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slytherinslut0 · 11 months

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MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Twenty Two-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day, during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: very angst. lots of emotions going on here. reader proves herself to the syltherin boys. honestly just a really playful, fun, light chapter.

FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

In the wake of Mattheo's cutting words, three days had passed--three seemingly endless days since he had slammed the door shut on your attempts to help him, his declaration of your connection being nothing more than a futile endeavour, one destined for ruin once the end of the school year rolled around still ringing in your ears like a haunting melody.

The echo of his harsh words reverberated within your mind, an incessant hologram with no escape, seeping into your thoughts during sleepless nights, intruding upon your attempts to focus on anything else. You weren't sure why those words had cut so fucking deep, because in the moment you'd hardly even flinched, but you couldn't ignore the lingering pain they caused.

And during those agonizing days, an uncomfortable tension settled between the two of you, hanging in the air like an unspoken truth. You took the hint, biting back the words that threatened to spill, choosing silence over confrontation. You trailed after him like a shadow in between classes, keenly aware that any attempt at conversation would only ignite another explosive clash, a battle neither of you felt prepared to wage again so soon.

The memory of your last argument lingered, its toxicity staining the air between you, leaving wounds too deep to heal without acknowledgment and remorse; two things neither of you seemed ready to give, quite yet.

But what really made matters worse, was that both of you were unyielding in your convictions--both of you shamelessly stubborn and unapologetic, neither of you feeling as though you were in the wrong. Mattheo barricaded himself behind walls, lashing out as if you were the enemy, despite your unwavering efforts to assist him--which, in turn, resulted in your pushiness. Your refusal to tolerate his aggression without challenge, became your armor, your way of standing your ground.

Maybe you had been too forceful, perhaps too harsh, but in your eyes, it was a response to the aggression he hurled your way. You couldn't simply let his hostility go unchecked; it was against your nature. And so, the standoff continued, a battle of wills and tempers, leaving both of you entrenched in your own convictions, neither of you willing to admit fault.

But today, you decided you weren't going to hide back anymore. You couldn't allow your stubbornness to completely destroy whatever progress you had made with Mattheo thus far. This was about more than just your pitiful feelings, or whatever emotions you had tied into the situation with that complicated boy. This was about being there for him, wether he wants you to be or not. Showing compassion and patience.

And so, summing newfound determination, you shook off the weight of your own melancholy and sought him out after dinner. Today, he and his group of friends had chosen the serene ambiance by the black lake as their study sanctuary, immersing themselves in the preparation for the upcoming charms exam next week.

Over the past three days, you had gradually grown somewhat acquainted with his friends. While you hadn't quite reached the level of camaraderie, there was a palpable shift in their attitudes towards you, a subtle warmth replacing the earlier distance. This change in dynamics became more evident, especially after the unsettling incident involving Berkshire, who still remained confined to the hospital wing, almost a week later.

With determined resolve, you traversed the courtyard and descended the hill toward the lake, drawing in a steadying breath. Each step echoed your silent promise: to honour Mattheo's boundaries, even if it felt like swallowing shards of glass. The crisp air seemed to echo your determination as you neared the group of Slytherin boys, their laughter and banter carried on the breeze.

Among them, Mattheo sat with his usual nonchalant demeanor, his tousled hair framing his intense eyes. A cigarette dangled effortlessly from his fingers, his bag slumped lazily beside him as he rested stoically against a tall tree, lost in conversation with Malfoy. As you veered closer, his gaze met yours briefly, as though he sensed your presence, the darkness within his eyes sending a shiver down your spine. Beside him, Blaise Zabini's face lit up with anticipation, a welcoming smile playing on his lips as he waved you over.

"Well good evening, little raven...always a pleasure," Blaise grinned, his tone teasing as he made room for you to sit down next to him. "Here to keep an eye on Riddle, are you?"

As you settled into the space between Blaise and Mattheo, the group of boys, including Theodore Nott, Draco Malfoy, and Regulus Black, welcomed you with light smiles and eager nods.

"Perhaps." You teased, sneaking a glance at Mattheo, his gaze planted on the cigarette between his fingers as he fiddled with it. "Or perhaps I'm here to make sure you lot don't burn down the entire forest during your little 'study session'..."

"Rest assured, we're Hogwarts' best-behaved troublemakers," Draco chuckled, his eyes glinting with mischief, a cocky smile playing on his lips. "But if you're worried about the forest, maybe you should stick around...your presence might just be the calming influence we need."

Your blush was undeniable as you smirked, meeting Draco's silver eyes across from Mattheo. He leaned back on his palms as his gaze darted over your features, the top buttons of his uniform shirt undone, exuding an air of effortless confidence.

"I know enough about you, Malfoy, to know that's the furthest thing from the truth," you said, your tone teasing. "But either way, I won't be going anywhere anytime soon...unfortunately for him, Riddle here is stuck with me for a few more weeks."

Blaise chuckled, his voice low and smooth. "Ah, the lucky bloke," he replied, his eyes meeting yours with a smouldering intensity. "If I had my way, you'd find yourself stuck with me, instead...and I assure you, it would be a much more enjoyable experience..."

You quirked an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Oh yes," he teased, his voice a playful melody as he shot Mattheo a knowing wink. "I know all too well the misery of enduring Riddle's icy presence all day; he could freeze a bloody dragon with that demeanor...it's almost cute that you think you'll be able to change him."

The timbre of his voice, a melodic dance of amusement, filled the space around you, and Mattheo's demeanor, once steely and composed, seemed to falter slightly under the weight of Blaise's remarks.

His features tightened, as if grappling with invisible chains, and your own smile, once confident, wavered slightly, betraying the impact of Blaise's words. Swallowing hard, you felt the weight of his teasing remarks settle in the pit of your stomach, a heavy reminder of the argument you and Mattheo had just a few days ago. Despite the discomfort, you summoned your courage, your voice soft yet resolute as you spoke.

"I'm not trying to change him, Blaise," your words hung in the air, delicate and firm, like a fragile thread of understanding. "I'm just here to support him...whenever he's ready to let me."

Your words lingered for a moment, underscoring your unwavering dedication to bolster Mattheo without imposing change upon his core. Although you were directing these words at Blaise, you hoped Mattheo had taken heed of them--as this mentorship, you understood now, was not about altering his identity; it was about assisting him in unraveling the internal struggles, urging him to redirect his anger into positive outlets rather than combatting every perceived threat with physical violence.

Blaise's eyes softened, his usual playful demeanor giving way to a more contemplative expression. He leaned in closer, his gaze scanning your features with a profound curiosity, as if searching for hidden depths within your soul. His voice, now tinged with awe and respect, broke the silence.

"Where have you been all this time, hm? He could have used someone like you years ago..." he murmured, his gaze shifting between you and Mattheo, a glint of intrigue shimmering in his dark eyes. "She must truly be something special for you to willingly sacrifice your freedom for her, Riddle."

"A special pain in my ass, yeah," Mattheo said, his voice seemingly devoid of emotion, a subtle hint of sarcasm lacing his words. As he took a draw of his cigarette, a flicker of annoyance flashed in his eyes, the smoke curling around him like a shield. "Nothing about this arrangement was willingly chosen, Zabini..."

Despite the gravity of his words, a rush of warmth surged within you at Mattheo's candid remark. Amusement sparked in your eyes, a glint of playful defiance as you tried to suppress a smirk that threatened to betray your composure.

"Don't let him fool you, he loves it..." your voice, low and teasing, hung in the air, the words daring and provocative as you shamelessly appraised Mattheo's hardened features. "Isn't that right, Riddle? You know you enjoy being kept on your toes for once..."

Mattheo met your gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly, but a flicker of amusement danced in their depths. Your boldness didn't go unnoticed, a silent understanding passing between you amidst the banter. With an air of nonchalance, he raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he brought his cigarette to his mouth once more.

"Yeah, that's what I enjoy," he drawled, his tone dry and drenched in sarcasm. "Being kept on my toes."

A rush of heat flooded your cheeks at Mattheo's sneakily playful words, your attempt to conceal your reaction falling short. Your eyes dropped to your lap, a feeble effort to shield your reddening face from the prying eyes around you. The charged words hung thick in the air, every gaze in the circle keenly aware of the subtle shift in dynamics. Before you could even think to react, Theodore Nott's voice, low and teasing, sliced through the tension, his eyes glinting with a playful gleam that hinted at secrets only he knew.

"Careful, Bella Mia..." he cautioned, his words hanging in the space between you, laden with enigmatic warnings. "You'll only get hurt."

Confusion knit your brows, a perplexed frown marring your features as you tried to decipher his cryptic statement.

"What?" you asked, your voice betraying your bewilderment.

"Your smile..." he replied with a knowing smirk, his tone light but filled with subtle implications, "...you look like you're about to fall in love."

The breath caught in your throat, the world around you momentarily blurring as Theodore's unexpected revelation hit you like a tidal wave. The color drained from your cheeks, leaving your face pale, and your heart thudded against your ribs with a fervent urgency, as if pleading for clarity. Flustered and unprepared, you turned your gaze toward Mattheo, seeking solace in his familiar presence.

Nervousness danced in your eyes, a desperate search for reassurance before you stammered out a denial, the words tumbling from your lips in a rush. "Fall...in love? With Mattheo? Sorry, no...no bloody way."

Your words spilled out in a hurried, almost desperate attempt to dispel the implication, yet there was an undeniable tremor in your voice, a subtle quiver that betrayed the unease settling deep within you. Mattheo's eyes met yours, but they held an emptiness, a haunting void that sent a shiver down your spine, something distant flickering within them, making your stomach twist in uneasy knots.

Around you, the group erupted into sneers and light chuckles, their amusement palpable as they sensed your flustered expression. But your attention remained fixated on Mattheo, his silent gaze carrying the weight of Theodore's words, a looming storm cloud hanging over your heads, heavy with unspoken implications.

In love. The notion seemed absurd, impossible even. No, it couldn't be true. There was no way.

"Nott's right, you'll only get hurt..." Malfoy's sneering voice cut through the air, his words laced with a malicious amusement as he cast a sideways glance at Theodore, who snickered in agreement. "You're far too innocent for Riddle... he'd chew you up and spit you out in a second...any of us would..."

He paused, his cold eyes darting from yours to Mattheo's, and back to yours again, as if sizing up the situation. A sly smirk played on his lips, the cruel glint in his eyes sharpening. "Well, perhaps not Notty boy here; he's a little softer."

A surge of heat coursed through your veins, igniting a fierce determination within you that contrasted sharply with the warm, gentle breeze caressing your skin. Despite the pressure weighing heavily upon you and the palpable weight of their expectations hanging in the air, you refused to succumb to their underestimation. With your pulse quickening, you squared your shoulders, locking eyes with Malfoy's cocky gaze.

"You know...I don't believe I'm as fragile as you all seem to think I am," you retorted, words laced with conviction, challenging their perception of you. "I can handle myself just fine."

"Don't let her appearance fool you," Mattheo's words, unexpectedly slicing through the charged atmosphere, nearly startled your heart out of your chest. His voice, dripping with playful irony, reverberated through your limbs as he spoke without even sparing you a glance, his dark hair framing his face and his whiskey eyes meeting Malfoy's with a challenging glint. "That pretty face hides one hell of a devilish mind."

A collective reaction rippled through the group of boys, their eyebrows shooting up in surprise, their smirks growing wider. The implications of Mattheo's remark hung thick in the air, sparking newfound curiosity and amusement that crackled in the atmosphere like electricity. Malfoy seized the opportunity, his smirk taking on a mischievous edge.

"Now you're calling her pretty, Riddle?" he teased, his tone laced with playful skepticism. "Are you sure there's nothing going on between you two? You have been spending a hell of a lot of time together..."

Simultaneously, you both shot back with lightening speed--your words colliding mid-air, overlapping with the others quick response in a chaotic symphony of denial.

"He wishes," you said, your voice carrying a playful edge--while at the same instant, Mattheo sneered, his tone dripping with sarcasm and wit. "In her bloody dreams," he said.

Your synchronized responses elicited another round of chuckles from the boys, a shared moment of camaraderie at the expense of you and Mattheo. The tension between the two of you remained, but the exchange had shifted into a playful rhythm, now, the unspoken dynamics between you two sparking curiosity among the others. Malfoy's chuckles gradually faded, replaced by a challenging glint in his eyes as he raised an eyebrow, a smirk curling his lips.

"Alright then...little good girl," he drawled, his tone laden with mischief. "Why don't you prove it?"

Your nerves prickled beneath your skin, a rush of anxiety coursing through your veins as you stammered, "Prove...it? Prove what?"

"Prove that you aren't as innocent and fragile as we think you are," he challenged, his words hanging in the air like a dare. "Prove that you're more than just your books and your pushy, smartass attitude."

Nervously, you glanced around the circle at each of the boys, their eyes fixed on you with wide grins of anticipation. The weight of their expectations pressed upon you, and you felt the intensity of the moment, wether you wished to ignore it or not. Mattheo didn't dare to meet your gaze, but you could sense the slight smirk playing on his lips as he casually fiddled with his cigarette. After a long, silent moment, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come.

"Fine, Malfoy," you said, your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest. "Challenge excepted."

With determination, you pushed off the ground, turning your attention away from the circle and toward the tranquil expanse of the black lake. The challenge had been accepted, and you were ready to prove that there was more to you than met the eye, ready to do whatever the hell you needed to earn their respect in your own damned way.

The boys surrounding you stared in wide-eyed shock as you swiftly shrugged off your uniform jacket, the soft fabric falling carelessly to the grassy ground. With a quick motion, you kicked off your shoes, the blades of grass tickling your feet beneath the fading sunlight--it was dark enough now that if you moved away from them, toward the edge of the lake, and stripped off your skirt and shirt, they wouldn't be able to see too much. Nevertheless, they'd still catch glimpses, and that was precisely the point.

Mattheo, still seated, shot you a puzzled look, his eyes narrowing with sheer confusion and concern.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he questioned, his voice slicing through the stunned silence. The weight of his gaze bore into you, searching for an explanation that might justify your unexpected actions. A surge of confidence pushed you forward, your resolve unwavering.

