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mountainsandmayhem · 1 month

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Tess's Treasures

18+, MDNI

Pairing: Tess x Joel x OC!Female x Female!Reader Summary: After perfecting the art of pickpocketing, you’re invited to join Tess’s Treasures. They’re infamous around the QZ and the initiation process is not what you expect, but exactly what you need. CW: If you’re not into foursomes/bi girl shit then you are in the wrong place. MFFF, bisexual females, fingering, masturbating, oral, dirty talk, praise kink, degradation kink. Unprotected p in v. Overstim and squirting. Please read this at your discretion. If this isn’t for you, that’s perfectly fine. AN: You can thank @mermaidgirl30 and @littlevenicebitch69 for being good little girls and filling my mind with depraved and twisted thoughts. This fic has truly been a labour of love, taking me almost 6 weeks to put together and edit. I'm not the least bit sorry about the word count, grab a snack, probably some electrolytes and maybe some spare batteries lol. Special shoutouts to @pedritoferg for their kind words when my imposter syndrome had the best of me. As always, dividers and support banners by @saradika-graphics. Friendly reminder that I'm phasing out my tag list, follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates for new fics.

Word Count: 9005

Becoming one of Tess’s Treasures seemed like a fallacy, a pipe dream. A fairytale life only reserved for the most vicious females that prowl the shady streets of the Boston QZ, and you aren’t a killer. A thief, yes; but not a killer. Truthfully, you weren’t even sure if the organization existed. Sure, Tess was a real person, but did she actually have a horde of women she called her Treasures?

She was infamous in the seedy underbelly of Boston, her and her henchman Joel. Granted, no one ever seemed to see Joel, unless he was about to kill you. And sometimes not even then, he was often hiding in the shadows, shadows darker than the demons that allegedly haunted him.

Outbreak day happened when you were just little, you don’t remember much of the journey from your old hometown to Boston. Everyone here is poor, doing what they can to get credits to buy basic human needs; making trades and swaps were what most people did. You, however, were much more clever. After discovering a book detailing the art of sleight of hand you started practicing, and now you can take anything, right in front of someone's eyes, without them noticing.

Or so you thought. After stealing a pistol from a FEDRA officer and replacing it with a banana, all while having a conversation with him in broad daylight, Tess approaches you.

“Come to my apartment next week. I wanna see if you have what it takes. Mum’s the word.” It’s a hushed whisper as she passes you, slipping a small card in your back pocket as she goes.

You follow the cards' instructions, arriving at the exact time, going up to the top floor and then doing two quick, sharp knocks on the worn out door.

“Enter,” Tess says from inside. The door creaks on your way in. It’s the hottest day Boston has seen in years, and even in your small sundress, the room is stifling hot. The air is thick with the smell of gunpowder and something else that you can’t quite put your finger on. There’s a fan oscillating in the corner, the paint chipped off the cage that protects the blades. As it blows warm air past you, you realize that the other smell is sex.

Tess is sitting on the couch to the right of the door, two mismatched wooden kitchen chairs in front of her. Straight ahead from the door is a small kitchen, and to the back left of the studio style apartment is the bed. Unmade, sheets tousled like someone just woke up, but based on the heady taste of the air in the room, the messy sheets are definitely from two people rolling around in them.

“Come sit,” Tess says firmly. You click the door shut behind you and head to the empty chair that’s waiting for you. The other chair is occupied by a small brunette woman. She has long slender limbs and doesn’t look like someone who would hang out with raiders, poachers and drug runners. Her hands are folded in her lap, ankles crossed under the chair. She doesn’t look over at you.

Tess leans forward, spreading her denim clad legs wide and resting her elbows on her knees. “Do you two know who I am?”

You both nod slowly. Up close, Tess is terrifying. She could have you killed with just a snap of her fingers, and Joel would do it however she wanted. From what you’ve heard, very slowly was her favourite way to have people eliminated from this earth. Quick deaths weren’t something she enjoyed when someone had fucked her over.

“Speak!” she commands. The brunette jumps and even though you’ve mastered the art of pushing your fears down and masking your emotions, a small butterfly flaps its wings behind your navel.

“Yes,” you say hoarsely as a meek ‘yes ma’am’ sounds beside you.

“Good. So then you know the….perks of being one of my Treasures,” Tess’s eyes twinkle as she says perks like she knows something you don’t. Like it’s more than the better living arrangements, food and medical care. Better than a sense of family and belonging.

She continues, “I’ve seen both of you at work. You,” her steel grey eyes are laser focused on yours, “With your quick hands, and you,” she adjusts her attention to the petite woman beside you, “With your ability to talk a man into almost anything. Before you can officially call yourself my Treasures, there’s a small matter of your…” Her voice trails, mouth ticking up on one side as she cocks her head and drags her eyes across both of your bodies.

“Well, your initiation.” She leans back onto the couch, knees falling wider. One arm drapes across the back, the worn cushion deflating slightly. The other rests on her thick, toned thigh. “I take care of my girls, but they need to show me that they can listen.”

The air seems thicker, and harder to fill your lungs with. Every move of her eyes is suggestive. Is she saying what you think she’s saying? You feel yourself begin to soak through your panties at the possibility of getting to fuck.

You aren’t left wondering for long as she points a long finger at the girl beside you, “Stand up, take off your clothes.”

“W-what?” the girl sputters.

“I said to stand up and take off your fucking clothes,” the words almost seem to burn as she repeats herself.

The girl stands so quickly that the chair falls, making a loud crash against the worn hardwood flooring. She stares at Tess for a moment, unsure if she should pick up the chair before she decides against it and pulls her blue cotton baby tee off, revealing a lacy white bra underneath.

“That’s it,” Tess groans. “Take off those little shorts next.”

With shaky hands she moves to the button fly, each drag of the metal on denim seems to echo in the silent room. Tess licks her lips as she slides her shorts down her legs and kicks them to the side. “Come here,” Tess says, her voice already husky and deep. The woman walks over to Tess, stopping between her spread legs. Tess’s strong fingers grip the girl's hips and she gasps. “Turn around,” she urges, dragging her fingers along her hips as the mystery girl spins.

