He had always been a little afraid of storms. The sudden, loud noises never failed to make him jump. "Don't worry," his partner told him, "I'll protect you. Lightning doesn't stand a chance."

The storm intensified, unleashing its fury with unabated vigor. Lightning continued to crackle across the heavens, painting fleeting landscapes of stark contrast. Thunder rolls continuously, punctuating the relentless assault of rain and wind.

"Well," she said, "there goes our plans." They watched the downpour from the window, rain coming down in sheets. "Do you want to watch a movie?"

Jagged streaks of lightning illuminated the sky in brilliant flashes, illuminating the world in start relief for split seconds. Thunder followed closely behind, a deep, booming percussion that reverberated through the air and through your bones.

"This is kind of perfect, actually," he chuckled. "There's this card game I've been meaning to show you. I don't think we'll be going anywhere anytime soon."

If you like what I do and want to support me, please consider buying me a coffee! I also offer editing services and other writing advice on my Ko-fi! Become a member to receive exclusive content, early access, and prioritized writing prompt requests.

I also have a Patreon! Become a member to gain access to a Member's Only Community where you can chat and message other members and myself. Also gain access to my personal writing, which includes completed short stories, chapters from novels in progress, as well as completed scenes.

#writing prompts #creative writing #writeblr #dialogue prompt #story prompt #prompt list #ask box prompts #otp prompts #setting prompts

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cillivnz · 1 year

Note

Hi 👋 I see you write for Lord Dimitrescu (miss a spot, hit the spot was brilliant and I would devour more) and I saw that you are taking requests, what do you think about monster hunter!reader x Lord Dimitrescu? You can take this in whichever direction you like best, but I do have a prompt idea!

Lord Dimitrescu and his sons find a trespasser on their land and Dimitrescu takes her in as his guest/prisoner thinking that she is a clueless lost traveler, not knowing that she's a hunter willing to get close to him by any means necessary, even if it means seducing a monster. Gaining access to his infamous library full of books on how to kill every monster known to man is just the first step, what she really wants is to find out the family's weaknesses and get lord Dimitrescu to let his guard down enough for her to kill him and every last member of his twisted family. Or at least that was the plan...

I just love villain gets the girl/ corruption stories and the idea of someone rolling up into that castle with every intention of wiping out the evil that lives there, but getting seduced instead... 😍😍😍

Love your work!!!

façade of seduction [lord dimitrescu]

PAIRING — LORD DIMITRESCU x MONSTER HUNTER!READER

WORD COUNT — 12.6k+ (i’m so sorry, it’s for the plot!)

WARNINGS — SMUT. eighteen+. AFAB!reader, dark arts, necromancy, the supernatural, mentions of murders, beheadings, cannibalism, vampirism, extremely dubious consent, cursing, extreme gore (blood, cuts, stabbing, mass murder, executions, etc.), reader uses seduction as a tactic, death of family, size kink, age-gap, degradation, pet-names, mentions as well as performed oral sex (talk of male!receiving, performed cunnilingus), fingering, female masturbation, mentions of male masturbation, unprotected penetrative sex, weird & unspecific AU, creampie, cum-eating, breast/nipple play, clit stimulation, extreme descriptions (?), kinda sorta brat-taming.

A/N — whoa, baby! she’s done! firstly, let me just shower this anon with kisses for trusting me such an amazing prompt! thank you, you beautiful soul. i had a blast writing this, and i’m sorry i couldn’t finish it sooner :’( you’re a literal genius, i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing this, and thank you for the kind words! secondly,

i tried incorporating as much lore from the game as i could, majority of the plot is my own fictional work, and the rest [credited to the game] may have been tampered with to suit the plot of this fiction.

Lady Elvira Natalia Stoica is an original character — INCLUSIVE OF ETHNICITY, RACE, COLOUR, BODY TYPE, etc. the only definite characteristic she has is that she is reader’s doppelgänger with an identical appearance, and that her family is of the same origin as The Dimitrescus (Romanian).

Alcina Dimitrescu’s gender-bent version is named Alcides Dimitrescu in my fiction. the credit of his sons’ names goes to @angel-hawthorne ’s comment under this post.

there’s some deliberate references to my other Lord Dimitrescu fiction. read it HERE!

NOTES [excuse inaccurate translations]

"Idiotilor! Așa ne tratezi oaspetele?" : You idiots! Is this how you treat our guest?

"Oaspete? Dar ea—" : Guest? But she—

"Scuzați-vă." : Excuse yourselves.

căprița mea mică : my little doe

cameristă : maid

Pentru dumnezeu! : good god/for god’s sake!

𝓗unters.

Your father before you, and his before him. Monsters, demons, deities; anything of supernatural order, possessing paranormal traits needed to be laid down, and your family was bestowed with the responsibility to do so. They told you, you were god-gifted; possessing an astounding memory. It was as if you soaked in every word you read in journals rich in paranormal history, and carved every word into your brain with your own hand.

Those ungodly creatures fumed at the audacity of a mortal family killing the abysmal aristocracies in the name of slaughtering abominations.

How proudly you awarded yourselves the title of Vânători de urâciuni — Hunters of Abominations. Soon enough, though, the leaders of the Four Houses knew a lesson needed be taught, example be set; actions have consequences, and after all, you were mere mortals. Audacious, dangerous mortals.

The last of the Four Houses needed to be hunted down. Your father, your uncle, your brother managed to wipe out the other key members, before it was about time the reaper caught up to them. Weeks, months went by in weeping for them, never letting their caskets dry, but it was about time you stopped mourning. This isn't what you were raised to do — whom you were raised to be. There was no way in hell you'd let the last Family standing think that the danger was over, not when you found out that it was on their cue, their command, that the guillotine that slashed through your family's head held high, became the inevitable demise of the men of Vânători de urâciuni.

'Fuckers even had the audacity to send the heads back, all nice and packaged, and signed. It was then, you realised, the weight of your name's responsibility lies on your shoulders, now. Mother was too deep in the waters of depression, perhaps, vengeance would serve as her lifeguard, and you sought to get it. For her sake, and yours.

Packing the the remnant of your belongings, primarily, lore on whatever mutation resembled that of what you've heard the family to be; barbaric, and vampiric, you set voyage to Castle Dimitrescu, the Lord's stronghold within the vicinity of a titular Eastern European village; Romania, in other geographical terms.

After weeks on foot, travelling from place to place and squeezing in some good o'l slash-and-dash of monsters into your quest, you reached the abysmal castle. The oppressive aura surrounding The Dimitrescus' colossal abode could be felt miles away from its actual foundations, the monotonous venus blue atmosphere, the trees that have been decayed for decades, peering into your periphery, mortifying the sight of Castle Dimitrescu, even more. You shake off a shiver, determined strides leading you forward. An ominous forest welcomed you, seemingly, the flora responded to every step you took on the onyx soil; you were not too far from the gigantic gates of the castle, deciding to take a breather and assess just what you were dragging yourself into, the massive mountainous foliage providing a safe haven, temporarily.

Rummaging through the contents, page after page, you landed on Wendigo. You knew your ancestors categorised mutations in the same category as a Wendigo, it being the severest form of inhumanity; the mutated man would resort to cannibalism, still humanoid — tall and pale with elongated limbs and pale yellow eyes. If the Dimitrescus were anything like a typical mutated Wendigo, you hadn't thought this through. Then, you remembered your brother's journal.

He was vague with words, often scribbling up a précise at the end of a hunt. Too consumed by your tears, you initially forgot about it, until you realised halfway through your voyage that your mother packed his journal for you, and some documentations recorded by your father and your uncle in their youth, though, you highly doubted you'd be coming across an extinct creature.

There it was — the last page of his journal — the twenty-seventh page to be precise, with triple the pages still empty; clean slates like a reminder of his unlived life, the life that was taken away from him.

You smiled fondly at his handwriting, letting your fingertips trace the scribbles, how deeply the quill was engraved into the paper. You remember laughing at his handwriting, growing up, how your mother would ask him to get a doctorate to match his stereotypical physician's handwriting, but this is all he knew — all you knew. Hunting was your profession, your life and lifestyle, and now, inevitably, your demise, too. You began reading, as I said, your older brother, a master at scribbling précise.