"I'm going to prove that I'm more than what you all think," you replied, your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins. "And that sometimes, good girls do bad things, too."

Theodore Nott, always one to read the room, glanced between you and Mattheo, a sly smile playing on his lips. "This should be interesting," he murmured, his tone laced with amusement. "Salazar save us..."

With a newfound sense of liberation, you descended toward the tranquil lake, the gentle lapping of water against the shore a soothing melody in the background. The soft rustle of the wind caressed your ears, heightening the anticipation that hung thick in the air. As you began to undo the buttons on your uniform blouse, each delicate movement resonated with the weight of the challenge, setting your heart racing in your chest.

With every button that slipped out, the tension in the atmosphere grew palpable, the burning gazes of the captivated boys etched into your flesh. The fabric of your blouse glided off your shoulders, landing gracefully on the grass like a discarded shield at your feet. Standing there, clad in nothing but your bra and skirt, you felt a heady mix of exhilaration and vulnerability wash over you.

As the cool evening air enveloped your skin, you sensed a presence behind you. Slowly, you peeked over your shoulder to find Mattheo sprinting toward you, his brows furrowed in disbelief and his eyes widened in pure shock. He came to a halt just a few feet away, his voice laden with a mixture of astonishment and genuine concern.

"Have you lost your bloody mind?" he exclaimed, his words a sharp contrast to the stunned silence that had fallen over the group. "You're going to fucking freeze..."

His gaze flickered over you, a kaleidoscope of emotions playing in his eyes, the dominant one undeniably being shock, tinged with a hint of something else--something unspoken and complex. Under the intensity of his stare, you felt a rush of warmth suffuse your skin, a bold defiance kindling within you as your hands moved to the band of your skirt. With deliberate slowness, you teased the length of its waist, holding his eyes captive in a daring challenge.

"What's the matter, Riddle?" you purred, savoring the power in the moment, knowing he couldn't physically intervene in front of his friends without arousing suspicion. "Are you truly worried about me?" Your voice dropped into a low, nearly inaudible whisper as your smirk deepened, relishing the way his eyes tracked your hands. "Or...perhaps...you're just unable to handle other men looking at your property..."

Mattheo's frustration was palpable, his brows furrowing as he struggled to maintain his composure. Yet, beneath the annoyance, there was a glimmer of amusement, a reluctant acknowledgment of your audacity.

"You're playing with fire, again, aren't you?" he muttered, his tone a blend of exasperation and begrudging amusement. A wry smile tugged at the corner of his lips, a hint of admiration for your boldness despite the irritation simmering beneath the surface. "Just be careful you don't get burned."

"Oh, please," you retorted, unable to contain your smirk, the confidence in your voice echoing your daring spirit. "Witches don't burn."

With a swift, decisive motion, you cast your skirt aside, the fabric pooling on the grass as you dashed toward the lake with unbridled determination. Adrenaline coursed through your veins, dulling the edge of the initial shock as you plunged into the cold water. A sharp gasp cut through the night as the icy embrace of the lake stole your breath away, the shock of the temperature quickly giving way to exhilaration. In the background, the boys erupted into cheers and hollers, their admiration for your audacious leap resonating in the crisp evening air like a chorus of approval.

Meanwhile, at the shore, Mattheo stood half-stunned, his eyes widening in surprise before that sly smirk slowly crept back onto his face. He watched you with a mix of amusement and something else, something that look almost like an undeniable respect for your audacity. His fingers absently toyed with his cigarette as he observed your fearless actions, his usual stoic demeanor momentarily shattered by your bold act.

From the water, you observed the boys exchanging glances, their smirks hinting at a shared understanding that transcended words. With an unspoken agreement, they shrugged in unison, a collective "fuck it" echoing through the air. One by one, they rose to their feet, shedding their uniforms with carefree abandon until they stood just as exposed as you were. Their toned bodies glistened under the evening sky, the moonlight filtering through the clouds, casting a silvery glow upon their skin.

With lively laughter echoing through the night air, the boys sprinted toward you, their infectious excitement palpable even from a distance. They effortlessly brushed past Mattheo, who stood frozen in place, his expression a mosaic of shock and amusement, his eyes tracking each of his friends as they leaped into the water alongside you. As the cold water embraced them, the boys couldn't help but groan in unison, their playful complaints filling the air.

"Bloody hell, it's freezing..." Reggie exclaimed, eliciting chuckles from the others. “How the fuck did I think this was a good idea…”

Amidst the banter, they turned their attention to you, their expressions a blend of awe and admiration.

"You've definitely surprised us, little bird," Theodore teased, his tone laced with genuine respect. "Making this look so easy, aren't you?"

Malfoy's voice echoed with a mix of amusement and challenge as he shouted across the water to Mattheo.

"Riddle, don't be a killjoy," he taunted, a playful glint in his eyes. "I know you can't resist a good challenge...you're really going to let little raven here outshine you like this?”

The words hung in the air, a tempting dare that Mattheo couldn't ignore. He stood at the water's edge, his expression a mixture of hesitation and a playful grumbling--clearly debating whether to join the revelry or stay put. You grinned as you watched, his face sporting a resigned yet amused expression, as he finally succumbed, muttering under his breath as he peeled off his uniform with deliberate slowness.

"You guys are bloody mad," he grumbled as he folded his clothes neatly on the shore, his movements deliberate and slightly begrudging. "If we catch hypothermia, Raven, I'm blaming you."

Finally, with a sarcastic salute and a roll of his eyes, he took a deep breath and dove into the water, his entry marked by a splash that mirrored the energy and excitement of the night, everyone erupting into laughter at his little display. Mattheo waded over, his playful irritation evident in the way he shot you a mock glare before unleashing a playful splash, water droplets scattering in all directions.

"Mattheo!" You squealed, wiping the water from your face. "You bloody arse!"

His eyes twinkled with mischief, and he couldn't help but smirk as you retaliated, sending a splash of water right back at him. The tension from earlier had transformed into a playful energy, the group now engaged in a water fight, laughter filling the air as splashes and giggles and squeals intermingled.

Before you knew it, everyone was caught up in the spirited frenzy, water splashing in every direction as the boys chased each other, their playful shouts and laughter blending harmoniously. Mattheo, who had initially been the reluctant participant, seemed to revel in the chaos, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he retaliated with gusto, no longer holding back.

As the water fight intensified, you noticed Mattheo momentarily distracted, his attention diverted by the antics of the other boys. Seizing the opportunity, you discreetly gathered a handful of mud from the lakebed, forming it into a small, compact ball. With careful precision, you approached him from behind, your steps silent in the water, and with a swift motion, you lobbed the mud ball, aiming for Mattheo's shoulder.

The ball hit its mark perfectly, leaving a satisfying splatter of mud on his skin, the boys erupting into laughter, thoroughly entertained by your clever move. However, turning around, Mattheo's eyes widened in exaggerated shock, his voice tinged with playful hurt.

"Did you just fucking ambush me? In front of my own men?" he exclaimed, his tone laced with feigned betrayal as he theatrically wiped the mud off his skin. “You’re real fucking bold, aren’t you, Raven?”

You snickered, grinning at the fact you’d caught him off guard like that. “You know what they say…never drop your guard, Mattheo…”

A mischievous glint sparked in his eyes as he casually glanced over your shoulder, spotting Theodore wading in the water behind you and Malfoy standing just a bit to your side. A subtle shift occurred in Mattheo's demeanor, a silent understanding passing between him, Theodore, and Malfoy. Their eyes exchanged a knowing look, a shared sense of mischief darkening their expressions. Mattheo's voice, once filled with mock hurt, now dripped with wicked amusement as he issued his command.

"Grab her, boys," he ordered, his voice taking on a sinister edge, setting the stage for the impeding revenge. "Time to show the little bird what happens when you mess with a bunch of venomous snakes."

Excitement surged through your veins, a thrilling concoction of adrenaline and laughter, as you attempted to evade their grasp. Your heart raced, the pounding in your chest echoing the playful chaos around you. Despite your best efforts, Theodore's fingers wrapped firmly around your arm, and Malfoy's grip held your other, their strength ensuring your playful struggles were in vain.

“Come on, Mattheo!” You squirmed and giggled, a delightful blend of resistance and amusement, as you found yourself caught in their playful trap. “I’m sorry, please…”

Mattheo, his confidence soaring now that you were being successfully restrained, seized a hefty clump of mud, his fingers sinking into its cool, squishy texture. As he spun back around, his eyes locked onto yours, and with deliberate measured steps, he closed the distance between you, his movements exuding a cocky swagger that only intensified your anxiety.

"Any last words, Raven?" he taunted, his voice dripping with playful malice, the echoes of your impending fate resonating in the air like a looming storm. "If you wish to pathetically apologize for that ignorant display, now is the time to do so."

"Mattheo, please!" Desperation and regret flooded your voice, your pleas tumbling out in a desperate rush, mingling with the tension that hung heavy in the air. "I'm so sorry, please don't--I didn't mean to-"

But Mattheo merely shook his head, a triumphant smirk curving his lips, dismissing your words with a casual flick of his hand.

"Actually, just decided it's too late for ass-kissing now, princess," he sneered, his words cutting through the air like a sharp blade. "Brace yourself."

With a swift motion, he hurled the mud at you, the clump splattering against your chest. Laughter erupted from the boys, their camaraderie deepening in the chaos of the moment. And you, caught in their playful trap, couldn't help but join in the laughter, realizing that the evening had taken an unexpected turn, transforming into a memorable, joyous escapade under the moonlit sky.

As the boys finally released their grip, laughter still lingering in the air, Mattheo met your eyes, his gaze dipping over your mud-splattered form with a mix of amusement and something else you couldn't quite decipher.

Grumbling, you couldn't resist a playful jab, "You're such an ass."

His chuckle transformed into a self-assured grin, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Guilty as charged," he admitted, his voice teasing. "But you have to admit, it was worth it for that look on your face."

You let out a reluctant chuckle, realizing the absurdity of the situation. "Fine, you win this round," you conceded, unable to suppress a smile. "But don't get too comfortable; next time I'm bringing everything I got."

"I'm counting on it," Mattheo replied with a grin, a spark of anticipation in his eyes, acknowledging the challenge you had just thrown his way. “Wouldn’t be normal for you if you didn’t.”

After a little bit longer, the group of you finally emerged from the water, the stars twinkling overhead like diamonds scattered across the night sky. Laughter and playful groans of annoyance filled the air as you all struggled to peel your clothes back on, the urgency to get back to the castle evident in the chilly breeze that swept through the night.

With clothes clinging damply to your skin, you all made your way back, sharing stories and laughter along the path. The atmosphere was light, the shared escapade having created a bond among you, making the cold night feel a little warmer. As you approached the castle, a sense of accomplishment and newfound friendship enveloped the group, and you couldn't help but feel a thrill at the unexpected turn the night had taken, leaving you with a memory of an exhilarating adventure under the starlit sky.

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Chapter 23->

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callsigns-haze · 3 days

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His Shadow: Chp 6

masterlist part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

Azriel, secretly juggling his responsibilities and personal life, maintains a hidden relationship with YN, who works at a pleasure house in the Hewn City. She was his light, his love, his passion. Yet being his darkest secret is a hard role because life in the Hewn as a young female isn't the easiest as the two of you hold an even dark secret yet to be told...

Pairing: Azriel x reader

This series contains mature themes: Explicit depictions of violence, including physical and emotional. Themes of secrecy. Descriptions of difficult relationships, including strained familial and romantic dynamics. Mature sexual content. Themes of power, control, and manipulation within complex interpersonal relationships. Discussions of parenthood and the challenges associated with it, including postpartum experiences.

The morning sun filtered through the thin curtains of their apartment, casting a warm, golden hue across the room. The soft light highlighted the simple, yet cozy space they had made their own—a sanctuary that was their little world, hidden from the eyes of everyone else. Knox was still asleep in his crib, his tiny chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, blissfully unaware of the tension building between his parents.

YN stood near the window, her back turned to Azriel, arms crossed over her chest. Her posture was stiff, her shoulders tense as she stared out at the city, her reflection barely visible in the glass. Azriel could feel the frustration radiating off her in waves, and he knew that this conversation was inevitable. He just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon.

He had taken the week off, needing to be with his family, needing to be with her. After overhearing Cassian and Mor talk about their little spying expedition on YN, he had made the decision quickly, without hesitation. But now, as he watched YN’s back, he wondered if he had acted too impulsively.

“Why did you do it, Azriel?” YN’s voice broke the silence, cutting through the stillness of the morning. It was calm, but there was an edge to it—one that Azriel recognized all too well. She was holding back, trying to keep her emotions in check, but he knew she was upset. “Why did you take the week off?”

Azriel let out a slow breath, his wings rustling slightly as he stepped closer to her. “I wanted to be here with you and Knox,” he answered, keeping his voice steady. “After everything that’s happened, I thought you could use the support. I wanted to make sure you both were safe.”

She turned around to face him, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and something else—something that looked a lot like hurt. “Safe?” she repeated, her tone incredulous. “Azriel, we’re not in immediate danger. You’re acting like I can’t take care of myself and our son without you hovering over us.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Azriel replied quickly, though he knew that wasn’t entirely true. He was protective—maybe too protective, especially now that their lives were more complicated than ever. He crossed the distance between them, his hands reaching out to take hers, but she stepped back, putting more space between them.

“Isn’t it?” she shot back, her voice rising slightly. “You’re here because you don’t trust me to handle things on my own. You’re here because you think you need to shield us from everything—even from your own family. But Azriel, I can’t live like this. We can’t live like this, constantly looking over our shoulders, constantly hiding.”

Her words hit him hard, and he knew she was right. But it didn’t change the fact that he felt this deep, unrelenting need to protect her, to protect Knox, to be there every moment in case something went wrong. The thought of losing them—of anything happening to them—was more than he could bear.