“What’s your name?” Tess asks. The girl's bright green eyes land on you and you see her breath hitch in her slender throat. She’s petite, probably a few inches shorter than you and at least a foot shorter than Tess. You’ve always been attracted to both men and women and there’s no denying that this little stranger is absolutely stunning.

“Lydia,” she croaks.

“Are you nervous, Lydia?” Tess asks, cupping the globes of her ass in her hands, kneading and squeezing. Spreading them gently, exploring what she’s about to claim as hers.

She nods her head and lets out a shaky moan of agreement.

“Go pick up your chair and sit down, Lydia.” Tess swats her bum as she walks away and Lydia yelps quietly.

Tess’s eyes now come to you. Staring straight into your soul. I’m sure if she could, her eyes would incinerate your clothes right off of you. It’s intoxicating. You, unlike Lydia, are not nervous. Not in the slightest. If anything, Tess’s attention on you only makes you wetter. Your panties are practically soaked through already. “And you, my little thief. What’s your name?”

You say your name confidently and squeeze your thighs together, trying to ease some of the ache that Tess’s newfound attention is bringing to the apex of your thighs.

Tess whispers your name back at you and it sends a shiver down your spine. She continues, “Get on your hands and knees and crawl to me.”

Lydia swallows loudly beside you as you drop to the floor, crawling seductively to Tess, head held high. The worn hardwood planks creak under your weight. Even the floor is warm and sticky from the weather. You make it to her, sitting back on your heels like the good little girl you are. She leans forward and tugs on the hem of your dress and her syrupy voice says, “Arms up”. You lift your ass slightly and she slips your dress up and over your head. It was too hot for a bra today so you’re left in just a lacy pink thong.

“Mmmm, look at those pretty tits,” Tess hums, her fingers gliding along the plush soft skin of your breasts before ghosting over your nipples making the arm whoosh from your lungs. “You like that? Me touching your nipples.”

You breathe out a yes, eyes shutting as she pinches your pebbled buds roughly. “Oh god, yes.”

The old worn couch groans as Tess sits back, “Go take her bra and panties off.”

You climb to your feet and walk over to Lydia, holding out a hand and helping her stand. You move behind her and trail your fingers down the soft skin of her spinal column before popping the clasp of her bra. Lydia slides it off her body, arms crossing to block her now exposed breasts. Goosebumps rise across her from head to toe. You shush her and rub up and down her arms. Lydia relaxes under your touch and she drops her arms, Tess nods at you once, a silent encouragement to continue. You get down on your knees, hooking your index fingers in the waistband of her panties and sliding them down. Her round ass is in your face, she smells like fresh linen and rain. You fight the urge to kiss the sensitive little spot right where her ass crack starts.

“So fucking beautiful. Sit back down, Lydia.” Tess says and you want to cry out in protest. Her body is so enticing, soft and warm. She focuses back on you and says, “Stand in front of Lydia so she can take your panties off.”

You stand gracefully, biting your bottom lip as you maneuver yourself in front of Lydia. “Spread your legs,” you whisper, determined to help her so you can put on the best show for Tess. Lydia parts her knees and you twirl to face Tess, gathering your hair in one hand as Lydia slides your soaked panties down your legs. You kick them to the side and seductively drop your hair, smiling sweetly at Tess.

“Sit,” Tess barks. Lydia gasps behind you, but you like this; being told what to do. Commanded. Used. Tess continues after you sit, “I want you both to touch yourselves. Show me how you like it, but don’t come. You haven’t earned that yet. Understood?”

“Yes ma’am,” Lydia says, looking down at her hands. You nod eagerly, already sliding your ass to the edge of the chair and spreading your legs wide for her. Tess stares at your glistening core hungrily, leaning forward again to rest her muscular forearms on her knees. Her hair falls forward and frames her face. Her expression is hard, like you don’t want to disobey her in these moments. Brows are slightly knit together, lips in a thin line. She looks beautiful and dangerous, but as you bring your pointer and ring fingers to your entrance she softens a little, cocking her head to the side slightly.

Lydia keeps her legs closed, slipping a finger down her slit and rubbing slowly from side to side. She whimpers silently beside you, glancing at you nervously. Your fingers easily slip inside of your soft, dripping hole.

Tess’s eyes dance between the two of you. “Two very different girls,” she says to the room, neither of you stopping what you’re doing, both determined to become a part of her Treasures. “One of you seems shy, but I can work with that. Help you get out of your shell. And then there’s you,” her focus locks on you as she gets up with a grunt and saunters over to you. “You are a little whore, aren’t you? So eager to please.”

You feel yourself getting wetter at her attention and mean words. She pets your head lightly a few times, laughing quietly at how you lean into her touch, your eyes fluttering closed. Just as your lashes hit your cheeks she grabs a handful, pulls hard and gets within inches of your face. “You’re going to be a problem, aren’t ya?”

“No,” you gasp, your orgasm right on the precipice, so you slow your motions. “I’ll be good, Tess.”

“Did I say you could slow down?”

“I - I’m gonna come,” you whine.

“No, you’re not. You just told me you’d be good. And good girls don’t come until they’re told.” She releases your hair and you suck in a breath. Tess’s presence is palpable, she seems to take up all the space and air in the apartment by just being here. “Do NOT come, that’s an order.”

Just as the last sentence leaves her mouth the door opens and the apartment gets smaller, like your whole existence is being put in a vacuum sealer. The deep chuckle that comes from whoever just entered makes your scalp prickle, but you keep your focus on Tess.

“What’re we doin’ here, Tess?” The voice is deep, with a slight southern accent highlighting an occasional word. It can only belong to one man, the only man allowed near Tess’s Treasures. Joel Miller. He’s feared and revered in the Boston QZ. Runs the drug trade that keeps both FEDRA and the seedy underbelly running. You’ve never seen him before, but you’ve heard stories.