You were unsure, however, when he'd got the time to write down about The Dimitrescus, having never come face-to-face with the tyrants. It seemed your brother's first guess, too, was 'Wendigo', which he scratched down, only to pen it down again, bigger and emphasised, once he enlisted 'Cannibalisme'.

Your heart sank at the etchings.

Even for someone like him, these were too cynical, like he were losing his mind at the mere thought of them: 'one LORD — THREE SONS', it read. 'Blood disease??', 'PARASITE??', 'VAMPIRISM'? That would mean— "Oh." You stood corrected when just below the analysis was a remark, "NO WEAKNESS TO SUN OR WEATHER". Sometimes you swore you and him had the same braincells, always jumping to the same conclusions, which only made the desire to avenge him overpowering.

Your eyes traveled to the end of the page, the last of ink spilled on the worn out pages of your brother's journal, 'NEOPAGAN CULT', 'BLACK GOD'. With widened eyes, and a sinister feeling you couldn't yet shake away, your eyes dart to the next, last page.

There was a symbol maniacally delineated, labelled as the same reports on the previous page. 'NEOPAGAN CULT SYMBOL', and at the bottom of the page, the last thing your brother ever did write was, 'THE CULT OF THE BLACK GOD'. You subconsciously traced the diagram, only to see the graphite taint your fingertips. Your mind was racing two hundred miles per hour, trying to put the pieces of a fatally intricate puzzle together. Your brother's journal, the last of the contents were mere observations, unlike the rest of the pages that are filled with methods of executing generations of monsters.

But for The Dimitrescus, the fact that 'most powerful family' was written with emphasis only made you scowl. You searched frantically in your bag for the journals of your father, your uncle; anything that spoke more about this parasite and the said Black God.

Glancing back at the foot of the palace, you had to do a double take when you saw the guards leave the premises, bread and wine in hand. Their chuckles could be sound from the heart of the forest, even though they repeatedly 'shushed' one another, saying "the Lord" would put their "heads on a stick".

You take their departure as your cue and pace quietly towards the castle. You stood face to face with the colossal gates, doing your level best to push them open, just enough to sneak in, but the big dumb fuckers wouldn't budge. Scoffing, as fate would have it in your luck, you began scanning the perimeter for any safe way in, otherwise, you sure as hell knew how to make an entry.

"Ain't no fucking way," you'd pretty much lost all hope, not realising when your brother wrote down, "tall", it included the infrastructure, too. It was then your eyes noticed one particular stone brick placed slightly outward, and the one above it, and then the one above it, outward enough for you to step on, up, and grip the grotesque grill, securing the premises from people exactly like you.

The first step up was easy, the stone steady enough to carry you, or so you thought for when the second you stepped onto the next one, the one below fell to the ground, shattering to bits. You eyed the stone your foot was on currently, leaping when realisation hit you. By the time you rock-climbed your ass up to the top, the whole way up had crumbled down. You gripped the gothic grill, not taking the maker of it to be a sadist, for it sliced the flesh of your palm even through the slightest contact. You winced, looking back at the broken rocks, perhaps, a good omen; no one would suspect you climbed up the wall, now.

Crossing the grill, you jumped down as silently as a human could, looking back at your newfound enemy, the grill, only for it to be leaking with crimson. You groaned at the sight of your blood, thinking you were better than this, letting some metal get the best of you, but the immense pain from the cut made your head a little dizzy. Shaking the odd feel off, you proceeded leftward, walking further in to be greeted by what seemed to be a courtyard.

No servants, chamberlain nor staff was seen out and about, quite contrary to what one would expect from the functioning of a castle this mighty. Though the odds were in your favour, it didn't seem so; it's quiet, too quiet. Nothing other than a raven's screech and the flap of the wings of a murder of crows was heard for miles. Your steps had quickened at the sight of a door, finally leading you inside. As you inspected it, you sensed a magical aura around it; you could use a spell to crack it open, but that would cause bring attention you did not need at the moment. So, you pull a pin from your hair and apply the cheapskate thief method, and lo and behold, you were in.

Fuck yeah.

Closing the bulky door as silently behind you as you could, you were slammed right back into it, while what felt to be a talon instead of a hand wrapped around the back of your throat. "Well, well, what do we have here?" Said an anonymous voice, cuing laughter from two more.

Fuck, no.

The last thing you remember was a pair of hands squeezing your waist, one choking you, while one hand ghosted over your face, causing a wave of unconsciousness to pass over you.

Chained; you groaned, a pounding ache ringing in your head like an alarm, your eyes blinked, close to a hundred times to get accustomed to your dark, unfamiliar surroundings, while your nose burned with the stench of— burning bodies?

You lifted your head to see three tall figures illuminated by the feeble attempts of a torch. "Alas, sleeping beauty wakes." You heard one taunt, a raspy baritone to his voice, "No fun — I prefer them unconscious," said another with a similar tone. "Well, you're no fun if you don't like to watch the fear in their eyes when they beg you for their life," said the third. The conversation flowed more amongst themselves, quite rude to not have included the meat of the matter — you, but what more could you expect from The Dimitrescu Boys? Oh, you were sure it was them. 'One lord — three sons', you remembered, and no odds suggested they were servants or guards. Not with the way expensive jewels embellished their stallion necks not-so-subtly, like an all-time reminder of their aristocratic status. 'Pathetic,' you thought, it seems no matter the day or age, the breed of "daddy's money" remains as obnoxious as ever.

While they bickered amongst themselves, you took the time to take in their appearances: Handsome, irrelevant. Tall, but no more than an average case of gigantism in most villages. Yellow eyes, but not humanoid — no, fully, thoroughly (so it seems) human. Could this be another variety? Hybrids, perhaps, since Vampirism was in the books of possibility. That could explain their immunity to weather conditions. Their facial features became vivid all of a sudden, and you noticed the blood smeared all over their faces. Paying heed to your iniquity, perhaps even irked expression, the boys smirked devilishly; not charming, dangerously, Lucifer-ishly, but satanically. You weren't into the lighter side of magic like your mother, only using it grotesquely, but you knew aura-reading, even envisioning, like the back of your hand, and theirs was sinister: an abysmal shade of black surrounding them, with occultism dancing between their physical forms in the fiery colour of hellish hues.

"Tell us, what's a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?" One questioned, "Hm, never seen one so beautiful." "Is she even real — ethereal." "Makes me almost not want to eat her." Your eyes widened at the last remark, "Eat her in a different way, I'd definitely." Their shark-like smiles grew wider, subconsciously causing you to back away from them while they inched closer, ready to pounce on you and relish your beauty. "What do you have there, boys?" Asked the deepest voice you'd ever heard, from the other side of what you now realised was the dungeon. You were taken aback at the intrusion, silently thanking your saviour, even if it were the man himself — Lord Alcides Dimitrescu, head of Familia Dimitrescu.

His sons scattered immediately, letting their father rest his eyes upon you. "Food, father," one spoke eagerly, as if trying to impress his old man. "We saw her trespassing in the courtyard, and then she came inside." Spoke the other. "You could have her," said another, "If you save us a taste." Your face lost its colour when a ice-cold hand wrapped itself around your throat, yanking you up with one lift, and throwing you towards the bars between you and the mammoth Lord. His devilish expression— softened? "Elvira!" He exclaimed softly, reaching for your face, but the second his hand tried to snake past the bar, he winced in contact, the metal bar hissing with effervescence. Weakness?

"Idiotilor! Așa ne tratezi oaspetele?" The man was fuming: a flabbergasted expression on the said idiots' faces. "Oaspete? Dar ea—" "She can do as she pleases in my home." The man spat venom like thunder, his hateful expression turned to apologetic and caring in the blink of an eye when he turned to you. "Let her out this very instant." He glared at his sons one last time before turning away and saying, "The longer you wait, the more severe will be the outcomes."

So you were rushed out the dungeon and sent to the guesthouse.

