#look how far i went for fear of losing you

[claraoswalds]

The Girl Who Died // Hell Bent

#dwedit #doctor who #usertennant #userveronika #userteri #twelfth doctor #clara oswald #doctor x clara #twelveclara #* #I'M SICK OF LOSING PEOPLE. LOOK AT YOU WITH YOUR EYES AND YOUR NEVER GIVING UP AND YOUR ANGER AND YOUR KINDNESS. #ONE DAY THE MEMORY OF THAT WILL HURT SO MUCH THAT I WON'T BE ABLE TO BREATHE AND I'LL DO WHAT I ALWAYS DO. #I'LL GET IN MY BOX AND I'LL RUN AND I'LL RUN IN CASE ALL THE PAIN EVER CATCHES UP. AND EVERY PLACE I GO IT WILL BE THERE. #anyway idk if this makes sense outside of my head but the journey between like #she might meet someone she can't bear to lose -> gives her a second repair kit so she can make someone else immortal too -> #he can't bear to lose clara -> he brings her back from the dead which makes her functionally immortal -> #look how far i went for fear of losing you #ok actually i need to make a full parallel set. someone remind me to do that

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

only took me a decade to figure out the doctor was trying to stop clara from dying by saving ashildr

#IM SO SLOW #its so obvioussss #'im sick of losing people. look at you. with your eyes and your never giving up and your anger and your kindness' #'doctor she died theres nothing you can do' #'i can do anything' #flashforward: look how far i went for fear of LOSING YOUUUU OH M YGODDDDD #'i was angry. i was emotional. just possibly i have made a terrible mistake' #and then they end up together in their diner tardis!!!! #oh my goddddd #wait a SECOND #thats not how fucking time works #anyway ignore the fact i dont cant do maths its fine

[kennarose1108]

Clingy (Miguel O'Hara x Reader)

At the beginning of your relationship, Miguel was distant from you as you expected him to be. He didn't want to get close to you because he didn't want to feel the need to depend on you. He lost so much and he was afraid if he got close to you he'd lose you too. But as time went on he grew more attached to you. You were so kind and beautiful he just couldn't get enough of you.

But as he got more attached his fear of losing you grew and it got more clingy towards you, afraid if he let you go you'd somehow die on him. He didn't want to smother you of course and he kept his distance when he realized he was doing too much but you honestly didn't mind his clinginess. It always reminded you of how far you came with him and you felt loved.

Nights were the worst for Miguel though, he always clung to you when you both went to bed and if he woke up and you weren't in his arms he'd always check the bed and every time you were there. He'd reach his hand out to touch the fabric and your body was always there to meet with his hand. Then he'd pull you closer to him and he'd fall back asleep. He was afraid in the night someone would take you away from him, it was one of his worst fears.

Because of his anxieties, you tried not to get out of bed at night. If you needed to use the bathroom you'd try to be quiet to not wake him and freak him out. And you always succeeded. But tonight was different. You woke up and felt your throat was abnormally dry. You couldn't fall back asleep with your throat like this, it just wasn't possible. So you quietly got out of bed and headed to the kitchen.

As you were in the kitchen Miguel woke up. He felt you weren't in his arms anymore and he reached out to touch you… But you weren't there. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and continued to search for you, but still nothing. Then his eyes shot open and he noticed the empty spot next to him and the panic set in. He sat up and called for you, "Y/N?!" He yelled. His anxieties were telling him the worst, he was afraid someone kidnapped you or even killed you.

He hopped out of bed and pushed through the bedroom door, "Y/N?!?" He yelled again. You jumped as the impact of the door hitting the wall scared you. His body psychically untensed when he saw you in the kitchen with a glass of water in your hand. "Miguel? Honey, what's wrong?" You ask as you set the glass on the counter with a concerned look on your face. His body was visibly shaking and his breathing was hard. You walked over to Miguel and gently brushed your hand against his cheek. "I'm okay… I was just getting some water… I'm still here with you, don't worry." You say while resting your hand against his chest. You felt his heart beating fast and you frowned. "Go back to bed Miguel… I'll be there in a moment, okay?" You say with a reassuring smile. Miguel nodded and slowly walked back into the room.

You walked back to your glass and drank down the liquid. When you finished you placed the glass into the sink and walked back into the room. When you walked in Miguel was sitting up in bed and looking down at the bed in sadness. Your heart broke at the sight of him looking so defeated. You walked over to Miguel and ran your fingers through his hair.

He leaned into your touch and sighed. You crawled into his lap and straddled his hips. You pulled him into a hug and he wraps his arms tightly around your body. He rested his face into the crook of your neck and you rubbed your fingernails gently along his scalp and his back.

"I'm sorry…" Miguel mumbled. "You have nothing to be sorry for… It's okay to be afraid." You say while placing a kiss on his head. "Yeah but… I feel like I'm smothering you…" Miguel murmurs. "Miguel. Look at me." You say while pulling away and cupping his cheeks. He looked into your eyes and you noticed the tears in them, you frown even more. "You're not smothering me. I love being close to you and I understand why you're afraid. Nothing that you have done has ever bothered me." You say with a reassuring smile. Your words seemed to relax Miguel. He nodded and he blinked away the tears in his eyes. "Okay… Now, let's go back to sleep hm?" You say before placing a kiss on his nose.

As you were about to crawl to your side of the bed Miguel stopped you. One of the hands that were on your waist traveled up and cupped one of your cheeks. He then leaned in and kissed your lips and you returned the kiss with a smile. The kiss was gentle and full of love… Just full of love, nothing else. He pulled away and smiled at you. You smiled back before crawling to your side of the bed. You went under the covers and laid down, Miguel doing the same. He pulled you close to his body and held you tight and you returned the favor by wrapping your arms tightly around his torso. He sighed in relaxation and he felt comfortable and content with you.

"Te amo más que a nada mi amor…" Miguel whispered in your ear as you drifted off into sleep.

#miguel o'hara imagines #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara smut #miguel #miguel o'hara #spiderman #spiderman 2099 #spider man #spider-man #into the spider verse #spider verse #across the spiderverse

[rosemaryfollows]

𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴

|| synopsis: Adam falling in love with someone who actually deserves to be in Heaven. ||

|| word count: 955 ||

[ cw: Adam is his own warning ngl. a little bit of verbal and physical abuse, and toxic relationships obvi. ]

|| ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2 ||

From human souls to another, those in Heaven around you felt pity for your… ‘situation.’ You had captured the eyes of first man Adam himself, and you hated it. You and a small group of people had started to question if he deserved to be in heaven, or if he was just Gods’ favorite creation. For ages now, he had been walking around, talking at you more than to you.

“Yeah, then I told that fat bitch just,” He paused, looking down and spotting you further ahead of him than before he started talking, taking a large step forward to be next to you again before he continued talking. “Just how much she actually disgusted me, she started with the whole, boo-hoo, woe is me shit. Ugh, honestly it’s was so gross.” You cringed at his behavior, your face beet red in sheer embarrassment. You moved your hand to cover the side of your face he could’ve seen, sighing deeply as he just continued to blabber on and on.

As if a sudden change of heart struck him, he went quiet before clearing his throat, tugging at his collar with a single finger before looking away from you and speaking. “But uh, how was.. your, day?” He asked, sounding almost unsure of the question. Your walk had stuttered a bit, seeing as you almost tripped over yourself at his tone and question. “It was perfect,” Until you showed up again, you thought, sighing for a moment. “It’s always a happy day in Heaven.” You had finally spared a glance to him, peering up to look at him, you caught him staring right at you, not paying any attention to what was in front of him as he walked. A little smile creeped onto your face as you walked further just a bit, watching him collide face first with a pole.

“Ah! Fucking— shit, eat- pussy! Fucking Christ!” He groaned out, stumbling back a bit and rubbing his mask, flipping off the pole with his other hand. Both of your hands shot up in front of your mouth, hiding the smile that spread across your face. Little giggles started to bubble up out of your throat as you watched him curse out the pole. “You! Fucking bitch— Why didn’t you tell me there was a— Ohhh, you think this is fucking funny?! Tell me why I’m wasting my time with a dry ass pussy like yours, fucking suck my—“ He started, a small growl to his voice as he glared at you, huffing and puffing before taking a deep breath, standing up straight. He cleared his throat again, noticing the people who had stopped on the street, knowing it would just look like him harassing some poor angel. Which, wasn’t too far off.

He grouched and looked down at you. “Come on.” He stepped closer to you and grabbed your wrist, flapping his wings so he would be off the ground, bringing you with him. He knew he was larger than other angels, so there was no chance of your hand escaping his much larger one. He had been ‘courting’ you for some time now, so you knew better than to try and wiggle out of his grip for fear of losing some feathers.

He flapped his wings in almost a sense of pride as he pulled your form to his, his hand now supporting you only by your lower back. Your face had gone back to its’ almost melodramatic frown, looking down as you watched the street get further and further away from your feet. “You sure know how to fucking embarrass a guy, _____.” He groaned out as he landed on his ‘penthouse in the clouds’, which was a stupid thing to call it since heaven itself was in the clouds. However, he didn’t let you down yet, grumbling as he walked around, still holding you up off the floor.

“Adam, please put me dow—“ He cut you off before you could even ask, “No! No, you’re fucking mine until I am done with you. Why can’t I just get over you already?! Are you a fucking demon? Doing some, voodoo magic shit on me?” He looked down at you, a scowl obvious on his mask, but he did start to set you down, letting your feet reconnect with the floor. You stepped back from him, looking around before rubbing the wrist he had grabbed since it had begun to ache. He watched you with intent for a second before disappearing off into his ‘home.’ You considered flying off, but even if he was cruel, you’d hate to leave him in a bad mood.

So, like an angel, you waited. Hands folded in front of you now, looking out over the clouds, watching the sun reflect off of them with such eloquence. You only turned away from the view when you heard footsteps coming from behind you. It was Adam, now without his mask and two things in his hands. One, an ice pack, the other, a small glass of water. He knelt down in front of you, setting the glass down and taking your aching wrist into his hands, pressing the ice against it gently. “… Sorry.” He whispered out, looking up at you with a little frown, trying to convey true sorrow. A small sigh left you, your free hand lifting to pet back his hair, a little smile spreading across your face as you leaned forward and planted a kiss against his forehead.

“It’s alright.” You’d always forgive him. No matter what he had done to you, pick, prod or pull, you’d give him your forgiveness in full. Because you were an angel, and that’s why he lov— like—. Tolerated, you.

[ someone tell me i did him justice plsplspls ]

|| note: ​🇮​​🇫​ ​🇾​​🇴​​🇺​ ​🇱​​🇮​​🇰​​🇪​ ​🇲​​🇾​ ​🇨​​🇴​​🇳​​🇹​​🇪​​🇳​​🇹​, ​🇧​​🇪​ ​🇸​​🇺​​🇷​​🇪​ ​🇹​​🇴​ ​🇱​​🇮​​🇰​​🇪​ ​🇦​​🇳​​🇩​ ​🇷​​🇪​​🇧​​🇱​​🇴​​🇬​!! <3 ||

#hazbin hotel #adam hazbin hotel #adam x reader #adam x reader hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel x reader #rosemaryfollows #first man adam #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin adam

[kquil]

POLY MARAUDERS | 18:39 ⏤HEROES IN TATTOOS

01 : RESCUE

SUM. : walking home late from your shift at the pub, you get followed and chased by a crazy drunk. thankfully, you run into the three men running the tattoo and piercing shop down the road

TAGS. : muggle au ; modern au ; tattoo artist sirius ; tattoo artist james ; piercer remus ; protective marauders ; tatted up marauders ; biker sirius ; fluff

WARNING : attempted assault (not explicit + nothing happens) ; stalking behaviour - please stay safe lovelies

LENGTH : 1.3k

NOT PROOFREAD OR EDITED

You typically didn’t care much for catching the late shift since you didn’t live too far away from the pub, if you were slow it only took 15 minutes. Most of the walk home was also along the main, where other people could see you so even though it was dark, you still felt safe. You’ve always made it home without feeling at risk of any attack for the last four months, ever since you started working, until tonight. 

It was a regular night shift at the pub, you couldn’t count how many people you served but you made sure to flash your sweet smile for some extra tips here and there. You greeted the regulars and had their drinks prepared for them before they even made an order and occasionally engaged in some idle chatter when you found some free time. It started off well until one of the more difficult regulars came in and started causing a ruckus three pints down. He always tried to get handsy with you but you had your co-workers, manager and the pub goers there to keep him in check so he never got very far. The bastard had left an hour or so before he knew your shift ended so you didn’t think you’d see him again but he had been waiting for you across the street outside and now you were desperate to get home and away from his distressing company. 

But what then?...If you went home he’ll know where you live and god knows what he’d do if he knew that. Your heart stuttered in your chest and your breath caught in your throat from the disturbing images that thought brought on. You won’t ever let that happen, especially since you lived with your friends and would put them in danger too. For now, you’ll take the long route home and maybe find a turning you can run down to escape him in.

Making the turn for the long route back home, you wrapped your coat tighter around you and sped up your pace only to feel your stomach drop at the sound of the footfalls behind you also accelerating. This can’t be happening. There were tears in your eyes as you looked ahead and resolved to start running as soon as you caught most of your breath back. The streets weren’t as busy tonight so people were scarce, which spiked the fear and adrenaline in your veins, heart hammering in your chest. 

“Ay! Slow down will ya’! I just wanna talk sweetheart!” the man shouted suddenly, his smug tone illustrating his malicious grin behind you. The suddenness of his yell shocks your nerves and shoots you forward into a sprint when you realise how much closer he was than you originally anticipated. The terrifying pursuit was on. 

His verbal assaults flew over your head. You blocked them out because your heart was pumping so fast from the adrenaline and fear, your only focus was on keeping up your pace and looking out for anyone that could help you. Just as you were beginning to lose hope, you looked up to see three men exit the tattoo and piercing shop (The Marauders) you walked past when you had more time to get to work. The bulkier one wearing glasses was locking the door as a tall brunette stood by his side with a hand in his pocket and the last man with his black hair up in a small bun made his way over to lean against a parked motorbike, his helmet propped up on the seat beside him. 

“Help!” you call out immediately, desperation and anxiety evident in your voice as your legs sped up to reach them faster, “Help me, please!” The tears had spilled over now as the man behind you also sped up and started shouting louder. The man who had been leaning against his motorbike shot to his feet and opened his arms up for you to run into, which you happily did. At that moment, you had never felt such relief in your life and sobbed freely into his shoulder, “please help,” you cried, “m-make him go away,”

“It’s okay, sweetheart, it’s okay,” the biker whispered into your ear, pulling you close by the waist as his other hand gently caressed the back of your head. With you locked in his arms, Sirius steps back some more and moves to put himself between you and your pursuer. 

Panting the drunk bastard pulled an unconvincing friendly grin, “Come on now, guys-”

“Shut it mate,” peering over the biker’s shoulder, you see the brawny man in glasses snarl at the drunk, his arm muscles made taut as he folded them across his chest, flexing his tattoos, “you better fuck off before things get dirty between us, alright?”

“You’re misunderstanding,” the drunk hiccupped and continued, “you see, she’s my girlfriend and she’s just bein’ dramatic aint ya, sweets?”

“That doesn’t matter,” the tall brunette piped up and stepped forward, towering over the disgusting man, “she clearly doesn’t want to be around you right now so you better do what the lady says and get!”

“She’s a little liar is wh-”

“Don’t even try you sick bastard,” James shouts, grabbing the guy by the collar and pushing him back, “we know that you’re the liar here so you better leave the pretty lady alone or else I’ll start swingin’”

Struggling to push James off, the man eventually scrambles away and almost lands face first into the pavement, “You’re bunch o’ pricks!” 

“Yeah yeah yeah, shove it up your arse, dickhead, we don’t care,” the one in glasses waved off and, together with the brunette chased away the poor excuse of a man. 

“Don’t worry, love, he’s gone now…” Sirius whispers comfortingly beside your ear and leans back to take a look at your face with a sympathetic pout, “you’re gonna be okay,” he wipes away your tears and tenderly tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The affection brings a soft smile to your lips and you thank him sincerely in a meek voice, which he smiles at in return. 

“You okay, doll?” James asks, brows furrowing in concern as his anger gradually subsides. He couldn’t believe any man would do such a thing to a lady. The bastard probably grew up in a swamp of some kind with no manners, James truly hopes he gets run over.

“Y-yeah, a little bit,” you smile at them with a grateful nod, “the adrenaline is still there but I’ll be fine,”

Taking in your shaking shoulders, Sirius gives you a tight squeeze and pats your back reassuringly, muttering under his breath, “There, there love,” thankful for his actions, you lean your head against his shoulder and breath in his scent of comfort and safety - leather, green soap, musk and smoke. 

“Well, at least you’re not hurt,” Remus smiles but in his eyes there is still evidence of his earlier rage. He can’t imagine the amount of fear you had to have experienced from such a chilling affair, he feels somewhat protective of you now, especially when you look so small and compliant in Sirius’s arms.

“We’ll walk you the rest of your way home, okay?” James gently insists with a subdued grin, appreciating your cute face when you pull away from Sirius’s shoulder to stare at him wide-eyed.

“Y-you’d do that for me?” you bite your lip, feeling tears well up from how fortunate and relieved you felt. 

“Nonsense, dove,” Remus smiles warmly at you, “it’s not any trouble, it would be more for us since we’d be worrying about you all night, otherwise,” comforted by their reassurance, you let them walk you home and gave them each a hug and one last word of thanks at your doorstep before you waved them off and slipped inside. Safe and sound, you smile to yourself at the thought of your heroes in tattoos. 

NEXT : 02 | THANK YOU

A/N : im practically exposing how james, sirius and remus are comfort characters to me. please stay safe my loves and this is not me trying to romanticise stalking or assault in any way

NAVI. | HEROES IN TATTOOS SERIES

#𐂂 : TIMESTAMP #☆ : TIMESTAMP #☽ : TIMESTAMP #sirius x reader #james potter x reader #marauders #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin #sirius black #james potter #sirius black fic #james potter fic #remus lupin fic #marauders fic #marauders x reader #the marauders #poly marauders #poly marauders x reader #fanfiction #marauders fanfiction #hp marauders

[ohbabydollie]

Imagine Schlatt being super horny for his heavily pregnant wife after they’d haven’t had sex for awhile…

😮‍💨😮‍💨 this ask made me feel things

You always feared pregnancy.

You didn’t mean to it’s just that the idea of being pregnant, all the things that could go wrong, etc. Not to mention the fear of your husband losing attraction for you, but it seemed the opposite for Schlatt.

Instead of feeling no attraction after you got pregnant, during the first few months he went feral. He was all over you 24/7, using it as an excuse to not use condoms at all, whenever you seemed emotional he would give you head and say something about you “needing to relief stress” and more.

Schlatt used any excuse he could come up with so he could to be on and inside you.

It eventually calmed down when you had been around 26 weeks pregnant. Sex that would happen daily had become 3-4 times a week, most of the time schlatt just eating you out or fingering you before leaving to jerk off.

You assumed that his attraction for you was fading, when in reality that was far from the truth.

Schlatt’s attraction to you has only grown since you’ve gotten more pregnant. From seeing you smile and hold his hand at an ultrasound to seeing your tits grow heavier over time.

It honestly scares Schlatt how much he wants you. He doesn’t want to exert you, especially with how tired you’ve been these days, so he’s stuck to cold showers and on really difficult days, jerking off. It’s hard to resist you, especially when he’s eating you out or fingering you and feeling your warmth wrapped around his fingers, tightening up around them as you finish.

He finds you borderline impossible to resist. Especially now, when you’re in a cute sundress you bought a few weeks ago.

It shows your tits and belly off just right, but Schlatt can resist.

When you put down a bowl of fruit and jambo goes running to steal a blueberry, he knocks over your bowl.

“Jambo!” you scold picking up the cat before handing him to Schlatt.

He watches, grabbing the cat as you accidentally push your boobs up against each other causing the neckline to deepen and show more than you intended before returning to normal once you handed jambo over to Schlatt.

Schlatt can resist.

“i gotta go clean up the fruit he dropped” you complain walking over to the kitchen, bending over and picking up the few pieces that fell out.

fuck, your ass looks great

fuck, the soft pout you have on your face

jambo soon jumps off the couch and goes meowing at you, almost apologetically. You coo at him lovingly, picking him up like a baby once the fruit is cleaned up.

fuck

Schlatt’s imagination is going wild, already imagining you with a second and third child. He can’t fucking hold back.

he can’t resist

It’s mere seconds before he’s taking you to the bedroom. Schlatt is placing you down on the bed and hiking your dress up.

“you don’t know how long i’ve been wantin’ to fuck ya” he says taking off your underwear and quickly taking out his cock.

He wastes no time slipping into you, letting out a groan, “fuckkk, doll, you don’t know how much i missed your sweet little pussy”

Those words along the familiar feeling of him inside you, in what feels like forever, has you throwing you head back in pleasure. Your lips parting to let out moans as he thrusts in and out of you harshly, not bothering to hold back.

“fuck. never. gonna. stay. away. from. this. pretty. pussy. again!” Schlatt growled between thrusts

“fuck! c-calm down!” you moan out, holding onto his broad shoulders “i‘m sensitive!” you whine as Schlatt pays no mind to your words, instead rubbing your clit.

“great, then i can feel ya cummin’ ‘round my cock faster”

#schlatt x reader #jschlatt x reader #jschlatt x you #jschlatt x y/n #schlatt x y/n #schlatt x you #jschlatt x reader smut #jschlatt smut #schlatt x reader smut #schlatt smut

[beautifulhigh]

The smallest of looks is the loudest moment in the room

Just a little one from me to save me from going insane and to sate my followers...

ZAHRA: How long has this been going on?

Alex is focused on Zahra, Henry is staring off into the middle distance until Alex answers her.

ALEX: Since New Year's.

And it's that Henry reacts to. Have a close up.

Henry's gaze flicks to Alex. In this exact moment (1 hour, 5 minutes, and 41 seconds), he looks at Alex for a few seconds.

This is the moment Alex has put a start date on this thing between them.

It's a little more certain here than it is in the book:

"How long has this been happening?" "Since, um, New Year's." (page 233)

The placement of that "um" holds meaning for me - in the book Alex is hesitating before he pins a start date on him and Henry. He's trying to figure it out and that's what he goes for. Because how long has it been going on? Since they started sharing intimate thoughts and fears? Since they increased the benefits they had added to their friendship? Since the Red Room?

Nope. Alex goes for the moment when the possibility between them changed and he completely ignores the weeks of silence that happened straight after. The period of time in which Henry was full of fear over what he'd done, what Alex might do. In the book we know he runs scared, going on a public date and being photographed.

If there was a prince, and he was gay, and he kissed someone, and maybe it mattered, that prince might have to run a little bit of interference. (page 125)

We don't have anything like that in the movie but we do have the silence. We see Henry's fear when he comes into the Red Room. Not just because of the line he crossed with Alex but because he has exposed himself and his most closely guarded secret, a glimpse of his true self.