“Recruits,” Tess says, walking over to Lydia, crouching in front of her. “This one is shy. The other one - well, I might need your help with her.”

Your clit feels like it’s zapped with electricity at her threatening promises and you moan loudly, pausing your fingers that have been plunging in and out of you as per Tess’s requests. “See,” she says flatly, hands massaging Lydia’s plush tanned thighs.

You hear Joel’s heavy footsteps as he walks towards you, you can feel his heat and smell the tobacco coming off his skin. When he steps into your line of vision everything blurs. He’s beautiful and dangerous, but overall he’s the most incredible specimen you’ve ever seen. Your brain seems to go blank, like a hard reset, until all you see and smell and care about is Joel. You keep your eyes locked on his face, his brows crease, lips pressed tightly together. He plants his hands on his hips as his coffee and whiskey eyes slowly trail down your body. When he gets to your soaked and swollen pussy he licks his lips. “You gonna let her come?” He asks Tess but doesn’t take his eyes off you.

The fog clouding your brain clears and you glance towards Lydia and Tess. She has her legs spread and Tess is smiling encouragingly up at her, hand on top of hers, teaching her where to touch.

“She can come when she’s earned it. Lydia’s earned it though. Haven’t you?” She nods at Lydia as she squirms in the wooden kitchen chair. “That’s it, show us.”

Lydia speeds the up and down motion of her hand sloppily, you can hear the wetness as her movements become more erratic. Joel’s eyes haven’t left you, still watching you fuck your fingers in and out of yourself, almost mesmerized by you.

“Tess,” Lydia murmurs.

“Go ahead, baby. Come for me. Let me see that pretty little pussy twitch.”

Lydia’s body starts to shake as she cries out, her hand slowing as she whines and moans, “Oh god. Oh god. Yesyesyes.”

You peel your eyes away from her and squeeze every muscle in your body as tightly as you can, holding on, not letting yourself come. Looking at Joel makes it nearly impossible not to tip over that very tantalizing edge, so you clamp your eyes shut. “Tess,” Joel says, his voice a baritone whisper. “You’re torturing this one, look at her.”

He’s right, she is torturing you; but, what Joel doesn’t know is that you love it. You love being denied just as much as you love being used. You love being pinned down or tied up. You love having your throat or pussy or ass fucked in any and all positions known to humankind. The world is a dark and horrible shit show, but sex? Ya, sex makes you feel alive.

“Torturing her would be not letting her touch herself at all. She should be thanking me.” Tess turns her attention back to Lydia, helping her stand up and pulling her to the couch. “You did such a good job for me. You looked stunning as you fell apart.”

You open your eyes at the movement of them. They stop and stand facing each other in front of the couch as Tess removes her shirt, her breasts are small and perky with light pink nipples. Joel looks away from you, staring appreciatively at the woman he’s sworn to protect. She pops the button on her jeans. “Take them off her, Lydia. Tess shouldn’t have to work this hard,” Joel commands.

You whimper at the timbre of Joel's voice when he’s giving instructions and his eyes whip back to you. “You like that, don’t you? Being told what to do.”

“Yes, oh god, please can I come Tess,” you cry, eyes still locked with Joels.

“Lydia is going to lick my pussy, Joel is going to move out of the way so I can see you, and when I say you can come I want you to be loud. I want to hear those slutty little moans. Got it?”

Joel doesn’t hesitate, stepping behind your chair. He must be leaning over you because you swear you can feel his breath on the shell of your ear. Tess sits on the couch and tugs at Lydia’s wrist gently, encouraging her to kneel in front of her. “Come on,” she whispers and then places her finger at the top of her pussy. “Just lick and kiss right here. You can do it.”

Lydia moves slowly, giving you a knowing glance over her shoulder as she gets into Tess’s desired position. You suddenly realize that she’s more clever than you initially thought. She’s not shy, she knows exactly what she’s doing. Tess likes to lead, so she acted like she needed the guidance. And now she’s come and you haven’t. Tess’s head falls back, jaw going slack as Lydia tastes her.

“Does that turn you on?” Joel whispers, his warm breath hitting your neck. “Seeing Tess being eaten out. She deserves that every day, you know. She’s gonna take such good care of you, so you better care for her.”

“I will,” you mumble. “I’ll do whatever she needs. Whenever. Fuuuuck.”

“Look how wet you’re getting, I don’t think you can hold it for much longer.” He’s taunting you now. “Little thing loves to come, doesn’t she?”

“No, Tess gets to - oh god - she says when,” you’re squeezing as tight as you can, holding back the orgasm that’s right there, like a seesaw teetering, so close to tipping to the other side and slamming through you.

Lydia slurps at Tess, you can hear her sucking at her clit as Tess moans and tangles her fingers into Lydia’s hair. “Yes, that’s it. Fuck, right there.”

You let out a breathy whine and Tess’s eyes come to you. “Ssshh, not yet. Oh shit, Lydia. So good.”

Joel laughs into your ear. “Just come, what’s the worst she’s going to do? Spank you? Let me fuck your throat? I bet you like being punished.”

You shake your head, trying to block out all the lewd mental images he’s creating. “No, Joel.” you huff, refocusing on holding it in, thinking of all the unsexy thoughts you can as you watch Tess, waiting for your time.

Tess’s legs begin to shake, “get ready, baby. We are going to come together.”

Your wrist begins to ache, it feels like you’ve been fucking yourself for hours. “I need to, please. You look so - “

She cuts you off, “Joel, take over for her. I’m gonna come.”

Joel practically leaps in front of you, grabbing your wrist and pulling your drenched fingers out while slipping his two thick fingers into your mouth. You bob up and down on his fingers still looking at Tess. Her eyes are glazed over, and a bead of sweat slides down the line of her toned stomach and lands in her belly button.

“Now, Joel,” she whines and Joel wastes no time slamming his fingers inside of you. You cry out at the stretch, pleasure mixing with pain before he pumps his fingers forward. “Come right now,” Tess says.