“YN, I’m not trying to smother you,” he said, his voice softer now, tinged with the desperation he felt. “I just… I need to be sure. After what happened yesterday, after knowing they were watching you—I can’t just leave you both alone and hope everything will be fine.”

Her eyes softened slightly at his words, the anger ebbing away, replaced by a sadness that made Azriel’s heart ache. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment as if trying to gather her thoughts before she spoke again.

“Azriel,” she said more gently, “I understand why you feel the way you do. I do. But this… this isn’t sustainable. We can’t keep living in fear, can’t keep reacting to what might happen. We need to trust each other, trust that we can handle things—even when you’re not here.”

Azriel’s shoulders sagged slightly, the weight of her words pressing down on him. He knew she was right, but it was so hard to let go of that instinct, the one that told him he needed to be there every moment to protect them. He had been living on the edge for so long, constantly aware of the dangers lurking in the shadows, that he didn’t know how to step back and just… breathe.

“I do trust you,” he said finally, his voice rough with emotion. “I trust you more than anyone, YN. But I’ve spent centuries living in a world where letting your guard down, even for a moment, can cost you everything. I’m sorry if I’m overbearing—I just can’t lose you. I can’t lose our son.”

YN’s expression softened further, the tension in her posture easing slightly as she stepped closer to him. She reached out, her hand resting against his chest, right over his heart. “You won’t lose us,” she said firmly, looking up at him with a gaze full of determination. “But you have to let us live, Azriel. We can’t keep hiding in the shadows like this. I need you to believe that we can handle this—together.”

Azriel closed his eyes, leaning into her touch as he absorbed her words. She was right, of course. YN had always been strong, far stronger than he sometimes gave her credit for. And Knox—he was still so small, but Azriel knew his son would grow up to be just as strong. They didn’t need him to shield them from the world; they needed him to stand beside them, to be their partner, not their protector.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, opening his eyes to meet hers. “I’ll try to do better. I promise.”

She smiled at him then, a small but genuine smile that made the tightness in his chest ease just a little. “That’s all I ask,” she said softly, her hand moving up to cup his cheek. “We’re in this together, Azriel. Always.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead, the simple act grounding him, reminding him of what truly mattered. “Always,” he echoed, his voice filled with a quiet resolve.

They stood there for a moment, wrapped in each other’s presence, the tension between them slowly dissipating. Outside, the sun continued to rise, bathing the room in warmth and light, as if to remind them that there was still hope, still a future to be had, as long as they faced it together.

In the crib beside them, Knox let out a small whimper, his tiny wings fluttering as he stirred from his sleep. YN pulled back from Azriel with a soft laugh, her eyes sparkling with affection as she turned to their son. “Looks like someone’s awake,” she murmured, moving over to the crib to pick Knox up.

Azriel watched her, his heart swelling with love as she cradled their son in her arms. Knox blinked up at her, his small mouth forming a perfect little ‘O’ as he looked between his parents. Azriel stepped closer, wrapping an arm around YN’s waist as he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to Knox’s head.

“We’ll be okay,” YN said quietly, more to herself than to him, as she rocked Knox gently in her arms. But Azriel heard the conviction in her voice, the belief that they would find a way through this—together. And for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to believe it too.

---

River House was alive with activity as the Inner Circle gathered in the spacious sitting room. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, casting warm pools of light across the room’s plush furniture. Cassian was sprawled in one of the armchairs, his wings half-draped over the sides, while Rhys sat opposite him, leaning casually against the backrest of a couch. Mor and Feyre were nearby, quietly sipping their tea, and Amren was perched on the window sill, her sharp eyes watching everyone with mild disinterest.

As usual, the meeting started casually, with updates on Velaris, news from the courts, and the usual banter. But something was different this morning, an undercurrent of curiosity running through the group. Azriel’s absence was becoming more noticeable, especially given his sudden declaration of taking a week off—a rare occurrence.

"So, does anyone else find it weird that Azriel's taking a week off?" Cassian said, breaking the silence. He shifted in his seat, his brow furrowed with a mix of concern and confusion. “I can’t remember the last time that happened. Not without a reason.”

Rhys’s violet eyes flickered with amusement, but there was a hint of curiosity as well. "It’s not like him," he admitted, his voice smooth. "Azriel rarely takes time for himself. He’s always working, always looking for the next mission or lead. But a whole week off? That’s new."

Mor nodded in agreement, her lips quirking in a small smile. “Maybe he finally realized he needs a break,” she said with a light laugh. “Even shadowsingers need to recharge once in a while.”

Feyre glanced at Rhys, her brow arched in thought. "He didn't seem like anything was wrong the last time I saw him. Do you think something’s going on that he’s not telling us?"

Cassian sat up straighter, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t be surprised. You know how secretive he can be. But a whole week off? Something doesn’t add up.”

"Maybe he met someone," Mor suggested, her eyes gleaming mischievously. “Maybe there’s a secret lover involved, and he’s just been keeping it from us.”

At that, Cassian snorted, his wings shifting behind him as he chuckled. "Azriel? Keeping a secret lover from us? That sounds about right, actually. He’s good at hiding things.”

Rhys tilted his head, a slight frown creasing his brow. “He’s been acting strange lately. Not just with the time off, but before that too. More secretive than usual. And those late-night disappearances…”

Feyre leaned forward, her curiosity piqued. “Do you think he’s hiding something serious?”

Rhys let out a thoughtful hum, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest of the couch. “Could be. Azriel’s not one to share things unless it’s absolutely necessary. If something’s bothering him, he’ll bury it deep.”

Mor crossed her arms, glancing between Rhys and Cassian. “Do you think it has to do with the place we went to in the Hewn City? The woman—YN—she seemed close to him. Could it be related?”

Rhys’s eyes darkened for a moment, as if recalling the encounter at the pleasure house. “Possibly. He did seem more… comfortable there than usual. And she did say something about going back after maternity leave. Perhaps Azriel’s more involved in her life than we thought.”

Cassian shifted, his expression turning more serious. "You think he's involved with her?"

"It’s possible," Rhys said slowly. "But Azriel’s careful. If he’s keeping something from us, it’s for a reason."

Amren, who had been silently observing the conversation, finally spoke, her voice dry and laced with boredom. “Whatever it is, he’ll tell you when he’s ready. No point in speculating about his private life.”

Mor glanced at Amren, then back at the others. “Still, it wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye on things. If he’s tangled up in something, we should know. Especially if it affects us or the missions we’re planning.”

Rhys gave a slow nod, his gaze flicking toward the window as if he were already piecing things together in his mind. “Agreed. But we give him space. Azriel’s earned that much.”

Cassian leaned back in his chair, his eyes thoughtful. “Yeah, but if he disappears again, I’m dragging him back here myself.”

The group shared a small laugh, but the lingering tension remained. Azriel’s absence weighed on them more than they were willing to admit, and the mystery of his sudden break gnawed at their collective curiosity.

As the conversation lulled, Rhys’s gaze turned distant, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. He could sense there was more to this story than what met the eye. Something was going on with Azriel—something deeper than just taking time off.

But for now, they would wait. And watch.

---

YN walked into the pleasure home, the familiar scent of incense and low hum of conversation filling the air. She had grown accustomed to the atmosphere over the years—the darkened rooms, the hushed voices, the hidden glances exchanged between patrons and the workers. Tonight, though, something felt different. Her nerves were on edge, her mind still unsettled by the feeling that she was being watched the other day at the market.

As she adjusted her black silk dress, ensuring it clung to her in all the right places, she pushed those thoughts aside. She had work to do, and there was no room for distractions. She glanced around the room, scanning the faces of the patrons lounging in their seats, drinks in hand and their eyes on the stage where the night's entertainment had just begun.

And then she saw them.

At one of the booths near the back, sitting comfortably as if they belonged, were Rhysand and Cassian. But this time, they weren’t alone. Their partners, Nesta and Feyre, were with them. The sight of the group made YN pause for a split second, her breath catching in her throat as recognition hit her. It was them—she had felt their presence before. They were the ones who had been following her at the market just the day before.

She played it cool, forcing a neutral expression onto her face as she straightened her posture. Whatever they were doing here, she wasn’t going to let them know that she had figured it out. She was already too involved in the tangled mess of Azriel’s secrets, and the last thing she needed was to attract more attention from his friends. Especially Feyre and Nesta. If they even had the faintest idea about her connection to Azriel, things could go downhill fast.

With a calm smile plastered on her face, she made her way toward their table. Her heart raced beneath her composed exterior, but she kept her movements steady, her steps measured and graceful as she approached the group.

"Good evening," YN greeted them, her voice smooth and professional as she came to a stop by their table. "What can I get for you tonight?"

Rhysand, ever the picture of charm and elegance, offered her a polite smile. His violet eyes met hers briefly, but there was a flicker of something beneath the surface—curiosity, perhaps, or maybe suspicion. Cassian leaned back in his chair, his arm draped casually over Nesta’s shoulders, while Feyre, sitting next to Rhys, regarded YN with an air of quiet observation.

“We’ll start with a round of drinks,” Rhys said, his tone casual, but YN could feel the weight of his gaze on her, as if he were sizing her up. “Something strong.”

YN nodded, jotting down the order even though she didn’t need to. She had memorized the menu long ago. “I’ll be right back with that.”

She turned on her heel and walked away, her mind racing as she made her way to the bar. It was no coincidence that they were here again, especially after what happened at the market. Rhys and Cassian had come to the pleasure home with Azriel once before, and now this was their third visit in such a short time. It couldn’t be a casual night out—it had to be something more.

Harvey, her bartender friend, raised an eyebrow as she approached. "You okay?" he asked quietly, noticing the tension in her shoulders.

YN forced a smile, shaking her head slightly. "Fine. Just...unexpected company," she muttered as she handed him the drink order. Her mind was spinning with questions, but she knew better than to discuss anything in the open.

As Harvey prepared the drinks, YN leaned against the bar, trying to steady herself. She had to stay calm, keep up the act. If Rhysand and the others were here for information, she couldn’t afford to give anything away. Not about herself, not about Azriel. Not about Knox. They still had no idea about her and Azriel, and she intended to keep it that way.

After a few minutes, Harvey slid the tray of drinks toward her, and YN lifted it carefully, balancing it in her hands as she returned to the table. She felt their eyes on her as she approached, but she kept her expression neutral, her smile practiced and professional.

"Here you go," she said, setting the drinks down in front of them. She noticed how Feyre’s eyes lingered on her for a moment longer than necessary, as if trying to place her.

"Thanks," Cassian said, his voice gruff but polite. Nesta glanced up at YN briefly before turning her attention back to her drink, uninterested in the small talk.

As YN set the last glass down in front of Rhys, she caught his gaze again. His expression was calm, unreadable, but she could sense the questions lurking beneath the surface. She had been in enough rooms with men like him to know when someone was trying to figure out a puzzle—and tonight, she was the puzzle.

Before anyone could say anything further, YN gave them a small nod and turned to leave, her pulse quickening as she walked away. She had to be careful now. Whatever game they were playing, she was already too deep in it. And with Azriel out on his week off, the last thing she needed was for his inner circle to find out about Knox—or their relationship.

As she walked back toward the bar, she allowed herself a moment to breathe. They were watching her, but she had survived worse. She just had to keep her head down, play her part, and hope that they wouldn’t dig too deep.

But the nagging thought wouldn’t leave her: Why were they here again? And what, exactly, were they hoping to find out?

YN stepped through the door of their small apartment, her body aching from the weight of the day. Exhaustion clung to her like a second skin, and her mind raced with endless thoughts—who had been spying on her, why the Inner Circle kept showing up, and what it all meant for her and Azriel. She had kept her cool at the pleasure house, but the constant pressure of pretending everything was normal while being watched was wearing her down.

The familiar warmth of home wrapped around her as she shut the door quietly behind her, but the tension in her body refused to ease. She dropped her bag on the floor, her gaze flicking to the couch where Azriel sat, barefoot and bare-chested, with only a pair of loose sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He was leaning back, a book resting in his hands, though the moment she entered, his golden-brown eyes were on her, sensing her frustration without needing to ask.

“Rough night?” Azriel asked softly, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. He closed the book and set it aside, his attention fully on her.

YN gave a small nod, too tired to speak. The weight of everything pressed down on her, making her feel like she could collapse right there in the doorway. Her shoulders slumped, and Azriel immediately got up, moving toward her with a fluid grace that belied the exhaustion she knew he carried too.

He reached for her gently, his hands sliding under her shirt, lifting it over her head in one smooth motion. The cool air hit her skin, but it wasn’t the chill that made her shiver. It was the way Azriel’s hands worked with such care, as though she were made of something fragile, even though he knew better than anyone that she wasn’t.

When he unclasped her bra and slid it off her shoulders, YN let out a long, shaky breath. Azriel’s presence was grounding, his hands firm yet tender as he guided her to the couch. He sat down first, pulling her with him until she was lying against his chest, her legs draped over his as she settled into his warmth. The steady rise and fall of his breathing was the only sound in the room for a moment, and YN could feel some of the tension in her body begin to melt away.

But she still felt overwhelmed—by the spying, by the uncertainty, by the weight of the past few days.

Azriel knew. He always did. His calloused hands moved to the scars on her back, the ridged lines that traced where her wings had been brutally clipped when she was only nine years old. It had been a trauma that never left her, not in all the years since. Even though she had healed, those scars still carried memories she couldn’t shake. And Azriel knew how much they haunted her.

His fingers brushed lightly over the scars, tracing the familiar pattern as he began to massage the tense muscles beneath. The pressure was just enough to ease the knots that had formed in her back, and YN couldn’t help the soft sigh that escaped her lips. He always knew how to take the pain away—both the physical and the emotional.

"Talk to me," Azriel murmured, his voice a quiet invitation. "What happened?"

YN closed her eyes, letting the warmth of his body and the soothing motions of his hands carry her for a moment. “I think they’re watching me,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I recognized Rhys and Cassian at the pleasure house tonight, and... they’ve been following me. I know it.”