The chamberlain had been waiting for you there at the direct orders of her master. "Lady Stoica, We're truly very sorry for the inconveniences caused to you. The Lord gifts you these gowns as his sincerest apology. He'd love for you to join him for supper once you have freshened up. Step out of your chambers, when you're done, and I'll be happy to take you there." You didn't acknowledge her, only awaited her leave so you could examine the gowns she had motioned towards while babbling courtesies you didn't give a fuck about. It'll definitely take more than four gowns to earn forgiveness for the treatment meted out to you down in the dungeons, but you wanted to give the tyrant lord a little bit of credit, for the gowns were stunning.

As you took in the details of each cloth, you came upon a note, which read: Sweetest Elvira,

Forgive my imbecile progeny, if you think they are worth it, but let us celebrate your presence, still, in my abode. Would you be so kind to accept my invitation for dinner? I have long yearned your company since the last time Lord and Lady Stoica visited.

Hoping to have you with me,

Alcides Dimitrescu.

Your blood boiled at his handwriting. It was the same intricate, royally cursive writing that signed the parcel of your family's heads.

You headed into the bath with murder on your mind; no matter how many times you'd sink into the warm waters, the heat only aggravated your fuming self. It was rosewater, the scent made your mind trail back to days of yore: when your mother would set up baths like this for you, the sweet scent of herbs and nature's warmth filled your hateful mind with nostalgia, then worry. Your mother had the most fight in her, no doubt about that, but that didn't mean she resorted to it easily; always seeing the best in people, giving them countless chances to repent. A generous, godly trait, but fatal in a world dominated by people like the man you were to meet with for dinner— supper, or whatever. You were just glad you weren't being served as the main course.

For now.

As you dried yourself up, your mind replayed the conversations, the characteristics and behaviours of the family. How he called you, 'Elvira'. Yes, Lady Elvira Natalia of Familia Stoica, another noble household your family put an end to. The irony lay in her appearance: the two of you looked alike — no, identical. Perhaps minor attributes set the difference between you two, or the fact that you put a bullet between her eyes — eyes just like yours; it was the reason why the Vânători de urâciuni men hesitated to kill her — sister, daughter, and niece. Not you, never had you hesitated. It's what set you apart in a man's world. If a woman's emotions got the best of her, than lucky for you and unfortunate for the whole world, the only feelings coursing through your mind like the blood in your veins were bloodlust. Blood and Lust, as your mind trailed back to Lord Dimitrescu—

Alcides fuckin' Dimitrescu.

He was tall, so tall, he had to crouch to an uncomfortable extent just to get a proper look at your frame through the dungeon bars. His raven locs and beard: neat as a lord, rugged like a pirate; his sharp nose, his thick, furrowed brows, his luscious lips and those eyes. Those fucking amber eyes, captivating, devouring you like a fox after literal meat. Their hue was as fluorescent as a Wendigo's, then how was he not like one? How is he so devilishly handsome?

Stuck in a limbo, half- hypnotised with hazy memories of the Lord, memories you were yet to make with him, you were left enchanted; like he had cast a spell on yo— "Holy fuck." That's it. It's the only logical reason behind such profound emotions. He had cast a spell on you. It could've easily been the waters, you had bathed in them, let the rose waters soak every inch of your skin. Or worse, his eyes? You had definitely not been that out of it to imagine them glowing in the dark, but if he truly practised necromancy at such a profound level that a mere look in your direction left you enamoured, then you had to come up with a plan, and come up with a plan fucking fast.

Despite your certainty that the only way you'd feel something so unlikely for a man who was responsible for the death of family, was via nécromancies, you still had to be sure. So, you performed an indication ritual. In a vessel, you stored the possible method of enchantment — the bath water — along with the blood of the enchanted. You prick your finger deep enough to get ample beads of crimson out, letting them drop into the vessel. Now, if by dawn, the contents of the vessel turn potently black, your suspicions are true, and the tyrant Alcides, indeed, cast a spell on you, but if it were to remain colourless, than the worst of your concerns has arisen, for you'd have willingly let lust overpower the balance of bloodlust in the weigh of your emotions.

Placing the vessel underneath your bed, you begin dressing. The odds were too ironic not to choose the rose coloured gown for the evening, so you wore it, feeling condemned to. Fixing whatever you deemed necessary, you stepped out of your room to find the chamberlain stationed exactly where she said she'd be.

Her breath hitched a little, eyes widening as she saw you turn towards her, "You look beautiful, Miss Stoica," was her way of seeing 'you clean up pretty nice for a dirty mess in the dungeons', but you paid no heed, letting the woman escort you.

The walk to the Lord's dining area was awkward, and fearful for the servant. There was no denying you resembled the heiress of one of the Seven Royal Families, but you hadn't thought your own victim's identity would play as your decoy in your most fatal mission.

You didn't blame them, you were dumbfounded at the striking resemblance, yourself.

The hair, the skin, the features; it was without a doubt you killed your doppelgänger that day, and though you were never one to follow rituals of lore, it says, 'the slaughtering of one's self' — a doppelgänger — 'is the greatest sign of one's power and control', so it was no wonder since then you had long been feared in every corner of Eastern Europe, but you never earned notoriety, nor make a fuss over the death of The Stoicas, which is why everyone in Castle Dimitrescu believes you to be her, for they think she is what you are; alive.

"We've arrived, madam. If you need me, please don't hesitate to call." She gave you a knowing look, one of empathy? Weird. Interestingly weird. You only nodded, before pushing the glass doors open, and letting yourself in.

Alcides sat with the three of his sons, you'd heard him call them Boian, Cătălin, and Dorin, not knowing which one is which, but you doubt names matter when their death's are destined by your hands. As if sensing you, something you'd mentally categorise among his vampiric characteristics, his head shot up from his sons and immediately those amber eyes were on you, ripping through your dress, eating you alive. His lifeless skin flushed at the sight of you, wet hair clinging to your frame so perfectly, he could smell the shampoo from here. How tightly the dress hugged your curves, how accentuated the rose colour of the gown made your ethereal body. Your plump, pouty lips were rosy like the gown, an even prettier colour, the sudden blush that dared to creep on your face, your determined brows raised a little at the shameless attention you were receiving, your big, radiant doe eyes widening, pupils dilating, and your long lashes batting at his direction.

"Elvira." He rose from his seats, as did his sons, heads snapping right at you to shamelessly ogle at you. On seeing that the look of disgust on your face was directed towards his sons, he shot them a fuming glare, causing them to nod an apology and immediately be seated again.

"Thank you for joining me." He said, softly, awaiting you. You moved closer, deciding to be seated beside the lord, across from his sons. "How have you been, my dear?" His hand found yours, yours minuscule in his clasp. "I had been fine, until certain miscreants accused me of trespassing."

You shot the three culprits a glare, and rightly so. Alcides eyed his sons, clearing his throat obviously when his sons remained oblivious to his cryptic signs.

"We're, uh," began one, "We're sorry, Madam Stoica," continued the other, "We didn't mean for any of that to happen, we just wanted to scare what appeared to be an uninvited guest at the time." "Had we known it was you... well, let's just say your welcome would've been different. Mostly." Finished the last, and your mind immediately caught on to the insinuation:

"Eat her in a different way, I'd definitely."

You could see the man's blood boil beside you, "Scuzați-vă." He growled, and you caught a glimpse of just how much fear he's instilled into his children, for they immediately excused themselves from the table and left with hurried steps.

"Pardon them, I don't know where I went wrong in raising them." He sighed once they were out of sight, rubbing the bridge of his nose. You've never been one to sympathise with an enemy, but maybe sympathy isn't what'll lead to his slaughter; seduction is.

You wordlessly place a hand atop his, earning a soft gasp from him. His eyes searched your face, and when you couldn't help but give him a small smile, he grinned; from ear to ear, letting his pearly fangs rise from their pillowy coverings, his lips, which he soon had to bite to control his giddiness. "Oh, Elvira," his voice was soft, a mere yearn lingering in the warmth of the room. Had it been this hot since you stepped in, or had the flush of your cheeks been indicating otherwise? "You're so beautiful." His other hand tucked the stray strand of hair falling onto your face, behind your ear. You felt a tinge of bitterness brewing in you, whatever relationship was established between Alcides and Elvira, it sure was on the better side of the spectrum.