You look down at Joel, his thumb coming to caress your swollen bundle of nerves and you cry out, the room filled with your loud moans just like she wants. You hear both her and Joel encouraging you. Joel’s Texas twang washing over you, “that’s it, fuckin clenchin. Fuck you’re so tight.”

Joel is relentless, curling and dragging his fingers in and out of you as you writhe in your chair. “Tess, oh god, yes.”

Joel's other hand slaps the inside of your thigh, “LOUDER!” he demands.

You squeal at the hot pain that splashes along your thigh, “hhnnngg, thank you. Fuck.” Your pleasurable moans turn into whines of pain as the overstimulation starts to seep in. You try to pull back and bring your knees together and Joel lets out a growl. He looks up at you dangerously and your stomach clenches. This is the wild, animalistic Joel Miller that everyone fears.

You start to panic, he’s not stopping and you don’t know if you can take much more. You’re so wrapped in his onyx gaze and a mix of fear and arousal that you don’t notice Tess behind Joel until she speaks. Her voice is soft yet firm as she cards her fingers through his greying curls, “Joel, that’s enough.”

He blinks hard, seemingly coming out of some sort of trance, and then slips his fingers from you, strings of milky arousal coating his fingers. “Good boy,” she whispers. “Help her up, but you don’t get to touch either of them until I say so.”

He nods and then stands, helping you up. Lydia is lounging lazily on the couch, her face still glistening with Tess’s juices. Your knees shake underneath you and Joel wraps an arm around your waist. You’ve had plenty of orgasms in your life, but never one that deep and strong. Your pussy is aching and you just want to sleep.

Tess sits on the chair that Lydia was on and spreads her legs slightly. “Lydia,” she crooks her fingers at her, calling her over. “Turn around, pretty girl. Straddle my thigh.”

Lydia follows Tess’s instructions, that fake nervous pout of her lips on display for Joel. Clever, very clever, you think through heavy eyelids.

“Joel, help her on the other thigh and bring that chair.” Joel guides and steadies you as you sit on Tess’s thigh, then places the extra chair in front of the three of you. “Use the chair for balance,” Tess instructs, her hand running up and down your spine gently.

You both lean forward, your sweaty palms slipping slightly against the wooden chair. You both gasp quietly as your swollen clits press into her muscular thigh, as she caresses your backs and hips. Joel sits on the couch across from you, one arm draped across the back and his legs spread. He watches you intently, eyes blown out and curls sticking to his forehead. It’s not lost on you that he hasn’t focused much attention on the other girl. You look over at Lydia and she’s smiling flirtatiously at you. Your faces are just inches apart and she nudges at your nose with hers.

“Ladies,” Tess starts, “this is the part where you show Joel what you can do. He’s going to kill people for you, and when he does, you need to repay him.”

You graze your lips against Lydias, her skin tastes like peaches and Tess’s cunt.

“Pretend my thigh is Joel's cock, show him how you’ll ride him.”

You flick your attention back to Joel, and his expression shifts from hard to a tortured need. You rake your eyes down his strong chest, still concealed by that fucking denim button up that you want to rip off with your teeth. He’s dangerous and could easily snap your neck with two fingers, but fuck, if that doesn’t make you want him more. Lydia presses her lips to your throat and you start to grind back and forth on Tess’s thigh.

You continue to take in Joel’s body, stopping when you get to his lap. Your eyes widen at the distinct outline of his hard cock pressing behind the zipper of his jeans. Your bottom lip slips between your teeth as you lock eyes with him again. His coffee coloured irises are almost onyx as he shifts in his seat. He wants you - just as much as you want him, and you just hope that you can break him enough so Tess lets him have you.

Tess’s strong hand travels up the smooth skin of your back, tangling her hands in the hair at the nape of your neck. “Tell Joel how good it feels, baby. Lydia, keep kissing her.”

Lydia’s lips suck at your skin. “Mmm, fuck Joel. Feels s’good. Wish it was your big cock filling me up, sliding in and out of my tight, wet pussy.” Tess tugs at your hair to open your neck more for Lydia and you yelp.

“Keep talking, baby girl,” Joel says, his hand moving to palm himself over his jeans. “Tell me what you want.”

You grind harder into Tess’s thigh, between the sting in your scalp from her hand, Lydia’s soft lips on your neck, and Joel’s intense stare, it almost becomes hard to breathe. Every bit of their attention is on you.

“I-I want you to, mmmm, to pin me down,” you take in a shaky breath, never taking your eyes off him. “To f-fuck me…from behind. Want you to f-fill, oh god, fill me.”

Joel pops the button of his jeans, reaching down his pants to grip himself through his tight grey boxers. You continue breathily, “Wanna feel you spank me. Slam inside of me. Dominate me.”

“Good girl,” Tess says, releasing her grip on your hair and pulling Lydia off your neck, before pressing in between your shoulder blades until you’re flush with her thigh. You crane your neck to keep your eyes on Joel, looking at him through the wooden slats of the back of the chair in front of you. “Your turn, Lydia. Tell Joel what you want.”

She clears her throat before beginning, “If he killed for me, I wouldn’t make him do any work. I’d lay him down, lick and kiss every inch of him before sliding him in my mouth. Taking him deep, cradling his balls with my hand. I’d swallow every drop.”

Joel lets out a noncommittal grunt, almost like a secret language between him and Tess. Joel leans forward and removes his denim button up and t-shirt in one swoop. His tanned and toned chest makes your mouth water. His chiselled pecs and soft belly have trimmed salt and pepper hair dusted across them, he toes off his shoes and then lifts his hip, sliding his jeans down his legs. His skin glistens with sweat and you want to lick it all off of him, drink up his salt and musk, his innate Joel-ness.

“Come here, Joel.” She says.

“Sit up,” she says softly to you. Joel stalks forward like he’s about to claim what’s his and your pussy clenches around nothing in hopes that it’s you.

“Ride my thighs, girls. Whoever cums first, Joel gets to fuck.” You spit into your hand and reach between your legs, gently spreading your lips and coating yourself in saliva.