He will know that Alex isn't going to out him - they've spent long enough talking and getting to know each other for that to not be Henry's fear. And if he was then it would have happened long before the State Dinner. Henry's fear is about losing Alex, losing the friendship, losing that connection with the boy he's wanted since the Olympics/Climate Conference.

I'd put money on Henry promising himself, once upon a time, that he would never do anything to risk losing what small pieces of Alex he could have in his life. And when they start up this thing he goes in thinking that this is all he can have, all he will get.

"I thought I could have some part of you, and just never say [I love you], and you'd never have to know, and one day you'd get tired of me and leave, because I'm--" (Page 272)

Henry didn't think he would have all of Alex, at least not anything of import, that Alex wouldn't be as far in as Henry is. And yet here he is in this hotel room, declaring they have been this thing since that kiss. Since before they properly made out in the Red Room, went down on each other in Alex's bedroom, talked about "keeping things casual" before embarking on the most insanely devoted shag fest known to mankind.

Alex has been in since New Year's and he tells Zahra just that.

In the movie he is more decisive. (Just like the instant "No" when Zahra asks if it would make a difference if she asked them to stop.)

Since New Year's. Since the moment Henry kissed me and I became unable to think about anything else except doing it again. And doing other stuff.

And even though Henry ghosted him right after, even though the next thing Henry said to Alex after his apology and disappearance into the night was another apology for his behaviour, Alex has labelled that moment, that kiss, as their start.

The moment when Henry was brave.

And in the movie we get to see Henry's reaction to that. They've been discovered, things are about to blow up in a way they can't control, and Alex says that as far as he's concerned this thing between them has been going on all year.

Before the emails. Before Paris. Before the State Dinner. Alex has been Henry's since New Year's and this is the moment he finds that out.

#overthinking jen is overthinking #firstprince #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #prince henry of wales #red white and royal blue #rwrb #book to movie #this was supposed to be much shorter #oh well #otp: history huh

[hornedqueenofhell]

Shared Interests Pt. 2

Pt 1

Lucas pats him on the shoulder and grins at him, "You're doing much better Eddie."

"Don't condescend to me Sinclair." Eddie teases back and tickles Lucas's side, "You're the one who told me to do that stupid shoulder touch thing and Steve laughed whenever he looked at me for a week!" Steve may also have done it back to him at one point and made his knees go weak which just isn't fair.

"Wait, so is that why Steve asked if I wanted to learn how to pitch a baseball after we went up to cerebro for my date with Suzie?" Dustin had been confused at the time, wondering if Steve was trying to make him want to be a jock too.

Eddie nods and settles back in his chair, "Aside from the fact that I think he just wants all of you to be more physically active considering how much time we spend running from monsters, yeah."

Oh, Dustin had called it gross and sweaty and wanted to go home before he got a sunburn. And Steve hadn't complained, he ruffled Dustin's hat and told him to wipe his feet before getting in his car.

"Wait, does Steve think I hate him?" Fear bubbled through Dustin's veins, all the times Steve asked if he'd like to go see a movie or visit the library… was he going to lose his friend? 

"Mmmm, I wouldn't go that far per say." At the devastated look on Dustin's face Eddie quickly drops the act, "No Dustin of course he doesn't, Steve loves you dearly. You guys could stand to ease up on calling him stupid or shit like that because that does hurt him, he wouldn't tell you that even on pain of death though."

Lucas and Will share a look at that and Eddie suspects that this isn't the first time that particular subject has been brought up by someone. His money is on El. That little girl loves Steve with every fiber of her being and watching them read or work on El's catch up work together warms Eddie's heart endlessly.

"So we have to do sports stuff now? Because of Steve?" Mike looks like he's swallowed a lemon.

"You realize Steve has other hobbies besides sports right?" Eddie points out, "The guy is literally in school right now learning to do hair professionally because he's so good at it." Case in point baby Byers missing bowl cut and his far less frizzy curls.

"I like that he tells me everything that he's doing because I don't like people standing silently behind me. He does it with El too because she's so worried about her head being shaved again." Will pipes in causing Mike and Dustin to turn to him. "He cooks too, likes to help mom with dinner whenever things go late."

Eddie beams at Will brightly, "Yep, although he's a far better baker. I'm always bringing snacks to band practice now, Gareth would probably fight me to the death to marry Steve himself; his sweet tooth has never been so happy."

"Okay but how is just listening to him talk about hair 'sharing a hobby', that just sounds boring." Mike says, complete with poorly done air quotes. He’s trying to mimic Eddie again but can’t get the motion quite right.

"Mike, if you grew up in a house all alone outside of when the rest of the party came over for d&d or sleepovers how would you feel?"

"Uhh great, no parents fighting, no dealing with Nancy, no having to be the only one taking care of Holly."

"For the first few weeks, sure. But what about when the silence sets in? When you're sitting alone at the dinner table for months, having to make every meal yourself. When a tornado or a storm rolls through and you're sitting in the basement wondering how long it'll take for someone to find your body, if anyone would even care to look. When you're sick and there's no one around to help you make a bowl of soup or bring you water after you threw up again. When there's no one to talk to for days on end because your friends have families and lives outside of you. How much would a conversation about anything, even the most mundane thing ever, mean to you then?"

"That's not-" Eddie cuts him off with a look and Mike hunches his shoulders. Dustin wants to go give Steve a hug right now.

As if hearing his wish the door to the basement opens and Steve walks down the steps, “Hey babe.” He says cheerfully as he presses a kiss to Eddie’s cheek.

“Hello sweetheart, class go okay?” He places his hand over Steve’s on his shoulder.

“Someone messed up the bleaching lesson horribly today, I’ll tell you about it on the way because we will be late if we don’t leave soon and I know how much you enjoy making puns out of the players names.” Also because they get skimpy with the nacho cheese at the concession stand when you’re late.

“Alright, one sec and I’ll finish packing up.” He squeezes Steve’s fingers before letting go to start scooping dice into his bag. As he’s packing his stuff away Dustin bursts out of his chair and wraps his arms around Steve hugging him tightly.

“Hey man, where’s the fire?” He chuckles lightly as he hugs Dustin back, the boy's hat is digging into his chest but he doesn’t mind.

“This weekend, would you like to go to the library? We can go read comics or something.”

Steve smiles brighter than the sun as he squeezes Dustin tighter, “Yeah Dust, that sounds great!”

“I love you Steve.” He says softly into the older boy's chest. Steve’s not sure what brought this on, maybe Eddie did something in the campaign that scared them? He’d ask later.

“Love you too kiddo, get home safe and tell your mom hi for me.” He taps the brim of Dustin’s hat fondly before letting him go and taking a step back when Eddie places a hand on his shoulder.

“Ready love?”

Steve nods and folds his arm around Eddie’s waist, he had to get his clingy affection in now before they had to pretend to be just friends at the game.

“Alright we’re off kids, ponder the lessons you have received today and prepare for combat next time.” Eddie calls over his shoulder as he and Steve head out of the basement.

#stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #dustin henderson #will byers #mike wheeler #lucas sinclair

[tadpolesonalgae]

The Other Woman

Azriel x Necromancer!reader

Synopsis: Coming from a long line of necromancers, you’re bound by an oath of submission to the High Lord. Dark power that many fear concentrates in your veins, a rare and precious gift. A perfect match for the Shadowsinger whose darkness comes to rival your own. Until one day, he seems to have no need for you anymore. Perhaps he never did.

Warnings: adolescent turbulence, beauty, angst, self-hate, violence (self-inflicted and other), general depression all around.

a/n: I think I went a little insane, writing this

Word Count: 15,042

“Did you see her makeup?” You laugh tipsily over your drink, blessed warmth sweeping away the day’s troubles. In truth you’re far from drunk, but a little playfulness never hurt.

Azriel rolls his eyes, wings tucked in carefully to avoid bumping into things despite being in a large private booth, overlooking the restaurant. “Maybe you should ease up on the alcohol,” he suggests, taking a sip from his own drink. “And waste your coin?” You muse, tilting your head to the side. “Never.”

The edges of his mouth quirk, gaze casting out over the busy scene below, waiters weaving in and out of the packed tables with trays practically piled to the ceiling—how anyone can eat that much food and not be ashamed is something you’ll never understand.

“Besides,” you say idly, glancing at the male. “I thought it looked nice.” But Azriel shakes his head, smiling faintly, your own reflecting their movement. “I’m sure you did,” he replies, still watching the tables far below. Hazel eyes following the waitress that had brought your drinks with slight interest. You subtly cast your attention after her—hair tied back, long legs, slim build but sturdy. Your nose wrinkles, lip twitching in disgust. “She could learn to lose that muscle,” you muse lightly, leaning forward to splay your forearms on the cool wooden surface of the table.

“She’s working a manual job,” he replies, still watching her. “Of course she’s going to have a bit of muscle from carrying those drinks around.” You take a sip of your own, watching as the waitress disappears through a door. “She serves as the pretty face of the restaurant,” you comment, “leave the heavy lifting to the others.”

“What are you going to order?” He asks, switching subjects. “Probably a salad,” you sigh, “I doubt I could manage any more. What about you?”

Azriel hums, the deep vibration warming your skin, and you resist the urge to shift in your seat, cunt aching to have him between your thighs.

“Probably a portion of mind-your-business with a side of roast potatoes,” he drawls, peering at you from over his menu. “Hold the judgement.” Hazel eyes glimmer with amusement, locking with your own, a slight smile softening the edges of your mouth. You raise your hands innocently, back curving to subtly showcase the generous neckline—deep but tasteful. “Just my opinion,” you reply, conceding on this topic.

He hums again, and you both settle back into peering through the menu. Much of the contents you can guess will be cooked in oil, making it greasy and fatty, something that would have made your mother’s lip twitch in disgust.

“Salad it is,” you mutter, pushing the menu away and sighing. “I know you like this place, Az, but this really is the last time we’re coming here. The air is practically dripping with sweat.”

“You know you say that every time,” he muses, hazel eyes flicking leisurely over the various meals and side dishes. “I mean it,” you counter, turning your head to once again peer at the crowd below, nose wrinkling ever so slightly before you suppress the inclination.

“There’s nothing wrong with letting loose every once in a while,” he replies casually, seemingly taking him time with deciding. “That’s rich coming from you,” you drawl, pointedly glancing at him. “You’re practically married to your paperwork. We had to set up a schedule for these dinners,” you emphasise, rolling your eyes. “Mother forbid you don’t get what you want exactly when you want it,” he replies, still choosing.

“What can I say? I deserve to be spoiled.” His shoulders shift, a low laugh huffing quietly from his mouth, the sound dripping between your legs. “Isn’t that right,” he drawls, deep hazel eyes settling leisurely on yours, shadows swishing idly over the plush seating.

You arch a neatly groomed brow, lips curving in a feline lilt. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think there was something you wanted to say?” You angle your head, keeping his gaze. But he shakes his head, that faint smile still on his mouth.

The waitress decided to return at that moment, and you resist the urge to berate her for so clearly interrupting the conversation. Instead you offer a polite smile, requesting a salad, pointedly asking how big it would be. “How big?” She repeats, playing dumb. You nod, keeping the smile perched on your lips, refusing to let her win. “I’m really not that hungry tonight,” you explain sweetly, “I was wondering since I saw you carrying some pretty large trays earlier—how do you even manage to carry that weight?” You ask, laughing slightly as you eye the thickness of her arms.

Beneath the table, a shadow zips up your leg, and you flinch, before shooting him a glare across the table. Azriel watches neutrally, but his gaze seems amused. With curved lips you return your attention to the waitress—so much wasted potential there. “I’m afraid all the salads come in the same size, but if you find it to be too much, nothing will go to waste,” she says smugly, “scraps get sent off to the farms, either for food or compost, so you needn’t worry about not finishing anything.” You smile blandly, not appreciating her bringing up farms and animals in a dining space.

She sucks in a breath, smile tightening as she at last turns away from you. “And for you, sir?” She asks, and you could vomit from her tone. Sprinkled with extra sugar. “This, please,” he replies pointing to something on the menu—tilted away from you. Curiosity simmers in the back of your mind, but you refuse to ask in front of the waitress. He’s probably doing it just to get to you.

She smiles and nods, jotting it down on her notepad before finally leaving, trotting away down the stairs.

“You better not be thinking about taking her home, Az,” you muse, leaning back in the seat as you fold your arms, subtly plumping your breasts. Mischief gleams on his hazel eyes as he casually examines his hands, “I don’t see a ring.” Despite the irritation gnawing at the back of your brain, the edges of your mouth lift at the comment, sighing heavily. “I should be the only female on your mind right now,” you say slowly, pulling out your nails to examine them in the warm light. “Don’t you know it’s rude to ignore a dinner partner?”

“Forgive me,” he counters, lips quirked, “you’d seemed more interested in the waitress. Trying something different tonight?”

Your lip twitches in disgust. “Are you trying to put me off my meal entirely?”

“I don’t think I said anything particularly foul,” he replies, amusement fading. “Well we both know your mouth isn’t the cleanest,” you muse lightly, surveying the decorations upon the table: a small vase of flora that’s been pushed to the side, some candles, a half-empty bottle of wine and some playing cards. “I’ll use my mouth how I want to,” he drawls, watching you steadily. “As will you.”

Traitorous heat liquefies in the pit of your stomach, bubbling and simmering away at the low timbre of his voice. You hum noncommittally, returning to his gaze. “So long as you aren’t using it on another male,” you say, shrugging. “Then live and let live.”

Azriel’s brow narrows, the edges of his mouth lifting. “You know that’s a contradiction,” he deliberates, relaxing in his seat. “You aren’t supposed to pick and choose who you’ll let live.” Habitually your lip twitches in disgust, but you tamp it down. “So long as it’s not being shoved in my face, then they can go on with their lives and I’ll go on with mine.”

“And Mor?” He questions casually, and despite his gaze having drifted idly to the candles you can feel the weight of his attention. “What about her?” You reply, keeping your features neautral.

Hazel eyes flick over the table, locking with your own. “Where does she fall among your morals?”

“Mor is Mor,” you reply blandly, resting your cheek on your palm, nails prickling skin. “She can do as she likes.” Azriel’s features remain in an unreadable set, but tension lessens as he reaches once again for his glass, sipping lightly.

You watch silently, how the warmth of the candles smooth his naturally flawless skin, shadows flickering in the hollow beneath strong brows, darkness dancing down the column of his throat. His lips remain in a bland line, tongue flicking out to bring in the alcohol, before returning the glass to the tabletop.

Casually, you slide your attention to the three candles that have been pushed to the side. “Want to learn a new trick?” You ask, feigning boredom. “I didn’t think you were one for party tricks,” he muses, an edge of mirth underlying his tone.

Ultimately you ignore him, allowing no more than a roll of your eyes before a single candle is being dragged over. Eyes latched with his, you brush the pad of your thumb and middle finger over your tongue, before clamping them over the flame, putting in out in one swift movement. Digits pull away, revealing the extinguished candle, a glint of victory in your eyes.

“Very impressive,” Azriel replies dryly, just as you had anticipated.

Watching silently, you slide a candle across to him. “Want to give it a go?”

There’s nothing subtle about the way tension ripples across his features, muscle tightening from the talons of his wings to the tips of his fingers. Hazel eyes the candle warily, a faint grimace on his lips.

A laugh spills from your chest at the expression, edging the flame away and instead reaching for the deck of cards. “How lucky do you feel tonight?”

Some of the torsion within his muscles relaxes, but he remains stiff. “Under normal circumstances, very,” he replies, glancing down as you deftly flip the box open, cards dancing between your fingers. “How about a bet?” You muse, eyes locked, shadows flickering at his back, spilling onto the table. “But if I win, you give that trick a go.”

Silence stretches between you, charged and taut.

Hazel drops to the cards being shuffled effortlessly, how they blur beneath your ministrations.

“Okay,” he says after a long moment, “I accept.”

Darkness flares around the booth, your teeth gleaming in a flash of white as a brief grin splits your lips. “Spine?” You ask, to which he nods, accepting the game—not even a sly quip about a necromancer suggesting Spine as the amusement of choice.

The seven cards are dealt out, the top one flipped over. “Ace is the skull. Good luck,” you smile, picking up your hand. “I do remember how to play,” he counters, features shifting to neutral as the game commences.

The rounds tick by, with him winning time and time again, all the while you’re sat opposite, with that bland, lifeless smile on your lips not even getting a single set down on the table. Still, when you reach the final round, your total amounts to no more than thirteen, having been forced to go out on a two during the first round, since the ace was worth twenty five, being the skull.

For the last time, you deal the seven cards, darting like shadows across the table as fingers flick deftly, setting the deck down softly, and flipping over the top card. Putting it face up on the surface.

With vague interest you watch his expression as he takes in his hand. If you didn’t know it was doomed, you wouldn’t be able to tell, his mask set firmly in place, no hint of disappointment or frustration to be found. Not even a curve of his lips with the fulfilment of your mutual knowledge—you’ve never lost to him. To anyone.

(With one exception.)

As expected, all seven of your cards end neatly catalogued into flushes, discarding the skull on the pile—the king of spades.

Azriel sighs, knowing the victory was coming, revealing his score of seventeen. A small smile plays on your lips as you sweep the cards back into their pack, pushing the candle toward him. “Better luck next time,” you say, his turn to fulfil the bet.

He eyes the flame warily, hazel glowing softly as the light warms his usually neutral features. You drink the sight in quietly, memorising the lines of his silky hair, a single strand brushing just below his right brow. How nice it would feel to skate your fingertips across his skin, pushing the inky lock away.

“Is it too late to back out?” He asks grimly, and you prop your chin on your knuckles, peering at him with a faint smile. “You agreed to this the moment you accepted the bet,” you reply softly, attention on him not the flame. Even to a stranger, his hesitance would be blatant.

“I’ll do it with you,” you say dryly, pulling the third candle over. Lick your middle and forefinger, watching as he reluctantly copies. “And…out.”

The flame winks out, extinguished in a heartbeat, casting your table mostly in darkness.

Blown-out hazel locks with you, still smiling faintly.

The grin fades, fingers dropping to the base of the candle to push it away. “Impressive,” you murmur sincerely, “once you wouldn’t have even considered playing.”

“Maybe a few decades ago,” he mutters, quick to push the candle away, hands sliding beneath the table. You hum noncommittally, straightening in your seat, sensing his aversion to the topic.

Your brow furrows, nails drumming on the table. Lip twitching with annoyance. “How long does it take to prepare a damn salad,” you mutter, pretending not to notice the ripple of ease across his shoulders. “Really, we’re never eating here again. The wait time is obscene, not to mention that server had an attitude on her. Doesn’t she know she’s supposed to be doing her job? All I needed was a simple answer, not a deep dive into their personal ethics.”

“You’d complain to an orphan if you got the chance,” he says, a hint of mirth returning to his eyes. “And you’d sooner destroy your own mind than let someone else have a look at it,” you return idly, reaching once again for your steadily draining glass, spotting the waitress making the journey up the stairs.

“Took her long enough,” you mutter under your breath, before pasting on a bland smile to soothe the male before you, a look of wariness on his features. All irritation is assuaged however, when you spot a smudge of lipstick on her straight, white teeth. Your mouth settles into a deliberate, straight line, glancing at Azriel to see if he’s noticed.

The waitress flashes a pretty smile your way as she sets the plates down, and you bite down on the urge to laugh, keeping your features politely neutral. When she turns to Azriel however, you feel an icy bite at your ankle, startling as one of his shadows nips at the exposed skin and you watch as he makes eye contact with the waitress. He thanks her, subtly gesturing to his teeth to let her know about her little embarrassment. She flushes wildly, a twinge of humiliation in her eyes as she hastily covers her mouth, apologising.

You offer her a sweet smile as she swiftly leaves, making her exit as quickly as possible to the stairs.

As soon as she’s gone, you turn back to Azriel, laughing. “Why’d you tell her?” You ask, sighing with mirth, pulling your plate closer. “Why didn’t you?” He counters, amusement void from his expression. You roll your eyes at his comment. “I didn’t want to embarrass the poor girl,” you reply, picking up the cool cutlery, feeling its weight in your palms. “Did you see how humiliated she looked at the end there? That was awful of you.”

He hisses your name lowly, and you raise mirth-filled eyes to his, spearing a slice of tomato on your fork. “What?” You grin, twirling the small weapon in your fingers. But he pins you with a hard look, shaking his head. “You can be a real piece of work, you know?”

“I had no idea,” you drawl, biting down on the crisp, red skin, delighting in the slight saltiness. A selfish indulgence on your part.

“At least now she’ll switch to a different lip tint,” you muse, watching as his expression turns cold. “Learn through experience, right?”

————

The hall fills with the sound of rustling clothing, voices chatting with pitched cheerfulness, heat pleasantly flooding the great room.

Night settled hours ago, faelights glowing proudly as the scent of warmly spiced mulled wine weaves through the air, sprinkled with sugar. Wreaths hang from the walls, decorating the large glass chandeliers, dripping diamonds.

The dark red liquid swirls in your glass, caught in a group conversation consisting of Mor, Elain, and a quaint looking bunch the latter seems familiar with, along with a couple of other familiar faces from your own circles. Andriette, with the hat wreathed in sparky feathers, laced through with purple and gold thread, accents of silvery aqua running through the deep indigo coloured gown she’s selected for the night. Changria with the vibrant oranges, rubies adorning her fingertips, wrists and neckline, looking like bloody teardrops from her earlobes. Small sequins have been scattered through the deep black of her hair, silky and lustrous.

Then there’s Cordia, the newest addition to your preferred group, still in the initial phase of integrating herself into your world. With rich brown hair and eyes to match, she’s chosen muted colours for the evening, complimenting her skin tone that’s lacking in the ripeness of life. As one of the many Fae of the night Court who organise their lives around the sparkling starlight, you find her a little bland on the eye, lacking the visual charm to fully convince you she has enough to offer.

Elain seems to be content leading the flow of conversation, though you can sense your ladies are getting restless and bored from the discussion, uninterested in the best soil to sow orchids in. A few of Elain’s own friends nod enthusiastically, offering their own tidbits and unnecessary opinions, eyes hurriedly darting across the circle you make up in search of a flicker of approval. Occasionally Mor will nod or laugh, offering one of her own comments, but even she is flagging in the conversation topic.

Changria shifts on her feet, and you take a mild sip from your drink to hide the eager quirk of your lips.

“Speaking of flowers,” she muses lightly, rubies glittering as light refracts through their pure colour. “I haven’t seen you frequenting the Peacock Inn recently, Mor. Spending your free nights at Rita’s these days?”

The vivacious blonde doesn’t seem the least bit ruffled by the slight sneer in your friend’s voice, instead allowing her full lips to curve into a rosey smile. “I find the conversation to be much more stimulating that side of the city,” she replies silkily, swirling her glittering champagne between pearl-tipped fingers, forgoing her signature red for the night in favour of a glittering ball gown that sweeps across the floor like golden starlight. “I’m surprised your sister hasn’t yet managed to pull you over. With how much time she spends there I find it strange you haven’t latched onto the spot.”