Were you really feeling jealous of your dead doppelgänger? Well, from the way he looked at you— her — right now, you'd say he wouldn't take to her murder too kindly.

"I swear, you're even more beautiful than the last time I saw you." You blushed, so he enjoyed the new-and-improved Elvira more. "Yet you stay ever handsome." NO. You didn't mean for it to slip, you didn't mean it, you didn't think it — yet, you said it, and he fucking relished in it.

To save you from your embarrassment, your newfound guardian angels, the chef and other servants, brought in food of all sorts. Albeit the sheer hatred you felt towards them, you couldn't help but ask Alcides about his sons. "Aren't you sweet?" He looked at you with fondness, before answering, "The servants will bring them food to their quarters."

Fair enough.

You proceeded eating without another word or glance in his direction. Upon finishing the scrumptious meal, you waited for Alcides to take the lead.

Men like him relished in power, authority, and since he was born into it with a silver spoon hanging from his mouth, it was the only thing he knew.

He looked at you for several moments, an unreadable expression on his face making you more conscious than repelled, as if you craved the validation of his eyes.

He rose from his seat, one hand lingering in the air, an invitation for you to clasp it, while the other grabbed a hefty cluster of grapes by the stem. "Walk with me, darling."

He had to look painfully low to even see your head, once you rose to your height, it helped, but little aid was provided to the giant standing at 9'6.

You held his hand, the sheer size difference had you squirming in your steps.

Just imagine how beautiful sex would be with him, you wouldn't even be able to fit him— "Fuck," you whined under your breath, making damn sure your voice wasn't audible to Mount Everest beside you.

This was the spell talking — thinking; it's got to be. You withdrew your hand, pretending to fix the blouse of the dress, earning a glance from the Lord in your direction, which only stayed for a moment before the calming silence between the two of you was the only thing you could see, until he halted, pulling your attention back to him. "Fruit, my dear?" He waved the cluster, so you knew which ones he was talking about. Come to think of it, you did feel thirsty, and those grapes looked lusciously juicy.

"I don't see why not," you shrugged, not anticipated him to raise the cluster to his mouth and bite a grape off. You watched, mouth slightly agape as a perfectly fine grape rested between his fangs. Even the slightest subconscious movement could rip through the fruit, yet it stayed perfectly safe in his mouth.

He then crouched, now eye-to-eye with you. His eyebrows raised in your direction, challenging you. Challenging you to pull the fruit out of his mouth, and there was only one way to do it.

You bit your lip, you could have your fun, just until you find a reversal cure to his spell.

So, you grab onto both his wide, muscular shoulders, letting your arms cross around his neck. You smirk at him, bringing one hand forward to trace his features. He was so, so strong, to the point you were more aroused than intimated. Your hand reached his torso, you could see how your teasing placed him in agony. Slowly, you let your hand ghost over his pants, and lo and behold, he was aroused; painfully so, and you felt it immoral to torment a man so much (the fucking irony), so you palmed him through his pants, causing his mouth to hang open and out fell grape— right into your palm.

You bring the fruit up to your mouth, Alcides left mesmerised with the way your plump, perfect lips wrapped around it before ripping through it. A moan escaped your lips as the juice dripped down your tongue. "So good," you left out a sigh, and something in him snapped. Alcides flipped you around, you were now pressed against some wall that practically emerged in support of his... expeditions. He plucked two grapes, placing them in his large palm, before bringing it closer to your face. When your eyes widened in confusion, his other hand wrapped itself around your jaw, squeezing your cheeks to open your mouth, before you realised what he demanded and gave it to him; you licked about the fruit, before accepting them into your mouth. Your tongue still teased his flesh, when he pulled away. Amber eyes mere slits with obvious lust, "Now," he began, "You can say you've eaten out of the Lord's palm." He winked at you before walking away.

You steadied your haggard breathing, before deciding to follow him when a certain room caught your eye. It were as if your name was being chanted like a careful whisper, that only sounded when you were left alone. Following your gut, as a hunter as skilled as you would, you push open the heavy doors and let yourself in.

The first thing catching your eye was an obnoxious leather chair that you couldn't help but run a hand over, "Gator skin," you scowled. Though a hunter, you were against hunting — animals, that is, although you'd be hypocritical to say so when the creatures you send to hell are no less barbaric than a creature tormenting in wilderness. Still, you believed in fighting an equivalent, or even better, an apparent immortal.

On the left of it was an fireplace, charcoaled in exhaustion like it recently gave up it's flame and purpose, and in front, was a library, the source of your calling; not colossal, yet extreme in number. The whispering chant grew to a shout, a yearn for each leather-clad covering of ink spilled on paper to be touched by your feather-light fingertips, and only a fool would turn down a beseech like such.

Books of alchemy, instructional journals of God summonings, documentations on every supernatural creature that roamed the planet and how to kill them; even the Satanic Bible was on display, and you explored every single one of them. Fighting the temptation to steal every book with valour, despite how useful each would've proved to be to you in the future, you declined every book until you reached what you sought, rather, what sought you tonight. "The Book of The Four Houses", the spine read. You pulled the book out, not anticipating it to be so heavy. "The Book of The Four Houses", you read again, searching for an author, but not met by any name.

You flip through the pages frantically, in hopes to find any continuance of relevance to your brother's observations, and there it was: Familia Dimitrescu, the excerpt was titled.

"Alcides Dimitrescu was born into the noble Dimitrescu family sometime before the Great War, and through this ancestry inherited a hereditary blood disease, possibly porphyria cutanea tarda. Although his family traced their origins to Cesare, one of the four founders of an isolated mountain village in Europe, Alcides himself lived elsewhere, perhaps through a cadet branch. In the aftermath of the Second World War and the abolition of the nobility, Dimitrescu returned to his family's former lands, which had fallen under the control of a neopagan cult worshipping the Black God.

Prior to 1958, at the age of 44, Dimitrescu was lured by the cult leader, Mother Miranda, to a crypt beneath the village cemetery, where he was surgically implanted with a Cadou parasite. The purpose of this experiment was to determine his viability as a candidate who could become host to a parasitic intelligence at a later date. This experiment mutated Alcides' body considerably, granting him regenerative capabilities, retractable claw-like nails, and the ability to transform into a dragon-like monster and back again. Moreover, the parasite halted his aging process, maintaining his appearance perpetually. In spite of these impressive biological changes, the resulting mutation did not nullify his blood disease. As a result, Dimitrescu needed a ready supply of fresh human blood to maintain his health, and was therefore judged by Miranda to be a failure."

"Although Dimitrescu was of no use as a host, his claim to Castle Dimitrescu was recognized by Miranda and he was allowed to take residence in the village as one of the Four Lords, who would maintain order over the native peasantry while aiding Miranda in Cadou research. Upon inhabiting the estate, Dimitrescu took over his family's vineyard and wine-distribution business as a means of supporting himself."

"Relishing in his reclaimed noble status, Dimitrescu developed extreme caste-based views of society, seeing himself as second only to Miranda herself. He openly loathed the other three house Lords, particularly Karl Heisenberg, whom he frequently argued with. He privately bemoaned that he was not Miranda's favorite, instead being treated the same as all the others. Despite this, Dimitrescu's alliance with the other houses allowed him to rule his castle with barbarous cruelty, regularly taking in new staff to replace those who had been taken to his dungeon to be killed and drained of blood for sustenance."

"Dimitrescu's own experiments with Cadou appear to have been limited, as the only confirmed instance was an experiment begun by Miranda and monitored by Dimitrescu. In this experiment, the corpses of three men were implanted with Cadou parasites. Over the course of about a week, the Cadou produced fly-like organisms which then consumed the flesh of all three bodies. Having assimilated the DNA of these men, the flies merged to mimic their human shapes and slowly adapted their likenesses. Dimitrescu immediately formed a bond with these three men, whom he named Boian, Cătălin, and Dorin, and came to regard himself as their father. They obeyed Dimitrescu without question, and were similar to him in that they were ageless and reliant on vampirism for sustenance. However, they were incapable of withstanding cold temperatures, thus remaining trapped within the confines of Castle Dimitrescu."