A deep, “holy fuck” leaves Joel's lips at the sight of you. Yes, he definitely wants you just as much as you want him. You move your hands from the chair to Tess’s knee and grind your hips in small, slow circles. Your arms push your tits together for Joel. Beside you, Lydia stops moving. She sits as still as a statue, looking over her shoulder seductively at Tess. A loud slap fills the room, followed by a lust filled moan that you didn't think Lydia was capable of.

“Tess,” she says, all airy and breathy. Her tone feels sweet on your skin. “I don’t like sleeping with men.”

You keep grinding, your focus on Joel. He’s so close that you could reach out and grab one of his muscular forearms. You’re going to fuck him. You want to fuck him. Any way he wants. Any hole he wants. None of it matters, you just want to feel him, smell him, taste him.

Tess lets out an impressed sigh. “You’re even more amazing than I thought, Lydia. Had me telling you how to lick a pussy, how to touch yourself. But you already know. Don’t you?” She slaps Lydia’s ass again and the loud noise even has you clenching. Fuck, you want Joel to spank you. Or Tess. Even Lydia at this point.

It’s wrong. And taboo. But who can say what’s right or wrong in this new world anymore?

“You are going to have to do things for Joel, little temptress. It’s part of the deal.” You see Tess’s hands come to Lydia’s hips, encouraging her to grind at the same pace you’ve set. “So ride me. Let me feel that slick little pussy, let me feel it quiver on my thigh.”

Things are quiet for a moment, just the squelching sounds of both your cunts gliding along her smooth thigh. You lean into Lydia, desperate for more. More what, you aren’t sure. Just more.

She responds to your touch, her nose brushing your cheek before you turn into her and kiss her deeply. Slanting your head to taste her tongue against yours. She’s sweet, like strawberry jam. Lips so soft they almost don’t feel real. Her teeth clamp onto your bottom lip and you cry out. The perfect amount of pain to increase the pleasure between your legs. When she lets go you’re panting.

“She’s close, Tess,” Joel murmurs like he knows your body so well, but he’s not wrong. He continues speaking casually to Tess as if you aren’t in the same room. “Do I really get to fuck her if she cums first?”

You grind down harder, kissing Lydia again. You love them talking about you as if you aren’t here. Making the decisions for you.

“As soon as she cums, you take her to the bed.” Tess’s strong hand lays a sharp slap on the meaty globe of your ass and you crumble.

“YES!” You scream, convulsing as the pleasure courses through you. You look up at Joel through your lashes, jaw slack, voice weak and desperate. “Joel. Please. Please.”

He drops his boxers and his thick cock spring free. Slapping against his belly. The tip is smooth and leaking, he’s bigger than you thought and somehow your throat dries out as your cheeks fill with saliva. As you come down from your second orgasm you realize that you can do this. You are going to do whatever Tess says and become one of her Treasures.

“Think you can take him?” Tess hums as Lydia falls apart beside you, moaning sweetly. Tess adds, “Good girl, Lydia. So perfect when you cum.”

You decide to take a page out of Lydia's book and act innocent. “N-no,” you stammer. “It’s…I don’t…it’s too big.”

Joel snorts, “You’re not a very good liar my little slut.”

Before you can respond he’s lifted you up and over his broad shoulder. His skin is warm against your belly. You giggle mischievously as his hands dig into the plush skin on the back of your thighs. He can so easily overpower you, so easily destroy you - mentally and physically. And you’d let him, and to make it worse, you’d thank him afterwards and probably ask him to do it again.

He drops you on the bed. “Don’t move.”

You nod and swallow the dry lump in your throat. You definitely want this, even if you shouldn’t. Even if that logical voice inside your head is screaming at you to put up the wall, block him out like you do with everyone else. But the infinitesimal hint of softness in his face that can only be seen by the two of you keeps you sucked in. He won’t hurt you, no. Something in his eyes gives him away, he wants to please you with those hands that have brought pain and torture to so many others.

He walks back over to Tess and Lydia who are completely entranced with one another. Lydia is now sitting fully in Tess’s lap. Her back pressed to Tess’s front, both her legs draped over Tess’s as she pressed kisses along the tops of one of her shoulders and rubs her fingers gently from her pussy up to Lydia’s. Joel kneels in front of them, both of their legs spread, wet pussy’s glistening and on display for him. The sight of Joel Miller on his knees does something unexplainable to you. He’s so goddamn delicious.

He looks over at you again, that softness still coaxing you deeper into his web, tangling around you, claiming you. His large hands cup Tess’s inner thighs and then he dives into both their pussy’s. Jealousy swirls in your stomach as he draws a sloppy wet line from Tess’s entrance to her clit, then up to Lydia in the same manner.

“Oh, fuck Joel,” Tess cries as Lydia whimpers.

“Too much, baby?” he says gruffly to Lydia who nods before burying her face into the crook of Tess’s neck. “Little more, m’kay?”

He licks at them again, Tess’s moan ending as Lydia’s starts. Joel doesn’t stop. He uses long languid and lazy strokes of his tongue as he eats at both of them.

“J-Jo - fuuuck Joel!” Tess murmurs, her head falling back and mouth falling open in a silent scream. She wraps her arms tightly around Lydia as her legs start to tremble. Joel’s deltoids and biceps flex as he pushes to keep her thighs apart.

“Fuck, Tess.” Lydia purrs, “You look so goddamn hot when you cum. Suck on her clit, Joel. Make our girl squeal.” You can hear him slurp her swollen and twitching nub into his mouth. As it slips along his soft and puffy lips her pained sounding moans start to become mumbles of pleasure. Joel works her through her orgasm, not stopping until he knows she's good and sated.

Lydia reaches back, twisting to kiss Tess deeply and then whispers into her lips. Whatever she says gets Joel's attention and he releases her clit with a pop before looking up at the two women. You haven’t moved from where Joel left you, as fun as being a brat is, he could probably dish out a punishment so intense that even you would break and use whatever safe word he gave you. Lydia whispers more, Joel smirks at whatever she’s saying and then the three of them all slowly turn to look over at you.