Elain’s friends shift uncomfortably on their feet, anxious to return to familiar ground.

“I think you must be mistaken,” Changria replies with her viper’s smile, as clean cut as glass. “My sister has no interest in fraternising with…same-minded folk. We were raised to be aware what counts as polite company to surround oneself with.” She pauses, dark eyes flicking to Mor’s from beneath thick lashes. “Not that there’s anything wrong with your group, of course,” she says with fake sincerity.

The edges of your mouth quirk, attention shifting to the bubbly blonde to see what she’ll do.

Irritation flares up when your fun is cut short, her pretty caramel eyes cutting to yours with enough ice that you have to step up. “And you?” She asks, “do you think this is polite company?”

You take a leisurely sip from your drink, having her wait just a few seconds before deigning her with a response. Both Andriette and Changria hide their mirth well, but you recognise that glimmer in their eyes. “I’m sure it’s all in good fun,” you smile, meeting her gaze, inclining your chin subtly. “Isn’t that right, Ri?” The black-haired female laughs, waving her bejewelled hand dismissively, “of course. My sincerest apologies if you felt otherwise, Mor.”

You smile at the superficial expression on her features, meeting each of Elain’s friends eyes, hurried and nervous smiles quickly pasted onto their lips before you turn to Mor. “It’s been a long night, after all,” you excuse smoothly, “she means nothing by it.”

The blonde hums, clearly choosing to ignore the snide remarks cleverly shot her way. Really though, what did she expect?

She can handle herself anyway—she didn’t need you to put a stop to Changria’s remarks, simply that it was the smartest thing to do.

In your peripherals, you watch as Cordia shifts, spurred on by the sly remarks, tempted to come out of her shell to find her own target.

“Maybe you’ve had a little too much to drink,” Elain suggests easily, eyes weaving through the crowd effortlessly. “There’s a server coming by—maybe have a couple of the snacks to soak up a bit of that alcohol. They really are lovely, those ones.”

“Am I right in understanding you advised what foods should be served, Elain?” You ask, watching as her cheeks flush a little with colour, dipping her head in a nod. The gesture is so imbued with feminine dignity you can’t help but warm to her, as if able to see a fragment of your younger self contained within her frame.

“That’s right,” Elain responds, a small smile on her lips. “Nuala and Cerridwen kindly assisted in preparation, as well as a good handful of others.” She nods kindly toward the gaggle of females she’d brought to the circle, and her friends faces soften into smiles. “You all remembered to wash your hands between gardening and preparing our food, right?” Cordia chimes in, eyeing the tray as it’s brought in.

They’re all perfectly bite-sized, different toppings upon small crackers with an assortment of herbs and spices sprinkled in varying heaviness. You glance tersely at Cordia from the side of your vision, before selecting one of the small biscuits from the outskirts, raising it to your lips to taste. Andriette and Changria follow suit, Cordia following soon after, eager to learn and copy. Elain’s group takes a few of the finger-pieces, nodding and congratulating one another on the different flavours.

You hum, pleasantly greeted by the slight citrine flavour of your tiny mouthful, finishing it off in another bite, aware more than a few sets of ears will be interested in how you judge the food. Moments pass, and you take your time examining the flavours—surprisingly enjoyable considering their size.

“Very nice,” you hum mildly, feeling the piercing weight of Mor’s attention on your lips. “Who’s idea was that one?” You ask, and Elain practically beams. Ushering forward one of the females in a pale blue gown, chestnut hair rich beneath the warm faelight. “This is Idris,” she introduces, and you incline your chin to look down upon the tall female. “It came from a home recipe,” Idris blurts out, and Cordia grins into her glass—at least she knows to hide her mirth. “My father used to make it for me and my siblings when we were younger, and I thought it would be perfect to share.”

“Your father did the cooking?” Cordia remarks snidely, and you send her another sharp glance, growing impatient with how she’s speaking out of turn. “What sort of circumstances led to that situation?” Idris shifts uncomfortably on her feet—shoes worn without heels, likely in attempts to muffle her unusual height. With a nervous glance your way, she elaborates. “My mother passed away when we were young, so my father had to learn how to care for us. Those snacks were the first things he mastered, so I’m proud knowing they’ve been served to such a vast number of people tonight.”

“He couldn’t afford servants?” Cordia questions humorously.

“Cordia,” you call sharply, pleased when she stiffens, twisting to face you—head slightly lowered. “Remember our earlier conversation about polite company?” You ask mildly, sipping from your emptying drink. The female nods, and you don’t doubt she memorised every word. You swirl your glass idly, before glancing at her sidelong. “Make sure to keep to that category. There are very few exceptions I make when it comes to the people I associate with, and you will not be one of them.”

The female flushes deeply, nodding hastily before mumbling a half-hearted apology to the tall but meek Idris, who accepts, likely out of sheer awkwardness.

You turn your attention to the pale-robed baker, meeting her eyes that flit about the room anxiously. With dark, tea-coloured skin, the dusty shade of red looks almost soft on her round and full lips, and you wonder why she’s decided on a pale blue robe when one that was wine-coloured would be far more suitable. With a dusting of gold over her eyelids, she could sweep a fair portion of the night’s attendees off their feet—both metaphorically and practically.

“Idris, correct?” You muse, nails glittering beneath the light. The female nods, fingers stuttering over the stitches in the bodice of her dress.

The very edges of your mouth raise, elegantly shifting your weight to one hip, running an appraising glance over her figure.

“Would you be interested in catering for another event like this?”

————

Footsteps tap softly along the floor of the open balcony, heels clicking as she finds you beneath the moonlight.

The glass has been refilled, and you gaze down at the revelry below, coloured lights dripping like diamonds, bobbing like fireflies between the shadows as fae sing and dance.

She comes to a stop at your side, waiting for you to address her, and you take another sip, just to make her squirm.

“How kind of you to join me.”

Cordia keeps still, attention keyed to your movements—smart thing. “You wanted to speak with me?” She asks, tone carefully neutral, but unable to mask the twinge of hope in her rich brown eyes. Her skin that must have once been livened from the sun in the Dawn court now lacks its vivaciousness, the colour of dried autumn leaves that crinkle and crunch daintily beneath booted feet.

“Allow me to be blunt as you are not someone I’m willing to soften my words for,” you say lightly, swirling your glass, glancing at her sidelong—watching as she stiffens further, and a twinge of fear creeps into her spiced scent. “You have not done yourself many favours tonight,” you muse, returning your attention to the sky, the clouds that have shadowed the moon. “It would serve you well to understand how things work for someone in your position.”

Her round figure is already fully facing you when you turn to her, fingers gripping her drink too casually.

“First of all, if you are going to target someone, do it with grace. Kicking a child does not prove strength, but weakness.” Cordia nods hurriedly, a sharp dip of her chin, eager to learn. “Secondly, do not go for someone contained within a group who will obviously side with them. Targeting that female when she was surrounded by others she was close with was foolish, and brash. A stupid error on your part, and embarrassing on mine.” She flushes wildly, lips parted, but nods again, mumbling out an apology. “And third,” you say voice icing over, “do not lash out with half-developed quips.” Deathly power condenses at your fingertips, like dew sliding along the taut string of a spider web. “There is a time and a place for mild jabs, but if you are unable to go for the throat, then you have no place in my circle.”

The sour tinge deepens, and your magic stirs in response, like a cat stretching out its spine, claws glittering.

“Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” she responds, a little hoarse.

“Prove it.”

“Prove it?” She echoes, and a small smile sharpens the cut of your lips, death haloing your figure as you stare her down. “Prove you can strike where it hurts.”

A blink reveals her hesitance, and you turn back to survey the city, sipping idly at your drink, as if you aren’t about to make or break the female at your side. The seconds tick by and you can hear how her lips fumble, silently scrambling for something sharp and bladed to gift.

Your eyes slide shut momentarily, mouth set in a sour line. “You can see yourself from the party.”

Cordia practically stumbles, but you don’t deign her with attention. “Reconsider,” she requests, gathering her pieces together, holding firm. “My answer is final,” you repeat idly, watching as a small circle appears below, people leaping and dancing as the round the small fire.

“Please,” she repeats, and through your peripherals you can make out as she discards her drink on the balcony, hands clutching the muted tones of her dress as she dips into a deep curtsey, holding the position flawlessly. The edges of your lips raise, before finally giving her your attention.

“I suppose it would be a shame to waste your dancing abilities,” you muse lightly, glittering black earrings tinkling as an icy breeze washes in. Cordia doesn’t dare look up, keeping her gaze trained on the round velvet of pitch dark heels. “Put on a show that will impress me,” you say at last, “and I will reconsider.”

“Thank you, my lady,” she breathes, relief soothing her muscles as she raises to a stand. “It will be the finest—”

“Down there,” you smile, gesturing with your chin to the bonfire far below, where the lower classes thrive and mingle, robes lacking the lustre and vibrancy of rich saturation, a sharp divide between the two spaces.

Cordia’s smile drops faster than a millstone through water, skin leeching further of colour, turning ashen. But she dips her head, understanding the ultimatum.

And so she leaves to dance, even if it will mean setting herself ablaze in the process.

No sooner than she’s out of sight, a familiar figure prowls silently out onto the balcony, stepping out of shadow and into the moonlight, bathed in silver.

“Azriel,” you greet, smiling faintly as he glides from the darkness, all calm quiet and reassuring grace. In a world that’s ever-shifting, he’s a constant, keeping the same cold attitude and unreadable mask wherever he goes. But then there are those moments where something warmer glimmers in his eyes, and your axis shifts a little, centre of gravity swaying as you enter his orbit. Rare moments where flame licks between paragraphs of conversation, small embers being allowed to warm before they’re once again fearfully stomped out.

“You could have chimed in when your friend was practically spitting in Mor’s face,” he says lowly, bypassing you entirely to lean calmly against the balcony railing and you blink, pulled back into your own realm. Features shift into a mask of soothing ease, moving silently to stand at his side. “She can handle herself,” you reply. “Besides, I won’t tell them what to think.” Through your peripherals you mark the slight frown between his brows, the displeasure in his mouth as he looks out across the midnight city, rendered in dark, inky blues and sparking pale starlight. You keep your back to the view, attention keyed to the male at your side, all thoughts of Cordia vanishing along with the task you gave her to complete.

“But you stepped in when it was Elain?” He asks, still not looking at you.

“Would you have preferred I said nothing?” You return dryly, sipping on your drink, casting your gaze back to the ballroom.

Azriel shifts, pushing up from his rest on the balcony, turning to look at you. “What would Rhys think?” He asks, and there’s something in his tone that has your full attention openly moving to him. “He’s like a brother, why would it matter what he thinks? We’ve all done bad things,” you reply grimly, memories pulling across your skin. “He’s your High Lord,” Azriel reminds quietly. “Your master, too.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, “that bond hasn’t been called upon in generations. And besides, he’s too soft-hearted to ever use something as outdated as that.” A note of affection has entered you voice, despite the slander you’re spewing. You peer up at Azriel, smiling faintly, “he refuses to so much as peek into someone’s mind without them knowing, he could never manage the bond. Much less given our relationship.”

Likely dozens of centuries ago, the both of your families had been powerful. Yours powerful enough that the dominant lineage grew wary of the necromancy that passed from blood to blood, never losing its potency no matter who it was bred with. Eventually a bond of submission was forged, rumoured that a hand had been forced, and ever since then, your blood has been bound to the ruling one’s. An oath of obedience sworn with each new ascension.

Admittedly, when Rhys’ father had been killed, and your own mother passing as collateral, you had hoped to escape it. Having grown up together, arranged to be married, lived in the same city for centuries, you’d thought perhaps something would change with you. Instead something had changed in him, after the loss of his family. A proposal had never been offered, and hopes of absolute freedom had been abandoned. You’d taken the oath the day he returned from Spring, blood still dripping fresh from his leathers, violet eyes so abnormally cold and cruel you’d done what you could to return their warmth. Shown you’d chosen to stay by his side, needless of a prompt.

“Still,” Azriel says, pulling you from recollection. “The fact remains. Stepping too far out of line will only force an unpleasant decision upon him. One that will likely be unpleasant to receive, too.”

“You don’t understand what you’re talking about,” you say softly, darkness gathering down your spine, festering and writhing. Fifty years worth of memories he has yet to understand. He watches you quietly for a moment more than usual, before his attention is stolen by a figure entering your shared privacy of the balcony.

Azriel visibly relaxes, standing straighter as Elain walks up to him, greeting the both of you with a warm smile that noticeably reduces the strain in the air. She comes to a stop at his side, and you frown as they exchange a quiet look, feeling too close to the outside of his neat circle for once, having been unaware of the constraints tightening. She leans into him, and you feel a frown emerging on your brow at her forwardness. Maybe she should take her own advice and find something to soak up the alcohol.

“Elain,” you greet, inclining your chin slightly, plastering on a pleasant expression as she turns to you. “Thank you for offering Idris another opportunity,” she says sincerely, voice soft as cotton. Azriel stiffens at the small revelation—nothing Elain would notice, but something you have no trouble spotting, almost perfectly attuned to him. “She loves cooking, though she doesn’t let it show that often,” she continues, oblivious to the Shadowsinger’s tension. “So even if she’s already said it, I wanted to thank you, too. I think it’ll help her in ways none of us can—getting to finally do something she loves, and getting to do it well.” Deep, swirling cocoa rises to meet you, tender and soft with emotion, so easy to target should someone want.

“It’s no concern at all,” you smile pleasantly, the corners a little too sharp to be entirely sincere, an edge in your stomach at her proximity to Azriel. “Though I appreciate you upholding the pretence that it’s anything but a self-serving action—very gracious of you, I must admit.” Her brows furrow a little, tilting her head, but then she shakes it, smiling faintly, “you like your mask, don’t you?”

Before you can ask—or even react to—what she means, she’s turning to Azriel, pushing up onto her toes to press a light kiss to his cheek, before smiling again kindly, and taking her leave. You watch her go, silently, until she’s disappeared between sweeping bodies, turning to Azriel. Raise your glass to your mouth, “well that was interesting.”

The rigidity is beginning to make sense now.

“How long are you going to let it drag on?” You ask, averting your attention to the fire below, fuelled by twigs as fae and faeries dance about. He’s quiet, and you fight against the muscle in your jaw, the urge to grind your teeth at his silence. Jealousy isn’t a pretty colour.

“We’re together,” he says at last, and you scoff.

“And I asked for how long,” you reply, not looking at him.

He’s silent again, and your lip twitches in disgust, pushing up from the balcony, turning to face him. “And when were you going to tell me you were fucking Elain?” You ask bemusedly. “I can understand keeping your other lovers private, but Elain Archeron?” You marvel, voice dripping with fake incredulity. “What does Rhys think?”

“It’s serious,” he replies quietly, and you scoff again.

“Uh-huh. And the Mother’s going to kiss my hands when I go to heaven,” you reply sardonically. “Seriously Azriel, what the hell are you thinking?”

“I’ve already heard this talk from Rhys and Feyre. I don’t need it from you,” he says coldly, and you pin him with a hard look.

A heavy breath blows from your chest, and you return to the balcony, surveying starlit Velaris. “Whatever. Even I can’t stop you from making this mistake.” Your name hisses lowly from his mouth, but you ignore him. Instead you focus on a small, female figure appearing below, emerging from the shadows as she meekly approaches the bonfire. A smile sharpens your mouth, and you lean forward. “Evening entertainment is starting,” you hum to him, shifting the subject.

There’s a pause on his end, and you know he’s considering dropping it, picking up on your cue to change the topic. Move away from the unpleasant conversations in favour of lighter topics. The air shifts, but he glances over the railing to where you’re looking. “Let’s see what the little chestnut has, shall we?”

“What did you do this time?” He sighs, a note of familiar exasperation in his tone, a faint smile softening your mouth. “Why do you always think I’m behind it? Can’t she enjoy a night on her own?” You ask, shifting to face him, jaw resting on your palm.

A muscle flickers grimly in his jaw, darkness simmering in his gaze. “She’s taking her top off.” You blink, turning to peer over the balcony. A sharp, surprised laugh cuts from your throat, more a harsh bark than mirth, because there she is, undoing the corset portion of her bodice, revealing the translucent white fabric beneath, swaying as she joins the revellers. “She’s certainly putting on a show,” you muse, pleasure shimmering across your skin as you wonder at the humiliation she might feel. What you hope she does feel, and what will go unrewarded. You would never have allowed someone like her to join your circles to begin with.

Beside you, Azriel shakes his head. “You’re going too far,” he mutters, “stop it.”

“Stop it?” You echo, “but she’s just beginning to enjoy herself,” you croon softly, watching as a male figure joins her on the ground below, hands greedily skating up her waist. Your name is again pulled from his chest in a warning, dragged out deep and gravelly. “What am I to do?” You muse, returning your gaze to his, now cold and hard, lethal beauty painted in pale moonlight. “I can hardly order her about from up here. Besides, I know what I’m doing, and this is a small price to pay for what she tried to bring my way.”

His lip twitches in disgust, and your heart skips a sudden beat, heat swarming your chest. The familiarity of that gesture—it’s one he’s learned from you. Like how behaviours can rub off on other people, you’ve left your own mark on him, and here it is, presenting itself to you. Nerves squirm around your throat, warmth fluttering through your lower stomach at the thought. Biting back a small, helpless smile, averting your gaze.

“You’re a nasty piece of work sometimes,” he mutters lowly, and this time you allow a fraction of the genuine smile to show, warmth gathering beneath your skin as you accept his invitation, falling back into the cruel dance of life, sparring with sharpened blades. “And you just perfectly captured Elain’s future thoughts when she finds out the things you do, Spymaster,” you reply, amusement lining your features. “She might not see that blood, but I do, and it’s not something you yet know how to fix.”

His features harden to ice, hazel eyes glittering with frozen cold as your words crash against his scar-toughened skin.

Down below, more clothes are being stripped away, and you grin, wondering how far she’s prepared to take this dance. How far she’ll go to preserve her precious face.

“How do you feel about trying a new restaurant this weekend?” You ask, distracting from the show. “After the embarrassment of that last time, I think it’s fair we go to a place I like for once.” You turn to face him, smiling faintly, but you’re met with emptiness.

At some point within the last minute, it seems he’d simply walked away.

Leaving you quiet on the balcony.

————

The ball had quickly lost it’s appeal after the small shock—what on the Mother’s head is he thinking? Elain of all people.

Fingers rub across your chest, just below your collar bones, massaging the area to relieve pressure. Him and Elain. Why hadn’t he told you? From how casually she’d stepped into his side, it has to be something that’s been going on for a while. The others must have known about it…why were you left out? Brows twitch but you pull back on the frown, anxious to avoid any suggestion of lines.

The conversation reworks itself in your mind, repeating until you practically have it memorised.

She might not see the the blood…

With each replay you can see as he walls himself off. Can spot those self-defence mechanisms kicking in, as thoroughly ingrained in him as the scars on his hands. That’s not what’s supposed to happen when he’s with you. He’s supposed to open up, not close himself off. Maybe it was the wrong thing to say… You’d thought it clearly a game, but maybe he’d been taking you more seriously than you’d anticipated.

…but I do, and it’s not something you yet know how to fix.

And he’d left after that. You don’t even know if he’d heard your rather bold dinner invitation, or if he’d winnowed elsewhere. To be at Elain’s side. To enjoy her as he would a ripe fruit. Maybe she is something to be wary of… If their relationship is so out in the open… You can’t remember a time Azriel had ever been okay with any of you meeting a partner, preferring to keep them to himself, hidden away until he got bored or it fell apart. Whichever happened first. It’s unnerving to find your constant shifting, and not in a favourable direction.

The tightness builds in your throat.

While it wouldn’t be long, you’d rather not have to sit through their relationship for the few years or so, even if you know it’s bound to end in misery, just as it always seems to be when it comes to him. Like a little black raincloud.

Your heart stutters in your chest, pulse increasing and you have to even your breaths.

Yeah…you should say something to him. Even if he likely won’t accept your apology due to cripplingly low self-esteem and issues with vulnerability, you hope the effort will be worth it. You don’t want him to wall himself off around you. You want him to bleed and gush, guts spilling, allowing you to see the mess you know lurks beneath his skin. A mess you could easily find in yourself, too. If only you could open up enough to show him your similarities. The connection would be obvious, and maybe…maybe you’d get to have someone who understood you, too.

Maybe he wouldn’t hate his own darkness as much if he was able to see how deeply rooted it is in your own, soulless body.

————

The dinner happens as usual, and you try to resist sinking into the off feeling.

It’s nothing obvious, but it’s lacking the usual cohesiveness, the fluid conversation feels dwindling and forced, and you realise he isn’t pushing back as much as he normally does. The snide remarks you make are left untouched, no disciplinary glances or displeasured frowns when you pass a quick judgement. Even when the comments become unfair to your own ears, he ignores them, instead choosing to pay attention to the food.

Once again, despite all your protests, you’re here at the same place you always go. He claims it’s his favourite, but you can’t bring yourself to believe he could possibly enjoy a place where the air is so thick and heavy, to the point of being stifling. You can practically smell the sweat and grease with each breath, and your skin crawls with disgust at having to frequent the restaurant so often.

Eventually the meal reaches its end, and the two of you leave, Azriel having paid once again. You think it’s only fair, since it’s his spot. There’s no way you’re paying for such a mediocre meal and such poor service.

The skies are heavy and grey, verging on thunderous, the air dense even once you’ve breeched the wards that keep the restaurant alive with heat. Cobbles are slightly crooked in places, and you take care walking, wary of the thin pencil-wide stilts that serve for your heels. All around, folk are enjoying their suppers, sat beneath water-proof gazebos as day at last utterly yields to night, faelights warming the streets dimly through the bizarre heaviness of the darkness.

“Azriel,” you call from his side, voice coming out confident despite being so unsure how to go about touching on yesterday’s subject. He makes no sound to acknowledge he’s heard you, simply continuing on with the leisurely stroll, and yet you know he’s listening. Just as he always is. Ever attentive.

“Yesterday, when we spoke,” you begin slowly, intentionally shifting your gaze to brush disinterestedly over shop fronts and seating areas. Nerves crawl uncomfortably around your throat, tightening but you keep your spine straight, shoulders pulled back as had been drilled into you. “You seemed closed off,” you say, unable to look at him. Not with the stutter of your heart.

When he makes no effort to speak back or elaborate, you push forward, anxious to keep your feelings tightly concealed. “You understand I was joking with you, don’t you?” You ask, counting each step, marking the cracks between the grey cobbles. He hums, not really and answer. Your throat rolls, gaze sliding to eye him sidelong, the clean cut of his profile against the dark blues of the night, skin keeping its soft warmth despite the swiftly plummeting temperature.

“You took your time to tell me about Elain,” you remark, switching topics hastily. Quickly dancing away from the apology that was sat so readily on your tongue—just unsure how to come out. What words to join together to express your grief over his own reactions while not feeling an ounce of regret for what was said. You won’t take it back, but you wish he wasn’t…however he is, with you.