That explains the overwhelming warmth of the Castle that had began to annoy you.

"Over the next seventy years, Dimitrescu and his sons systematically consumed the flesh and blood of local peasants and servants alike. The blood of maids was extracted and combined with grapes to create Sanguis Virginis (Latin for "Maiden's Blood"), a traditional Dimitrescu family wine. The female victims, now infected with Mold, lived on as Moroaicǎ and Samcă, while male victims were consumed and then hollowed out to be turned into scarecrows for the castle vineyard."

"Dimitrescu's reign of terror was not without resistance, however, as one villager is known to have stolen a family heirloom — the Dagger of Death's Flowers — in an attempt to assassinate him with its poisoned blade. The attempt failed and he was buried with the dagger in the Tower of Worship to keep it hidden from any others who might seek to harm him."

You snapped the book shut, mind whirling in an epileptic shock, replaying every single word over and over in your head, then images of Alcides, his "sons", Cadou Parasites, Mother Miranda? By the time you realised it, you were hyperventilating, eyes scattering from corner-to-corner, in search of anything less cryptic, anything less 'Once-upon-a-time-there-was-a-beautiful-boy-named-Alcides', and more 'Weakness-to-duhduhduh-kill-by-gunshot-to-the-duhduhduh'.

You threw your head back in unfamiliar pain that originated from your chest, you can't believe plain ink on paper knocked the air out of you, but then again, so did the signed caskets of your family; by the same man you now found out to be ancient and seemingly indestructible, but talk of this "Dagger of Death's Flowers" gave you hope.

Your thoughts of retrieving it were cut short when the doors burst open. "What are you doing?" roared the thunderous voice of the man of the hour, "Elvira." His voice was laced with an emotion you were too out of your head to begin deciphering. His eyes dropped to the book in your hands while awaiting your answer. "Oh, why didn't you say so?" His expression softened, causing you to raise a brow in perplexity. He walked over, the fondness in his eyes returned, causing your tense posture to relax a bit. He took the book from you, and seemingly landed on a page mentioning Alcides' life before lordship. "You really love this book, don't you? I guess it is fun to read a fan's work." He chuckled, flipping through the pages as if he hadn't seen the book in a long, long time.

Huh.

If 'Elvira', too, had been scavenging through the book of Dimitrescus, possibly for the same reason as you, maybe you're more similar than you thought.

When you looked up to his height, his eyes were already on you. "You look tired, my dear. I would be happy to take you to your quarters." He smiled, and your heartbeat was quick to quicken at that. "I'd like that, my Lord."

My Lord.

The walk to your chambers was a haze, all you could feel was the growing wetness in your panties from the way his eyes bore into you; penetrating every inch of you, consuming your conscience with the darkest desires.

Taking out your brother's journal from your bag, you flipped to a fresh page and began filling in your own conclusions. As you wrote, you began to think— not just as a hunter, but as a long deprived woman who had just encountered the most handsome man ever, who just also happened to have murdered her family.

The way he walks, the way he holds your innocent gaze challengingly, the way he looks at you like you're the most exquisite meal, and he's a man starving. You had long abandoned the trepidation and abhorrence you felt towards his cannibalistic lifestyle, instead, feeling a shameful surge of lust shoot into you. You rubbed your thighs together, laying on the bed, but dutifully still, writing every bit of knowledge you gained today; from the parasite, to relations with the leaders of the other Houses and Seven Royal Families that Vânători de urâciuni had already slaughtered, to Mother Miranda, and even what little you read about the Black God.

By the time you covered every intricate detail of a disaster waiting to happen, the heat between your legs was nuclear; the throb, unbearable, leaving you no choice but to act on your animalistic urges. You straighten up, slowly discarding the beautiful cloth that once accentuated your body, now felt like constricted bondages on it.

Once bare, you sink into the pillowy cushions of your given quarters. Something about the whole room smelled like him, but the strongest scent came from your dress, when you were pressed against him. Even both your arousals could be scented from the innocent rose dress, so you tugged it closer to you, breathing in his smoky musk scent, along with your innocent floral one. "Fuck," you groaned, fingers finally ghosting over the mess dying to be made between your legs.

You decided now was not the time to tease, so you coat your fingers in your wetness and smear circles on your swollen clit. "Fuck."

Your bud throbbed in your grasp, desperate to have a little somebody's fanged mouth on it, your nipples hardened the same, aching to have that mouth graze over them, suckle on them, taint the soft, ample flesh with sinister marks. Hell, if it meant one night of succumbing to carnal pleasures, you'd even let the fucker carve that neo-pagan cult symbol on you.

"Fuck!" You weren't thinking straight — no, you weren't thinking at all. How could you? You were under a spell, 'Yes, that was it,' you thought, more so struggling in convincing yourself than anything. Just the sheer thought of a man possessing vile notoriety, relishing in every crime you've fought against; his size, the abnormality of it all. You fantasised about how inhumanely long his tongue might be, teasing around your clit before plunging into your slit.

Oh, that's it.

You shoved your fingers inside of you, whining at how unfulfilling they were, when compared to the hands of him. You were pretty sure his middle finger was bigger than your face.

The only sound to be heard was the squelching of your pussy and your whimpering. You could only pray you weren't audible, not that you minded, because it was Elvira Stoica who'd get mocked, not Y/N Y/L.

Your pace quickened at the thought of him fucking you as Y/N. Would the thought of fucking the enemy be as tantalisingly erotic to him, too? Or would he just hate fuck you, and then feast on your flesh?

"Fuck me..—" You lost your voice when your breath hitched in your throat. "Ju-just like that, mhhm." You were so close, just a bit more... "Fuck me."

That's it, honey, just let go—

"Oh," you moaned too loud to be safe, "Alcides!"

Your legs were shaking, cunt spasming around your fingers while your chest heaved up and down, in a breathless state.

As you rubbed your high out, realisation dawned in on you.

What have you done?

You woke up disgruntled.

Still unimaginably wet, yet thankful for the release, but you hadn't forgiven yourself. Last night was unacceptable, even for someone enchanted. To make matters worse, this isn't even the first time someone put an infatuation spell on you; at least three men before this, but not to pacify an enemy, but to woo a stoic woman with only murder on her mind.

The victim of such a spell for the fourth time, yet Alcides is different. This was incredible necromancy, not like any you've encountered before. It was then you remembered the vessel underneath your bed. Almost too eagerly you jumped off the bed, still somewhat entangled in the sheets, which you threw off swiftly.

You ducked under the bed, the vessel promisingly in the same spot as you had left it. Reaching for it with closed eyes and crossed fingers, you pull it from underneath and lift it to your height.

As you peeped one eye open, then the other in disbelief, you threw the vessel with one swing of your arm. It banged against the wall, before falling to the ground with a typical, screeching metal noise.

This can't be happening. There was no way you felt what you did for Alcides, willingly. The clear contents of the vessel indicated otherwise, though. There was no mistake in your ritual, either; you added what was needed and waited long enough.

"No, no, no, no, NO!"

This can't be fucking happening. You were ready to bawl your eyes out, when one sophisticated knock erupted you. "Elvira." It was him, you knew, your body and heart knew.

When no response followed, Alcides began, "My sons and I are travelling out of estate," he cleared his throat, "I'm sorry for telling you on such short notice, but we won't be back until tomorrow." His voiced trailed off, as if waiting for you to reveal yourself, your reaction, anything, but you're too shaken up to give him any satisfaction. "That's quite alright, my lord." You swallow the lump in your throat, not being able to control yourself and adding, "I'll be right here, waiting." You swore you heard a groan, but were stuck in a limbo by the time Alcides left your door.

You decided all things could be said and done after bathing, so you run a bath and let the scented waters soak into you, replacing the stench of your sins with the perfumed power of blaming Alcides; but you couldn't do that anymore, could you? Not when he was never provocative.

Once you finished freshening up, you grabbed another one of the gowns Dimitrescu gave you. It was black, and beautiful; you were left speechless when you put it on. God, did he really have to make you feel beautiful when you were sent to kill his entire bloodline? "Ah, such unfortunate circumstances." You 'tsked' before doing your hair.