Fuck

Joel stands, his hands coming to the outsides of Tess’s knees and guiding her as she closes her legs, then he gives a hand to Lydia to help her stand before repeating the same with Tess. He stands tall and broad, completely naked and fully erect between these two powerhouse women, linking his fingers with Tess and smiling over at her. She gives him a little nod and your stomach flips as your pussy clenches.

This is it, you think.

“Little slut,” he says deeply, “‘M’gonna fuck you now, while they hold you down. Understood?”

You try to say yes, but just air seems to leave your lungs. Tess and Lydia climb along each side of you, hooking their arm under your leg and pulling back to open you for Joel. Your arms are trapped under their bodies as they lay beside you. You’re pinned and exposed; fully at Joel, Tess and Lydia’s mercy.

The bed dips as Joel settles between your thighs, his large body looms over you, resting himself on one forearm beside your head, his other hand wrapped around his cock, running it up and down your folds.

“So wet for me. So soft,” he presses the fat tip of his cock at your entrance and you gasp. “Shit! S’tight too, baby girl.”

Tess and Lydia nuzzle into you, lightly dragging their noses along your neck and jawline. “J-Joel, fuck me. Pleaseplease. Fuck me”

Joel presses his hips forwards, and the thick, smooth mushroom head of his cock pushes at your weeping cunt again. “Look at me, little slut,” he rasps. You don’t hesitate, look at him with big innocent eyes, biting your lower lip. He spits into his palm and then coats his throbbing dick with it, fisting himself up and down. He raises an eyebrow at you cockily, “Say it again.”

“Fuck me, fuck me, please!”

Without warning Joel slams into you, stretching you painfully and your body jolts. You try to slam your knees together but the naked women on each side of you keep you spread open widely for Joel. “Shit baby,” he says through gritted teeth as his body folds over yours, his hands caging all three of you in. Tess nips at your neck, while Lydia sucks at your earlobe after whispering, “Relax, little slut, we all got you.”

Your lungs slowly come back to you. You take a deep, full breath in, and it feels like you haven’t taken a proper breath since seeing Joel for the first time. As you exhale you’re completely surrounded by Joel Miller. His large body is all you can see and feel. Meanwhile, all you can taste and smell is his tobacco scent and the salt of the sweat that coats his tanned skin. You’re addicted, you want to be able to inject him right into your veins. Your pussy relaxes around him and the pain ebbs into pleasure, and you need more.

“More, please more,” you murmur into his neck.

“There she is,” Tess whispers in your ear and you whimper.

“Say it again,” Joel commands.

“Fuck me, Joel,” you cry. “Please, fuck me. Make me your little slut for real.”

Lydia giggles seductively in your ear, pulling you into her tighter.

“Open her all the way for me,” he says to the other two. “S’too tight for me.”

He sits himself up and your knees are pulled open and back. Joel keeps his eyes locked on yours as he tilts his chin a bit and splits on your already soaked pussy. His veiny hands come to the back of your thighs, squeezing and massaging at your sensitive skin.

“Think I should fuck her, Lydia?” He starts, and soon they’re talking about you again as if you aren’t even there, the slick walls of your cunt fluttering as they speak.

“She's been good, hasn’t she?” Lydia says in a syrupy aroused tone.

“No she hasn’t,” Tess says between kisses along your jawline. “She’s a thief. She’s a bad girl.”

Joel slaps the inside of one of your thighs, with just enough of a flick in his wrist that it immediately sends a zap of pleasure toward your clit. Lydia feels you relax more into her grips, “She likes it when you hit her, Joel”.

“Of course she does,” Tess moans. “She’s a little slut.” She hits the t at the end of the word hard and Joel slaps you again. Right in the same spot, precision that you’ve never known before from a man who kills without being seen.

“Should feel how tight she is, maybe she had us fooled,” Joel says, eyes shifting between the two women, wholly avoiding your gaze. You’re so desperate for his attention, and the humiliation of him not returning it arouses you so much more than it should.

“What’d’ya mean, baby boy?” Tess asks, her warm breath hitting your neck, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

“Like a virgin, squeezin’ me like a vice.”

“She’s shakin,” Lydia adds. “Poor girl.”

“You two don’t stop kissing her while I do this,” they both nod and he flips his attention back to you. “I wanna hear you screamin’. Got it, little slut?”

You shudder under his intense stare. “Yes, yes, Joel. Please, just fuck me. Pleeease!”

He pulls halfway out and then slams back in, his heavy balls slap at your taint and asshole, your needy high pitched moans filling the room. Your whole body constricts around Joel and as it relaxes it feels like heaven. No one has made your body feel like this. “That feel good?” Joel says tauntingly, his hands gripping into the back of your thighs.

“Please - fuck, yes. More,” you mumble, almost incoherently.

“Show our girl, Joel. Show her what he can have once she’s my Treasure.” Tess commands.

What’s that saying, ‘You say jump, I say how high’? Well, when Tess says jump, Joel is already mid jump, doing it exactly how Tess wants it. He’s already dragging his cock out slowly, all the way to the tip, before slamming fast and hard back into you.

“Harder,” Tess growls, biting your neck as Joel repeats the motion. Lydia squirms against you, her soft warm skin slipping along the thin sparkling layer of sweat that coats your body. “Look at her. Pliant, soft. Letting Joel do whatever he wants.”

“That’s cuz she’s a good girl,” Lydia moans, kissing the sensitive skin under your earlobe.

Joel brings one of his hands to cup your chin, his thumb running around your bottom lip softly. “Gotta relax for me, little slut.”

You take a breath and as you exhale you can feel the grip your pussy has on his thick cock loosen. “That’s it. That’s my girl.”

“Good job, baby girl,” Tess whispers, kissing at your throat again.

“Fuck her now, Joel.” Lydia says, “We got her.”