Azriel’s hands paused briefly before continuing their gentle rhythm. He didn’t ask who “they” were—he didn’t need to. He had already suspected the Inner Circle’s involvement, though hearing it confirmed made his chest tighten.

“I’ll take care of it,” he promised quietly, his voice steady and unwavering. “You don’t have to worry about them.”

But that wasn’t the only thing gnawing at YN. There was more—the weight of being watched, the fear that their secret might be exposed. The fear that her past, her clipped wings, her life at the pleasure house, and everything she had built with Azriel and Knox would come crashing down.

“They don’t know about us, about Knox,” YN continued, her voice trembling slightly as she curled in closer to Azriel. “But if they keep following me... I’m scared they’ll find out.”

Azriel’s arms tightened around her, pulling her flush against his chest. His lips pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, a silent reassurance. “They won’t,” he murmured, his breath warm against her hair. “I won’t let anything happen to you or Knox. You’re both safe.”

YN buried her face against his chest, the steady beat of his heart calming the storm inside her. She believed him—she always did. Azriel had been her anchor, her protector, the one person who had stood by her when no one else would. But even with his promises, the weight of everything still felt like too much.

His hands continued to work at the knots in her back, his fingers gentle yet firm, easing the tension from her muscles. YN let out a shaky breath, feeling her body slowly relax under his touch. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to sink deeper into the safety of Azriel’s arms, the familiar scent of him wrapping around her like a cocoon.

For a few moments, it was just them—their shared silence, the unspoken bond between them. Azriel’s hands never stopped moving, soothing the aches and pains that had built up inside her. His presence was her sanctuary, the one place she felt truly at peace.

And for now, that was enough.

Let me know if you'd wish to be tagged! Comments and reblogs are really appreciated!

There's three more chapters left and I think I might make a sequel but not with the mmc you think it is.... But the drama unfolds in the next chapter

#acotar #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x oc #azriel fanfic #azriel spymaster #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel imagine #acotar fanfiction #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #az

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alyrasturnz · 3 months

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can u write a chris smut fic where his dior sauvage turns reader on

COLOGNE {{ chris sturniolo}}

summary — when the scent of his cologne envelops you, it ignites a spark of desire deep within, weaving an intoxicating spell that heightens your senses and draws you irresistibly closer to him.

— smut

warnings :: swearing , smut , p in v , oral (fem receiving) , overstimulation

a/n ,, this is gonna be my last smut for a while cause i absolutely LOATHE writing smut

entwined in the labyrinth of chris's bed, you lay draped over him, your face nestled in the sanctuary of his neck. his arms, like serpents, coiled around you, creating an inseparable bond that felt both comforting and inescapable.

the warmth of his skin seeped into yours, and the rhythm of his heartbeat echoed through your body, a steady drumbeat in the quiet room. each breath you took was filled with his scent, a blend of familiarity and solace.

his fingers traced idle patterns on your back, a silent language of connection and intimacy. the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in a cocoon of shared warmth and whispered secrets.

“you smell nice,” you whisper, drawing in a deep breath and savoring the intoxicating aroma of his dior sauvage perfume. the scent, rich and multifaceted, envelops you, evoking a cascade of emotions and memories, each note a delicate dance of familiarity and allure.

you felt a swarm of butterflies flutter through your stomach, their delicate wings brushing against your insides, and slowly your abdomen, as if igniting a gentle fire within. your core began to heat up, a slow burn of need and vulnerability that spread through you, leaving you feeling exposed yet yearning for more.

"yeah?" he mumbles, his voice a soft murmur, as his fingers weave through your hair with a tenderness that sends shivers down your spine. "what do you like about it?"

"it's really sexy," you whisper, your voice barely audible as it escapes your lips. you lift your face from the warmth of his neck, the lingering scent of his cologne still dancing in your senses.

your eyes lock with his, a silent exchange of longing and unspoken words. slowly, deliberately, you close the distance between you, your breath intertwining with his in a shared moment of anticipation.

your lips meet his in a gentle yet fervent kiss, a tender declaration of your desire that leaves you both breathless and yearning for more.

the kiss ignited with a fervent passion, each touch a spark that set your senses ablaze. as the intensity built, chris's movements became more deliberate, his tongue tracing the delicate contour of your lip with a tantalizing slowness.

it was a silent, yet unmistakable plea for access, a wordless request to deepen the connection and explore the uncharted territory of your shared desire. each moment stretched into an eternity, the anticipation building as you felt the warmth of his breath mingling with yours, a prelude to the deeper intimacy that awaited.

you part your lips, granting him silent permission to slip his tongue past the threshold. he ventures through the warm expanse of your mouth, exploring with a deliberate and tantalizing curiosity. each movement is a dance, a symphony of sensations that leaves you both breathless and craving more.

without breaking the kiss, he effortlessly flips you over, positioning your back against the soft embrace of the mattress. his strong arms create a protective barrier on either side of you, enveloping you in a cocoon of warmth and security. the transition is seamless, a testament to the unspoken connection and shared desire that binds you both in this intimate moment.

chris trailed a series of kisses down to your neck, each one a deliberate act of worship that sent shivers down your spine. his lips moved with a tantalizing slowness, savoring every inch of your skin. he paused to gently bite and nibble at the sensitive areas, leaving a trail of tingling sensations that made your breath hitch.

as if to soothe the marks of his affection, he then planted soft, tender kisses atop the love marks, his lips lingering as if to imprint the memory of his touch into your very soul. the contrast of his gentle kisses and the sharp bites created a symphony of sensations, a delicate balance of passion and tenderness that left you yearning for more, your body arching towards his in silent invitation.

your core throbbed with a molten heat, each drop intensifying the inferno within as chris' bulge pressed insistently against your thigh. the sensation sent waves of electric anticipation coursing through you, heightening the already overwhelming wetness pooling between your legs.

every subtle movement, every shift of his body, seemed to stoke the flames of your desire, making you acutely aware of the intimate connection and the raw, unspoken passion building between you.

"chris," you whimpered, your voice a delicate plea, as his chuckle resonated through the air. he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in another tender kiss, each touch a whisper of affection and unspoken promises.

"i know, baby. i know," he murmurs, his voice a low, soothing rumble as he deftly slides your sweatpants down, casting them aside with a casual flick. without hesitation, he descends, his mouth finding your heat with an urgency that sends shivers up your spine, your back arching instinctively in response to the intense, consuming need.

you let out a moan, your body trembling uncontrollably with waves of pleasure as his mouth expertly works on your clit. each flick of his tongue sends electric currents through your veins, heightening your senses to an almost unbearable degree. as he inserts two fingers between your folds, the sensation magnifies, his movements deliberate and unyielding.

your back arches involuntarily, your hands clutching at the sheets, seeking some anchor in the storm of ecstasy that he’s conjuring within you. every nerve in your body seems to sing in response, a symphony of raw, unadulterated pleasure orchestrated by his touch.

you let out a symphony of whimpers and moans, each sound a testament to the pleasure coursing through you as chris’ tongue continues its relentless exploration of your folds. his every movement is deliberate, each lap of his tongue sending ripples of euphoria through your body, leaving you breathless and yearning for more.

the pleasure accumulates within you, each wave building upon the last, creating an overwhelming crescendo that leaves you gasping for breath. your moans evolve into breathy whines, each sound a testament to the intensity of the sensations coursing through your body. the symphony of your desire fills the air, a melodic expression of the ecstasy that has taken hold of you.

the tension in your stomach coils tighter, like a spring wound to its limit, as your hand finds its way to chris' hair, fingers weaving through the strands and tugging gently. he buries his face deeper into you, his fingers curling expertly to hit your sweet spot with unerring precision.

the sensations become an overwhelming torrent, each touch sending shivers cascading down your spine. your breath hitches, and your eyes roll back, lost in the intensity of the moment. a wave of ecstasy crashes over you, causing your body to jolt upward in response, every nerve alight with pleasure, as if each one were a string in a finely tuned instrument being played to perfection.

the symphony of your desire crescendos, leaving you gasping and trembling, utterly consumed by the rapture that has taken hold of you.

all it took was the expert curl of his fingers to push you over the edge. with a determined thrust, he drove his fingers deeper into you, curling them with precision. the knot in your stomach, wound tight with anticipation, finally snapped. a torrent of your juices surged forth, flooding into chris' mouth. he smirked against you, his lips curling with satisfaction as he felt your release, his touch orchestrating the symphony of your climax.

you let out a loud, breathy moan, your legs trembling violently as chris eagerly slurps up every remaining drop of your essence. with a sense of urgency, he rises to his feet, his hands deftly working to unbuckle his belt. the metallic clink echoes through the room as the belt hits the cold floor, a prelude to the intensity that is about to unfold.

he allowed his pants to cascade to the ground, followed swiftly by his boxers. his length sprang forth, flushed with a deep red hue, the tip glistening with the unmistakable sheen of desire. the air seemed to thicken with anticipation, the sight of him standing there, fully exposed, a testament to the intensity of the moment. each pulse of his arousal seemed to echo the fervent beat of his heart, a silent promise of the passion yet to come.

chris approached you with deliberate steps, his length swaying with each movement. he teasingly slapped it against your folds, the sensation sending shivers through your body. with a deft touch, he aligned himself with your entrance, the anticipation building as he slowly began to slide in, inch by tantalizing inch. the gradual intrusion was both a promise and a tease, each moment stretching into an eternity of heightened sensation.

chris groaned deeply, the sound resonating in the air as he felt your walls clench tightly around him. he pulled out with a deliberate slowness, the sensation almost too much to bear, only to slam back in with a force that made you see stars. each thrust was a symphony of raw desire and intense connection, a dance of bodies that left you breathless and yearning for more.

as chris continued his rhythm, the room seemed to blur around you, every nerve ending alight with sensation. his hands gripped your hips with a possessive strength, guiding you to meet his every movement. the friction, the heat, the sheer intensity of it all built up in a crescendo, your breath hitching with each powerful thrust. with every plunge, you felt a wave of pleasure crash over you, drowning you in a sea of ecstasy.

chris's breath was ragged as he leaned in closer, his voice a husky whisper in your ear. "i can't get enough of you," he murmured, his words sending a new wave of heat through your body. "the way you feel... it's driving me wild." with each word, he punctuated his statement with a deep, deliberate thrust, his desire evident in every motion.

chris's voice was thick with desire as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. “fuck, this pussy was made for me," he groaned, his words a possessive declaration that sent shivers down your spine. "every inch of you... perfect for me."

his hands roamed your body with a fervent need, fingers tracing every curve and dip, as if memorizing the map of your skin. he pulled you closer, his chest pressed against yours, the heat between you almost unbearable. each thrust was deliberate and powerful, his hips snapping forward with a precision that left you breathless.

his lips found the sensitive spot on your neck, teeth grazing lightly before he sucked, leaving a mark that claimed you as his. his breath came in ragged gasps, matching the rhythm of your bodies moving in perfect sync. “feel you clenching around me,” he continued, his voice a low growl. “fuck you feel so good.”

with every movement, he seemed to pour more of himself into you, his desire and passion palpable. his hands tightened on your hips, guiding you to meet his every thrust, the connection between you growing deeper with each passing second.

his hands slid down your back, fingers digging into your flesh, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. he lifted you slightly, changing the angle, and the new sensation made your breath hitch. his movements became more urgent, his hips driving into you with a relentless rhythm that left you gasping for air.

he pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze intense and filled with raw emotion. then, with a sudden, powerful thrust, he drew you back in, his body melding with yours in a perfect union. the room seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of you, lost in a world of pure sensation.

his hands moved to your thighs, gripping them firmly as he lifted you higher, his strength evident in every motion. the new position allowed him to go even deeper, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through your entire being. his breath was hot against your skin, his lips brushing against your shoulder as he continued to move, each motion more intense than the last.

the sounds of your shared passion filled the room, a symphony of gasps and moans that echoed in the air. his pace quickened, each thrust more powerful, more desperate, as if he couldn't get enough of you. his hands roamed your body, exploring every inch, as if trying to memorize the feel of your skin beneath his fingertips.

the intensity of his movements built to a crescendo, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. his breath came in ragged gasps, his body trembling with the effort to maintain control. and then, with one final, powerful thrust, he pulled you even closer, his entire being focused on the moment of pure, unadulterated connection.

“close..” you gasp, your voice trembling with intensity, as chris's lips curl into a knowing smirk. his movements become more deliberate, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. suddenly, a wave of ecstasy crashes over you, your body convulsing as you reach your climax, a moan escaping your lips, mingling with the sound of his name.

yet chris is relentless, his powerful thrusts continuing unabated, each movement more intense than the last. your senses are overwhelmed, tears welling in your eyes as the flood of overstimulation courses through your body, leaving you trembling and breathless.

"too much," you manage to gasp, your voice barely a whisper amidst the whirlwind of sensations. the words hang in the air, a desperate plea for respite from the unrelenting tide of pleasure and intensity.

but chris's voice cuts through the haze, firm and reassuring, "you can take it." his words, a blend of challenge and encouragement, seem to anchor you, urging you to embrace the intensity and ride the waves of pleasure that threaten to consume you. his confidence in your strength gives you the fortitude to push past the edge, finding a deeper connection within the shared experience.

the pleasure swelled within you for the third time that night, an overwhelming tide of sensation that left you breathless and trembling. tears streamed down your face, mingling with your cries of ecstasy, each one a testament to the intensity of the moment.

chris, ever attentive and tender, brought a hand up to your cheeks, his fingers gently brushing away the tears. his touch was a soothing balm amidst the storm, grounding you in the shared intimacy and deep connection between you. the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you, bound together in a dance of passion and tenderness.

"i'm almost—" you manage to whisper, but your words are abruptly stolen by the sudden, intense snap of the knot in your stomach. the overwhelming surge of pleasure crashes over you, your body convulsing as you reach your peak. chris's thrusts grow more violent, each movement pushing you further into the abyss of ecstasy. with a final, powerful thrust, he releases deep within you, the shared intensity binding you both in a moment of raw, unfiltered passion.

chris lingers inside you for a few lingering moments, the warmth and connection palpable between you. eventually, he begins to withdraw, and as he does, you start to wince from the sudden emptiness, the stark contrast of his absence leaving you feeling both vulnerable and yearning. the intimacy of the moment lingers in the air, a silent testament to the deep bond you share.