By the time you were done with your makeup, you were certain of today's plan: You were going for breakfast, accessing the courtyard, navigating the Tower Of Worship, exhuming the villager with whom the "Dagger of Death's Flowers" is buried; dig it out, lace the blade with gunpowder, stab all fuckers, one by one, get the fuck out, walk miles back home, and hibernate.

Sweet.

You step out of your quarters to find the chamberlain posted there, just like the day before. "If I say so, my lady?" She looked up at you, the tiny thing was adorable for the fear she felt, yet still wanted you to know that, "You look ravishing." She briefly looked you in the eye before the rouge on her cheeks became embarrassingly obvious, to her. You, on the other hand found her just as she was, adorable.

Upon entering the dining area, she silently took her leave, when you grabbed her wrist. "First Alcides, now you, too?" You asked, flirtatiously referring to both of them excusing themselves from you. "The least you could do is give me company." And how could anyone resist the sultry tone of a stunning woman?

So the chamberlain finds herself dining with you.

You insisted she sat besides you, and despite putting the maximum distance between your chairs, she complied. "So...?" You inquired after finishing your meal, referring to her name. "Oh— uh— Pasha, mi lady." You smiled, "Beautiful name for a beautiful girl." You saw her rub her thighs together from the corner of your eye. "Well, Pasha," you decided to break the awkward silence that hadn't formed yet, "You think you can take me to the Tower Of Worship?" You sipped on your tea, eyeing her while you swallowed, only to see her with widened eyes and haphazard breathing. "Me-my l-lady—..." she stammered, hesitation painted all over her soft features as if you asked her to murder The Dimitrescus herself, or eat you out, you couldn't decide which was more mortifying for the poor girl. "What is it, Pasha?" You sighed.

"Th-the area is strictly off limits— only the... family can go there." She gulped at your growingly irritable expression. "I am part of the family — the Stoica household, in case you've forgotten, cameristă."

"I- yes, mi lady. I'm so sor—" "I don't want to hear it." You interrupted, raising a hand in the air. "Will you, or will you not take me to the Tower Of Worship?" You stared at her, the impatience visible on your face, before you decided to put on the façade you knew best; the façade of seduction. "Please, Pasha," you placed a hand on her bare thigh, her little skirt leaving little to imagination.

"For me?" Were the magical words that got the job done.

So you walk with the head of the staff of Castle Dimitrescu, into the family's place of worship, to exhume the corpse of the only man with the balls to try and assassinate him.

Pasha dropped you off at the foot of the Tower, more than happy to bolt away once you told her it was okay to leave you alone.

You walk up the stairs, and into the end of Castle Dimitrescu.

For a place of "worship", the place had the most oppressive aura, reeking of the occult and unimaginable. You fought your way inside, barely getting in while the air was knocked out of you; perhaps, a barrier of necromancy, despite it, you were able to get through.

You ran from corner to corner, searched every square centimetre of the place, but no place near-resembled the tomb of an assailant. "Fuck, where is it?" Your hands dipped inside your bag to look for something, before pulling it out and beginning your rummaging.

Indeed, you had stopped by Alcides' study before breakfast, telling the maid you 'forgot something' in there during your "time" last night, before winking at her shamelessly and forcing your entry. Sneaking out 'The Book of The Four Houses' was something you could do with your eyes closed.

Your eyes read past every word until you landed where you were made to stop, when the wave of overwhelm hit you last night. "Hall of the Four", the title read.

"The Hall of the Four, known in Japanese as Between the Four Angels (四天使の間, shi tenshi no aida?), is an area of Castle Dimitrescu." The Hall of the Four leads to the Tower of Worship, but this door cannot be opened until the four masks are placed on the Angel statues."

You groaned a string of profanities.

It's like you were set up for failure, and the worst part is, you could hear him laughing in the back of your mind— Alcides. His new abode has become the back of your mind, for he never leaves there.

Tired, disappointed and on the verge of giving up, you leave the Tower. You were a goner without the masks, and despite being in a rush to at least try and acquire them, you walked in a defeated slumber.

The chamberlain met you somewhere near the courtyard, surprised to see you walking out alive. "Lady Stoica—" "Just take me to my quarters, Pasha." You sighed, earning a swift nod from the confused chamberlain.

You walked lost, still, until you reached your room and opened that damned book again. While you scrolled through the contents, a mere note fell off, barely in your grasp.

The handwriting.

It was your brother's, but— it couldn't be. They never got close enough, which is why you're here now, right? They never got close enough. Three of the most feared, skilled men in the world of hunting never got close to one man and his three experiments for sons.

How in the hell did— Wait.

'Mask of Pleasure: Second Floor of Castle Dimitrescu',

that's where you are right now.

Everything could wait, hell, God could wait on the other line of heaven. You needed answers, yes, but something in your gut tells you it's better unknown. All that matters right now is killing him and every last member of his twisted family.

Or at least that was the plan...

You find yourself walking towards any room, with any possibility of possessing a mask. Hell, you had no idea what it looked like, but if it looks anything like the pleasure you'd be rewarding yourself with once you get the fuck out of this place, the mask won't be too difficult to find.

Soon enough you had pulled the place apart — the whole floor — except one room you hadn't set foot in. Alcides Dimitrescu's chambers.

A colossal door; you couldn't look away from the necromantic symbols etched into the woodwork. Had you not possessed the ability to see through such dark arts, you would've stepped right in and be left to deal with a fatality. You pull two vessels from your bag; the Blood of Christ and Vurxelheim, two of the purest substances on the planet, known to melt away all magic, no matter how ancient or dark, and as your expected, it did just that.

Alright, now all that was needed was to open the door, and even an amateur could do that with a pin.

Upon entering, you took in the details of his abode, almost forgetting to close the door behind you. Everything was brown; that's something you've noticed about the whole castle. Monotonously warm shades of brown, dimly lit with heat radiating over every surface. You only quirked a brow at the abnormalities. It soon came to your knowledge that the foundation of this floor is regarded as the "Hall of Pleasures". Kinky.

You looked around every corner, in every possible direction and space, but to no avail. Sighing, your head fell back, eyes closed it absolute demotivation, but when you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was porcelain intricately carved, and hanging from the ceiling; a place where no mortal, but only a 9'6 indestructible titan of a tyrant could reach. It was obnoxious, if anything; placing it in a place so obvious, yet so out of reach — a direct message to show he's better than the rest, quite literally above them.

With no possible way of reaching it, you were still accessing your options when one strong arm wrapped itself around your waist and raised you up, right to where the mask hanged. "If you wanted to swing by my chambers,"

"You could've just asked, mic vânător."

Little Hunter— "Let go of me!" You writhed in his grasp, hand slowly reaching for the mask, still. "If you say so," he shrugged before letting go of you completely, letting you hang from the ceiling like a dreamcatcher. "Son of a bitch! You put me down this instant or I swear to God I'll rip through you and your experiments with my bare hands." "Ah, there's no need to get feisty, Elvira." He said, grabbing you by the waist, and putting you down, despite your kicking and struggling. "I'm only trying to help." He grunted, one hand disappearing behind his trench coat; you were ready to pounce at him, when he pulled, seemingly, the other three masks from behind.

"There you go, sweetheart. Masks of Joy, Sorrow, and Rage." He waved the remaining three keys to The Hall of the Four. You eyed him, and he swore the frowning pout was the cutest sight he's ever seen. "C'mon, they're yours for the taking, darling." He smiled at you.

"What's the catch, Alcides?" You sighed.

It's never that fucking easy, is it?

"One night with me." He simply spoke, taking your deepening scowl as a notion to carry on, "One night to decide what is it that you want, Elvira," "Or should I call you, Y/N Y/L of the Vânători de urâciuni?" Your eyes widened with horror; you hadn't processed him calling you 'little hunter', yet, and now this? This could only mean— "How did you—" "Please. 'You think I wouldn't find out about the mass murder of my fiancé? And imagine the gossip about town that it was a doppelgänger who did it." No, you were careful, he's lying — he's got to be. "Lucky for me, I get the sexier one, now." He chuckled, impressed with his wit.