Joel sets a quick pace, slamming in and out of you. His name and a string of swears leaving your lips with every thrust, just the screams of your pleasure and the squelching of your pussy filling the room. Tess and Lydia whisper praises as Joel is possessed by your cunt. Pounding and pounding into you without pause. Over and over, he’s relentless. A man possessed. You can’t help but wonder if he’s like this with all other women or if this is just for you. His hand falls from your chin, landing beside Tess’s head on the mattress, the other still gripped to your thigh. His short nails dig into your skin, leaving you marked with signs of him.

“That’s it,” Lydia hums. “Taking it like such a good girl.”

Tess’s teeth lightly scrape at your jawline. “Come on, baby. I wanna see you come again.”

“So fuckin’ pretty when you come,” Joel says each word at the end of his harsh thrusts. His voice is gravelly and deep. Seeping under your skin and into your DNA, the very fabric of your being. You belong to him, no questions asked.

“M-more. I - more - please.” You aren’t sure what you mean by more, but Joel seems to know your body better than you as he sits himself back up and brings his thumb to your clit, teasing it gently and you writhe under him. It’s almost too much but you need it, and even more, you need Joel not to stop.

He hammers into you again, slower this time, but still with an intense flick of his hips at the end. The leaking tip of his cock pressing against the perfect spongy part behind your clit.

“Can see you in her stomach, Cowboy.” Tess moans. Both the women feather long, lingering kisses along your neck. The juxtaposition of their soft actions and the bruising dance of Joel’s hip is just as confusing as it is arousing.

“Rub her clit a little harder, Joel. I think she’s getting close.” You clench around him at Lydia’s words and cry out loudly.

He swirls his thumb easily along your lubricated clit, the mixture of both of your arousals and his spit making it slippery. “Ohgod, hnnnnggg, J-Joel pleasepleaseplease.”

“Sssshhh, baby,” he soothes, pausing with his hips pushed flush to your ass. “Gotta relax, remember?”

You whimper in agreement, nodding your head as you try to slow your breathing and your heart rate. “There she goes,” Joel moans as your pussy walls flutter and then relax.

He starts to fuck you slowly, circling your swollen velvety nub with the rough pad of his thumb. His other hand leaves your thigh, massaging your breast, pinching at the nipple with his thumb and forefinger. “Fuck, you feel so good. So tight. Gonna fill you one day.”

“Today, please!” you protest through a salacious moan.

“Tell her,” he says to the women holding you in their arms, speeding up the circles of his thumb.

“Lydia,” Tess whispers, like it’s a secret just for the three of you, “Tell her your plan.”

You’re lost in a daze as Lydia says your name into your skin. When you don’t respond she nips gently at you and says, “Baby? You with me?”

“Y-yes. Fuuuuuuck,” you say wantonly.

“Joel is gonna make you cum, then pull out and cum all over our faces. After, we are going to lick it all off each other.” She says it with a hint of mischief and lust in her voice.

The three of them praise and encourage you as Joel keeps fucking you and rubbing your clit at the same time. You have no idea how long you’ve been in this apartment, how long you’ve been floating on a vibrating fluffy cloud of pleasure and craving. Whispers of “Good girl”, “so pretty”, and “fuck listen to how wet you are” travel through you.

The electric currents of pleasure that sizzle along your skin all come to the base of your spine. Pressure building, so very close to exploding around all of you. “Come on, little slut. Let go for me.”

Lydia and Tess say ‘Come on’ and ‘relax into it’ at the same time.

“Shit, J-Joel,” you whimper. A tear runs down your cheek.

“I know, I’m here,” he says, voice slightly softer than earlier. “I know.”

The pressure becomes unbearable and then everything snaps. Your pussy flutters as the pleasure starts to consume every single inch of your being. Your vision blurs, every muscle going lax as you twitch unconsciously underneath him.

“Good girl. Yes, that’s my good little slutty girl,” he growls. Your orgasm continues to tear through you, ripping you in half and you know when you come down only Joel will be able to stitch you back up again.

Joel presses his large palm to your mound, and just as you feel yourself start to come down you’re on the precipice of another orgasm. “Got another one for me, baby?”

“Yesyesyes - yeeesss,” you’ve forgotten words, you’re just a bundle of pleasure. No muscles or bones or thoughts of your own. Just a pliant body, that’s fully under the control of Joel Miller.

Your second orgasm hits you hard, tearing anything you had left in half. “She’s gonna squirt,” Joel mumbles.

“Just let it go,” Lydia whispers, suckling on your earlobe.

You push into the feeling, letting it overtake you as liquid gushes from your cunt, coating Joel's pelvis and pooling on the bed below you. It splashes as Joel keeps up his pace. You scream out in pleasure. Lydia and Tess talking you through it quietly, “Good girl. Stay relaxed for me,” Tess says as Lydia adds, “Let it take you, we’re right here.”

The pleasure starts to ebb, it’s becoming too much as Tess whispers, “Breathe, baby girl. Just breathe.”

“Can’t, Tess.” you whimper, turning your face towards her. “Please,” you plead. If you learned anything from earlier, it’s that only Tess can make him stop.

“Ok, baby, you’re ok,” she hums. She looks up at Joel above all of you and drops her voice, “That’s enough now, Joel.”

Joel pulls away from your clit and you sigh in relief, both his hands coming to your breasts, squeezing them roughly as his thrusts become sloppy. “Get ready,” he huffs through gritted teeth. Both Tess and Lydia scoot up so their faces are pressed against yours.

Joel slips out of you with a lewd pop and practically bends you in half to get over your faces. “Open your mouths and look at me,” he commands. The three of you obey, anything for the man who is going to kill for you or defend you to the very end if need be.

His hand is tight around his cock, pumping himself quickly, the cords of muscle and veins along his forearm start to pop. His balls are full and heavy, tight against his body as he edges closer to his release. You stare at him, soaking in how wrecked he looks as he gets closer. His brows pinch together, onyx and whiskey flecked eyes looking only at you before his face goes lax and he lets out a deep, loud moan. Warm ropes of opaque white cum paint your faces.