"i can clean you up and order food while you put your favorite movie on?" he asks softly, planting a tender kiss on your lips. you giggle softly, the gentle suggestion and his affectionate touch combining to create a moment of pure, unspoken understanding and care. the simplicity of his words belies the depth of his consideration, wrapping you in a cocoon of warmth and love.

“i’d love that”

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 11 months

Text

Pretty like the wind

Previous chapter / Next chapter

a/n chapter seven! Gosh, who would have thought that this would grow into something this big. Idk... writing this story does something to my brain.

warning: kids, mention of past trauma, wing clipping and all the horrors of Illyrian camps, vomiting, I think that's all...

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Azriel was stalling, and he knew it. For the first time in his life, the spymaster just couldn't put the needs of his court first. He tried. Mother knows he tried hard. But every time Azriel even came close to winnowing back to Velaris, he stalled. Waited. The tug pulled him back. The need to stay in the sanctuary held him in a chokehold. Something deep within him kept telling him that if he left on his own, even if it was for a couple of hours - he would not forgive himself. And the consequences - he didn't want to bear them.

"Keep your head up", Azriel articulated in his much lower voice, "Don't tuck your shoulders". One of his hands was pressed to Axel's back, making sure the arch was right. Away from the eyes that hawked between the walls, Azriel had finally ushered Axel out for morning training. The male didn't remember anyone being so happy to wake up before the morning sun. To be out in the chilly morning wind. To train. But Axel didn't even yawn once; he didn't rub his eyes. He was here, and he wasn't going to back down.

"Good job! Just like that", Azriel fueled Axel with praising words. He gave shit to Cassian when they were sparing. But while Cassian and he worked better when they were pissed at each other. The real broody fea raging. Axel was a whole different story. He ran off of Azriel's attentive care. Of him showing up. Of him seeing the boy. "Let them rest", Azriel stated his last order firmly, and Axel, with a couple of sloppy beats with his wings, seized his movements to a halt, panting breathlessly. The leather healed nicely. Way too nice for what it should have been, but that without doubt had something to do with your powers. It had to. That was another itch in Azriel's brain. A summoner? What was that supposed to mean? Sure, he had seen you wield light, heal, and slow heartbeats, but that in one big package didn't shape one solid answer.

"You're okay?", Azriel glanced down at the boy sitting on the fallen tree trunk. The biggest smile spread over Axel's face as he nodded his head. "Do you think I'll get to fly with you eventually?", the boy pointed towards the sky, Azriel's eyes following his movements. The spymaster's heart clenched at that. He hoped that would be possible. He hoped that with solid, strong back muscles and flying lessons, Axel too would bathe in the song of the wind. "We'll do everything we can to make that happen", Azriel threw a smile boy's way, something he found himself doing a lot lately. "Does your back hurt?", "A bit", the boy admitted shyly. Azriel only nodded. "That's a good sign; it means you're doing everything perfectly", and with that alone, all doubt and fear vanished from Axel's eyes. "Come, I'll carry you back", the boy didn't miss the invitation as he leaped into the warmth, snuggling into the male. Azriel held Axel with delicate care, mindful of the sore wings. He continued to run his hand over Axel's scared back. A sickly feeling still crept through him every time he came in contact with it. Azriel could endure the pain of his scars, but seeing Axel bear it as well fueled an anger that had never raged before. So Azriel pulled the boy just a little closer as he continued walking.

"What about this? It's blue", Zofie had been pulling out dresses from her closet all morning long. You had told the kids about the invitation to Velaris. Hoping that they would refuse to go. Make your own choice easy. You hoped you could hide behind their answers so you wouldn't have to make the decision yourself; just the two of them had been over the moon. Eager to go. It was as if Azriel had hung the moon for them, and now, no matter where or what he suggested, they were swooning with happiness.

"It's your favorite", you say, looking up from your seat, pealing your eyes away from the shirt Axel had placed into your hands this morning, practically begging you to fix the hem of it. "You said you'd use it for a special occasion", you continued. Because that dress was more than special. You had made it for Zofie after she had admired that she had never had one. Only clothed in scrappy cloth bags her whole young life. "It is special. We've never gone anywhere", she said firmly, looking down at the deep blue of the tule. "Do they have a big dance floor?", her eyes darted back at you, gleaming. You wanted to tell her that Velaris was like nothing she had ever seen before. She'd find much more than just a breathtaking ballroom, but you tucked that deep within yourself. "I don't know, sweetie. You'll have to ask the spymaster of the night court". The girl tilted her head to the side, "He has a name - Azriel. You know it", she sassed back at you, scrunching her forehead slightly. Because while you pulled back, they ran straight into Azriel's arms. You weren't jealous. Well, a little. You knew you weren't being replaced. You just... You wished you could find strength in yourself to trust once again.

The door to the room swung open after a little knock, and in strolled the two boys. Both still slightly sweaty and... "Oh, this is not okay!", you huffed as you watched them both standing there with their shirts off. "What's all of this about?", you rested your hands on your hips, trying to scowl. There was no doubt that you failed miserably because it was practically impossible to ignore the way Azriel's toned chest looked. Your hands had touched that... You quickly cleared your throat, leaning closer to Axel. "Real soldiers don't wear shirts when they are in the middle of an intense workout", the boy stated so casually that you quickly tilted your eyebrows up, glancing at Azriel, who looked way too mischievous for his own good. That bastard knew what he was doing. But it was the way Axel wore the scars on his back as if they were nothing that tugged at your heart. As if they didn't weigh him down. As if he didn't care if anyone else saw them, and deep down, you knew it was Azriel that you needed to thank.

It was Zofie who washed away the prolonged silence, "We're packing for Velaris", she said, lifting her hands up and showing off her dress which was still wrinkled. Azriel's hopeful eyes darted your way immediately. You two hadn't talked about his promises. About the things he had said. You had been cold toward him. You didn't want to, but his words had struck deep, making your defense walls waver. "Do they have a ballroom?", Zofie chirped, stepping closer to the male, who almost by nature had sunk to one knee so he could be more at Zofie's eye level. "Yeah, they do. I hope you'll save a dance for me", Azriel stated firmly, and Zofie nodded eagerly at his words. Giggling as the shadows swirled around her, turning her hair into a big cloud around her, lifting it from her back as she swirled with them happily.

Azriel's smile faltered. A pain like no other struck him. She was wearing Axel's shirt, no doubt, the loose material falling off the back, as she finally collapsed to the floor, screeching. Yet all Azriel saw were two deep red marks that ran all the way up to her shoulders. He didn't need to see more to know what that meant. He didn't need... Azriel stood up so quickly that his head spun. Turning abruptly, he shot out the door. Images of that night. That torturous night when he and Cas had to pull Rhys away from the lifeless bodies of his mother and sister filled his head. Now clear as a day. The torn-apart flesh in their back. The blood. The broken bones. The gashed. Azriel didn't make it far. He bent just slightly as he leaned against the wall. His breakfast coming right up. He heaved and gagged for what felt like forever. Head pressed against the cold stone as he tried to calm his breathing. Tried to shove the image of the mutilated bodies. Zofie's lifeless... That alone had Azriel hurling all over again.

"Drink", the strong smell coming from the cup was enough to let Azriel know that it was ginger brew. And the warmth of a hand on his shoulder—enough to let him know that you were here. But he was too afraid to move. Any movement threatened to make him heave again; he was convinced of it. "You look pale as a ghost drink, Azriel", you pushed the cup closer to his lips, holding onto his jaw as you tilt the mug up. Azriel manages to take a couple of sips before pushing back. "She's...", he managed to whisper. You closed your eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, "Wingless? Yes". Azriel let out what seemed to be a superseded whimper, and all you could do was lower your head. You could speak of it only because you've walked with that pain for so long and yet it still clawed at you in moments like this.

"Who?", the tone seemed pure death. "Azriel...", you said in a pleading tone. This man had proven to you more than once now that he was willing to bring hell out for the kids. Yet you still denied it. "Give me a name! Tell me what camp. I will skin him alive", you swiftly moved to cup his face as you shook your head. "Do you remember what you told me about the fact that all they need is love?", you asked, looking into his deep golden orbs. "They need the same from you, Az", the darkness plunged back into its cage. Yet his breathing was still heavy. "This isn't fair", his words spilled through his gritted teeth, his hands pressing onto your hips. His way of grounding himself. "You and I both know that life is cruel", you offered him a sad smile, but he only shook his head. "But", you breathed out, knowing deep down that you needed to say this. "Azriel... She's up there right now, thinking that she has done something bad. That Axel's scars didn't scare you, but her...", and that's enough for Azriel to pull back as he turns around, only a black mist of his shadows left in his track.

And she's there in his arms when you finally make your way up. Splotchy face pressed against his shoulder. Zofie is a tiny girl as it is, but in Azriel's embrace, she almost looks microscopic. His palm covers most of her back. She has a fistful of his shirt in her tiny fists. "You're just as special", you hear Azriel muttering under his breath. Axel inches closer to you, arms wrapping around your leg as he nuzzles into you. You're convinced that the only time this man was brought to his knees was when he was pleading to stay with that female, but in his time here, he kept kneeling in front of the two of them. And it doesn't seem to bug him. It doesn't seem to clash with the cold mask he has built.

It's hard to hear their conversation, but then it's for them alone. And the bits you do hear—"I'm sorry," "You're one of the strongest girls I've met", and endless mutters of "I'll keep you safe" and "You'll never have to be afraid anymore"—are more than enough to make your eyes sting. Because you know that Azriel would not let go of her, or Axel, for that matter. They were logged into his heart. Fully. Permanently. It soothes you that Zofie doesn't understand and doesn't remember the way things had happened. Her father had taken it upon himself to carve her tiny wings out the same day she was born. A poor baby caught an infection. Leaving her slightly sickish and way smaller than she should be for her age. But she still kicked around fearlessly. Determined to not let monsters like that win. You dabbed a tear away from your cheek quickly. Letting the feeling of Axe's soft hair pull you back out.

"Can I fly?", the girl lifted her head from Azriel's shoulder, tiny palms rubbing her eyes. You sucked in a breath. She had never thought about that or asked about it. You want to cut in; try to say something. But Azriel pulled the blanket off the bed before carefully wrapping Zofie in it. "You say a word, and you'll be soaring through the clouds", Azriel says softly, and her eyes spark with anticipation. She glances your way, and you give her a tiny nod. "Then I want to fly", she whispers, and that's enough for Azriel to scoop her up as he moves towards the balcony. Her tiny hands spring out of the blanket as she wraps them around Azriel's neck, and they are airborne. Together.

You find him hours later. Everyone has long gone to bed, but you've spent way too long tossing and turning. The pull in your chest was too unbearable. So, with kisses on both of the kids' foreheads, you let your feet lead the way. And it only hits you that you're standing right in front of his door when it opens and you see his figure. Your body seizes, just like it always does when you're in front of him. Or, well, when he's shirtless.

You lift your haze and say, "I... wanted to check on you. Make sure that it's...", you topple over your words before managing to take a breath in, "Are you okay?". Azriel says nothing; he just steps to the side, a silent invitation. He's nursing a glass of whiskey. He's been off alcohol for most of his time here, so this... This had to reopen deep wounds.

"She was ecstatic. I've never seen her eyes so bright", you try to breathe in that sense of peace in him. "How is this still happening? Rhys has put out clear laws", is all he says in return. You step closer to him, reaching for a glass in his hand, and Azriel gives it up rather easily. "These males run things by their books, and you know it, Az. The sanctuary has a dedicated armed force, and there are missions. We do what we can," you state calmly, but Azriel simply shakes his head. "Come here", he mutters, his hands reaching up for you. "I don't want you going back to these camps", his words are firm as you rest your head against his chest. "You can't boss me around, remember?", you jab at his chest painfully. "Then I'll be going with you", Azriel says, as if it's so self-explanatory. You pull back slightly, shaking your head. "Start by taking us to Velraris, foreign soldier", you murmur, and that's the first time you get to see a smile paint his lips. "While you're in a silk nightgown?", he muses, and you let out a gasp, wrapping your arms around your chest. The reality that your nightgown has been the only thing separating your bodies all this time slowly seeping in, making your cheeks grow crimson. "In your dreams, shadowsinger", you purr back at him.

The next morning is filled with anticipation. Little feet running all around the place, shoving some of the forgotten pieces into the overnight bags. Throughout the breakfast, the conversation lingered around Velaris. As Azriel pulls story after story, the two younglings gasping. The list of places to visit getting longer by the minute. You were happy for them. This chance to explore something new—that child-like thrill—made even the smallest of things seem huge.

"Bacon", Zofie quickly jabbed her finger toward the plate, making Azriel let out a light chuckle. But he makes quick work of assembling the perfect bite before carefully turning the fork towards the girl's mouth. "Good?", he asked, leaning to the side slightly so he would be able to see her face. Zofie just smiled up at him, kicking her little feet happily as she chewed. She was perfectly capable of feeding herself but more than aware that she had Azriel wrapped around her little finger, meaning that one tired look was enough for the spymaster to usher her onto his lap so he could help her eat breakfast.

"You can't carry us three", Axel said as he too cut into the last bits of food on his plate. Azriel lifted a brow in a challenge, "I bet I can". The boy shook his head, "You only have two hands; there's three of us here". The shadowsinger only smirked, "Who knew you were so good at math", Axel let out a gasp before his face grew mischievous. "Will we go one by one?", Zofie asked, turning her head to look up at Azriel. And just as always, he was quick to sense the panic in her voice. The thought of having to be at some place alone while the others came around clearly made her antsy.