When you didn't give him the satisfaction of freaking out on him, moreover agreeing to his terms, he rolled his eyes, "Pentru dumnezeu! The first mistake was the rocks you climbed on. They've deliberately been arranged like so, for trespassers like you to easily enter, walk through the courtyard, and into the quarters of my sons for them to feast upon. Then, leaving your blood on the grill? The scent agonised me. It was so difficult to put those three dogs on a leash, having never smelled something so sweet." He 'tsked', "The second mistake was trusting Pasha. It was her hand that twirled in your bath water, mixing the infatuation spell, and it was her, too, that switched the vessel underneath your bed. Very clever, by the way, very thoroughly performed indication ritual."

"But your third— baby, this mistake might as well be a blessing because it's the only fucking thing keeping me away from ripping into you slowly, and feast on your flesh for two whole days; pleasuring yourself, in my fucking castle, fantasising about fucking me."

"Oh, and the guillotine was Heisenberg, I only added the dramatic touch of sending the heads back."

You couldn't bear it.

Bottles full of emotions you've locked away for ages finally hit the concrete of reality; shattering to a million pieces while the man you still find irresistible, had an unimpressed look on his face. "Y/N. I know you want to kill me—" "Oh, honey, you have no idea." You laughed dryly, choking on sobs, but something tells you the impact of your threat didn't go in the direction you wanted because he visibly tensed when you called him, "honey".

"But," he raised both hands in defence, "I wouldn't have gotten you these," he said, waving the masks again, "If I didn't think this deserved a chance— we — deserved a chance." "You think I'll let you anywhere near me after you toyed with me like a plaything? Sent me my father, my uncle, my brother's heads to add a 'dramatic touch'?" "I should've put a more potent spell on you," he cursed under his breath, earning a scoff from you.

You pulled out a dagger from your thigh holster, and lunged at him. Caught off guard, Dimitrescu's eyes widen while you slashed through his alabaster shirt, eager to bleed some crimson into his lifelessly pale skin. "I've had it with you, brat!" He growled, the whack of his palm on your cheek took you back, and you didn't mean to moan.

The cry, it was wanton, and it had Alcides latching on to every ounce of self control he still preserved. "Alright, here's what we're gonna do," he grabbed the dagger from your grasp within a second. "You're gonna take off your clothes, lay down, looking pretty for me like you always do," he walked closer, raising his large hands again in defence. "You following me— okay," he inched closer to you, while you backed away, further into the wall. "I'm gonna feast on this pussy, then I'm gonna finger your tight hole open, and because I'm feeling generous," he grabbed ahold of your waist, pulling you flush against his chest, "I'm not gonna force my cock into your pretty little throat, you're gonna beg for it." He caressed your face, the way your doe eyes watered while staring at him, like glass he could see his reflection in, your agape lips and soft expression made his pants constrict his cock agonisingly. "And the last thing I'll be doing, even if it's my last ever," his hand wrapped around your throat, pulling you to his king-sized bed. Laying you down, and climbing on top like a wolf on a lamb, he says, "Is fucking this pussy till you finally accept that you're made for me."

His mouth latched onto your neck, easily manhandling you at the same time while you writhed in his grasp. "I would rather be dead." You spat out venomously, which only made Alcides smile. "Well, alright. I'd still pound you till you're a mere cum-dump, but I'd surely miss those pretty sounds you made when you fingered yourself thinking about me." He panted against your pulse point, baritone voice hoarse with lust.

He spread your legs, lifting both your hands up by the wrists to his face. "Tiny little things," he kissed the knuckles of each finger, "Unsatisfying, aren't they?" He showered your hands with kisses, "Don't worry, darling, I'm here now." He raised both hands so their size was visible in your periphery, before grabbing your dress and pulling it over your head. "No!" You resisted, causing him to huff, annoyed. "Don't make me tear it off, honey, you look breathtaking in it." He cooed, and your movements haltered enough for him to successfully get it off you. "Good girl— such a good girl f'me."

Immediately his eyes were on your curves, your hips — perfect for bearing the child he was about to fuck into you, your breasts, so ample, all available for his groping and fondling, your pussy almost peering out of the silk panties. "Fuck, Y/N." He groaned, about to rip your underwear off when your pleads interrupted him. "Alci-Alcides please don't." "Hm," his sharp eyes seemed to be calculating his next move. "You say no, but your body," he groaned, pressing the knuckles of two of his fingers against your clothed cunt, "Your body sings otherwise, my love."

Every second passing by was petrifying.

The mortal battle between blood and lust, two things you were the epitome of, qualities comprising your very backbone, now, asked you to break it; bend over backwards and break your back for this man.

The string of pleads you cried fell on deaf ears, which, a part of you was glad for. Maybe if you continued to put the blame on Alcides and his necromancy, you'll actually let yourself live with the fact that your desires to have him ravage in your guts is overpowering, and the carnality lay in the fact that you didn't even care about what happened after. You were serving him your body in a platter, which you had not an ounce of doubt would eventually serve that purpose, quite literally.

"Tell me you want me." He hovered over your breasts. If he wanted to play games, then games you'll play. "I want you..." you whispered, "to go fuck yourself." He would've smacked you again, but again, you would've enjoyed it. What did stop him, however, was the shit-eating grin plastered on your face that showed him you were still on planet Earth, among the living and the abominable.

"Now, why would I do that, when I've got such a pretty girl with her pussy all wet for me?" He mimicked your expression, staring into your soul until you were forced to look away, and your eyes landed right on his clothed erection. "This?" He followed your gaze, "You're going to take care of this in just a minute, but for now," he paused, his large hands turning into talons and ultimately perilous claws. Cutting through the hems of both your garments, he retracted his claws immediately. You flinched when his hands came closer to your hips, "Don't be afraid, mic vânător." His baritone voice gave you absurd comfort, the tone, reassuring. "They can't hurt you, unless I want them to." His pearly whites were like the fangs of a serpent, peering out, bloodthirsty for you.

With that, he lowered himself and dove right in.

You slithered about while his anomaly of a tongue kitten-licked your inner thighs. "I'll tie you to the fucking bed, if you don't quit squirming." He spat.

At your pussy.

You moaned in response, hips momentarily halting from the continuous resisting. "Yeah? You like that don't you, slut?" His fingers spread your slit, before spitting right into your tight hole that fluttered about nothing. "There you go, my love." He cooed in response to your whining, smoothly inserting his index finger into the same hole. A tremor ran down your spine at the sudden intrusion; the stone-cold, thick and long thing digit was a cruel thing, reaching that sweet spot the minute it bottomed out till, knuckle-deep in your velvety walls, and even calling the others to join in on the assault on your cunt.

Accommodating, now, three of his fingers, pummelling your cunt, scissoring you open, was more overwhelming than any dick you've ever taken. Maybe the fact that no one else could amount to the size of an ancient 9'6 vampiric cannibal Lord who's put his and the life of his sons in your palm.

Either you take them away, or let him take you to carnality never fathomed before, and the way he sucked on your swollen clit while fucking you with his fingers was a clear indication of your preference.

"Alcides," you moaned, nearing your high. "Yes, my love?" He replied almost instantaneously, as if finally you complied with a poor man's request. "What is it that you need, darling? I'll give it all to you." He lifted up from your pussy, leaving your clit with a wet 'pop' sound, making his way over to your breasts, while his movements inside you never faltered once. His sharp eyes searched yours, fixated on them while his hot tongue snaked out of his mouth to twirl around your hardened bud. Flesh on fire, you leaned into the feel of his mouth on you. "Fuck me, Alcides." You cried in defeat. How the mighty have fallen prey to the vultures of lust, mere carcasses of seduction.

Alas, the façade of seduction had backfired, and you had fucked up royally.

Upon hearing the trumpets of his victory through your pretty mouth, Alcides would've been a fool to refuse you. Eagerly he undoes his pants, letting his throbbing cock spring free. Your eyes damn-near saw your brain at the sight of the thing. "Alci— I can't." Seeing you panic, he began getting off on it. "You can, and you will." He hissed when his calloused thumb rubbed against the slit of his cock.