“About that,” he says, and your attention keys to him entirely, as it always does whenever he seems prone to revealing a little more of himself to you. “Things are going to change,” he elaborates, “Elain and I will be going out to dinners together, and because of our lives, this is going to have to find time somewhere else.”

You blink, steps faltering, heels stuttering over the cobbles as you stare at him but he keeps up the idle pace, forcing you to push your body into fluid movement, flowing after him. “What… Az, what are you talking about?” You ask, tone confused, lacking its usual sharp edge as apprehension tightens around your throat. “These suppers,” he repeats, attention remaining ahead, “they’re going to stop.”

“Why?”

“Because Elain and I are together, and we—”

“Shut up about Elain,” you say sharply, voice lowered, coming to a stop on the cobbles. Azriel pauses, features superficially neutral as he takes in your stance. Waiting patiently, as he’s always prepared to do.

“These are our dinners, Az,” you hiss, keeping your voice low, wary of eavesdroppers. “They’ve been our time for almost three centuries. And now you’re trying to replace them because you got laid?” Disbelief drips from your hushed voice, staring at him incredulously, shaking your head. “We’ll talk about this again when the blood’s returned to your head,” you hiss sharply, but his brow dips in displeasure, and you’re kept from walking away.

“Don’t talk like that. About me, or her,” he says bluntly, irritation itching across your skin. “Az, you’re thinking with your cock,” you hiss again, stepping closer to reduce the chances of being overheard. “These dinners are the only times we get to be together. You are not cancelling them just because you want to get between her legs, is that clear?”

Azriel makes a sound close to a sigh, and emotion—raw and unfiltered—sears across your chest, licking like flames as you stare at him. “Don’t bother getting frustrated. I’m not asking, I’m telling you what’s going to happen. Besides, the family dinners are still open.” Even if you haven’t attended one in almost two-hundred and fifty years.

Your heart pounds in your chest, long-suppressed rage rearing her head with such force there’s nothing you can do to muffle her. “Don’t pull that, Az,” you warn lowly. “You know that’s not a solution. You can find time elsewhere, these days are the only ones that work for us.”

“She’s my partner. She comes first.”

“And what about me?” You hiss. “You’ve known her for—what? Two years? Have been in a relationship for less than that, and I’m the replaceable one? Pull your shit together.”

His brows narrow, gaze hardening as he takes you in. Hazel eyes cool, freezing over as his patience is relieved of its duty. “I want to eat with her. I want to spend my time with her,” he says coldly, “you are tiring and draining to be around.”

“Tiring and— What has gotten into you?”

“This isn’t anything new,” he replies, “she and I have been together for a while now, and this is how things happen.”

“How long is a while?” You hiss, feeling as if the cobbles are falling away beneath your feet. “Long enough,” he replies monotonously.

“This is how you treat your century-old friends?” You ask, power writhing in your stomach. “Pushing them aside when something new and shiny comes along?” You hiss, emotion whipping at your heart until blood leaks out. “Fine. Fuck the tightness out of her for all I care. See if you’re still interested once you’ve gotten what you want.”

“Do not—”

“I have everything, Azriel. I’m the most sought-after female in this city,” you hiss, pressure building behind your eyes but you shove it away—you can’t have the kohl running. “Males have crawled on their knees to gain an ounce of attention. My life is perfect, I don’t need anybody but decided you might be worth my time.” Anger heats your skin, features twisted in an ugly carving of rage.

“If your life is so perfect, why do I pity you?” He replies harshly, rain beginning to drip from the heavy skies.

“Pity me?” You echo, faintly. “You pity me, shadowsinger?” You grit out, lip curling back with disgust. “I don’t want your pity. My life is perfect. People would die to be in my position. To be as coveted I am, and I gave you a chance at that.” You spit, seething, keeping an eye on the rain—looking like it’ll become heavier. It’ll ruin the curls you kept pressed in if you don’t get inside soon. “You can’t replace me,” you scoff, staring at him beneath lightly dipped brows—careful of wrinkles. “You’ll never find someone as good as me.”

A vindictive smile stretches across your dark-painted lips, triumph searing across your skin, heart pulsing in a way you’ve been craving for decades—centuries. “I’m everything you could ever want: beautiful, intelligent, rich. Not to mention excellent in bed, anyone would be blessed by the gods to call me their own,” you point out, baring your teeth with victorious rage. “You can’t deny we’re perfectly suited for one another. Everyone and their mother knows we’re a strong pair, practically untouchable. We spend all of our time together—there’d be no difference between how things are now and how they would be if you would just open your damn eyes and realise how much you need me.”

“I’m the one you confess your sins to, I’m the one who absolves you, I’m where you go to seek comfort,” you hiss, wary as a strand of neatly curled hair falls out of place. “And you think Elain is anything in the face of that?”

Breath puffs from your chest, air curling in thick tendrils as the crispness of the breeze deepens in its chill. Fingers tremble at your side, skin immune to the swiftly plummeting temperature, spurred on by self-righteous anger. The need to right a wrong becoming satiated now he understands what an awful choice he’s making.

Azriel’s expression doesn’t shift, hardly shows a grain of emotion, the rain beginning to drip into the soft, inky locks of his hair, weighing the strands down to curl over his brow.

“I spent my time with you because I thought I could fix you,” he says blandly, making you falter. “You’re so self-obsessed, convinced the whole world would pause everything for you—I can’t even begin to understand how insecure you must be to have reached such a severe state of delusion.”

“Delusion?” You snarl, freshly manicured nails piercing the soft flesh of your palms, hours of pampering ruined by a single outburst. “The only one who’s deluded is you, for even considering picking the flower-baring whore over me.” Hazel eyes gutter, taking on a glittering icy hue as his jaw tenses.

“You’re the court torturer, and I’m the necromancer—there’s never been a better pairing cast together, and there never will,” you seethe, death and rot simmering at your fingertips that his eyes trace warily. “You’re really so selfish you’d latch onto Elain and bring her down with you?” You ask, watching as the blade finds its mark, hazel flinching. “I’ve seen your darkness, and you’ve seen mine. The mother couldn’t have made our match more obvious.”

“You know I’m right, Azriel,” you crow, taking a step forward, needing to wrap this up quickly—people are murmuring, rain growing heavier. You can already feel it beginning to take the silky sheen from your hair. “I’m the better choice. Now and forever. I will always be the better choice.”

His expression shifts to something you can’t place—almost like sorrow—thick brows narrowing over dark hazel eyes. He takes a silent step forward, the edges of your mouth kicking up with a spark of success. Vicious pride blazing in your gaze—warping into tunnel vision.

“I will tell you only once,” he bites out, glittering fury lighting the deep hazel of his gaze. “Never speak of Elain that way.”

“Or what?” You bark, staring up at him, arms folding indignantly to plump up your chest. “You choose that bitch over me, and it’s over between us,” you declare, victory within your grasp. “You forget I know where her father’s buried,” you hiss viciously, keeping your voice low enough for only him to hear.

A blind person could spot his kindness from a mile away, as useless as it is. He would never put himself first, especially not before you. You’ve had centuries to observe his behaviour, you know this is his weakness, the cripplingly low thought of himself, somehow unable to appreciate the divine beauty of his own features, looking as if he’d been hewn from the heavens themselves then unleashed upon earth to wreak destruction.

He’s equipped with the weapons to be a heart-breaker, to have whoever he wants, yet has somehow managed to overlook his own beauty. A rare gem for you to take for yourself, to treasure and polish to perfection, to stare at and admire in the guarded privacy of your own heart. He’s the first, and only one who’s ever managed to get past those impenetrable walls of ice, having thawed you out over likely thousands of dinners, and nights out, and not-so-casual brunches.

But Azriel shakes his head slightly, sighing in the freezing air, breath curling in a smooth twirl, whisked away by the chill breeze. “You’re doing this to yourself,” he says quietly, hazel piercing into you beneath a narrowed brow, gaze filled with ice. “I’m not going to choose you.”

“So you’d throw away three centuries of simmering pleasantries?” You spit out, an icy drop of rain slipping down your generous cleavage, goosebumps raising. “Don’t be so arrogant; it’s unbecoming.”

He takes a step forward, casting you in his darkness, his warmth remaining just out of reach, pulling you into his orbit. “You think anyone will love you like I will?” You ask, but your voice shakes as the words slip out. Throat rolls, nails slicing into already ruined palms. “I know you, Azriel,” you grit out, “what you are. What you do.” You shift on your feet, spine straightening, shoulders flattening. “Do you really think anyone else will stick around for that?”

Shadows flick over the peaks of those great wings, wreathing them like dark halos as hazel shutters. “Walk away,” he murmurs, darkness swirling idly about, like early morning mist. “Walk away, and you can keep your fragile sense of self intact.”

“Is it the number of people I’ve slept with?” You grit out, glaring up at him. “We can pretend that never happened, if you want me to be more like her. I can learn botany—it wouldn’t be an effort. I have gardeners that could arrange bouquets, and lace my hair with wild flowers. I’m sure someone’s found a spray to keep bugs away, so—”

“I’m not picking you,” he says harshly, eyes pinning you to the cold, icy cobbles.

“Why not?” You hiss, but he shakes his head, exhaling a short sigh.

“Just go back home,” he replies, a little softer. “Save yourself the embarrassment. I’d hate to be the one to shatter your carefully cultivated image,” he mutters, turning on his heel.

Panic surges, blindly reaching out, heart clenching in your chest as both of you stare at your hand gripping his wrist. The murmurs hurry in intensity, but fall away as hazel meets your gaze, narrowed and wary. You know he must be able to feel the tremble of your fingers, but you can’t let go now, that would be admitting defeat. So you step closer, his warmth washing over you, night-kissed scent wrapping with your own.

“I can change,” you manage, voice hoarse in the freezing rain, weighing and ruining your curls. Tiring and draining, he’d said. “Tell me what to do, and it’ll be done. I can fix this.”

“There’s nothing to fix,” he replies shortly, “I spent a long time thinking I saw glimpses of myself in you—when you used to quieten in the evenings instead of plastering on one of your catty smiles. When you used to enjoy the silence instead of trying to fill it with numbing activities.”

You stiffen in the cold, grip tightening on his wrist, gaze locked with hazel.

“At some point you might have been salvageable, but not anymore,” he continues, small pieces of yourself trembling with each word, raw and tender. “And what about yourself?” You reply, heart tight in your chest. “You think that you have the right to pass judgement on me? With the things you’ve done?” You stare up at him, pulse beating to a nauseous rhythm. “You’ve lied, murdered, and tortured your way to where you are. I’m an angel compared to you.”

“You’re rotten to your core,” he hisses, wings flaring wider, towering over you. “Rotten, spoiled, and utterly unloveable.”

Something faintly familiar stings through your stomach, wrapping in knots and dragging outward, twisting.

“No one would pick you—has anyone even thought of doing so?” He asks, sharp hazel eyes piercing like blades through the thawed out ice of your heart.

“You did,” you whisper, lungs filling with choked-down aches. “You chose me, Azriel. So I’m choosing you back.”

“That’s not how it works,” he hisses, pulling his arm from your grip like your muscles are made from rain-soaked paper. “I gave you a chance to change. You could have been better if you’d tried.”

You shake your head, staring at him, fingers cold as icy water drips over their outstretched tips. “That’s not fair,” you whisper, “I didn’t know I was being tested.” But he pays you no mind, turning on his heel, making to leave you out in the rain.

You’re moving without thinking, darting into his path, blocking his way.

“Fine,” you breathe harshly, fingers trembling as they clench at your sides. “I’ll say it.” Alarm flares in those beautiful swirls of colour, his lip twitching but you ignore the familiar expression, gone with a flash of pain.

Your throat rolls thickly, staring up at him, aware of the whispers from beneath cafe shelters, hardly bothering to keep their volume low. “I don’t—…” you fumble, shocking humiliation twisting across your stomach. Are you really doing this? Is he worth your pride? Worth losing those cultivated defences? They’ve been up for so long, you’re unsure if you’ll be able to swallow the emotion that’ll inevitably swamp you.

Hazel waits silently, all quiet grace and reassuring shadow.

“I don’t have anyone else.”

The words burn across your skin, the admission having nausea roiling in your stomach, pulse pounding wildly. Stripped bare, emotion flayed to a raw, bloody pink.

“She has other people,” you whisper painfully, lip curling in disgust. “She doesn’t want you like— She doesn’t need you like…like I do.” Despite the way your confession sears through your blood, hurting like a scar picked open, he already seems to be done with the conversation. Ready to move on and leave you behind.

“You don’t need me, or want me,” he replies blandly. “You’ve been so emotionally numb for the past dozen decades you’re addicted to the first drop of feeling you’ve gotten. You like the idea of being with someone after such a long period of loneliness, and you’ve misunderstood whatever you’re experiencing as love when it isn’t.”

“You don’t know that,” you whisper, heart fluttering in your throat so high you think you might be about to regurgitate it at his feet. “I’ve kept to myself because no one else has been worth it. No one else has made me even consider talking with you like I sometimes do.” A cold wind blows through your skeleton, a shiver shuddering in your stomach, hands clutching your exposed arms.

“I’m far more beautiful than she is anyway—”

“No,” he cuts in, “you aren’t.”

And suddenly you’re reduced to your adolescent self, secretly sneaking into her mother’s purse, snatching at all the makeup you can find and scurrying away to the bathroom to paint yourself beautiful. How heavily the bright lipstick had weighed on your lips, slippery and over-lined. How your eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot once you’d finished with the thick stick of kohl. The pins that had curled your hair into a matted mess, tangled into a unsolvable nest.

How proud you’d been of your work, parading out into your mother’s chambers, eager to show off your likeness.

She’d taken one look, and screamed, landing a hard smack across your cheek. Staining the carefully applied lip tint, pushing it onto gleaming white teeth that bit into your tongue with the force of the impact. She’d dragged you by the hair back into the bathroom, tub filling to the brim with freezing water where she’d shoved you in, clothes and all. Grabbed a towel and started scrubbing at your face, the water clogging your airways as her nails scraped and poked until your skin was raw. She’d wasted no time unpicking the curls from your hair, simply ripping them out, or in some cases, sheering the locks jaggedly from your scalp.

The following weeks had been the worst of your life, keeping your head hugged in a kitchen cloth, not having any of your mother’s precious silk caps to prevent friction and fraying. You’d hardly taken your eyes off the ground, keeping your gaze trained to the pretty bows on your shoes, clutching the straps of your bag tightly.

There had been other instances like that, but none quite as debilitating—the time a month later your’d put together a small breakfast, teetering up the stairs one at a time in your freshly pressed dress, starched and aired, before pushing her door open. She’d screamed worse than last time, and your feet had frozen to the floor. It was only when the glass vase had smashed against your temple that they’d unstuck, hands shuddering as you tottered backward, stumbling until the door had slammed in you face.

Whether it was that specific instance, or the litany of other formative moments of your childhood that had be warped and distorted into something cold and cruel that had led you to this moment, stood opposite him in a freezing cold street, gossiping whispers passing like a sickness between onlookers as the rain drips down cream-smooth skin, you’ll never know. Too many actions uncorrected for too long for you to ever understand when you truly became her spitting image. At what point you went from a young girl trying to fit into her mother’s skin, to fully embodying her rotten perfection.

Plump, rosey lips hiding a mouthful of foul, fetid teeth.

“So you’re—… You’re really…” something warm and wet drips down your cheeks, and you realise with mortifying humiliation you’re crying.

Azriel sighs harshly, the impatient sound slicing across your breast bone. “That’s not going to work,” he says coldly. “Cry all you want, it’s not going to change anything.”

Your heart flutters wildly in your throat, as if trying to break free, stomach twisting and turning in vicious knots. You don’t understand why he’s walking away. “She won’t… She’s not going to treat you better,” you manage, voice cracking along with your heart, shattering with such painful slowness you can practically feel it fracturing. Ice splintering off into shards.

His jaw works, and you resist the urge to turn and run beneath his gaze. He shouldn’t be seeing you like this. It’s gutting your chances.

“I trust her,” he mutters lowly, rain hissing on the cobbles. “I trust her not to take advantage of my weaknesses. To see them and accept them.” He steps closer, and your legs tremble. “Not to turn them into ridiculous little games designed to make herself look better.”

“That wasn’t—… I was helping you.”

“You enjoy succeeding where others fail,” he hisses, his warmth at last brushing over your skin, close enough for his scent to wrap around you fully. “You get a kick out of proving you’re better, no matter how good your life is.”

Your jaw trembles, nails biting into the soft flesh of your palms. “I have worked for my supposedly good life,” you say sharply, tone wobbling.

“Your predecessors worked,” he hisses, “you were born with a power that made you precious. Without it, you’re nothing.”

“Power is everything.”

“And that’s exactly why no one’s ever loved you.”

You flinch.

Stumble a step back.

“That’s not true,” you whisper. “Rhys loves me. So does Cassian, and Mor. You do, too.”

“You wouldn’t know love if it knocked you to the floor,” he snaps, and a long-forgotten memory flashes across your skin.

“I love…I like myself.”

He rolls his eyes, brows narrowing in disbelief. “You hate yourself more than I do.”

Shoulders bunch together, curving inward. “Doesn’t that make us perfect?”

He blinks, caught off guard by the tone, bathed in broken curiosity. He’s known for a while there’d been something wrong taught to you, but you’ve never really allowed him close enough to find out what.

Then he shakes his head, turning away. “Mutual hatred doesn’t equate to love,” he mutters, pausing. Looks at you from over his shoulder. “We spent three centuries together, and you couldn’t even figure that out?”

You remain silent, lips parted as you search for an answer.

He huffs in disbelief. “No wonder you’re always on your own.”

————

You’re hardly able to stumble your way back home, looming before you in a great mass of shadow.

You’re at the threshold of the tall gates, when a voice calls your name, and you turn to find a female with rich brown hair with deep eyes to match, skin just a little to wan for your tastes. Cordia.

“Leave,” you order coldly, the tall iron gates swinging open upon your command, power thrumming beneath your veins as you make your way up the road, thick forestry lining the edges. Breath drags raggedly from your lips, lungs spasming as emotion rages in your chest, ripping itself open upon the now jagged shards of ice that he’s splintered, damaged and bruised.

“You’re in a sorry state,” she calls mildly, following behind you as you march up the steep road with little difficulty, body shaking and trembling as raw feeling strikes at your core repeatedly. Teeth grit together, nails digging into your upper arms as you huddle against the cold, choosing to continue along the rain-soaked path in favour of winnowing.

“That was quite the performance you put on there,” she hums, and you freeze in your steps. “Oh? That got your attention,” she smiles, stepping into your path. “Yes, I saw your breakdown. So did Andriette, so did Sangria. Anybody who is anyone will have heard about your little-girl tantrum within the hour.” Terror thuds in your throat, stomach lurching as your meal is upended into the shrubbery nearby. You hear Cordia make a sound of disgust while tears prickle at your eyes, nostrils burning as your stomach spasms, retching over and over until you’re struggling for breath.

“And to think after all that effort too,” she gloats. “All that beauty and power, and you still couldn’t have the male you wanted. Serves you right for being so picky,” she hisses gleefully, watching as you remain hunched over, knees sunken into the dirt after your legs gave out. “I guess you’d call that karma. You destroyed me, now you’ll hit the bottom of the barrel too. How’s it feel to be in the shit-gutter with me, huh?”

The tremors become violent, and she laughs, stepping away. Breath shudders in and out, hyperventilating as you spiral away, discipline and control turned weak and mushy from flayed emotion, humiliation and terror mixing in a deadly combination. “Does rejection feel good to you?” She asks, arms folded across her chest, and you barely gather the strength to stand.

And that’s exactly why no one’s ever loved you.

You wouldn’t know love if it knocked you to the floor.

No wonder you’re always on your own.

Fresh tears sting at your eyes, stomach lurching again, retching and a palm presses to vomit coated lips, the taste bad enough to make you try to throw up all over again. Cordia makes a sound between disgust and pleasure, relishing the moments she’s being gifted. “Everything you have,” she marvels, “land, money, beauty, power. At least you’re an ugly crier. Who’d ever want to kiss piggy lips like yours.”

Rage burns you alive, hands wrapping around her throat, ripping her life away in seconds, reduced to dust, mixing with mud that you take minutes trampling deeper into the wet road. You wipe your mouth, staring grimly at the mess on your shoes, stomach turning but you feel a little better now that things are fairer.

When you reach your home, you make no effort to dampen your power, allowing it to roll in thick waves from your soaked body, rat-tailed hair slicked away from your features. Let the message convey itself, for every maid and servant to leave immediately, or face the consequences. Livid emotion rocks and shatters across your chest, swirling with unstoppable intensity and you kick off your shoes, heading up the stairs, treading rain into the clean white rugs.

A maid rounds the corner too quickly, slamming into you, and your urge to kill finds its target, power piercing into the quaking female. You grit your teeth, yanking at its leash, guiding it elsewhere to keep from murdering an innocent. Instead your hand pulls back, taut like a bow string before lashing across her cheek, the sharp jewels on your fingers biting and tearing at her skin as she’s shoved backward. “Get out,” you hiss, voice distorted and raw, power recoiling and refocusing, licking its lips as it finds the maid again, but she’s already scrambling away.

Breaths rage in your lungs, and you manage to make it to your bedroom, eyes skittishly darting to and fro in search of something, something you need—

Tears spill heavily, a sigh of relief and wonder releasing from your body as the razor drags across your forearm, short and sharp breath stuttering as that pressure builds and builds, the steel flying across your skin until you could peel the flesh apart like the crusty pages of an old book.

You pant heavily, arms trembling unsteadily with adrenaline you haven’t felt in years, suddenly crushed by the weight. Groans drag from your chest, sobbing wretchedly as you settle on the floor, ripping the clothes from your legs, slicing and slicing and slicing as you cry and smile and scream and die— Like it’s all condensed into fluttering feelings, passing through, forcing their way so intrusively through your mind it’s shards of glass nicking at your head, wrapping your brain in a bag of needles then tossing it down a flight of stairs.

Blood paints your floor, dripping heavily and exhaustion sticks to your skin like sweat, the compulsion to purge the poison dulling with your heartbeat, thudding weakly in your chest and life bleeds thickly and fluidly from your body, gashes torn through your skin already beginning to stitch themselves back together. Exhaustion fills you, taking adrenaline’s place, and the last thing you can manage it a flick of your wrist, transporting the blood-stained rugs to the large kitchen sink a few floors below, filled with water to keep it from setting.

You’re slumping to the floor, bones digging jaggedly into flesh as it’s ground into the hardwood floor, body relieved of consciousness, shuddering strain seeping away, washing like a cool breeze in the peak of summer up your spine. The world fades away, taking with it the heaviness of emotion, the searing ache across your breast bone, lungs stuttering with deep-seated pain.

At last escaping it.

————

Heavy thuds pull you ungraciously from sleep, coming from your front door.

The first thing you feel is a deep ache across your body—back and shoulders stiff from lying on the floor. Your lids feel thicker…heavier than usual, tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth as you peel it away.