"No, we're all going together. I'll winnow us there", Azriel said firmly, followed by an explanation of what that meant. "Will this hurt?", Axel was quick to cut in. "No, you'll hold onto Y/n; I'll hold onto you all,", the spymaster said calmly, knowing well that the first time might feel rather unsettling when you're not so used to the sensation. "Can we get lost?", Zofie's voice was barely audible. Azriel placed a quick kiss on the crown of her head before leaning closer to her, "No", his eyes were fully focused on the little girl, "Because I won't let that happen".

The cool air nibbled at your skin first. Pinching your cheeks and painting them slightly more pink. It was way cooler here, even if the sanctuary was in the mountains. Magic had its perks. Azriel's grip around you loosened as he stepped back, the warmth of him melting away. A part of you wanted to hold onto him for a moment longer. You two still hadn't had a proper conversation about everything. Not that there was anything much to say, but you felt like letting him know that you trusted him.

"Look up at the sky, Zo", Axel practically shrieked with excitement as he softly pulled on Zofie's dress. She carefully peeled her palms away from her eyes. Even with Azriel humming through the quick journey here, her little panic took the best of her. "You can see all the construction", Azriel pointed up at the sky as he rubbed her back softly. "Rhys is a show-off like that", he muttered, mostly for you, and you couldn't help but chuckle lightly. "Perseus...", Zofie motioned with her little finger, making Azriel nod, "That's right, we can find them all later on".

It took you a moment to look around. You haven't been here in... ever. The only time you had come down here was straight to Rhys's office. You haven't been out of the sanctuary since you were first brought in. Except for the camp. An uncomfortable shiver runs down your back. The place Azriel winnowed to felt pretty secluded. The buzz of the sitting seemed further away. The street was brightly lit, with dangling lights and flower beds blooming on every window sill. "This isn't the main house", you muttered. It didn't feel like it. A least, you had no clue how Rhys would fit a study so big in here. Azriel shook his head as he lowered Zofie to the ground. "I wanted you to warm up your feet in Velaris first", he said while shaking his head. "So, we're not meeting everyone tonight?", a wave of relief washed over you. Sure, you were excited and all, but... one can only take so many stimuli at once. And well, for the kids' sake, that was a perfect start. "I wanted you to meet someone first. Someone special", Azriel said softly before stepping closer to the door and knocking gently.

The kids quickly rushed to stand up tall, yet their hands were gripping the sides of their skirts. Putting on their best behavior. So eager to meet someone new. Someone they hadn't seen around the sanctuary. Someone who seemed to be a part of a whole new world. But it's not really what you expected. In all honesty, you didn't even know what you were expecting.

An elderly woman opens the door, the brightest smile on her face as she sees Azriel. Her hands instantly reach to cup his face, and he doesn't pull away. He basks in the softness of her touch for a moment before moving to kiss both of her palms. "My boy", she beames, and you're convinced your heart had stopped working. Or there's a blood vessel that popped, hence the roaring in your ears. No, Azriel brought you to his... "Mother, I want you to meet someone", the spymaster steps to the side to give his mother a clear view of the kids and you.

You wait for her smile to falter, but she only seems to smile brighter. "Oh, dear...", she holds onto Azriel's arm. "Aren't you two adorable", she opens her embrace warmly, and that's all Zofie and Axel need as they rush forward toward the woman. Big eyes observing her as she cups both of their faces. You bite the inside of your cheeks.

"Yours?", the woman says, looking up at her son. Almost a hopeful gleams there as she watches him. "Not by blood", the spymaster says, and he says it so naturally that you nearly feel your legs buck. Convinced your nails are drawing blood from the way you are squeezing your palms. "And this lady, must be the lover?", her soft eyes land on you, knocking the last air out of your lungs. You open your mouth, but Azriel beats you to it: "Not yet, but I'm working on it". The elderly woman hums softly, a knowing look on her face as she glances between the two of you, before turning her eyes back on the kids, "Why don't we head inside, loves? I'm making cinnamon rolls", and the two younglings don't even do a double take at you as they walk toe-in-toe through the arched wooden door.

You turn to Azriel. "You're insane", you whisper, your eyes already full of tears. "No, I'm just trying to make the right choice for the first time", Azriel says calmly, reaching out for you, but you back away. "Azriel, this is...", you breathe out. "Don't back away from me", hurt flashes in his eyes. "I know I made questionable choices", Azriel pleads. "But this feels fucking right... I can't explain it, YN, but it feels as if I was meant to be here, meant to...", he states, almost in slight disbelief himself, "Don't take this from me".

You watch Azriel for a heartbeat. One. Two. Before you just leap forward, crashing your lips against his. And it's way better than you could ever imagine. It's eager and hungry. Messy, but so... right. As if this was something that was meant to happen. Azriel brings you closer as he deepens the kiss. His palms moving straight to your hips, a habit of his by now. You arch into his touch, your body working on its own rhythm when it comes to Azriel. And when you finally pull apart breathlessly, with a slightly rosy cheek, you can't help but smile at him because maybe just maybe. This is your chance to have your person. Your home.

"If I accidentally winnow us to my apartment now...", Azriel muttered breathlessly, making you let out a laugh. "Don't you dare, soldier", you say, pointing your finger at him. "I won't... Just thinking about it...hard", he states through hazy eyes. You shake your head as you brush your fingers across his lips, trying to clean up the smudged marks of your lipstick. "In your dreams," you purr lightly. "Well, I've been dreaming for a while now, love", Azriel reaches to you, resting his forehead against yours before his lips find yours once more.

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Taglist: @naturakaashi @hoemadegrace

#azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel x oc #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar x reader #azriel acotar imagine #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster x reader #acotar x you #acotar x reader #acotar imagine

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rainybubbles · 6 days

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I need a whole story with Ghost and arranged marriage.

(and hybrids, I love the AU of the fandom about hybrids 141)

Something slow burn, angst where the reader is confident, but with social anxiety, maybe a f!reader?

She's a sacrifice, about to be married to another duke. But here comes a duchy long forgotten, tucked away in the shadow of the mountains, ruled by a mysterious Duke no one had seen in years.

A Ghost.

His name was Simon Riley, a widower, burdened with loss and cloaked in rumors. They said his heart was as dead as his wife, that a curse had taken not only her but every bit of warmth that could ever live in him. And so, when the black carriage came for you, no one in your village dared to offer you comfort.

You were the sacrifice—the black sheep sent to marry the Duke, an arranged match born out of fear, not love. Your family had seen you as expendable, a lamb to slaughter to secure their own futures.

You were confident in your spirit but burdened with the knowledge that your body didn’t fit the delicate mold others expected. (no one had courted you)

You never thought yourself beautiful, never thought you could inspire anything but pity or rejection. But it didn’t matter, did it? You weren’t meant for love. You were meant to survive.

When you arrived at the Duke’s castle, the silence that greeted you felt heavy, as if the very stones were holding their breath.

Simon Riley stood before you, a towering figure wrapped in shadows, with eyes that seemed carved from stone—cold, distant, and full of secrets.

He did not look at you the way men often did; there was no curiosity, no warmth, no appraisal. Instead, he seemed to be waiting, as if bracing for some inevitable end.

He didn't marry you for love, but because of his curse. Simon was fated to die within a year, and he needed someone to care for his kingdom and use their connections to maintain peace with other realms.

His people were not human, at least not fully. The hybrids, part-beast, part-man, served him with loyalty forged from some unspoken bond. There was Soap, whose wolf-like nature caused him to prowl the castle grounds in restless energy. Gaz, whose wings glinted like silver in the moonlight, was ever watchful, guarding the castle’s gates. And Price, the fiercest of them all, his dragon wings scorched from endless battles, often returned to you for healing.

You became their caretaker, stitching their wounds, reading old texts on werewolves to understand Soap’s habits, and joking with Gaz’s children when they visited.

Slowly, you found your place in this strange, otherworldly family.

And yet, Simon remained distant, an enigma wrapped in silence and sorrow.

He never sought your company, never looked for you, never asked for more than the duty of your presence.

He was a Duke, cursed and broken, and you were his sacrifice, meant to ensure his survival, not his happiness.

Days turned into months, and the weight of your loneliness pressed into your chest like a slow, relentless ache. You gave and gave—your time, your care, your heart—until you had little left for yourself. And one night, it became too much.

The walls of your room, once a sanctuary, closed in on you, and you cried. The sobs came softly at first, but then they grew louder, filling the quiet darkness with your grief, your exhaustion, your sense of never being enough.

Simon heard you.

He came to you in the dead of night, silent as a shadow, and found you curled up in the corner, tears staining your cheeks. He knelt beside you, his hand trembling as he reached for you, as if he wasn’t sure how to touch something so fragile. When his fingers brushed your skin, it was like a shiver of warmth had broken through the icy armor he wore.

“It means nothing,” he whispered, his voice rough and deep. He was speaking to himself as much as to you. “Comforting you means nothing.”

But his hands told a different story. He cradled you gently, pulling you into his chest, and for the first time, you felt his heart beating against yours. He held you, whispering words you couldn’t fully understand, telling himself that this was just duty, that you were just another sacrifice for his throne. But you both knew the truth.

He had fallen.

Bit by bit, Simon let you in, let you see the man behind the Duke, the man who had lost so much. He had never hoped for love—not after losing his wife, not after the curse had taken everything from him. But there you were, taking care of his people, offering comfort without expecting anything in return. And in the quiet moments, when you would tend to Price’s wings or read to Soap, Simon would watch you, a strange ache building in his chest.

He had fallen, and it was too late.

But Simon’s curse was not the only one. Another hybrid, König, appeared at the castle one day, his presence unsettling. He was larger, more menacing than the others, and his eyes lingered on you in a way that made your skin crawl. There was something in his gaze, something dark and possessive, that told you he was not just another visitor.

And then, you were gone.

On the day Simon was to meet his death—a death foretold by the curse—you were not there. He searched for you, frantic, the coldness of his impending doom creeping up his spine. But you were nowhere to be found.

König had taken you, hoping to break the curse for himself, hoping to claim you as his own. But what König didn’t know, what no one knew, was that you had the power to break the curse—not just for Simon, but for another. You were the key, the sacrifice whose heart could unlock the chains binding these cursed men.

But Simon… Simon had already decided.

He would not let you sacrifice yourself again. He had watched you give and give until there was nothing left for yourself. He had heard your cries in the dead of night, felt the weight of your despair. And now, he was ready to curse himself—for you. He was ready to bind his heart to yours, to live an eternity of torment, meeting you again and again across lifetimes if that’s what it took. He would endure the curse, relive the pain, as long as it meant you would be free.

And as Simon drew his last breath, his heart shattered—not from the curse, but from love. His love for you, the woman who had given so much, the woman he had fallen for too late.

And in the distance, far from the castle, you felt it. The weight of his sacrifice. The bittersweet ache of love lost, of a heart cursed not by magic but by fate.

You wept, not for yourself, but for him—for the man who had loved you in silence, in shadows, and in sacrifice. And as the winds whispered through the mountains, carrying his name on the air, you knew he was gone.

But Simon… Simon would return.

Again and again, across lifetimes. Searching for you. Loving you.

Even if it was too late.

Centuries later, he stood frozen, eyes locked on the new translator stepping onto the base. Your smile was polite, a stranger's greeting, but his heart ached as the weight of lifetimes crashed over him.

"You're back," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion.

Yet, your eyes held no recognition—you didn’t remember him.

Yeah, I need a fic like that. 10 chapters, where I cry because damn, this man deserves happiness and so does the reader...

And bonus if the reader is on the fat, chubby side , because I need to see more of that.

#cod x reader #ghost x reader #call of duty x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader

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loviatarsluv · 2 months

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chapter one: lavender silk

pairing: Gale x f!tav (my own oc, Elara)

(takes place mostly after the events of the game with some flashbacks sprinkled throughout)

rating: mature

CW: (f) masturbation and (separately) (m) masturbation, fantasizing about one another and pining and yearning and aching for each other while being in the same house (I mean seriously guys)

in summary: After the fall of the brain, and her home having been destroyed in the chaos, Gale offers Elara sanctuary with him back in Waterdeep. She struggles to deal with the feelings she has been harboring for him and the guilt that she’d been the one to prevent either of them from taking the relationship any further a few months prior. Yearning and pining ensues

a/n: rewrite of this gale fic because I lost inspiration and motivation for it a while back but I miss writing about my sweet wizard man and also I want to write romantic gale smut !!!! I crave it I need it !!!!

word count: 6.8k

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She has always loved the color brown.

It was easily one of the most overlooked colors, one so common you almost forget it entirely— one we so easily take for granted.

Yet, some of the most lovely things in life come in the warmest shades of brown.

A cup of hot tea on a chilly day while the rain pours and patters against the windows. The leather bindings of her favorite book that brought her boundless comfort more times than she could count on either hand, worn from the years of reading it and tucking it into her bag so that it was always at her side. The rough bark of the great oak tree near the tower in Waterdeep.

She spends many mornings sitting on the roots of that tree, the large and weathered trunk shielding her from the harsh rays of the rising morning sun, either reading a book she nabbed from the library in his office or scribbling nonsense in her notebook.

Occasionally her newly befriended tressym companion, Tara, joins her, sitting beside her and allowing the sun to warm just the back half of her, basking her fur and wings in a beautiful golden glow. There are brown spots on her fur. She’s lovely.

The loveliest of things, though, were the things she tried with everything within her not to think about— like Gale Dekarios’ long chestnut brown hair, or the silver streaks that adorned the dark waves near the top of his head like it were a crown atop a prince’s, and the way he would tie it back into a messy half updo that perfectly accentuated his face and neck. The small pieces of hair that would fall into his eyes that she so desperately wanted to brush away. His perfectly groomed facial hair that had matching gray streaks and how he’d run his hands through the bristles on his cheeks or rake his fingers through his hair when he was deep in thought.

And his eyes— gods, his damned eyes. So warm and kind and full of a genuine sweetness that she’d never seen in another person’s eyes before. Eyes that seemed to read her so well as if she were a book he had read a dozen or more times, especially when she least wanted her pages to be turned. Eyes that when in the right lighting, appeared golden, like the richest honey in all of Faerun. Eyes that really seemed to see her. Many had looked at her before— few had ever really seen her.