"Oh, I wanna feel that throat squeezing around me." He pumped faster, fucking his fist to the thought of you like many a night before. "But this pussy will do," "For now." He said, rubbing his length fervently against your slit, lathering your wetness on his leaking tip, enthusing a sweet mix of your cum, much more of which was to come.

"Won't be... able... to..." You spoke in between moans gaps the tip was in. The stretch was abnormal, ungodly, unnatural — exactly what you're deemed to kill. "You'll take it, mic vânător." He began to push more in, knocking the air out of your body. "Stop clenching," he groaned deeply, the sound resonating in your core. Nothing could've prepared you for this intrusion, so agonisingly painful, yet deliciously filling.

"You've... got to s.—stop... clenching." He pushed in the whole length, deadening your movements. You'd think he'd fear breaking you, but no. Alcides fuckin' Dimitrescu was thrilled to see you finally submitting, even if your body paralysed in the fear of being ripped open, your back arched, breasts stopped wavering in the air, and your breath caught in your throat.

Only when the loudest, most pornographic moan left your lips did Alcides begin to thrust into you, already drunk off of your pussy, ecstatic in ecstasy.

Despite the slow speed, his thrusts were deep enough for legs to start shaking. To your shock, he lifted your legs and since they couldn't reach his shoulder's that stood almost as stall as the fucking ceiling, they were swinging across his forearms, and at this angle he slammed his hips into you.

You screamed, damage was made to your vocal chords as well as your walls when the penetration quickly turned into pummelling, giving you zero time to adjust to the mammoth size of it. On seeing your closed eyes, Alcides smacked your face, gentler than before, yet enough for your eyes to shoot open, face contorting in pleasure at his gesture that was now among your favourites. "Don't let those pretty eyes waver away." His grip on your hips was threateningly tight. "Look into my eyes, or there," his eyes motioned downwards, and it was then you saw the immense bump in your belly. Your eyes widened in profound horror. He had most certainly torn your insides apart, you were sure.

"See how big it is— how well you still take it?" He babbled while vigourously pushing into your poor cunt. "Pl-lease, go... easy on—me." You managed to plead out, but nothing counts stop the possessed Lord. Finally, he got the chance to feel your insides, and there was no way in hell, he thought, he'd let you off easy. Not when you're the biggest threat to his existence, let you wrap so tightly around his monster cock.

Dumbfounded, cock-drunk, utterly paralysed in place, you had no choice but try to get accustomed to the relentless attack your pussy had to endure.

Just when you thought your demise would be the sole pleasure you were forced to undergo, two of his fingers rubbed fervent figure-eights on your bundle of nerves that ached with bloodrush.

You babbled incoherences, whimpering, shaking your head repeatedly when he lifted your lifeless body, just the tip of his cock inside, and switched positions with you. Now, he laid, somewhat upright, hands crossed behind his head. Leisurely eyeing you, while you struggled to breath with his entire length upright inside your walls, his tip pressing against your cervix like an enemy threatening to break down your barriers; your walls.

"M-move... please..." you mewled, causing him to 'tsk' with disdain. "Help yourself, căprița mea mică." He raised a brow, mouth curling viciously into a smirk, "Use me as you please." Your shaky hands reached for his broad shoulders, raising then steadying your hovering self over his cock. His eyebrows wiggled in amusement, awaiting your move comically, until the feel of your walls struggling to take in his tip pulled him back into a trance of pleasure.

He let out an animalistic groan that lingered to be what you swore was a whimper, so you did your best to lift your tiring legs and plop down on his cock, upright and pulsating inside you. "I could fuck this pussy every moment for the remnant of my days." He smiled at you, large palms resting on your hot ass, slowly caressing your curves. The gesture, so contradicting to the impaling you were enduring, nearly knocked the air out of you, for when your perplexed eyes met his expectedly ravenous ones, you were shocked to see them replaced by fondness.

"If I'm lucky enough to live," he paused, hands squeezing your ass before sitting upright, pulling you with him. You moaned wantonly when you felt his cock deeper. "Let this be how we wake, how we sleep — in each other's embrace." His eyes widened, as did yours, like deer caught in front of headlights. The feigning look of innocence on his face sent your core spiralling with erotic ache, when his face, not once breaking eye contact, inched forward to stop just in front of your nipple.

You shrieked when he took complete control, earning a whine from you as you just got the hang of dominance, but when you noticed the hellbent gleam of carnality in his eyes, you knew you were in for a ride.

He suckled on your bud while fucking through you. "You're close, aren't you?" He pulled away from your nipple with a pop sound, resting his bearded face on your breast, "I know you are. 'Can feel her tightening around my cock." He chuckled, mouth back on the hardened bud in his presence. You sneaked a hand down and rubbed your bundle of nerves, fervently.

His large fingers, jealous of your own, were quick to replace them in driving you to your high. You were practically spoon-fed the orgasm, that took a toll on your fragile body.

No emotion overwhelmed every hemisphere, every neurone of your brain like ever before. Your mind went spiralling away, like an eternal shore hugging the lunar tide for the first time a night, your shore's dry spell was over, and your body did it's best to fight the feeling and drive a stake through his lustful heart, but your body was worn out; used as any lucky ragdoll would be.

The overstimulation sent you back to Earth at godspeed. His movements were sloppy, but not faltering, and soon enough, he let his seed bathe your walls a pearly shade. "Take it all— carry my seed." He moaned, absentmindedly.

When you plopped onto his shoulders, he lifted you up single-handedly and laid between your legs. You instinctively closed them; despite being too fucked out of it, you still cringed at how both your cum leaked out of you, ruining the sheets and everything between.

"Alcides, no—"

You were a second too late in pleading, for he grabbed you by the legs, placed them on his shoulders, and stood up.

You hung upside down, your pussy a stone's throw away from the man's smirked lips. By now, you knew what was about to unfold, yet the first lick to your cum-coated lips sent shockwaves down your spine (rather up?).

He moaned against your clit, the vibrations causing you to writhe in his grasp. His tongue licked your pussy clean, the circular motions on your clit, to the long licks from your clit to slit.

It's crazy how an anomaly like him became your exception — the hunter's favourite prey. With a tongue so skilled, you weren't to be blamed for succumbing to your current situation; not like you could do much in the grasp of a monster like him.

You're lucky his cock didn't fuck a new hole into you.

When his large palms let go of your hips, you wrapped your legs around his neck instinctively. You could've used his vulnerability to your advantage, had your mind not clouded in the ecstasy of overstimulation. It seemed like Alcides thought the same, for he smirked devilishly to himself, letting his talons ghost about your flesh, before slightly retracting to pinch and squeeze your nipples. He placed open mouthed kisses on your clit that not once stopped throbbing.

You shook in agony, his mouth worked tantalisingly slow on your burning hot cunt. Deciding to show mercy, an unlikely thing for the tyrant Lord, he smiled at your frame hanging tightly from his; your breasts heaving under his touch, obstructing his view of your pleasure-stricken face.

Lord Dimitrescu plunged his tongue inside you, placing one hand on your hip to push and grind you against his tongue, and you swore every atom in your body was swollen with pleasure.

"No... n-no more..." Your beseech was deemed adorable by the man tongue-fucking you. He pulled out, slithery wet tongue, coated in your juices, leaving you breathless. He lapped at your wetness, growing per minute as he so desperately coaxed more out of you.

Dumbfounded, pussy-drunk, utterly engrossed in place, you had no choice but try to get accustomed to the relentless devouring of your pussy at the hands of your sworn enemy.

One of his hands snaked to your clit, the ever fervent pace of his movements drove you to madness. Your body stilled, eyes rolled back, breath hitched, and it was when his tongue flicked inside of you that you realised that you were doomed.

After drinking your juices clean, Alcides placed you gently on his bed, and by the time he laid next to you, you had already wandered off in dreams.

Your mother awaited your letters.

Perhaps, she'll be rejoiced to hear you alive and well, or maybe she'll be mortified that you're alive and well, and The Dimitrescus live and breath, still. Either way, she and the rest of the world better get used to you signing every final letter as 'Lady Dimitrescu'.

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