Memories hit you like a sack of bricks, passing in a flash before delightful numbness banishes it to some dark and lonely corner of your body. To sit until you’re ready to face it, or until it rots away to something harmless and unbothered. Whichever comes first.

The thuds repeat, and you close your eyes, sinking into your floor, skin thick with imagined grease, hair tangled at the base of your neck, skin hurting with stinging pain when you attempt movement. While the cuts have faded, the echoes burn beneath your flesh, small needles embedded beside bone, prickling and spiking with every motion. Whoever’s at the door can dissolve into the wind for all you care, you’re in no state to deal with anyone.

Magic clicks through the house, and you startle, as if zapped by a whip of static. Your heart pounds as the door unlocks, disobeying its enchantments and allowing entrance to the stranger. Except it’s no stranger, the only soul who has access to your house is the High Lord himself, a condition of the bond that stretches between you, malnourished and untouched.

Quiet steps to the staircase reveal him stood in the hallway, hands placed with deceptive disinterest in his pockets, clothing fine and tailored perfectly. Just as it always is.

Cold, violet eyes flick to you, stood atop the case, but even he’s unable to entirely conceal that razor’s edge in his gaze, glint cutting through purple-blue. Sharper than steel, colder than ice.

“What do you want?” You ask, not bothering with pleasantries. He clearly isn’t here for tea and biscuits.

He’s silent for a pause, gathering his patience, or…you don’t know what. But he takes his time, as if to set you on edge. “Come down here,” he says at last. There’s not a single note of inflection in his voice, lethally soft, whispering effortlessly across the marble of the front entrance.

Your features remain set in their hard, bland line, gazing down at him with mild hatred. Whether it’s a side effect of the bond, or his natural terror as High Lord, something inherent warns you not to disobey, reluctantly descending the stairs, glittering black dress still clinging to your body, hair a ragged mess at your shoulders, lips likely stained and eyes smudged from the kohl.

“What do you want?” You repeat lowly, bare feet settling on the floor, level with him. Darkness seems to whisper at his back, thrumming throughout the halls, muffling all those usual noises, becoming abruptly silent. Vibrations dying in his wake.

Cold, violet eyes run over you appraisingly, though he makes no comment over your dishevelment, and it’s somehow worse than if he had struck the mark. As if he knows he doesn’t need to sink that low to hit where it hurts, biding his time to deliver the fatal wound.

“Can you guess why I’m here?” He asks softly, wrath underlying his poisoned tone, hairs prickling at the nape of your neck. Your pulse spikes as his attention skims the lavish halls, entirely empty, before turning for the door that will lead him to the sitting room. “I’m too tired for your games, Rhys,” you mutter bitterly, following after him warily. “There’s nothing playful about the decision that’s about to be made,” he replies icily, nodding to one of the sofas as you pass by. “Sit down.”

“I think I’ll remain on my feet,” you say with forced calm.

A muscle feathers in his jaw, features remaining cold and disinterested. Warning chimes drill up your spine, alarming you to the off-ness about him. The tautness to his usually elegant movements, fluid and lethal. Now cut to something harsher, hewn to something more brutal.

“Tell me,” he orders quietly, “why you think I’m here.”

You stare at him silently. Sullenly. Stinging all over your body.

“You wanted to say hello?” You say at last, lacking any humour to the response, too drained to muster up even a spark of emotion.

The edges of his mouth quirk, no mirth to be found in his face. A grin a he would have given Under the Mountain. A grin you’ve come to despise, and one you thought would never be shown again. Sharp, glittering talons prickle at your mental shields, hardened to steel on their outer walls, utterly impenetrable without permission.

Or so you had thought.

In one clean slice, the razors have cut through your adamant as if it were fatty flesh. Not a single brittle bone impeding the clean incision. Shock paralyses you, breath stolen as that faint grin ices over, threat now rolling visibly from his shoulders, darkness condensing into something almost solid, gaining density as it slinks closer to the ground.

The sound of skin smacking against skin cuts through your mind, a sharp inhale stolen after, shuddering gasps rasping through the silence, followed by panicked footsteps as she flees. Your cheek burns, feeling the metal bite of jewelled knuckles upon rubbed-raw skin.

Fingers rise, trembling as you check absently for a mark, brushing lightly across the afflicted area self-consciously.

“Why do you think I’m here?” He repeats, the whisper as quiet as a last breath on dying lips, cold and utterly lifeless.

For the first time in three hundred years, terror filters through your veins. Cloying, and dominating, pinning down and twisting your senses. “It was for good reason,” you breathe, becoming acutely aware of the lethal brush of darkness. A single touch that could reduce you to a red mist.

“Stop,” he says, quiet and sharp, like scissors snicking through hair. “You’ve been toeing the line for a while now, and that was the last step you’ll take in my city.”

My city. Velaris.

Your mouth opens to speak, nausea rising, stomach twisting as emotions begin to seep back into your body, satiating your mind with painful vibrancy. But the words are stuck in your throat. You stare at him, eyes round and wide, at once blank and contorted with raw feeling. Rushing and spilling as guts twine together, restitching themselves after being sliced across the floor.

“You’re an infection,” he hisses lowly, talons tightening at your neck, and you remain helpless. Powerless. “I don’t care for whatever excuse you’ll try to spin. I’m done with you. We all are.”

The talons retract, and air burns at your lungs, nostrils and eyes prickling as you gasp, hunched over, stomach spasming enough you think you might vomit again, and you’re thankful you didn’t put anything in it. The thought of reaching for your own magic hadn’t even occurred to you.

“Whatever remarks you want to make, I will tolerate. You are, and have always been your own person,” he says lowly, prowling forward on predator’s feet. “But the second you lay a hand on one of my people, it’s over. You will not return from it.”

“I hardly even touched her,” you choke out, lip curled back from your teeth, emotion thrashing and raging against your ribs, volatile in your blood as you stare up at him. At once having given you everything, and left you with nothing.

“I saw the memory,” he hisses, “she told me what happened. How you treat—” His nostrils flare, freezing in his tracks. Pupils dilate then contract to slits, and you stare as he turns on his feet, making for the closed kitchen door. Where the blood soaked rugs and sheets remain.

“Rhys…” you rasp, stumbling forward. “Rhysand.”

The smell of iron is sharp, bursting throughout the room with a potent tang, saturating the air with its distinctive metallic scent. The water is a deep red, concentrated with cold blood, almost opaque with its thickness.

The High Lord is utterly still in the doorway, taking in the devastation of the kitchen, some of the sheets laying strewn wetly across the floor, and it occurs to you he will not know that it is your blood dripping across the white tiled floors. That’s it’s your blood staining the pristine surfaces.

Undiluted terror crushes into you a second before his own darkness does, breaking across your skin as you’re flung across the room, smacking against the ground as the air is knocked from your chest. Your ears ring with the impact, lips parted, back arched in pain, hands trembling as memories flash across your skin.

You wouldn’t know love if it knocked you to the floor, he had said.

You stare up at cold, merciless violet.

Both of you know what he’s just done, but only one of you cares.

Words fail you, unable to admit to your own stupidly self-inflicted disciplines. Shame ruptures across your skin, unable to move from the shock of being floored in a heartbeat, after having had centuries to put between the last memory of pain this deep. It always scars more when it’s from someone close by.

“I don’t know when you lost yourself,” he breathes heavily, staring down at you, twisted and warped from the force of his magic. “I don’t know when, or how, or why. And I don’t care.” The words break on your skin like whips, cracking and splitting still-healing flesh to put the pain deeper. “You hurt one of my people,” he hisses lowly, watching as you struggle to your feet, limbs moving disjointedly from pain he’s unable to see.

He takes a step forward, and you have to force your legs not to stumble back, to hold strong as he prowls closer, night rippling through the room. “Many people are hurt in your city,” you grit out, “many people are hurt in your court. And yet you’re finding fault with me?” You shake your head sharply, glaring at him from beneath your brow. “You went too far,” he hisses, the sound like hail and ice slicing skin. “Every day you pushed a little harder, and I let it slide because I thought you needed the freedom, that you needed to at last understand you were free of her.”

“Fucking shut your mouth,” you spit, death leaking across the floor, rising to meet his own.

Both of you know who would win this battle, but you don’t seem to care any more.

“I kept my mouth shut for too long,” he counters, striding closer and magic sparks and crackles, tendrils colliding then recoiling as it’s mixed in the confined space, pressure building in your fingertips. “I let you get away with too much. Leeching off Az until even his patience ran out. Putting Mor down because you couldn’t stand to see someone from your own position escape, and live. We offered you help and you chose to walk away.”

Fury lacerates through your heart, burning at your mind as you meet his step, moving forward as you bare your teeth, the house quaking as more power is funnelled into it’s contained space. “You dragged me beneath that godsforsaken mountain, Rhysand,” you hiss lowly, “I stayed with you for fifty godsdamn years, while they got to stay here, because I was the one who was common knowledge.” You shove at his chest, but he hardly budges. “I was there for you, whenever you fucking needed me. So don’t you dare try and spin betrayal on me.”

“It is your duty to stay by my side,” he snarls, hand gripping your jaw in a vice-like hold, muscle spasming beneath his touch. “Everyone suffered in those years. Everyone sacrificed something. Everyone had something taken from them.”

“You chose them over me!” You spit, nails tearing at the rough skin of his knuckles as heat burns at your eyes. “You protected them. You suffered, and gave up pieces of yourself for them. None of it was for me.”

He stares at you, unreadable emotion raging behind writhing violet, lips parted as darkness rumbles through the house. “Why would it be for you?” He whispers, still staring at you. “You’re so wrapped up in your own life you forget anyone else exists.”

“You’re lying,” you mutter, “that’s a fucking lie, and you know it.”

“You threatened to bring their father back from the dead,” Rhys snarls, the damper on his power coming clean off, air growing thin as pressure crushes down on your bones, too much to possibly be contained.

“I don’t care if you’re bound to me until the day that I die,” he hisses, and you can feel that fatal strike being prepared to wound. “I don’t care if you have no way to disobey me should I give you an order. I don’t care if I could command you to never abuse your magic like that again.”

“Rhys…” you breathe, staring at him, fear bubbling away. You’d told Azriel he would never touch the bond, that he would never do that to you, and yet… “Rhys, don’t…”

“I can’t,” he hisses, defeat lining his features.

Relief washes over you like a wave of cool water, shoulders slumping from their tension, magic beginning to dissipate.

He shakes his head, a lock of neat, blue-black hair falling out of place. “But if you aren’t out of Velaris by the time the sun rises tomorrow…”

He’s in front of you in a flash, but your power doesn’t respond. Not as he appears before you, or as his hand slides around your throat. Not even as he forces a bargain upon your flesh, ink burning as it’s stamped in plain sight.

“You will not only lose your powers over death, but your life, too.”

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut

#azriel x reader #azriel angst #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #heart dividers by cafekitsune

[softsturn]

the beach - m.s

⩩ pairing: matt x fem!reader

⩩ summary: matt is caught jerking off to his best friend (inspired by @heartstreet !! full creds to them for this idea)

⩩ warnings: masturbation, handjob, p-in-v, half assed writing at the end.

⩩ a/n: sorry i haven’t posted much, its been so hard to think of ideas. i wanted to make a part two of what i last posted but i literally don’t know how to continue it😭 thank you for all the likes and follows!! pls leave me requests :)

Describing the bond between you and Matt exceeds the simplicity a mere friendship. Growing up, you lived only a few houses away from his, you shared the same schools, and practically every experience was a joint venture. It wasn't just common knowledge; it was an undeniable truth that wherever you went, a blue-eyed boy with brown hair was sure to follow, mirroring your every step like a lost puppy. The invisible tie binding you two seemed unbreakable, preventing you from straying far apart.

Now, at Cape Cod, a destination woven into the fabric of your cherished summer memories, you eagerly await Matt and his family’s arrival. Setting up foldable chairs and towels on the sandy shores, you can hardly contain your anticipation, eager to continue the tradition of shared moments under the sun.

As if on cue, his family strolled towards the beach, carrying an assortment of towels, bags, chairs, and a cooler. Your face lit up with a vibrant smile upon spotting the three identical boys approaching with palpable excitement. They placed their belongings on the sand, and you greeted them eagerly.

Matt's eyes widened noticeably, practically popping out of his sockets as he unabashedly drank in the sight of you. While you maintained your usual level of beauty, his gaze lingered on your figure. Stepping out of your comfort zone, you had chosen a two-piece bikini opposed to a one piece like you normally wore, showcasing newfound confidence in your evolving body. The swimsuit hugged you in all the right places, baring your torso and clinging snugly to your curves. Matt found himself caught in a momentary, lustful gaze, slightly zoning out as Nick and Chris enthusiastically hyped you up in the background.

"You look so good girl!" exclaimed Nick, with Chris joining in laughter, while you, feeling a bit shy, crossed your arms over your stomach.

Coming back to reality from his fleeting thoughts, Matt nodded and offered you a small, genuine smile. "You look..." he hesitated, carefully choosing his words to avoid any discomfort for you. "Pretty," he mumbled sheepishly, prompting a soft blush to grace your face. Matt's compliments held a unique significance, seeming to carry more weight than others, his opinion reigning supreme in your mind.

"Thank you," you replied with a shy giggle, while Nick and Chris exchanged amused glances, furrowing their brows at the subtle dynamics unfolding between the two of you. The unspoken connection, the palpable undercurrent of something more than friendship, was evident to everyone around. Jokes from your parents about an impending marriage and teasing from Matt's brothers were constant reminders of the unspoken truth – you and Matt shared a love that transcended platonic feelings, even if the explicit words hadn't been uttered.

After a few hours under the warm sun, the faint emergence of sunburn and light freckles adorned your face, telling tales of days spent soaking up the heat. Meanwhile, Matt wrestled with his thoughts, a delicate balance between loyalty to your friendship and the desire that threatened to breach inappropriate territories. He harbored a profound fear of jeopardizing the trust you shared or causing any discomfort, acutely aware that losing you was a risk he couldn't fathom.

As you stood, engrossed in gathering your belongings and bending over slightly, Matt couldn't suppress the way his gaze involuntarily traced the curves of your figure, particularly fixating on your ass. His mind danced with forbidden scenarios, imagining actions he both longed for and felt conflicted about. Sensing a warmth spreading through him, he nervously looked away, trying to prevent any telltale signs of his internal struggle.

You straightened up, holding your possessions with a toothy grin, completely oblivious to the subtle turmoil in Matt's mind. "I'll see you back at the house," you said softly. Matt offered a slight nod and joined his brothers in packing up their belongings. As you made your way to your car, your parents loading up the trunk, you settled into the back seat, succumbing slowly to sleep, the exhaustion of the day catching up with you.

Waking up with a groan, you found your parents' car parked by the side of the road in front of the triplets' house, just a few doors down from your own. The plan was to spend the night at their place, a routine that had become usual given your inclination to seek comfort in their home over your own. Extracting yourself from the car, you grabbed your overnight bag, bidding farewells to your parents as you watched them drive away.

Your bathing suit clung persistently to your body, your hair still damp, and the weariness in your limbs yearning for the promise of relaxation. Shuffling into Matt's home without bothering to knock, the unspoken familiarity of years spent together allowed you the privilege of simply letting yourself in. Passing through the kitchen, Matt's parents greeted you with warm smiles as you entered the living room.

There, Matt, Nick, and Chris were sprawled on the couch, engrossed in a movie that you were sure they had seen at least a thousand times. When Matt's eyes met yours, a soft expression played on his face, evident in the effort to maintain eye contact with your face rather than letting his gaze wander.

"Hey," he murmured, and you returned the greeting with a gentle smile, playfully ruffling his hair as you stood over him. "Hey, I'm gonna go shower. I'll join you guys if you're still out here when I'm done." With that, you ventured down the hall, heading toward the guest bedroom.

In the midst of a hot shower, as you washed away the residue of salty water and sand, Matt and his brothers grew disinterested in the movie, dispersing to their separate bedrooms. Collapsing onto his bed with a weary sigh, exhaustion permeated Matt's body. Turning to his phone, he absentmindedly scrolled through various social media apps. Refreshing his Instagram feed, he stumbled upon a recent post you had shared before stepping into the shower.

The post featured a series of photos taken by Nick during your beach outing. One image captured you from the side, accentuating your ass and curves, while another showcased the contours of your cleavage and perky boobs from the front. Although the intention behind the pictures was innocent, Matt's mind became inundated with impure thoughts. Consumed by a sense of guilt, he recognized the inappropriateness of his desires, grappling with conflicting emotions. You were his best friend, and he was acutely aware that such lascivious thoughts were unwarranted. It was more than mere lust; he harbored genuine love for you and a desire to be a person deserving of your affection.

As Matt stared at his screen, a warmth enveloped his body, and he found himself unable to suppress the physical reaction, a boner forming in his pants. He felt conflicted, but it wasn’t like you knew what he was thinking, or doing. Succumbing to the intensity of his desire, he pulled his pants down enough to free himself, his cock springing out of his boxers. He took his cock into his right hand, phone in his left hand, and he began to stroke himself, allowing his imagination to run wild with scenarios that had occupied his dreams. The room echoed with subtle grunts and whimpers as he finally started to release the pent-up feelings that had plagued him throughout the day.

You emerged from the invigorating shower, enveloped in a towel, the sensation of cleanliness and renewal coursing through you. Exiting the bathroom, you ventured into the guest bedroom designated for your night's rest, shutting the door behind you. As you delved into your bag, extracting essentials like panties, shorts, and a tank top, the soft fabrics embraced you once you shed the towel. Nighttime rituals of hair brushing, skincare, and teeth cleaning completed, you settled into the guest bedroom, a sanctuary that had become almost like your own.

The tranquility was fleeting, interrupted by a shiver that prompted a quest for warmth. Rummaging through your bag, you discovered the absence of a hoodie – an oversight that led you down the hall to Matt's bedroom. Assuming he'd still be awake, you envisioned a simple request to borrow one of his hoodies. Little did you anticipate the unexpected scene awaiting you.

Without bothering to knock, a habit formed over years of friendship, you barged into Matt's room, focused on your hoodie mission. "I need to borrow a hoodie; it's freezing—" your words trailed off as your gaze absorbed the shocking sight. Matt, in his bed, his hand pumping up and down his cock, his phone displaying pictures of you. A gasp escaped him as your presence registered, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of surprise and guilt. "Y/N..." he uttered, his phone slipping from his hand onto the bed, his hand movements abruptly halted in the realization of the awkward situation.

"Oh my god, I'm sorry; I didn't think—I should've knocked. I'll just go get one from Nick," you mumbled nervously, ready to retreat. The air hung heavy with the unspoken tension, both of you grappling with the potential ramifications on your friendship. Before you could exit, Matt called to you, conflicted between wanting you to stay and the desire to erase this awkward moment.

"Don't go," he uttered, wincing at his own words, attempting to clarify that he wasn't making advances or asking for anything. You stood there, caught in a surreal tableau, uncertain about how to navigate this unexpected revelation. Blinking in an attempt to regain composure, you voiced a question laden with curiosity and awkwardness.

"Do you... do this often?" your brows furrowed, your gaze drifting toward his needy cock. Matt sighed, grappling with shame, attempting to rein in his emotions. "Jerk off? Or jerk off to you..." he replied, injecting a hint of humor to alleviate the palpable tension.

"Jerk off to me," you clarified, offering a sheepish smile, grateful for his attempt to inject some levity. Matt, in a vulnerable admission, stumbled through an explanation, striving to avoid sounding like a creep. The guilt weighed heavily on him, sensing that he had betrayed the sanctity of your friendship.

"This is the first time—I'm sorry. You just looked so pretty all day, and I couldn't... I don't know," he rambled, his remorse evident. Expecting you to recoil, Matt braced for the consequences of his impure thoughts. Yet, to his surprise, you stepped closer, the bed dipping as you sat on the edge near his legs. Your eyes danced everywhere but on his throbbing cock.

"It's okay; I'm not mad," you reassured, the tension easing with your understanding words. In that moment, you appreciated the side of Matt that could inject humor even into the most awkward situations, and despite the strangeness of the circumstance, a reassuring smile graced your lips.

"You're not?" he asked, confusion etching his face as his gaze reached the end of the bed where you were. The bewilderment stemmed from the expectation of your anger; he believed he deserved your fury. You shook your head, dispelling any doubts that lingered in his mind. "I'm not mad," you affirmed, inhaling deeply before contemplating the weight of your next words. The undeniable truth of their mutual feelings lay bare, an unignorable reality that both had been evading.

"Do you want me to help you?" you inquired, addressing the underlying tension. Matt hesitated, shaking his head in a refusal. Your offer, though tempting, made him reluctant, not wanting you to feel obliged, and questioning his own worthiness of such an intimate gesture. “Y/N… you don’t have to.”

Sighing, you crawled to sit on his knees, his cock twitching right before you, aching for release. It wasn't about obligation; it was about love. You wanted to be the one to bring him pleasure. "I know, I want to," you reassured, meeting his gaze as he deliberated. "Please," he whimpered, desperation evident on his face. Taking it as a signal, you palmed him, your hand trembling slightly as you sought confirmation in his eyes, ensuring every move was met with consent.

As you encountered nothing but longing in his gaze, your hand tentatively began to move, gliding up and down his length. The unspoken revelation that you were not very experienced was apparent to him, and a twinge of guilt crept in as he allowed you to pleasure him. Determined not to make this solely about his satisfaction, he seized the moment, grasping your wrist and redirecting your hand away from his arousal, prompting you to lean forward.

In an impulsive move, he pressed his lips forcefully against yours, his tongue seeking entry, savoring the taste of your chapstick. The kiss bore neither aggression nor softness; instead, it carried the weight of years filled with tension, prolonged gazes, and lingering touches, finally unfurling in this shared moment. Pulling back slightly, he noticed your lips chasing after his, seeking more contact with his lips.

"I want to make you feel good too," he murmured against your lips, his words flushing your face with heat, a wetness growing between your legs. The dynamics shifted, and now it was you yearning for him. His hands found your hips, drawing you closer until you straddled his waist, your clothed pussy pressing against his cock. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your pajama shorts and panties, seeking consent as he looked up at you.

"Can I take these off, baby?" he asked, and in response, you nodded, lifting yourself to allow him to slide them down your legs before resuming the straddled position, anticipation hanging thick in the air.

You took a sharp breath, nerves tingling as you ventured into unfamiliar territory with Matt. As he ran a finger through your wet folds, he licked his lips, captivated by the sight of your pretty pussy. In that moment, Matt would have done anything and everything you asked, he was completely at your mercy. Firmly holding your hips, he allowed your wet cunt to hover over his cock. While his desires tempted him to force you down and make you take it, his deep care for you held him back, especially given the significance of this being your first time.

"Go slow, okay? It's going to hurt a little, but I'm right here," he said. Nodding, you began the descent, wincing as his tip slipped into your enterance. "Oh my god, Matt," you moaned, your words interrupted as Matt leaned up, pressing his lips to yours to stifle your sweet sounds, mindful of his brothers sleeping down the hall.