No, she certainly didn’t think about it. Not often, really.

Only when his hands would brush against hers as he took the scroll from her hands that he kindly asked her to fetch for him. Or when he would utter a groggy but kindhearted good morning to her as he ambled into the kitchen first thing in the morning, the first light of dawn breaking through the parted dark velvet curtains that drape over the large windows, the golden streams beaming on him in just the right way to make him appear otherworldly. Or when she would fall asleep on the chaise in the study and wake to find a blanket draped over her body.

Not often. Not really.

One would assume it would become easier after a while; to be in his presence and not ache at every smile, or every laugh, or every kind gesture he ever made. But it wasn’t a simple ache that could be balmed by rest and a special tea or a healing potion— it was consuming. It flooded her veins and extended to every extremity of her aching body.

Only made worse by the fact that the blame for her own misery fell solely upon her own shoulders.

The thought of that night made her shudder— what a fool she’d been and continues to be.

The others always teased her, telling her that the obvious pining was painful to witness to which she would shake her head and refuse to admit that every part of her physically hurt to see him struggle, or how badly she wanted to hold him until the stars burned out of the sky and shield him from all that threatened him.

Selfishly, the original reason she’d given herself to justify ignoring her feelings was the orb— it was safer for everyone that way, at the time.

Then when Elminster stabilized it she scrambled to find a new excuse, settling for the fact that he had been considering detonating the orb, as Mystra intended.

It was to save herself from the heartache of loving someone who in a matter of days would be reduced to mere stardust and wasted potential due to a spiteful god whom she had once worshiped herself.

Then when she had finally successfully talked him off of the proverbial edge, she was at a loss. What was truly stopping her from loving him as she knew she would whether she expressed it to him or not?

She turned him down the night prior, but so much transpired in such a short time that the opportunity to rectify it never came to pass.

And now, here she remained, reaping the bitter consequences of her own lack of communication.

She watched Gale read a letter that Shadowheart sent for them as he sat at his large mahogany desk, his glasses balancing just at the end of his nose and his brows furrowed as he read. His expression didn’t change or seem anything other than relaxed as he read, so she took that as a good sign. She relaxed slightly into the plush cushions of the chaise, a weight she didn’t realize she’d been bearing lifting off of her shoulders.

She lounged on her favorite spot in his office where she would spend hours reading and researching with him, or where she would sit as she intently listened to him bestow her with random tidbits of knowledge that he found riveting, his cadence as he spoke about it making her feel just as excited by it as he was.

“I wonder how many more times any one of them will promise to visit before they actually do,” she jokes, breaking the comfortable silence.

Gale huffs air from his nose, never looking up at her from the assortment of scrolls, parchment, and tomes scattered across the surface of his desk. “Knowing them, they have all got their hands quite full in their own lives. Especially Shadowheart. I imagine keeping Astarion in check is keeping her on her toes.”

She chuckles lightly and sighs, leaning her cheek against the back of the chaise. “I imagine you’re probably right.”

Another comfortable silence fills the room, as it often did while Gale busied himself with whatever studies he found pressing enough to indulge in, these days mostly consisting of vampirism and potential cures or anything to aid with the symptoms, at her request as Astarion outright refused to ask Gale himself.

She typically assisted with this, finding her own books and tomes to sift through for any pertinent information that could assist in any way, but today her mind was anywhere but in the present. Each page she had tried to read looked as though they’d been written in unintelligible scrawl.

She quietly hops off of the lounger and pads over to the large open window on the other side of the room, perching herself on the windowsill and gazing at the vast expanse of the ocean below, the sun shimmering on it in hues of orange and pink as it began to set over the horizon.

The breeze is pleasant and the faint salty scent of the ocean drifts toward her with the wind and fills her senses. Her eyes shut as she indulges in it for a few moments, feeling a kind of serenity that she hadn’t felt in a while.

When she finally opens her eyes, she finds Gale has turned in his seat and is watching her with a peaceful grin on his face. She holds his gaze for a moment before she has to tear herself away as she squirms under his intense gaze.

“Would you care to accompany me for a stroll? It’s a beautiful evening,” he asks, leaning against the back of the chair, his chin tilted up as he watched her.

Gods, give me strength, she thinks to herself. How could she ever think living in the same tower as this man was a wise decision?

“It is,” she nearly chokes out, then clears the lump from her throat. “Almost reminds me of—”

“That evening in the Shadow Cursed Lands. When I showed you Waterdeep. This very room, to be exact.” He reminisces, his tone neither bitter, nor pleasant. She hadn’t expected him to bring it up, and the shock of it nearly caused her to topple over the sill and fall out of the open window.

Great.

Gale jolts in his seat, preparing to rescue her from her own potential idiotic demise, before she quickly hops down and plants her feet firmly on the ground and shoots him a reassuring glance.

“I’m alright,” she holds her hands in front of her, her breathing uneven as she recovers.

“I don’t think my heart can handle being around you, at times,” he jokes. His eyes widen and his face pales, and he clears his throat nervously before he continues. “I didn’t mean it that way, it’s just— that’s the second— no, third— time you’ve nearly fallen out of that window. I am beginning to consider casting an arcane lock on the damned thing.”

I don’t think my heart can handle being around you.

Her stomach flips and somersaults as she replays it in her head a million times over within a second, despite him quickly correcting himself. Little did he know, she felt very much the same way around him, but likely for an entirely different reason.

“Apologies,” she whispers, her eyes dropping to the floor sheepishly. “I’ve never been exactly graceful.”

He sighs, silently chuckling and shaking his head. “So I’ve gathered. Though, you could always hold your own in battle, to your own credit.”

He stands and joins her in front of the window, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back slightly as he mimics what she’d done just moments prior, minus the potential self-defenestration.

A stronger breeze passes, blowing back his chestnut waves and his lavish looking robes with it. His slightly aged and weathered skin bathed in the peachy hues from the sunset made him appear as if he’d been painted rather than real and standing just beside her. She shudders.

“What do you say?” He asks, turning to her once again, his hands clasped behind his back.

She swallows hard. The thought of a stroll in the warm twilight with him while she was in this state could potentially prove to be disastrous. She fiddles with the bottom hem of her blouse as it flowed loosely down her frame, her gaze fixed on a random point far off into the horizon.

“I—I’m actually not feeling very well… I believe I may need to lie down for a bit. But perhaps… another time?” She stammers, her voice meek and unconvincing. At least to herself.

Stupid, stupid.

Gale nods, but is unable to entirely mask his disappointment, a slight frown gracing his features that would almost be impossible to notice if it weren’t for his always expressive eyes. Her heart nearly shatters at the way his dark irises resembled a puppy who’d just been denied a treat. Was it too late to take it back?

“Are you well? Is there anything I can do for you?” He takes a step closer, concern replacing the disappointment in his eyes as his brows softened and his hand raised as if he was going to reach for her, before quickly lowering it and dropping it to his side.

Her body stiffens and her back straightens, her heart pounding. How did she get to this point— where something as simple as him extending base level kindness to her was enough to affect her this greatly? It was torture— and the more time she spent with him, the more she ached to bridge the seemingly vast gap between them. To be close to him in every way, to tangle herself in him and pray the knots never loosen.

But she had already accepted that she’d ruined her chances many months ago, and that it would be best to try to move forward until the feeling eventually fades as if it had never been present to begin with. That, for now, all she could do was endure.

“I’m fine, really. I think I just… perhaps I just need a nice relaxing bath, some time to myself.” She offers, throwing it out meaninglessly then realizing that a hot bath sounded absolutely divine.

An unreadable expression flashes across his face for a flicker of an instant before he recomposes, then smooths the front of his coat down with his hands and clears his throat. He offers her his usual warm grin, and nods.

“By all means. Perhaps I’ll start dinner while you do. It should be done by the time you’ve finished.”

She can’t hold back the thankful smile that teases the corners of her mouth.

She nods. “That sounds good. Thank you.”

Without exchanging another word, they disperse, him retreating downstairs and her essentially running to her room to grab her towels and toiletries.

She grabs two towels, one for her body and one for her hair, then the soap that she’d gotten the last time she went to the market to pick up a few of her personal essentials. The shopkeeper let her know that it was a special soap, made particularly with ingredients that had calming effects on the user.

How appropriate.

She pads out of her room, closing the door behind her and making her way to the large washroom at the far end of the hallway.

Gale had a way of leaving his mark on every space he inhabited, and this one was no exception.

The room was cozy, draped in various deep violet curtains and several houseplants that looked as if they’d been cared for by the most skilled of botanists, not a single dead leaf or weak stem.

There were robes neatly hung on the wall closest to the large clawfoot tub on one end of the room— his robes. She mindlessly runs her hand across the soft fabric of one of them, noticing a small tear in the collar and a few scuffs and singed marks throughout it. She imagines what mischief he’d gotten himself into while wearing it, and whether she had been present for it. A smile creeps across her face at the thought.

She tears herself away from her thoughts and his clothes (that still smelled strongly of him), and approaches the tub, turning the ornate handle for the hot water and watching it run, slowly filling the marble basin. She perches herself on the edge of the tub, staring blankly into the rippling water.

She thinks of how many times Gale had probably done the exact same thing as she was doing right now— how he would sink himself into the water and finally rest his weary and aching bones, and wash away the stresses of the day even if it were only for the small duration of him being enveloped in the comforts of a warm bath. She wonders if he ever—

No. Another thing she absolutely could not think about. A thought to avoid at all costs if she intended on ever being able to look him in the eye again. It was hard enough already as it was.

The tub finally fills just as she shakes her head to clear herself of the beginnings of what were certainly very perverse and not very platonic thoughts, thankfully allowing her to now focus on something else. She quickly disrobes, folding her clothes neatly and setting them aside on the chair in the corner of the room— a habit she’d picked up from watching him do it and knowing that neatness was his preference in most things.

The room, apart from the heat radiating off of the water in the tub, is chilly against her flushed skin, instantly raising gooseflesh all over her as she peels away the thin layers of clothing she’d been wearing. The tile feels icy against the bare soles of her feet as she returns to the tub, reaching over and grabbing the soap off of the shelf she’d placed it on earlier as she begins to submerge herself.

The second her body dipped below the surface and the warm water completely enveloped her, she felt all tension in her body release like it had never been there to begin with. She hadn’t even used the soap yet and she felt the calming effects of it from the smell alone as she dunked it underwater. Lavender and a hint of citrus.

Sometimes she caught a whiff of lavender when the window in the kitchen was open and the breeze would jostle the lavender plant that sat on the sill. She remembered Gale telling her that he loved the smell of fresh lavender. Not that that was the reason she bought the soap. Not at all. Not really.

Her body sinks lower and lower into the bath until only her nose and everything above it remains above the waterline, her slow breaths causing ripples in the water.

Her mind wanders back to him— picturing him with his hair down, loose and wet tresses falling over his face, tan skin glistening. The long column of his neck stretched, Adam’s apple bobbing with his head thrown back as he—

No, no.

Gods. What is wrong with me?

She clenches her legs together, in hopes to subvert the throbbing between her legs. She leans her head back against the edge of the tub, inhaling a shuddering breath.

Maybe this was what she needed— just a minute of bliss. Her own personal bliss.

Against her better judgment, her hand slowly travels down her body, but in her mind it was his; the way his roughened hands would feel as they trailed the length of her torso. The way his fingers would feel as they chased her pleasure, coaxing it out of her the way one would coax an animal out of the shadows.

Was he as giving of a lover as she pictured? Was he selfish? Did it even matter?

Her breath catches in her throat as her fingers expertly circle the swollen bud where most of her pleasure resides, now realizing how badly she’d needed this. Release. Guilt aside.

Unaware and completely lost in her fantasies, soft moans and cries fell from her lips, some sounding suspiciously close to his name. She couldn’t care less in this moment, she was already so close—

“Oh, hells!”

The door had burst open, Gale standing slack jawed in the doorway for a second that felt like several before quickly shielding his eyes.

She gasps loudly, reflexively standing from the tub, before realizing that was worse than just staying where she was, one hand moving to cover her mouth in shock and the other arm shielding her chest to maintain whatever shred of modesty or dignity she had left.

“I— I thought— your bedroom door was closed, so I assumed you were— forgive me! I just— um—” He clamors over himself trying to make any sort of sense at all, never moving his hand an inch out of the way of his eyes, closing them tightly for good measure. “D-Dinner is finished and on the table waiting for you when you’re ready. Take your time.”

He darts out of the room, slamming the door behind him and the sound of hurried footsteps down the hall preceding.

What in the hells just happened?!

Her heart pounds anxiously in her chest as if it were a wardrum and she’s almost certain that she might actually die of embarrassment. That is if she doesn’t resort to drowning herself in the leftover bathwater to avoid going downstairs and facing him, first.

That seemed like the safest option. Sinking back down into the water and staying there until she rotted away.

She remained in the water for what felt like both an eternity and not nearly long enough until the water had officially turned cold, sincerely debating dunking her head under and not letting herself up for air to spare herself the misery of facing Gale after—

Oh, gods, how much did he hear? How much did he see?

She groans loudly, covering her flushed and surely beet red face with both hands. Her shriveled fingers and hands serve as a sign to dry off, much to her dismay.

Fine. The world’s most awkward dinner ever, it is.

She quickly stands again and wraps one of the towels around her body, then the other around her shoulders for extra coverage before peeking her head out of the door, checking if the coast was clear before dashing down the hallway and into the safety of her bedroom.

Once inside, she shuts the door with a loud click, then leans against the wood and sighs.

Within one singular day, within at least an hour of each other, she’d rejected his very kind offer of a nice walk under the sunset, and he’d walked in on her in what could only be the worst situation for him to walk in on, and he’d likely seen her entire naked body.

They had experienced their fair share of awkward exchanges in all of their time knowing each other, but nothing quite as catastrophic as this. What could she even say? Should she pretend it never happened? Should she apologize?