Gradually, you took more of him in, whimpering at the initial stinging sensation as his cock stretched your tight walls. Eventually, you lowered yourself completely onto him, pausing to adjust to the sensation of him buried deep inside you. "Such a good girl, taking me so well," he cooed.

“Feels so good,” you murmured, the words escaping on a breath as you began to move your hips against him, keeping a steady rhythm. He gripped your hips firmly, and you were sure there would be red marks left behind. His kisses trailed down your neck, lips brushing over your collarbones and shoulders, marking you with purposeful hickeys that finally declared you as his, even though you had always belonged to him.

Slowly, he lifted your tank top over your head, tossing it aside in the room's shadows. "So fucking pretty," he mumbled, his gaze lingering on you through half-lidded eyes. His mouth descended, lavishing much-needed attention on your boobs, kissing and licking your sensitive nipples with devotion. In his eyes, your body was a masterpiece, and he aimed to ensure you knew just how perfect you were. Every gesture was a testament to his worship, eliciting small moans of pleasure as you succumbed to the sensations he bestowed upon you.

"Faster, please," he choked out, a desperate need cracking his voice as he trailed kisses down the valley of your breasts. Swiftly obeying, you quickened the pace, moaning as you rocked back and forth on his cock. Yet, the soreness lingering from your day at the beach made it challenging. Matt noticed, his hands helping to move your hips, orchestrating a rhythm that heightened the pleasure. He began to thrust into you, hips meeting yours, intensifying the sensation.

Throwing your head back, eyes rolling, pleasure consumed you, a knot tightening in your stomach. One of his hands left your hip, moving downward, his thumb expertly circling your swollen clit. Overwhelmed, words escaped you, your mind consumed by him. "Fuck, Matt," you managed to whimper in your love-drunk state, a proud smirk gracing his lips as he witnessed you lost in pleasure, knowing he was the only one to evoke such a response.

"Cum for me, princess," he urged in a whiny, broken voice, his own release imminent. His words triggered your climax, a stream of mumbled curses and whines escaping you as pleasure saturated every inch of your being. Surrendering to the intensity, you abandoned your movements, letting him guide and sway you through the waves of orgasmic ecstasy. His release followed suit, white streams of cum shooting into you, accompanied by his whimpering and grunting.

As the movements ceased, he lay beneath you, both of you attempting to catch your breath. Gingerly lifting yourself off him, a wince accompanied the sensitivity as his cock withdrew from your cunt. Rolling over, you nestled next to him, curling into his side, a lazy hand draped over his waist. His hand found its way to your head, tenderly stroking your hair as you rested against his chest, syncing your breathing with his.

"Get some rest; I'm taking you on a date tomorrow," he grinned mischievously, planting light kisses on your forehead. Raising your head, curiosity piqued, you questioned, "A date?" He nodded, gently pushing your head back to his chest, his fingers continuing to stroke your hair in a soothing rhythm.

"A date. So I can ask you to be my girlfriend," he chuckled, of course Matt wanted to do things right despite having just fucked you dumb. You chuckled in response, appreciating Matt's intent. "Okay, I can't wait to say yes," you declared, both of you closing your eyes, eager for the embrace of sleep and the beginning of this new chapter in your relationship.

#matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo fluff #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo #fluff #smut #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo oneshot

[hyun0o]

Hi author. I want to request for blackpink imagine can you do for ot4, where y/n is really clingy with all of them and they treats y/n like a baby and rosé loves to carry y/n around. They would always do everything for y/n. Thank you love your stories.

Cutie

[Blackpink x 5th mem. Fem!Reader][FLUFF]

I'm so sorry anon, I didn't realize this req was 2 months agoo (—=—') pls forgive me °///°

—

(x=x')

Scenario 1 🎮

"Unnie no fair you cheated!" You whined when you lost to Jisoo in mario cart. Both of you sitting on the comfy couch in your vacation hotel after a large and successful comeback, while your other members were in the kitchen, preparing the dinner for tonight, well except for Lisa who was failing her tasks miserably. "Yah, what do you mean I cheated, just admit it you lost boo" Your unnie teased, your puffed cheeks turning slightly red from embarrassment. Maybe it was your own fault for challenging the queen of games. "I can't believe I lost to an oldie" You earned an annoyed call from Jisoo, soon she nagged you on how to play the game properly, taking power ups, stop ramming into the sides, and what not. You stuck your tongue out at her while she talked and when she saw your little shenanigans, you booked it knowing she'll poke your sides.

Running into the kitchen, your unnies saw you as you frantically hid behind them. Hoping for you to get protected by them, but of course it's not going to work. "Y/n-ah!!" Jisoo ran to you in a flash, but you wont lose to her again, the other girls watched as the oldest and youngest chased each other around the whole hotel. It basically lasted for 4 mins until Jennie finally called you two to stop. As you enter the kitchen again for the 4th time from the chase, Jennie glared at you with her cat like eyes, making you immediately stop dead in your tracks. "U-unnie..." You stammered with your words getting scared, 'Did I piss her off too? ' You thought as you gave her your infamous puppy dog eyes for some mercy. Jennies eyes furrowed as she stared at you, trying not to break but come on, you looked far way too cute to get angry at.

She sighed and pinched your cheeks, her tall walls breaking in attempt to lecture you "You're going to get hurt if you continue baby, come on and eat" She whispered with loving eyes, you loved your Unnie so much, you loved all of them. But of course you're not always going to say that just to tease them,as a maknae your job is to be mischievous to them. You hear a scream from Jisoo from behind and immediately your flight or fight mode went off, you chose flight. Hugging Jennie to her neck you hid in the crook of her neck to get protected. "Nini!!" You screamed in fear, really not wanting to get tickled. Jisoo bursted out laughing, were you really that scared? Jennie glared at her as well, making her shut her mouth. "We were just playing Jen..." Walking closer to you and soon she unsurprisingly poked your sides, you jumped and whined. "Come on you're over reacting silly, stop clinging onto Jendkkie" You looked at her and just for funs and giggles you stuck your tongue out to just annoy her again. "Yah! You little-" Jennie playfully hit her head to stop and just let it go, earning a pout from the oldest.

"Girls, food is ready!" Chaeyoung called, walking towards you three while Lisa prepared the dishes to the plates. She stopped in her tracks when she saw the funny scene. "What are you guys doing" Laughing, she looked at you pushed your hair to the side so your forehead can breathe. "Jisoo-unnie is so mean!" You pouted back at your oldest member, making her pull a jokingly annoyed face. Before she could even defend herself, Chaeyoung immediately went to your side and pampered you. "Yah this is why she's so spoiled" Jisoo crossed her arms with furrowed eyebrows, you giggle and finally wanted to stop teasing your unnie. Letting go of Jennie you soon hugged Jisoo and apologized for teasing her, even if you two always teased each other, you still loved her. Soon Chaeyoung and Jennie joined in the hug while Jisoo apologized as well. The warm embrace making you all feel at home.

"Hey I also want to join!" Cutie Lisa hugged last making you all chuckle.

Scenario 2 🎥

A sunny afternoon was the perfect setting to go out to the mall, shopping for some groceries and whatever items your hearts desired. For you, it was basically hell. Your heels were killing your damn feet while you're sweating inside of your multi layered outfit, only now regretting your choices, you curse your past naive self. While you suffered from your poor choices, the worst part is it was as if you were invisible to your other members, completely forgetting about you ever since the outing started. Chaeyoung and Lisa were bickering in what to buy for tonight, including board games, food, and other necessities. While Lisa was recording your fun little outing for a vlog. "Come on please, play with me tonight this seems like a fun game" The blonde girl raised the board game up for the camera to see, Lisa can't help but just say yes. And then going back to the camera to shake her head and whisper playful no's. "Yah I heard that" She threw the board game in the basket, finally noticing your tired state, droplets of sweat twinkled on your forehead with your shaking feet not being able to support yourself properly.

"You okay bub? You don't look too good" You wanted to burst out right then and there, finally she noticed you. They were basically ignoring you for the past evening full of walking around and buying things. Rather than anger you start to tear up, making Chaeyoung panic. "Everything sucks" You sniffed, maybe you were over reacting? Maybe you're too sensitive? Maybe it's not even a big deal. You tried hard to reason with yourself, but no matter how much you invalidated your own feelings; nothing worked to calm your nerves down. In fact it made it all worse. "W-what wrong? Does your feet hurt? Here let me help you" You didn't reply, heart still filled with emotions, as Lisa turned the camera off, she finally noticed you two from behind, also spotting the tears on your face while Chaeyoung was taking your heels off. "Y/nnie what's wrong? Did Rosie bully you?" She wiped your tears with her sleeves, guilt emerging in your chest, it wasn't really their fault, yet you were still hurt. "You're probably the one who made her cry idiot" She replied with an annoyed tone making you shiver, Chaeyoung isn't the type to get frustrated at people.

"Here bub, climb on my back. I can carry you back to the van" Your tears swelled up again, you didn't deserve this just after throwing a stupid tantrum. "Listen to Chae, Ynnie, I'll carry your jacket, you're sweating beads" With that you went on Chaeyoungs back while hiding your face on her shoulder, tears still flowing while sniffling. The two older girls can't help but feel guilty, were they the reason you're crying? "Ynnie... Did we do something wrong? Please tell us so we can apologize properly" Lisa looked at you with worry in her eyes, hoping that you'd answer. You whisper something only you can understand on Chaeyoungs shoulder, although it was audible, they couldn't really understand your muffled words.

"Say it again bub what is it?"

"You two ignored me... Ever since this outing started, then my shoes started to get uncomfy to the point it really hurt my feet. And then I got to suffer the consequences of my own choice of clothing, today sucks..." They thought back to this morning where you all got to the mall, you were right. They did ignore you but not on purpose. It's when they always get interrupted to reply to you or when they just shrugged you off. Lisa even remembered that you mentioned how you feet started to get hurt but before she could acknowledge your comment, she got distracted by an item in the store. They both felt horrible, you didn't deserve such treatment. "We're sorry bub... We didn't realize it till now, we promise we'll make it up to you" Chaeyoung hung her head low, as with Lisa, "We promise it won't happen again." You feel content, that's all you wanted to hear from them, a sorry and some assurance where they'd make it up to you. Looking to your side, you were met with Lisa with furrowed eyebrows, guilt evident on her face. "Promise?" You held your pinky up, Lisa smiled brightly and took your pinky with hers, intertwining it.

"We promise" Kissing your forehead, the heavy weights in your chest finally lifting as you hugged Chaeyoung by her neck with a content smile on your face.

(°π°)

—

Huhu I love the thought of yn getting pampered by their Unnies, this is probably why most of my biases are maknaes lol. I hope you guys enjoyedd <3

- (_=_)

#blackpink x reader #blackpink #blackpink imagines #blackpink ot4 #ot4 #jennie blackpink #blackpink jisoo #rosé blackpink #lisa blackpink #lalisa #jennie kim #park chaeyoung #kim jisoo #fluff #hyun #pang #kpop #girl groups #girl group x reader

[azrielsdove]

The High Lords: Rhysand x Tamlin!sister!reader

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Fighting, Light mentions of violence

Part 2

***

You knew this was wrong.

You knew what your brother would do.

You knew you shouldn’t be enjoying this.

You knew to stay far, far away from the High Lord of the Night Court.

But you did not care as his hands slid up your skin and his lips pressed to yours.

***

Life at the Spring Court was simple. You spent most of your days in the gardens around your estate, often hiding from your slightly overprotective brother. As much as you love him, he tends to react to anything that happens to you a tad aggressively. You understood his fear comes from losing the rest of your family and that he was naturally going to be careful with you. You just wished he would relax a little more and trust you to take care of yourself.

The biggest issue recently has been that of any potential suitors. He realizes you need more to life than strolling the gardens, and had graciously arranged for you to meet all eligible bachelors. Chosen by him, of course.

Not that you even wanted that.

Sure, you had noticed a select few males on the rare nights you went to the village. You felt the desire for touch and for love like anyone else. Unfortunately, your romantic heart craved the mate connection. You knew it was rare and the chances of you having one were low, though that didn’t stop you from dreaming about who he could be.

Once Tamlin got the idea that you should be married in his head, he would not let go of it. Countless arguments had passed between the two of you, with no progress made in your favor. Your last one was particularly nasty, ending with you yelling that you might as well marry Lucien if all Tamlin cared about was marrying you off.

You hadn’t spoken since.

Of course, marrying Lucien wouldn’t be so bad. You would be lying if you said you didn’t notice how handsome he was, and how kind he was to you. He wasn’t your mate though. You suppose if it came down to it you could definitely do worse. And oh, how it would anger Tamlin. His emissary, his best friend, your husband. Often Lucien would flirt with you in front of Tamlin, just to see him get upset. Though as much as you delighted in that game, your heart will always long for more.

***

Calanmai. The biggest night of the year in the spring court. You look forward to it every year, to the dancing and the music and the wine. You carefully selected your dress months ago, and have been preparing everyday leading up to it. You felt like this year was extra special, something big was going to happen.

Until Tamlin tells you he doesn’t want you to go.

The anger that rose in you was unlike anything you had ever felt. “You can NOT keep me from going. You may be my brother but you will not control what I do!” You shouted at him, your whole body shaking. Tamlin shuffled the papers he was reading and spoke without looking at you, “It is my job to keep you safe. Calanmai is not safe for you. Dangerous faries come, and you know what they tried to do last year.” You let out a groan of frustration. Last year a group of males had tried to take you away into the darkness of the wood. Lucien was there immediately to get them away, barely allowing them to leave within an inch of their lives. You can’t say that event didn’t unnerve you, but you would be wiser this year. He couldn’t hide you away forever.

“Lucien and I have a plan this year! He will stay with me the whole time. It will be fine!” You shot back, not willing to take no as an answer. Tamlin slammed his papers down and looked up at you. “No. Lucien doesn’t need to babysit you all night. He deserves a day off as well.” Your mouth dropped open at that. “Babysit?! Babysit! If you would just let me train, I could keep myself safe and no one would have to worry! You are going to be the cause of my death if you don’t sto-“ your words were cut off by your brothers yell of “Enough!”. He stood and walked over to you, grabbing your arms. “You. Will. Not. Go. Do you understand me? I am your High Lord, you will obey me. You have no idea what could happen out there.” His hands tightened on you when you started to pull away. “Fuck you, Tamlin. Fuck you.” You spat as you tore out of his grasp and ran from his study.

You felt the tears, hot and angry, spilling down your cheeks. You ran out of the manor into the dark night without having any plan of where you were going. You wanted to run away, to leave your brother and start over. Too caught up in your own mind, you didn’t notice the shape rapidly approaching you until you crashed straight into a hard chest. Arms quickly wrapped around your waist and you looked up into Lucien’s familiar face. You watched as he took in your tears and his eyes flashed with rage. “He told you you couldn’t go, didn’t he?” he spoke, hardly above a whisper. You could only nod as you folded into him, letting your sobs out. He ran a soothing hand across your back, pressing a kiss to your hair. “I’m so sorry. I tried to argue with him, but you know how it is.” He pulled away to look down at you. “Do not give up, my sweet flower. All hope is not lost. Why do you think I was out here so late?” He asked with a twinkle in his eye.

You allowed Lucien to lead you back home, drying your tears. He walked you to your room to ensure you avoided Tamlin, telling you to wait for him tomorrow. He would give you his plan then.

***

The next day you carefully got ready, not wanting Tamlin to notice what you were doing. The last thing you needed was him discovering your plan to sneak off to Calanmai. Lucien had returned early this morning to tell you what he had planned. He knew Tamlin would lose focus and would forget to even care if you came or not. Lucien was going to head down with Tamlin as normal, and once he was able to slip away he would come back for you. You would sneak out one of the back entrances, avoiding any guards Tamlin may have left. Once you were at the celebration, no one would be sound enough to realize you weren’t supposed to be there.

You pulled your dress out as excitement curled up your spine. The light, flowing green fabric covered you right where you needed it to, the fabric turning sheer as it floated around you. You gazed at yourself appreciatively in the mirror, knowing this look was your best. When Lucien finally came to collect you, he hesitated for a second as he looked you over. “You look…beyond beautiful.” He finally said, holding his arm out for you. You gladly took it and you two were off.

It was extremely easy to escape the manor without being caught, as any guard left had abandoned their post for the celebration. You smiled at the lucky fact, pace increasing the closer you got to the fires. You grabbed Lucien’s hand and took off running, laughing as you raced down the hills. Once you were there, you expertly slipped through the crowd until you could grab a glass of fairie wine. You moaned as the delicious taste went down your throat, thankful you were able to make it. You pulled Lucien in for a hug and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Thank you,” you whispered as you let go. He only nodded before stepping a short distance away, hoping that if Tamlin saw him he wouldn’t see you.

You mingled into the crowd, dancing with anyone you found. You had several more glasses of wine until you felt like you were floating across the ground. Soon, it was time for Tamlin to choose who he would bed that night. You can’t say you enjoyed this part, and you typically took this opportunity to slip off into the trees for a while. You grabbed another glass of wine and went off, not too far to be in danger but far enough you didn’t have to hear your brother with his female of the night.

You leaned against a tree as the cool night air swirled around you. The dancing and drinking had made you quite warm, and the breeze was a welcome feeling. You stood there quietly for a few minutes, connecting with the nature around you.

Until you felt it.

Something in your chest pulled as darkness began to swirl around you. You shot up from your tree, eyes wide as you looked around. You were about to yell for Lucien when you heard someone say, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” You turned to find the most devilishly handsome male you had ever seen.

“Oh,” was all you said as you took in the familiar face in front of you. He smirked down at you, laughter in his voice, “Do you not remember me, darling?” He stepped closer, boxing you into the tree. His head lowered to yours, violet eyes staring holes into you. “Tamlins sweet younger sister, out here in these woods all alone. Tut tut. Doesn’t he know how dangerous it can be out here?” His words rushed over you, heat rising through your body. You should feel scared, you should be fighting, you should be running and screaming. Yet you don’t want to.

“Rhysand.” You finally say, noting the High Lord of the Night Court is who is in front of you. “Tamlin will not be pleased that you are here.” He pulled his head back and let out a laugh as he moved away from you. “He never is.” He says, eyes bright. You can’t help the smile that comes as you tease, “It’s been quite some time, Rhysand. Have you been hiding from me?” Something flashes through his eyes at your words and before you can breathe he has his body pressed to yours again. “Oh, my darling. Did you miss me?” He murmurs as his lips trace your cheeks. You feel that heat rise through you again, your hands fisting his top. “Why are you back now?” you asked, looking up at him. His eyes show something you can’t read before he says, “I felt like paying my dear old friend a visit. It helps that he has such a delicious sister for me to see as well.” His hands tighten around you as your cheeks flush red.

You had always enjoyed Rhysand when he came. Usually he came to argue with Tamlin about something, but he always stopped and spoke with you. You two had developed a secret friendship over the years, one even Lucien didn’t know about. You and Rhysand had much more in common than you thought. After every visit, Tamlin would find you to rant about how terrible he was and to always stay away from him. You knew there was more history between them than what you were told. Unfortunately, no one would tell you what it was. So you quietly spoke with Rhysand, enjoying when you saw him. It had been quite some time since he had graced the Spring Court. You were curious as to why he came now. It certainly wasn’t to meet with your brother, not tonight. Why else would he be here?

“Why now? I’ve called for you many times, Rhys. I began to think you abandoned me.” You spoke the words lightly, but the hurt shown in your eyes. He ducked his head almost in shame, eyes blazing as he looked at you. “I did not mean to, darling. It is not so easy for me to show up here without good reason. Things have been rather peaceful in recent years, and I couldn’t figure a way to sneak here without creating problems. I never abandoned you though. I have always kept watch.” There’s a smile hinting at his lips as your mind races to figure out what he meant. You gasp and shove him away from you. “You! You dirty pig! You’ve been able to spy on me with that?!” You try not to yell, hand going to the small eye on your hip. You and Rhys had made a deal long ago, early in your friendship, to always trust the other. You had been desperate for a friend then, and you knew it was a bad idea to get mixed up with him.

Rhys chuckled, hands up in surrender. “Not always! Just when I can feel that you are extra upset. It’s how I know he wasn’t going to let you come tonight. I felt the fight you had, and your anguish. I had to make sure you were okay.” You felt your heart grow soft at his words. You held your arms out, beckoning him to come back to you. He gladly wrapped himself back around you, holding you tight. “I missed you Rhys.” You whispered into his chest, squeezing him tighter. “And I missed you, darling girl.” You rose your head to look at him, enjoying the way the moonlight washed over his face. You knew he was handsome, but tonight he was even more so. His hands lightly traced up your back and a shiver went through your body. You noticed the way his eyes darkened, the way the air around you changed.

“I know he’s trying to marry you off.” Rhys spoke suddenly, the coldness in his words shocking you. You nodded once, saying “I told him I might as well marry Lucien. That I don’t want anyone he has chosen for me.” He laughed at that, “I assume he did not take that one well.” You shook your head, a smile on your lips. “No. He sent Lucien away on border patrol for a week, seemingly scared I would jump his bones and force Tamlin to marry us.” You laughed as you spoke, but Rhysands fingers dug into your skin at your words. “And would you have?” He asked, face serious. You let out a coy smile before answering, “Maybe.”

In a split second you were pressed back against the tree you were leaning on earlier, with his hands on either side of your head. You looked up at him with surprise as you noted the anger on his face. “Rhys?” You asked cautiously, a hand rising to cup his face. He turned into your touch, kissing your palm. “I know I shouldn’t be angry.” He whispers into your skin. His words send a flash of lightning through you. You weren’t sure what was wrong with you. All you knew was you wanted him.

No, you needed him.

Without thinking you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his. You instantly regretted what you had done as embarrassment flowed through you, moving to pull away. His hand came up behind your head and pushed you right back to him. His kiss was hard, needy. You fell back against the tee and moaned into this touch, hearing him curse against your mouth. His lips disappeared from yours and began traveling down your neck. He bit an especially sensitive spot and you gasped out his name. One hand pinned your waist to the tree behind you as the other ran down your leg. He began bunching your skirts up, desperate to feel your skin. His hand ran up your thigh, gripping tightly once he reached the top. You pulled his mouth back to yours, pressing your body into his. He ground his hips down onto yours, your body arched into his. A deep moan fell from you at that action, need coursing through your veins. You let out a soft whine when Rhys pulled away from you, leaving you suddenly cold.

“If we don’t stop now, I don’t think I will be able to.” He said, hands running through his hair. Your mind was a jumble of thoughts, all centering around Rhys and the way you needed him to fuck you right now. You took a step closer, placing a hand on his chest. “I don’t want you to stop,” you said, pulling him back down to you. The kiss was different this time, more intense, more hurried. He pulled your skirts up again without hesitation, his fingers finding you immediately. You fell back onto your tree once more, submitting to Rhysands touch. You made a noise of disapproval as he pulled his lips from yours again, before he dropped to his knees in front of you. He looked up at you wickedly, waiting for your permission to continue. You weren’t even done nodding before he tore your underwear and attached his lips to you. You nearly screamed at the sensation, head falling back in bliss. Rhys grabbed one leg and threw it over his shoulder, his hand gripping the opposite thigh hard enough to bruise. You let your hands thread through his hair, his name falling from your lips like a prayer as he worked you. “Go on, sweet thing. Let go for me.” He spoke against you, sliding a finger into you as well. You screamed loud enough for anyone to hear as your orgasm washed over you, more powerful than any you had ever felt. Rhys devoured you through it, prolonging the feeling until you were shaking from overstimulation. He carefully set your leg down and rose to look at you. The desire on his face, with his lips wet from you, was enough to have you ready for him again. You pulled him down to kiss you again, his hands traveling up your skin.

“I need you Rhys. Please,” you begged against his mouth, moving your hand to undo the ties on his pants. He groaned into your mouth as you pulled him out, pumping him in your hand. Your confidence faltered for a moment at the size of him, unsure if he would even fit. You had taken males before, unknown to your brother, but none had been like this. Rhys noticed your hesitation, pulling away to look at you. “We don’t have to continue if you don’t want to, sweet darling.” He spoke, brushing your hair out of your face. You responded by pumping him in your hand again, relishing in the way his eyes rolled back in pleasure. He pushed you back, sliding himself through your wet folds. You whimpered at the feeling, ready to feel him inside you. You felt his tip nudge at you before he pushed the first inch in. You arched into him as the pleasure washed over you. “More Rhys, more,” you moaned out, pulling him closer. Every inch of him brought you more and more pleasure, until you were certain you could finish just like this. Once he bottomed out in you he gasped out your name, bringing your lips to his once more.

He began to thrust softly into you, your nails digging into his back. He sped up, pushing harder and harder until you screamed his name against his mouth. He pulled his lips from yours, sucking a path down you neck. Your leg rose to hook over his hip, needing to feel him as deep as possible. One of his hands slid down you again, circling you with his fingers. You pushed harder into his touch, seconds away from finishing again. “I want to finish with you Rhys,” you mumbled out, gripping his back tighter. He let out a growl at your words and nipped your neck, thrusting unforgivingly into you. “Come with me,” he whispered into your ear, biting down on your earlobe. You let out a shout as the pleasure ripped through you, barely noticing the tatters of his shirt as you tore through it. Rhys came with a loud growl, burying himself into you.

It was then that you felt it. That snap. That feeling you had been longing for your whole life. Your eyes widened as you realized what just happened, looking to Rhys to see if he felt it too. He looked at you, questioning the look in your eyes. He slowly pulled out, helping you fix your dress and fixing himself. You began to feel an ache in your chest, realizing he didn’t feel the snap with you.

Until he took your hands in his and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. “It snapped for me long ago,” he whispered, voice raw. Your eyes widened even more, processing this new information. Rhys was your mate. Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court. Rhysand, your brothers enemy. Rhysand, Rhysand, Rhysand.

Tamlin was going to kill you both.

***

I’m very tempted to write a part 2 to this!! Please let me know if that is something you would enjoy. My inbox is open for any requests or comments <3

#acotar #acotar x reader #rhysand x reader #rhys x reader #lucien x reader #rhysand #lucien vanserra #tamlin #rhysand smut #the high lords

[iconicstoner]

i found you

gn!reader x spencer reid (fluff)

words: 1778

summary: You and Spencer have been friends for years, so it only makes sense you went to a local St. Patrick’s Day parade together. However, when he loses you at the parade he realizes how important it is that you know how much he loves you, so of course he confesses.

Spencer pushed through the crowd, fighting to find you. You had been his best friend for years. You’d helped him through the fear his work caused, and you were even there during his addiction. He thought of you as his whole world. You reminded him of why it was worth it to deal with the horrors he saw every day. You were his light in the darkness, and now you were lost in a giant crowd of people. It was packed, and there had to be thousands of people around. It was one of the biggest St. Patrick’s Day celebrations in the entire country. 

Spencer’s mind started to race with different ideas. You could’ve been kidnapped, or even killed. He knew the statistics on that, but he tried not to think about them for his own sanity. His mind flashed with different victims he’d seen over the years. You could be in the same situation as any of them right now, but he prayed you weren’t. 

He called out your name as loud as he could, trying to make himself see above the crowd, but the only response he got was a disapproving side eye from a mother carrying her child. He felt embarrassed but knew he couldn’t stop till he found you. His heart was beating in his ears, and his breathing was shallow. He knew this could turn into a panic attack at any second, and as much as he wanted to break down he knew it wouldn’t help him find you. 

He quickly turned around, thinking he heard your voice, but instead found a visibly drunk man. 

“Sorry about that,” the man said as he stumbled, spilling beer all over Spencer’s shirt. The beer smelled awful, and now his shirt was uncomfortably sticky, but the thought of finding you kept him together.

“It’s fine,” Spencer responded before quickly darting off, still set on finding you unharmed. He tried to clear out the horrific images in his mind, but there was little he could do. He rushed back to where he’d last seen you, deciding maybe you hadn’t gone that far after all. The sun was starting to set, and it put him on edge. When it went dark it’d be so much harder to find you. 

He regretted walking away from you earlier. He told you that he had to go to the bathroom, but he actually wanted to surprise you with a drink he noticed you eyeing at one of the drink carts. He had to wait in an excruciatingly long line, but he thought it would be worth it because it meant getting to see your beautiful smile. When he returned to where you were supposed to be waiting for him you were already gone. Looking back, it was stupid, but in the moment he didn’t think twice. He was an intelligent and trained FBI agent who was carrying a gun, so he felt safe, but he didn’t think twice about the fact you didn’t have any experience with dangerous criminals. 

He pushed through people, standing once again in front of the drink cart. He looked around, but there was no one there. He considered calling Garcia. Maybe she’d be able to hack into the security footage and use facial recognition software to see where you went and who you were with, but Spencer knew that would take too much time. Besides, it would be way too embarrassing to admit he was freaking out so much over losing you for 20 minutes. Garcia knew all about his feelings for you, and he wasn’t sure he could handle her teasing at a time like this.

Spencer noticed the street lamps starting to flicker on. They were the only light left now that the sun had set. As embarrassing as it was, he decided maybe it actually would be a good idea to call the BAU. Or Garcia at least. 

He noticed the diner sitting on the road’s edge in front of him and decided to wait there while he called. Running around in a packed crowd clearly wouldn’t help him find you, and it definitely wasn’t making him feel better. 

The diner had a muted brown roof with big white letters that spelled out Tony’s Place. It hardly had walls at all, as most of the sides were large glass windows. There was a quaint wooden bench outside of it facing the street. It was unsuspecting and matched every other building on the street.

Spencer Walked through the door, hearing a bell ring as he did. The place was crowded, but much less crowded than the parade was. The interior looked something straight out of the ’50s. There were black and white checkered tiles, booths with red leather seats, and a bar where people sat sipping their drinks. He could smell french fries and apple pie coming from the kitchen. 

“How can I help ya, sugar?” An older waitress with dirty blonde curls asked him. She looked tired, and Spencer noticed the pack of cigarettes in her apron. Her name tag read Darlene. 

“I just need a place to sit,” he told her nervously. She smiled at him with an understanding, motherly smile. 

“Sounds great,” she told him as she ushered him over to a booth. It was next to a giant window that faced the parade. He looked around, but there was no one who even looked like you. “Can I get you anything to drink?” She asked sympathetically. It was obvious to anyone who saw him that he was upset. 

“Coffee please,” he responded quickly. She nodded and quickly left to get him a cup. He fished his phone out of his pocket and let out a sigh. He anxiously dialed Garcia’s number, almost hitting the wrong keys in a rush.

“Hello, Mighty Professor. It’s not like you to call me like this when you’re not at work,” she said joyfully. Spencer wasn’t sure how to respond. He almost felt bad telling her what was wrong. She loved you too. “What can I help you with, sweetie?” She asked again. Spencer was usually eager to ask questions and get her help, but now he wasn’t saying anything at all. 

“Well, it’s just-“ he stopped himself, not sure how to even explain it. His leg was anxiously bouncing, and every second that passed felt like an hour. Before he got the chance to explain it all to Garcia the waitress had come back with his cup of coffee. He could see the steam emitting from it and he thanked her. 

“Just doin’ my job baby,” she told him in a reassuring voice. He could tell she was used to dealing with people who were upset, and just this once he didn’t mind being treated like a kid. 

“Who’s that?” Garcia questioned from the phone.

“It’s no one, just a waitress,” he responded. “That’s not the point. I need your help, Garcia.” Even from over the phone, Garcia could tell Spencer was anxiously biting his lip.

“What’s up?” She asked.

“I need help finding-” Spencer quickly cut himself off. Across the diner he noticed you. Even though your back was to him, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind it was you. He knew everything about you like the back of his hand. It was your hair, your clothes, your body. 

“Nevermind. Thanks, Garcia. Gotta go,” he told her before quickly hanging up. He stood up and quickly ran across the diner to you. He didn’t even realize it, but he was starting to cry. “Thank God it’s you,” he said. You quickly turned around and he wrapped his arms around you.

“Spencer, what’s wrong?” You asked, feeling one of his hands around your waist and the other on the back of your head. He held onto you tightly, not ready to ever let you go. 

“I couldn’t find you,” he breathed out. “I thought you were gone forever.”

“Spencer, I’d never leave you,” you respond. He nods and you look at him to see the tears running down his face. 

“I just couldn’t stop thinking about all the abduction cases I’ve seen before. All those people who died. I wasn’t ready to lose you too,” he tells you. You’ve never seen him so upset before. Working at the BAU wasn’t easy, and he was finally letting it show. You hold onto him, trying to let him know that you’re safe now. You hear his heartbeat, and it’s pounding quickly. His hands are shaky as they hold you, and his breathing is still shallow. 

“I found you,” he whispers in your ear. He pulls away from you just enough to kiss you. He keeps one hand on your waist and moves the other to your jaw, holding onto it as he kisses you passionately. He slowly pulls away, wanting to be as close to you as possible. 

“Take it outside!” An older man sitting at the bar playfully exclaimed, causing Spencer’s face to flush. He grabbed onto your hand, leaving a twenty on the table for Darlene, and led you outside to the wooden bench in front of the diner. The two of you sat down together, the soft glow from the street lamp illuminating him. A few stars could be seen shining brightly above you. There was a chilly breeze, but with how close Spencer was keeping you the two of you were plenty warm. He wasn’t crying anymore. He just sat next to you, admiring your presence. 

“I need to tell you something,” he says, gently squeezing your hand.

“What’s up?” you ask. 

“When I lost you, I felt sick to my stomach. I couldn’t stop thinking about all the bad things I’ve seen. I didn’t know what I’d ever do without you, and because of that, I don’t ever wanna be without you again. I know dating can be really complicated when you’re in the BAU. Plenty of relationships fail. But I love you so much, and I really think if you gave me a chance this might work, even if it’s statistically unli-” You interrupt him, softly kissing his lips. He leans into the kiss, and you can smell the aroma of coffee and leather that lingers on him. Reluctantly, you both pull away, but only by a few centimeters. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your skin, “did you do that because I was rambling again?”

“I did that because I love you too,” you whisper back. 

“You have no idea how happy I am to hear that,” he mumbles before kissing you again.

He didn’t let go of your hand the entire time. He hoped he’d never have to.

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

a/n: Special St. Patrick's Day post lol! Also, I know I’ve been getting a lot of Twilight requests- and I’m so happy about it!! (and I am working on them)- but I wanted to take a break to write a fun Spencer Reid oneshot bc I love him sm lol

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #bau team #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #penelope garcia

[bloodycassian]

Striking a Deal - Reader x Azriel

Reader is a demon, capable of granting information in exchange for things she wants. When Azriel summons her, she may be more than he can handle. 

Warnings - ‘forced’ sex due to circumstance, bondage, unbreakable ties, choking, teasing, orgasm denial, HFO/hands free orgasm, cock milking, squirting, cum paly, g-spot and clitoral stim, fingering, mention of knot (no knotting), hand job, wing play, mention of blood ingestion (not super sexual, not in scene),

As always, skip to ++++++++++ for just the nasty stuff. <3

NSFW 18+ MDNI

Azriel was desperate. Fully, truly desperate for stooping this low. 

Still, he chanted on, plowing through verse after verse of the summoner’s spell.

He had little regret over what he’d done. Scaring away fifteen priestesses hadn’t been hard, but finding the right tome had been. He should have asked for the book first. 

“Of blood, and by this flame I summon you.” He finished, slicing a cut into his wrist deep enough to coat the pile of bones and herbs he’d gathered for this ritual. 

And there was silence. He glanced around, taking in the painted walls of the temple and carved archways. The moon was little more than a sliver, the thing he’d summoned could be anywhere. He scented his own fear and clamped down on it, forcing his mind to ease. 

To fear would be fatal, now. 

“I expected someone more powerful than a shadowsinger.” Her voice was like honey dripping into his ears. His neck went stiff, as if a puppeteer was controlling him. His shadows lashed out into the darkness, quickly finding the owner of the voice and wrapping them - no.. her - in bindings. 

Very much her. Gorgeous proportions and the hair, his mind went foggy with lust. He saw her now that his shadows had pinpointed her, and was wholly overwhelmed with the perfection of her. Something deep inside him rumbled with warning, though. 

This was no witch or sorcerer, not even a Queen. This was something far more powerful and deadly, and he struggled to remember that.

“I may be more powerful than you know.” He said, attempting to put on the saam air of seduction the female radiated. 

She walked through his shadows as if they weren’t even there, and again his mind quaked with unfamiliar fear. 

“What is it such a powerful shadowsinger needs then?” She hummed, bending beside him and plucking a bone from the floor. She stuck out her tongue and lapped at the length of it, staring at Azriel the whole time. His cock surged, and he cleared his throat. 

“I seek a weapon. Something to end a God.” Azriel began, gauging her unimpressed reaction. 

“And?” She prompted, taking another lick of his blood. Goosebumps broke out along his flesh.

“Would you be able to help with something like that?” He his his irritation behind an easy smile, watching her tongue. At least her beauty made up for such informality. 

“I suppose. It depends how much the asker is willing to pay for such a thing.” 

“I have gold.” He supplied, not convince his lowest bid would be enough. Especially not with a demon this peculiar. 

“I do too.” She smiled, and waved a hand. His vision went blurry for a moment, then all around him appeared as if he were in a vault of gold marks, gold pillars, stretching from the floor going up and up into the blackened sky. A hot breath fell on his neck, and when he whipped around, the golden eye of a massive beast greeted him. 

He jumped backwards, knocking his ritual items over, sending them clattering through the temple. He whirled back around, facing the demon he’d brought here. She shrugged, casting the bone aside and approaching him. 

“Show me what you’re really willing to lose, Shadowsinger.” She walked two fingers up his abdomen, to his chest and rested them under his jaw, forcing him to look up. “A weapon that powerful is going to cost more than anything I sense you carry.” 

“What do you want?” He hissed, hating how much her touch turned him on. Her nails scratched down his neck, and it was like a branding iron on his skin. Chills raced along his arms. 

She sighed, admiring the way his throat bobbed, the way the tendons in his neck stuck out when he was so tense. “I’ve been so… lonely, stuck in the Pit by myself.” She pouted, making his cock ache with the suggestion of what she was proposing. “No one summons us anymore. All you fae and mortals trust so much in your common magics and healers. No one is desperate enough to call upon us anymore.” 

He took a steadying breath, his heart hammering in hsi chest. She leaned in, so close to his ear he could feel her hot breath against it. “I want you… to summon me. To bring me back to this planet and allow me to live. Even for the short while before they pull me back. Cast this same ritual, and bring me back.” She took his hand and brought it to her breast, squeezing his fingers tight around it. A groan fell from him, and before he could even think about the implications of striking such a deal, his mouth was on hers. 

The deal had been struck.

++++++++++++++++++++++

The searing burn of his tongue upon yours was so deliciously delightful, so full of need and challenge that you could hardly feel the brand of the deal writing itself on your neck. 

The kiss had sealed the bond, the rest of this would be just for fun. 

“Your weapon-” You say between moans, pulling his tunic off and freeing his muscled body. “Will be found in the deepest lake on the highest peak-” 

He rips your clothes off, tearing and urgent with need. “I didn’t summon you for a riddle.” He growls, dipping his head to catch a nipple between his teeth. A sharp gasp escapes you, and you squeeze his cock in your hand. 

“You didn’t summon me as your whore, either.” You correct, yanking him back by the hair. He bares his teeth, and his shadows wrap around your ankles, thick and cool against your skin. 

“You certainly act like that’s what you’re here for.” He grunts, and those shadows snake farther up your exposed legs until they’re massaging into your thighs. A ripple of want shoots through you at their closeness to your waiting cunt. 

You’re too distracted by his hands and shadows on you to really give him a comeback. Truthfully, his filthy mouth could be saying anything at this moment and you wouldn’t care, not as long as he was touching you. It’d been a century since you’d seen anything other than the black pit of your home, and with such a gorgeous male before you, how could one resist? Your blood had been thrumming with need the second you’d crawled out of your home.

He pulls you forward, onto one of the short steps that leads to the recessed center of the room. “Now, what do I have to do to get you to bring me this weapon?” He rasps against your skin, biting your shoulder as he sat you down on the step. He pulls away, only to start lapping down your body until he is between your thighs, joining his shadows there. 

“You want another deal, Shadowsinger?” You pant, leaning back on the step behind you and spreading your legs wide for him. He groans and the shadows ghost over your folds with teasing, almost-touches.

“Tell me.” He demands, and laps at you with a flattened tongue. “Such a pretty pussy.” He praises. 

Your legs snap together, squeezing his head. “I cannot retrieve it for you, but I can take you to where it is.” You promise, and the half - truth of it feels sour on your tongue. You could retrieve it, but it’d take much more time than you had after you were released from the Pit. 

He hums, seemingly content with the answer as he laps at you. His shadows join, dipping into your pussy and writhing there, fucking you softly but with ferocity. Your breaths are coming in shallow, frantic spurts as you focus on not coming on his face. 

You want his cock for that. 

A lick of your power lashes out, breaking his shadows away and freezing him in place with a leash of your own making. Magic bound, he straightens at your command and the sight of his surprise sets you giggling. 

“You’re eager.” You critique. Sitting up, you take his cock in your hands and admire it, loosening your magic on him when you feel him relax and sigh at your touch. “Much too eager.” You observe the thick rivulets of pre-come dripping from his tip. You dip down and take a taste of him, humming at the sense of it. The salty, needy taste of him. 

You wrap your hand around him and give him a long, slow pump and he shudders. His cock is magnificent. You can barely touch your fingers together around him with his thickness, and the knot at the base of him is hardly formed. Was he one of the fae able to change his cock at will? A ripple of excitement rolls though you at the possibility of it. You stroke him again, and another drop of precome wets his tip and you tap the tip of your finger with it, trailing it over his shaft and up his abdomen until you reach his lips. He takes it eagerly still, enjoying the taste of himself it seems. 

You bind his hands to his sides, and ghost your fingers over his cock. Barely touching him, just as his shadows had teased you. He spits venom, cursing you with each delicate touch. You stroke him hard and through occasionally, but watching him be so needy for the touch is such a turn-on.

Your nails trail from his balls and up his shaft, then you circle the tip of him gently with the pad of your finger, swirling his lubrication there. He’s watching you the entire time, his brows pulled together and his lips a deep shade of red that matches the tip of his cock.

“I am glad that you were the one who’s summoned me.” You hum, getting up and going behind him. Even with him on his knees, he still reaches the height of your breast. He’s huge and lithe in his build, even his wings are a powerful kind. You touch them gently, humming when he hisses curses under his breath. 

That gets your attention.

“Sensitive. Illyrian wings are different than the wings of other winged species, aren’t they?” You question, raking your nails over the arches of them. He cries out, lurching forward but your magic catches him, hauling him back up and in place before he can fold onto the step. 

You kneel behind him, and wrap an arm around to take his cock into your hand again. He shudders and thrusts forward, into your grip. He’s needy and desperate and with you touching his wings he’s going to cum embarrassingly quickly. He hates how much he’s loving this, how the control you have over him is making him so fucking desperate. 

He fucks into your hand, his precome wetting him enough that it heightens the experience further. Your hand is wet and hot and not nearly as good as your mouth had been but it’s better than the teasing touches you’d been giving him earlier, and he’s grateful. His need is rising and his muscles are working, his balls going tight with the need of release. 

Then, you pull away. Your hand is gone and he’s left fucking the air like an animal, and he’s shuddering. “You fucking- bitch..” He grinds out, his abdomen flexing with how close he’d been. His balls tighten and relax, his cock twitching and slapping against his stomach. 

You stand and go back to be in front of him, watching him twitch and writhe uncomfortably. His cock is surging and desperately seeking more stimulation, The angry redness of the tip a delicious strawberry color that makes you salivate. 

You go back to tracing over him, and you can feel his power, his every fiber struggling against your magic. He’s close, so on the edge that you’re sure he’ll break with only a few more strokes. Good. You want him to. You want him to remember the only female who’d bested him at his own desires. You want him to fuck you endlessly, if that is the only time you have on this planet.

His balls are tight and heavy, and when you trace a finger along his ridge he shudders, leaning forward again. You allow it this time, catching his lips with yours and letting your tongue flick over his own. He groans into your mouth and snaps his hips forward when you make a loose fist over his cock. 

His needy cries echo across the temple like a song. 

You tighten your hand, allowing him to fuck into it for a few more strokes before pulling away again. But it’s too late. You pull back and watch as he thrusts into the air, his cock pulsing with his orgasm. He’s snarling and cursing as the pleasure takes him in a violent way. You watch in supreme pleasure as he gets what he finally wants. His cum shoots out and lands on your legs, your belly. The stone floor and steps. His spend is hot and dribbles from his tip when you release his bindings. 

He wavers, and his shadows return slowly. His muscles flex as he leans forward, clearly exhausted with the experience. 

His hands shake when he leans over you, catching your chin in his hand. “You are a horrible little thing.” He curses, then forces his tongue into your mouth.

He forces you back, so you’re arched against the steps, and the fingers of his other hand go between your folds, slickening them before plunging in. The most exquisite burn fills you, and is then eased by his curling fingers. He draws out your wetness, coating your clit with it and rubbing firm circles for a moment before pushing deep back inside of you. 

He uses his entire forearm and wrist while he does it, truly fucking you with his hand. His fingers are thick and they do satiate a part of your own need, but it’s nothing compared to what his cock would be. 

But this part of the game is up to him. You’d had your fun, and now it was his turn. 

His tongue is aggressive in your mouth, fighting your own and showing you exactly what he’d been doing against your pussy before. He pulls away, leaving drool on your chin. His shadows go to your wrists, and you allow them to lock you in place, legs spread wide and wrists bound to the floor. 

This is his turn. If you want him to stay true to his bargain not just for bargaining sake, you’ll let him have his turn. You could use him, sure, - force him in place and take him as you wanted - but where was the fun in that? 

“Azriel-” You pant, and he takes your throat in a hand. Not hard, not dangerous, but certainly a silent command. 