Her back slides down the wooden door until she lands on the floor with a loud thud, her head dejectedly falling against her knees as she pulls them to her chest.

Accidents happen, and he just so happened to accidentally manage to walk into the washroom at the exact moment her fingers were inside herself and she’d let his name slip from her lips which he may or may not have heard. Things happen. It’s fine.

She recalls him saying that her bedroom door was shut and that was why he assumed it was safe for him to come in. She’s not sure why him noticing something like that made her stomach twist and do flips as if she were tumbling very suddenly down a hill, but it did all the same. She wonders what other things he notices about her, if anything else at all. The thought makes her throat run dry.

With a huff, she stands. She paces around the room for another few or ten minutes before her stomach begins to rumble. Shit.

She pulls on an oversized blouse that fell well past the top of her thighs as well as a comfortable pair of pants, feeling the need to cover as much of herself as possible to maybe cancel out the fact that he’d seen everything only moments ago. It didn’t work, of course, but it was worth a try.

Realizing that he was probably sitting at the table and waiting for her to join him before he began eating, as he always did, she finally forces herself to face the inevitable.

Perhaps he hadn’t seen anything.

Hopefully.

She peeks around the corner and sees him exactly where she expected him to be— the same seat he always sat in for any meals, opposite the chair she always occupied, staring blankly down at his plate, massaging his temples with his fingertips. He looks equally as perturbed by their encounter as she does, and she can’t tell if that is a comfort to her or if it made her want to run while she had the chance.

She catches a flash of auburn and gray fur as Tara flies in from an open window and perches herself on the table beside Gale. He doesn’t acknowledge her physically, but utters a quiet ‘hello, Tara’ that sounds more like a groan.

“Mr. Dekarios, you look as though you’ve seen a ghost!” She chirps, pawing at his bicep with concern. “Where is my favorite reading companion? Have you finally scared her off?”

Gale swats her paw off of his arm and shoots her a look of annoyance. “Not now, Tara.”

“Did something happen between you two? About time, I say. I do rather like having her around, you know.” The feathered feline continues, pacing in front of Gale and nearly stepping right in the middle of his plate before he scoots it away.

“I fear she may run for the hills like a bat out of a crypt after today,” He groans. “I’ve made a complete ass of myself. It seems to be my specialty these days.”

“Mr. Dekarios, I may just be a simple tressym but I have it on good authority she won’t go anywhere.” Tara says, her tone meaningful and full of insinuation as she pokes and prods Gale’s arm once again.

He looks at his companion with soft eyes full of despair, his entire body seeming to sag in his seat in contrast to his usually perfect and poised posture. “I hope you’re right.”

Silence fills the room as Tara comfortingly bumps her head against Gale’s shoulder, eliciting a sweet smile from him that makes her insides feel fuzzy. She waits a few moments more before exiting the stairway so as to not appear suspicious or that she’d been eavesdropping. Her steps are extra quiet as she carefully tiptoes into the dining room. Tara notices her first and greets her warmly.

“Elara! There you are! How are you, my friend?” Tara calls to her, strutting across the large wooden surface of the dinner table to her side, sitting right next to her plate.

She glances at Gale for a brief moment, his eyes boring into her as if he were anticipating something terrible to come from her mouth. She offers him a shy smile, then turns her attention back to Tara.

“I’m well, thank you. I missed you this morning, Tara. Find any juicy pigeons to snack on?” She jokes, patting her head gently. Tara purrs and bumps her head against Elara’s palm, almost appearing to smile at the affectionate gesture. Gale’s eyes darted back and forth between his two companions rapidly, an unreadable expression on his face.

She tilts her head at him in a silent inquiry, to which he simply waves his hand and invites her to sit.

“Oh, yes, of course. You’ll have to come with me some day.” She offers, and Elara chuckles. As silly as it was, she knew how sweet it was for Tara to invite her to join her for a hunt, regardless of whether or not she ever actually would.

“I’d love to.”

The chair legs squeal as she pulls it out from under the table and sits, eyeing her plate and finding that somehow her food was still steaming hot as if it were fresh, while Gale’s appeared to have gone cold and stale.

“I warmed it for you.” He says, answering her question before she even had the chance to ask. She smiles a grateful smile before taking a bite, not realizing just how hungry she’d been until the very second the food landed on her taste buds.

They eat mostly in silence, aside from the sound of Gale’s fork scraping against the plate as he pushes his food around. She wants to ask why he didn’t bother to heat his own plate as well, but doesn’t want to pry. Perhaps he just wasn’t that hungry.

The echoes of something she overheard Gale say in response to Tara’s teasing linger in her mind, reverberating off of the walls of her skull as if he’d shouted them into the mouth of a cave.

I hope you’re right.

He hoped she’d stay. He wants her to stay.

The sound of Tara taking flight startles her from her thoughts, catching a glimpse of the tail end of her as she flies toward the staircase, likely heading to her favorite spot in Gale’s office on a blanket right in front of the fireplace. The departure of what acted as the buffer for the awkward tension between the two of them made it impossible to ignore the proverbial owlbear in the room.

“I should have—”

“I’m sorry you saw—”

They stare at each other for a moment, then both chuckle.

“You first.” She says quietly, her smile dying as she braces herself.

Gale’s voice cracks nervously, and he clears his throat before trying again. “I apologize again— for earlier. I should have knocked.”

She waves him off, dropping her gaze back down to her plate as she pokes and prods at the vegetables that remained. “Things happen.”

He clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I just fear that I’ve made you uncomfortable more than once today.”

Now her gaze is locked right on him, confusion coating her features. When he notices, he sighs.

“When I asked you if you wanted to go for a stroll. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Oh.

Gods, why is he so damn considerate?

“No, no,” she says, her voice softening and her eyes matching it. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable at all.”

It’s his turn to be confused now, his eyebrows knitted together and mouth pressed into a line. “Why did you say no, then?”

What answer could she give him that wasn’t entirely incriminating? ‘I said no because I’m hopelessly, idiotically in love with you and you make me nervous’? Not a chance.

“I… I’m just feeling a bit off today. It’s nothing, I just— I would rather not burden you with my issues.”

He eyes her and suddenly it’s like she’s completely naked under his gaze once again, only she nearly feels even more exposed now than she did when she was actually naked. He can tell there’s more to it, but he doesn’t push. He never pushes.

“Well, do know that I’m always here if you need to talk. If there’s something burdening you, I don’t mind helping you carry the load.”

Only there isn’t anything he can do to help— hells, even this conversation is doing the very opposite of helping.

“Thank you, Gale. Really.” She smiles sheepishly. “I’m sorry you— you know.”

He waves his hand in front of him as he goes to take a long gulp of his wine. He barely finishes swallowing before he speaks again. “You’ve no need to apologize.”

Silence fills the room again. Lighter, this time, at least, but not lacking most of the tension it held before. There were things unsaid on both ends, both too scared to break the peace. So silent it remained.

She clears her throat after a while and after she’d finished her dinner. “Thank you, for dinner. Delicious, as always.”

“My pleasure,” He breathes, pushing his chair back and standing with his plate in hand. “I apologize, but I may turn in early tonight. Don’t worry about your dishes, I will take care of them in the morning.”

She watches him as he scrapes his plate into the waste bin and then places it in the sink basin, rubbing his hands together before turning to head for the stairs. He breezes past her and she catches a whiff of that familiar scent she’d caught from the robes hanging in the bathroom— sandalwood, bergamot, and a hint of old parchment. Something she would try not to think about if she weren’t reminded of it everyday that she spent surrounded by him, still feeling as though he were in the room with her even when he was away.

Just before his foot lands on the first stair, she turns and calls to him. He pauses, turning his entire body at the sound of her voice.

“Goodnight, Gale.”

He beams at her, his smile reaching his deep brown eyes that she could see the twinkle in even from across the room. She swears she would be able to see it from miles away.

“Goodnight, Elara.”

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Lavender. Gale loved the smell of lavender.

It lingered throughout the halls and wafted out from the washroom for hours after her bath, and he found himself stopping just outside the doorway without realizing it, as if some invisible force was drawing him to it. As if that smell were a siren’s call, and he was a fisherman lost at sea being lured right into her claws. He smelled it on her when she came downstairs, her long azure tinted waves still damp and falling in her face, her skin still flushed from the warmth of the water.

Selfishly, he could not get the image of her out of his head— the elegant curves of her body and the way it glistened as the hazy light of dusk paired with candlelight cast an ethereal glow that almost made her seem like nothing more than a conjured illusion. Though, he was sure no wizard would ever be able to conjure something as meticulously crafted as her, something that exquisite couldn’t have even been sculpted by the gods.

The muffled sound of her voice from the other side of the door replayed in his mind as well; he hadn’t heard much, but what he did hear almost sounded like—

Impossible.

It felt wrong and he felt the crushing weight of guilt on his shoulders for violating her privacy tenfold, and yet, his brain could not seem to let him forget for even a fraction of a second. He was incredibly thankful he was able to make it downstairs and hide his arousal under the table before she saw him again and was truly put off by him once and for all. He cursed himself internally for being unable to contain himself— one can’t always be a gentleman, it seems.

It was purely a miracle that he managed to contain himself as he walked past her to finally retire to his bedroom after what felt like the most mentally exhausting day. It was a miracle every day that he managed to contain himself around her, really.

Especially on days that she wore dresses— he adored dresses on her. He pictured taking her for a proper evening out in Waterdeep. Greeting her at the door with flowers, walking hand in hand and buying her dinner, showing her all of his favorite places in the city he loved most in the world, then kissing her goodnight on the stoop and smiling like a giddy schoolboy the entire rest of the night after they departed.

He’d been enraptured by her from the first moment he laid eyes on her, that fateful day on that beach amongst the wreckage and chaos. Her face being the first he saw as he emerged from that portal felt all too fitting, as hers was the only face he had been able to think of or dream of for months now.

Even after she turned him down in the Shadow Cursed Lands, his affinity for her did not subside. If anything, it burned brighter and brighter in the weeks that followed as she showed more care for him than another person aside from his mother and his tressym had done for him in what felt like a lifetime. As she did everything in her power to save her friends one by one, as well as the rest of the world.

After it was all said and done and he’d seen that look in her eyes after the brain and the crown fell into the Chionthar, and all of her newly acquired friends had departed while she remained— he knew he could not allow her to think she had nowhere or no one in the world to turn to.

While you’d think having the object of your desires right within your own home at all times would make things easier— it did not. It only further complicated an already somewhat complicated situation.

He valued his friendship with her greatly, and feared that he would jeopardize it if he attempted anything romantic— but something was telling him he needed to try. To be patient and if nothing ever came of it, he would give her a safe place to lay her head at night.

She was worth trying for. She was worth everything.

Now, he’s tormented by her being so close and yet not close enough to touch. To occupy the same home as her, but never the same space was downright agonizing.

She had become the bane of his very existence, only because every day she made it even harder to resist her.

For example, the way she interacted with Tara— whom, mind you, generally disliked most other humans or humanoid creatures aside from himself and his mother— the way Tara greeted her with such ardor, not too different from the way she would greet him. The way she not only allowed her to pet her head, but even purred as she did so. Tara is many things, but easily swayed by people is not one of them. And yet, she welcomes her into their home as if she’d always been there. As if she’d been simply waiting for her to come home all this time.

It had begun to feel that way for Gale as well— his heart ached at the thought of her finding her own place and leaving. While he respected her decisions no matter what they may be, he could not deny that he’d miss her presence in this house much more.

He felt himself going mad. Absolutely and truly around the bend crazy over her.

He certainly wasn’t proud of what he’d done the second he made it into his bedchamber for the night.

To make matters worse, it wasn’t even the first time he’d done such a thing.

The pained straining of his erection against his clothing was making his entire body ache along with it, as if it were punishing him for neglecting it for as long as he had. The second he released it from the confines of his pants and underclothes, a bead of precum leaked and he groaned.

Gods, this is madness.

Perhaps maybe if he did this, he could get it out of his system and forget about it all in the morning. Yes, he thought, that makes perfectly logical and reasonable sense.

He clumsily strips his day clothes off apart from his underwear, uncharacteristically discarding it into a heap beside his bed before jumping into the expanse of the large mattress in the center of the room and making himself comfortable.

He looks down at his own pathetically swollen and throbbing cock, and he almost wishes he could call her into his room and show her the effect she has on him.

He pictures her long dazzling blue tresses fanned out across the pillows at the head of the bed, the way her tanned complexion would be complimented so beautifully by the violet silk sheets beneath her, her legs spread wide for him, like an offering. The way he’d devour her and drink her in as if she were the richest wine or the sweetest peach in all of Faerun. The way his name would sound cried from her lips in pure ecstasy.

The thought alone was enough to bring him closer to the edge— hells, he was sure he’d been on the brink of orgasm for longer than he would like to admit. He was almost certain the second he began to pump himself into his fist that he’d be done for.

He started slowly, hoping to savor it for at least a few minutes and give himself more time to indulge in his fantasies. His chest heaved and his cheeks flushed with desire. He had to bite down onto his fingers to try to keep himself quiet on the off chance that she would overhear him.

Despite his efforts, he grunted softly as his pace quickened, now pumping himself with a steady rhythm that felt right— that if he closed his eyes, he could picture her on top of him, riding him like her life depended on it.

That didn’t last long, as within a minute he was spilling onto his own chest and coming completely undone, chanting her name in breathy whispers over and over as if it were a prayer.

He grips himself as he rides out the aftershocks until the sensation was entirely too much and he had to let go, his entire body going limp and exhaustion finally presenting itself to him and each one of the muscles he’d just expended in that process. He looks down wearily at the mess he’d made of himself, and throws his head back into the pillows.

He wonders if her pillows smell of lavender. He imagines that they do.

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next chapter ❥ masterlist

#if you read the original version of this hi!!!#hope you still enjoy this despite the changes!!#would that i #gale #gale dekarios #gale fic #gale x tav #gale x f!tav #gale x f!oc #bg3 gale #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfic #bg3 smut #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #my fics #oc: elara

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