He’s working you deep and swiping against your g-spot with every stroke, and if he doesn’t stop you’re not sure if you’ll be able to either. 

“Making me cum without even letting me really touch you first?” He scolds, punctuating it with his thumb stroking over your clit. Your yes clamp shut, your thighs desperately trying to do the same but his shadows - as weak as they are - won’t allow you to. You moan, the pressure of his hand against your throat a devious thing. 

Your body is betraying you, reaching your high peaks so quickly while he rubs your clit. Your walls squeeze him, wanting more. Needing more than just two fingers. But his thumb is relentless and consistent, you try to fight the building orgasm but it only makes your g-spot more sensitive. 

“Azriel please-” You whine, panting and squirming as much as you can under him. His hand leaves your throat and instead goes to the back of your head, knotting in your hair there. He forces you to watch his hands word, how spread you are for him, the way your wetness shines against this dark skin. He’s humming something in your ear but you can barely hear it over the mounting pleasure, the cascade of twitching need that writhes inside you, begging to be released. A dam too overflowed, your control slips, and slips.

 You push against the heat, the pressure of the orgasm but again, he brushes into that spot inside you and your clit again, and you’re shaking - coming apart in his grasp. Wetness coats him, your own juices flowing out of you in an intense way, splattering against the floor and coating his arm. The wet sounds of his fingers still working you echo against the high ceilings and stone walls. 

You’re shaking, shuddering and breathing hard when he gently removes his fingers then laps at them. 

The sight nearly sends you into another orgasm. 

“Safe to say you’ll be summoned often, little demon.” He says, offering you a finger wet with your own juices. 

You take it greedily, sucking on his finger the same way you wanted to suck his cock.

“Next time I expect you to last longer.” You critique, earning a laugh from him. 

“If I make that promise now, does that mean we get to fuck again and seal that bond?”

#azriel #azriel x reader #reader x azriel #acotar fic #acotar smut #azriel shadowsinger #shadowsinger #azriel fic

[i9messi]

How you get the girl — Pablo Gavi

Pablo comes to your house in the middle of the storm to tell you he wants you back and he still loves you.

Word count — 1,8k

a/n: what can I say, taylor inspires me a lot. (ANGSTY but with a happy ending!)

gavi's masterlist

Ever since you and Pablo broke up six months ago, every time he told someone you weren’t together anymore, people asked him the same question. «Why did he let you go?» and the truth was that he couldn't understand how he had been stupid enough to let you go. You were the girl he had fallen in love with and yet, he had been stupid enough to lose you.

He thought a lot about you, every night he went to bed wanting to text you and every morning he woke up thinking it was a good option to call you. He had never done it before, Gavi had never dared to approach you, fearing that you wouldn't want him anymore.

"Pablo, what are you doing here? It’s raining. Are you insane?"

He shook his head, his eyes meeting yours. You were so pretty, you’ve always been pretty to his eyes.

"I needed to talk to you."

"Couldn’t you wait until the rain stopped? Oh, Pablo, you’re going to get sick. Come, come in."

Gavi needed to talk to you and he knew that outside, with the rain falling so hard, it was impossible. He preferred the privacy of your home so you both could have a real conversation. He was led by you to the living room and you picked up some towels.

"Strip. You’re gonna catch a cold."

"What?"

"I will bring you clothes. I still have some of your things in my room."

There were countless times your ex-boyfriend had been to your house. You remembered the nights you would just hug, talking about everything that was going through your heads. Gavi was a person who didn’t get along with the pressure people put on him, he didn’t react well when things went wrong on the pitch. He would get stressed and the pressure wouldn’t help. He just loved coming to your house and disconnecting from the real world, he loved to hear you talk because your voice calmed him like nothing else.

When you came back, Pablo was still standing there, all wet and with the towels in his hands. His body was shaking from the cold, even though the heat was on. You passed him the clothes you had on him, a pair of pants and a t-shirt. They both still smelled like him.

"Do you want me to start you a shower or a bath?"

"No, it’s fine. Really."

"Okay, then I’ll go make something hot to drink."

You went to the kitchen without waiting for his answer, simply wanting to leave there for a moment. You weren’t ready to see Pablo after months of missing him like never before. It was painful to have him so close and at the same time so far away. He had hurt you, grabbed your heart and broken it into thousands of pieces, he never dared to apologize. Gavi never called you, he never texted you. He had moved on with his life, while you kept the memories of the relationship.

What was he doing there? The question didn't leave you alone. Outside the weather was the worst, it rained like never before, it was actually a thunderstorm, but Gavi had appeared to knock on your door.

Taking a breath, you finished preparing the hot drink and went to the living room, where you met your ex-boyfriend. Pablo was now dressed in dry clothes, although his hair was still soaked.

"I made you a mug of tea."

"I still love you."

The statement took you by surprise. Your shaking hands left tea on the table, while you stood there. The brunette kept looking at you. He spoke again, just because he thought you didn't hear him.

"I still love you."

"Pablo, don’t do this to me."

"What? Tell you how I feel? I never stopped loving you at all."

You shook your head. You were shocked by what he was telling you, you couldn’t just accept it like everything was fine. It wasn't. He had broken your heart with his hands.

"Did you try to call me at all, Pablo?"

"I was never brave enough to do it.”

"You’re a coward, that’s what you are. You broke my heart and never dared to apologize, or at least say you screwed things up. You come six months later to tell me you still love me? Is everything a joke to you?"

Gavi was embarrassed, he knew it probably wasn’t the best choice of words, but he really wanted to let you know how he felt. After everything that happened in the past, he believed you still would listen to him.

“I know It’s been a long six months and I was afraid of telling what I want— I practically lost my mind since I lost you, all because I left you without giving you any explanation. I shouldn’t have done that, I shouldn’t have left the one girl I’ve loved and will love all my life. I just know that I’ve ever missed anyone or anything as much as I missed you. I didn’t know until now that missing someone like that was possible."

"Pablo, it’s too late now."

You were crying, tears poured down your eyes and all your emotions struggled to find a place in your chest. Loving a person and at the same time making such a difficult decision was cruel.

“It's okay, but I'm not okay with the fact I lost you because I was stupid enough to not fight for you. I will accept that you no longer love me and I have ruined everything. But I couldn’t take it anymore, I needed to come here and tell you how I feel about you.”

You kept quiet for what seemed like an eternity, until you breathed and found his gaze once again.

"I still love you, Pablo. But you broke my heart and I can’t just— I can’t accept you breaking it again. I can’t tolerate someone who I love breaking my heart not just once, but twice."

"I will not. I will not break your heart again, I will pick up every piece I have broken."

You looked at him. He seemed honest.

"No, Pablo. I can’t do this anymore."

"I will wait as long as you need."

"For what? Do you think I’ll change my mind?"

Pablo didn’t answer, so you spoke again.

"I will bring you the things that belong to you. It’s over, for good."

You went to your room, where you still kept a box of all his belongings. Photos, his clothes and gifts that he had given you and certain things that you had borrowed, but had never given them back before. Having all those things in your room made you remember him and spending those months with his memory had been painful.

You came back with the box in your hands and leaned it on the table. Letting go of everything was a real goodbye, saying goodbye to the love you had for him. You didn’t really feel sure about anything you were doing, you still wanted him to fight. That he would tell you that he needed you, that he would fight to be by your side.

“Everything is here.”

"Okay, so I guess this is a goodbye."

Wasn’t he going to fight a little more?

Your ex-boyfriend got up from the couch and took the box, you walked him to the door quietly, but when he opened it, both saw that outside it rained torrentially. The weather had not improved and seemed to only get worse every minute. He stepped forward, until you stopped him, holding his arm.

"Pablo, don’t go."

He turned, his brown eyes holding your gaze. The same eyes that had looked at you at your best and worst moments. The ones that belonged to the person you loved the most.

"Wait until the rain stops."

"Okay."

You both returned to the living room, where you sat on the couch. Pablo left the box on the table and his hands approached the box to pull out a picture of you two. You saw him smile. It was a picture of when the team had won La Liga, Pablo was very happy that day. You had been there with his family to support him and when you saw your boyfriend, you couldn’t help running and hugging him. His family had captured the moment, where you were both on the floor, smiling like two idiots.

He spoke, "I miss this."

"Me too."

"Look at this." He smiled, pointed out another picture. It was a Polaroid.

You were both sitting on the couch, smiling for the camera. It seemed like forever ago, but it had only been a few months.

"Why did you never call? If you had called me..."

Your voice caught him by surprise, Gavi left the picture in the box. You could see that his hands were shaking a little and now it wasn’t because of the cold or the rain.

"Would you have listened to me? Would you have accepted that I loved you and ruined it because I didn’t know what I wanted?"

"Yes."

"Is it too late now? Is it too late to tell you that I love you and that I want you back?"

"It’s not too late, Pablo."

His eyes shone with longing and hope. It was the first time in that afternoon that you gave him signs of hope. That maybe, just maybe, you could give him a second chance.

You grabbed another one of the Polaroids and looked at it. Pablo and you were on the beach, the two of you smiling as you kissed each other. His hands held you by the waist, while you held him by the shoulders, giving him a hug.

You missed him, you loved him, and you needed to have him by your side. Being so close to him and remembering everything that had once been put things in perspective.

"Please let me love you right this time, let me love you as you deserve to be loved from the start."

"Won’t you break my heart?"

"I swear to you that I won't, I will love you this time. I will prove to you that it is worth giving me a second chance. I will not let you down."

You cried, Pablo was seconds away from doing it too. You approached him and allowed him to give you a hug and hold you in his arms. Both of you remained silent for a long time.

"I don’t deserve you, mi amor." he said.

"I am the only one who can decide if someone deserves me, and I can say that you are that someone who does."

"I love you."

"I love you too, Pablo."

Pablo would work hard every day to make things right and let you know how much he loved you.

#pablo gavi one shot #pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi blurb #pablo gavi imagine #pablo gavi #gavi x reader #gavi imagine #gavi #barcelona fc #football players

[repulsiveliquidation]

“I don’t need you.”

“You don’t, but we do.”

Leah Williamson x Georgia Stanway x Reader

2.8k, I went overboard lol but this was fun to write. Enjoy!

Warnings: mentions of blood and knives. Euros 2022 Final where you’re hurt and the two of them struggle to keep you alive. It gets dark so read at your own risk!

Lionesses v. Germany, Euro 2022 Final. The changing room is tense, all the girls quiet and getting into game mode. You’re in your cubby, listening to a playlist Georgia insisted would get you into the right headspace before a game. Leah sits across from you, leg bouncing and face in a deep frown. Georgia is messing about with Alessia, giggling about some video they saw on Instagram. Everyone has their own way of getting into their headspaces and you find yourself making eye contact with the best captain in the world. Your headphones come off and you walk up to her, eyes softening when you see the fear in her eyes that she so desperately tries to get rid of.

“Come with me for a minute.” You tell her, reaching for her arm.

“I can’t, the game starts in 20 minutes!” Leah loudly whispers but follows you, being dragged into the showers for a little chat.

Georgia had been watching this interaction, excusing herself and following behind Leah quietly. She knew that Leah would be stressed and knew that only you could calm her. She was met with a Leah that was almost in tears and you cradling her head against your chest in the furthest shower stall there was. She sighed softly, heart breaking for Leah. She quietly came towards you, hands wrapping around you both with kisses to both of your foreheads.

“How we doing, Lee?” Georgia asks quietly, hand slowly moving lower to rub her back as you kissed Leah softly and pushed her baby hairs out of her face.

“I feel like my hearts gonna give out. Fuck I can’t catch my breath. What if we lose? What if we just fucking throw this game away and fuck up and it’s all my fault? I really don’t know what Sarina was thinking, picking me as captain. Someone else deserves this arm band, I might just-“

She was cut off by half the team in the showers looking at her and hearing her ramble. She was so in her head that she didn’t notice that Georgia had taken your spot and you went and called the rest of the girls still in the changing rooms into the shower to comfort their captain. Tears stained her cheeks and Georgia did her best to wipe them away. You were beside her again, holding her hand and rubbing her forearm.

“No one would have been able to bring us this far, Lee. Everyone on this team knows you’re the only one who deserves to wear that arm band.” Lucy spoke up, all the girls nodding in agreement.

“You’re the best part of all of us, Leah. Come on, we’ve got a trophy to win alright? Save some of those tears for after will ya? Don’t waste them!” Ella yelled, all the girls cheering their captain on as she finally had a smile on her face. It was the most beautiful smile both you and Georgia had ever seen and you wanted to keep it on her face for as long as possible.

Kick-off

The game was going alright. Germany had maintained good defense over the first half, nearly scoring but Mary Earps was a force to be reckoned with. The second half saw Tooney thrust the Lionesses into the lead with a beautiful chip over the keeper. Germany doubled down and equalized ten minutes after, the wear and tear of the tournament finally showing as the Lionesses let that one slip. Of course, it had to be Chloe Kelly who sent in the winning goal, doing a well-earned shirtless celebration as the final whistle was blown two minutes later. You all piled on top of her, celebrations rampant as the Wembley stadium erupted with the same shouts of celebrations.

You didn’t see him coming. You didn’t see the glint of a 4-inch blade drawn from his back pocket. Security too busy holding out other fans from spilling onto the pitch. He made a beeline for you, eyes dark and angry. He grabbed you by the shoulder and before you knew it, the knife stabbed into the right side of your abdomen. The sheer shock of it all sent you to the ground hunched over, hand pressed to your side as he pulled the knife out and disappeared into the crowd.

Leah notices first. Her eyes looked all over for you till she heard yells from the crowd of your name. A little puddle of red alarmed her as she suddenly saw you laying on the grass in a pool of your own blood.

“Y/N!” she yelled. Crouching down beside you, holding your wound. “FUCKING CALL THE MEDICS!” was what registered next. Georgia suddenly appeared beside you; hand pressed over Leah’s as they both tried to stop the bleeding. The crowd was so silent you could hear a straw drop.

“You’re going to be okay, darling. I need you to stay awake for me, sweet. Keep looking at me baby, shh shh it’s okay. We’re getting you help.”  Georgia spoke but she sounded so far away. Your eyes closed for a second before Leah slapped your face gently and your eyes opened again. She was crying, Georgia was too. “Stay with me, love. I love you so much,” was the last thing you heard before you couldn’t fight the urge to sleep any longer.  

That beeping noise was immensely irritating. Beep, beep, beep. Why were there so many tubes and shit tangled around me? It’s a little chilly in here, would it kill you to turn the heat on? I mean seriously, these tubes are a nightmare. Your thoughts are interrupted by a pair of blue eyes that would make anyone look twice. Leah’s eyes. You could pick them out in a crowd. So blue and so full of emotion you could read her like an open book. What was she doing here?

“Y/N/N, welcome back my darling.” Leah says, her voice still distant but clear.

“She’s awake? Don’t lie to me Leah, it’s not funny.” A second voice enters the room. It’s familiar too, accent thick with worry. Georgia’s dark brown eyes show themselves as they both hover over you. It’s nice, they’re doing you a favor by blocking out those pesky bright lights.

There are suddenly more people in the room than you’d like, poking and prodding at you. Hands that you do not want touching you thankfully do their work fast and efficiently. They switch out your oxygen mask for tubes and give you another pillow and your sad hospital lunch. They’ve left the room in 20 minutes, the two girls whom you want near you finally able to settle on either side of your bed away from prying eyes.

“You scared us half to death, Y/N.” Leah says with a sad voice you never want her to use again. Tears well up in Georgia’s eyes and they both hold your hand that is resting on your stomach.

“What happened? I-I can’t remember it that well, it’s all so hazy.” You say with a sore throat. Georgia is quick to give you some water, holding the straw for you to sip. You drink for a while, thankful for the cold liquid soothing your parched throat.

Leah’s eyes are uncertain, doubtful if she wants to make you relive yesterday morning. The stabbing had sent you into a deep sleep, thankfully only for a day. The ambulance that brought you here was at the pitch within two minutes of the call to 999. The two girls never left your side, Georgia following you into the ambulance as Leah was driven right behind the ambulance by Alessia and the rest of the girls. The win was forgotten, every single one of them only had you on their minds. Leah was a mess in the car, shaking like a leaf as Alessia sped after the ambulance. Tooney and Lucy held her, keeping her calm and reassuring her that you’d be alright. She believed them, telling herself over and over on the quick ride to the hospital that you’d be okay.

Georgia kept it together in the ambulance, one of the loves of her life holding on as much as she could. It was so hard to look at you in the stretcher, beautiful face pale and sickly. Her hands and shirt were covered in your blood, the paramedics managing to stuff your wound with gauze and the bleeding was controlled. She knew you’d be okay, her heart hoping Leah knew that too. She held onto your hand tightly, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as you fell in and out of consciousness. She recognized the white Mercedes weaving through traffic, hazards on and following the speeding ambulance. She told you that the girls were right behind us and that Leah was right there with them. She told you to hold on, she told you they didn’t know if they’d be able to live without you. You heard her, wanting so much to hold her and tell her that you loved her and that you would be okay but, everything hurt and you were too numb to move.

The doctors worked swiftly on your wounds, the knife barely missing your diaphragm and nicking your large intestine. You had lost too much blood and flatlined once, the doctors quick to pounce on your chest and resuscitate you. You were fighting, you knew people relied on you too much for you to give in. The five-hour surgery was a success and soon you were being wheeled into a private room as the doctors told the entire team occupying the waiting room the relieving news. There wasn’t a dry face anywhere, tears of joys pouring out at the news of you making it through the hardest part of this long journey. Leah and Georgia rushed to the room they now knew you were in, the rest of the girls hanging back knowing you only needed them.

The sight of all those annoying tubes broke their hearts. You looked so tired and used, fresh tears falling down their faces. Both girls silently moved to one side each, hands reaching for your cold ones as you slept peacefully. Soon the repetitive beeps of the machines lulled them to sleep, thankful that you were alive and here with them.

Lucy walked in with Alessia and Kiera. They smiled softly at the sight of the three of you sleeping. They gently woke Leah and Georgia, having brought food and a change of clothes for them. The doctors updated them on your condition, Kiera shooting a quick text to the group chat to ease their worries. Leah shot up, eyes red with fatigue and a stiff neck. She reached for Kiera, hugging her tight and thanking her for the food and clothes. Alessia gently helped Georgia wake up, guiding both of them to the table in your room to have some food. They found it hard to swallow anything but tried, knowing they needed to. Alessia and Lucy watched over you as they ate, Less softly brushing your hair out of your face as Lucy rubbed your forearm softly.

Kiera had to force the pair out of the room to change, dragging them away to the showers to force them to take one, their hands still slightly caked with your blood. They showered together, helping one another to clean up which made them feel better to have familiar hands do the work. They couldn’t do it for themselves but they’d be damned if they didn’t take care of the other before themselves. Leah held Georgia’s face in her hands and Georgia stared at her as her hands held her wrists, gaze holding the same tear-filled eyes she had despite standing under the rain shower. They kissed hard, kisses full of too many emotions for them to express any other way. “She’ll be okay, Gee. She’s a fighter, she is.” Leah said softly, willing her heart to believe her own words. Georgia could only nod, muttering a soft “I know,” before leaning in to kiss Leah again. They held each other under the warm water, Kiera having left to give them both a minute.

They walk back into your room looking fresher than before. Hair both damp and wearing clean clothes. They both needed that shower and intimate time with each other, it soothed worries that they did not know how to voice; so glad that their relationship was strong and deep enough that they did not need to use words to express their feelings. “Any changes?” Georgia asks, moving to the couch to snuggle with Alessia as Leah returned to your side. “No Gee, she’s still asleep.” Lucy told her, hand lacing into Leah’s as they both sat with you. Kiera walked in 10 minutes later with steaming cups of coffee and a few more Lionesses. They all hung around, speaking to each other and taking turns watching you. You made noises a few times, shifting in your deep drug-induced sleep which made Leah and Georgia’s hearts leap out of their chests as you merely went back under.

“I’m sorry I scared you girls.” You say after listening to Leah and Georgia fill you in. “I’m okay now, you two look exhausted.”

“Don’t be sorry darling, nothing compared to the day you’ve had, love. They say you can go home tomorrow now that you’re awake, hm?” Leah tells you, eyes happier than you’ve seen in the past two days. Georgia begins to open up your lunch, gently pushing the table over to you to eat. “The girls went over to the house and set up the guest room for us. That way you don’t need to worry about the stairs. Lotte’s got Marlo too so he isn’t a bother for a bit. I think Less and Tooney drove my car over too so we can go home tomorrow, how’s that sound?” Georgia tells you, grimacing at the sickly-looking hospital food.

“Better than that looks, that’s for sure.” You quip, a look of disgust on your face.

This makes Leah laugh, leaning forward and kissing your forehead then whispering “There’s my girl.”

//

The first week back home was unlike anything you have experienced before. The pain was unbearable and the nightmares were something you didn’t wish on your worst enemy. You couldn’t remember your attackers face, but the news refreshed your memory when he was caught just four days after the attack. Cameras from the stadium managed to pick him up leaving the stadium after and they found his car abandoned before he was arrested and convicted. The three of you felt relief wash over you, knowing he was gone from your lives for a long time. You naively thought the nightmares would stop since you were really just worrying about him finding you but they somehow got worse. Leah and Georgia could barely keep you asleep for an hour before you had another one, shaking and sweating with shouts of their names. It frustrated you and broke their hearts into a billion pieces each. Both of them wanted to take your pain away and it physically hurt them to see you suffering.

One night you had another nightmare but somehow didn’t stir the two girls sleeping on either side of you. You carefully crawled out of bed, grabbing a fluffy blanket around your shoulders and walking out to the living room. You sat on the couch, mind racing faster than you liked. You began to rock back and forth, knees pulled to your chest. You couldn’t catch your breath, head spinning as the memories flash before your eyes.

Strong arms suddenly wrap around you, another pair grabbing your crying face. “Y/N, look at me!” Leah said loudly. A wave of anger came over you, pushing both of them away and standing; hot, frustrated tears flowing down your cheeks. “Leave me alone! Why the fuck are you always meddling? I don’t need you to coddle me! I am capable of taking care of myself! I’m not fucking helpless like you think! Just because you don’t have pain or just because you can fucking sleep doesn’t mean you need to pretend to want to help me! I DON’T NEED YOU!” you yell, voice hoarse by the fourth statement you make. You’ve fallen to your knees, Georgia catching you just in time before you crumple to the ground. They both hold you, your frustration let out in huge waves. You cried for half an hour, hearing both of them repeating the same thought you had in the operating room that kept you fighting “You may think you don’t need us baby but we do. We were both a mess when you got hurt, I don’t think either of us would have survived if it wasn’t for you. You hold us together baby, we love you to bits for it, you’re our special girl.”

It made you cry more, their words sinking into your head. You were wrong, you did need them. You needed them more than ever and they weren’t going anywhere.

#woso soccer #woso imagine #lionesses #leahwilliamson x reader #georgia stanway x reader #leah williamson #georgia stanway #georgia stanway imagine #leah williamson imagine #euros2022 #angst #woso x reader #woso fanfics