As soon as he’s done he pulls away, Tess and Lydia letting go of your legs as the three of you kiss and lick at each other's sticky faces. Joel tastes better than you could have imagined, a heady mix of saltiness that leaves you insatiable for more.

Joel sits back on his heels watching the three of you slurp him up. He has a proud smirk on his face and when your eyes find his he winks at you before getting up and grabbing a towel off the top of the small dresser near the bed. Tess says something hushed to Lydia as you and Joel look at one another. Lydia pressed a kiss to your cheek before getting off the bed and following Tess into another room, the unmistakable sound of the shower alerting you to where they’ve gone.

Joel climbs beside you, looking down at you hesitantly. “You ok?” he whispers.

“Ya,” you sign sleepily. “I’m ok, Joel.”

He brings the towel to your thighs, soaking up your arousal. “I didn’t hurt ya?”

The towel ghosts along your swollen folds and you gasp, turning your head into Joel’s strong upper body. “I know, sorry.” He hisses, hating that he’s causing you discomfort. “But I gotta clean you up.”

He dabs gently with the soft towel causing an aftershock that shakes through your body and you feel yourself squirt again. Not nearly as much this time but a euphoric moan leaves your lips. Joel tucks the towel between your legs and guides your face up to meet his. His brown eyes burn themselves into your soul, “do you need more, baby? Just tell me.”

“It’s sensitive,” you whine.

He lifts an eyebrow slightly, “does it hurt?”

You stick your bottom lip out and nod sadly.

“Need me to kiss it?” he asks gently, his hooked nose rubbing against yours.

You look at him hesitantly. Of course, you want Joel’s plush lips on your pussy, but a flap of a butterfly wing could probably cause you to implode at this point.

“You can say another time,” he whispers, lips hovering over yours. He doesn’t know where this side of him has come from. Joel Miller is a simple man. Murder who Tess says, fuck any one of her Treasures that offer to get the adrenaline out afterwards, then leave them in their apartment pumped full of his cum. He usually can’t wait to rush back to his apartment to take a shower and shoot back a mix of whiskey and sleeping pills. But with you, he feels the need to care for you afterwards, and he has a strong feeling that you’re going to be a very large distraction in his life from now on.

I’m fucked, he thinks to himself.

You lean forward to sponge your lips against his. He kisses you sweetly, pulling you in tighter as you hum contently into his lips.

“I don’t think I can tonight,” you say softly after breaking the kiss.

“That’s ok, little slut.” He rolls onto his back, pulling you with him so you’re resting on top of him. Legs straddling his hips and your head resting on his chest. You shiver against him, tucking your arms into your body. His hands scramble for the blanket, wrapping it around the two of you, kissing the top of your head. “Tomorrow, after Tess officially makes you her Treasure, that will be your gift from me.”

You nod into his chest, he smells like gunpowder, fresh sawdust and sweat as your eyelids become heavy and the world seems to slip away. You have trouble sleeping normally, I mean who wouldn’t in this fucked up new world you’re all in, but with Joel, it happens almost too easily. Sleep just takes you to a deep and uninterrupted place for who knows how long. But when you wake you’re in a large grey t-shirt in a small bedroom, not the same one you fell asleep in. You hear the peaceful and melodic breathing of someone beside you. You move slowly, peeling open your eyes to see Joel sleeping beside you. The moonlight dances softly along his face, grey hairs glinting in the light. He looks so peaceful, nothing like the man that was crazed by your pussy early. He’s still visibly dangerous, but fuck is he beautiful.

I’m fucked, you think to yourself.

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dilatorywriting · 1 year

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Monster Mayhem: Don't Fear the Reaper

Gender Neutral Reader x Rook Hunt Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: Running a little pâtisserie is quaint, and homey, and should not in any way get you involved with anything shady. Let alone the strange bounty hunter who prowls through your little town like the Grim Reaper himself. And yet here you are, teaching this literal murderer how to use a napkin.

A/N: Based on this wonderful brain rot from a very lovely anon! Also apologies in advance to anyone who actually knows French, because I do not lol. So Rook's babbling is all Google baby

[PART 1] [PART 2]

There was a murderer at your window, and you weren’t really sure what to do about it.

Well, maybe not actually a murderer. Bounty Hunters tended not to wind up in prison after dragging back the desecrated remains of their latest quarry. But still. You recognized the black plume tucked slickly into his wide-brimmed, purple, hat, and the pale, bright, bob of his hair was nearly luminescent in the dark. He was certainly the least covert assassin you’d ever seen, and you had seen him. It was hard not to. Traipsing through town to deposit every wayward criminal, every long-lost villain, at the doorstep of who’d ever called for him.

‘Rook Hunt’ you thought his name was, or at least, that’s what the old woman in the market would call him before crossing herself and spitting in the dirt. It was all a bit on the nose in your humble opinion, especially with that strange, twisting, ebony, bow of his strung across his back. ‘Hunter’ indeed. But it’s not like you’ve ever done anything to warrant winding up in one of those dripping burlap sacks of his, so you’d let the dude have his drama. It was probably good advertisement. And it’s not like the guy had ever bothered you before.

You thought that reassurance on repeat as you watched said not-quite-a-murderer stare through the front window of your little bakery, as if your rising dough had been kneaded with the secrets of the known universe. But he didn’t do anything—just kept watching with rapt attention as you brushed egg wash over your pie crusts and swapped trays in and out of the ancient, brick, oven.

In all honesty, he was far from the strangest thing that’d been plastered to your window in the early AM, and it wasn’t like he was licking the glass or anything. So you let it slide.

One of the custard tarts you pulled from the oven had cracked across the top. Nothing out of the ordinary—there was always at least one dud in a batch. Normally you saved the rejects for Ace or Deuce to gobble up (depending on whoever managed to pop by first), but this one you set aside onto a little tea plate. You topped it with a dollop of freshly whipped cream and a spoonful of the blackberries you’d left sitting in sugar overnight. Then you plucked up a spare napkin and made your way out from behind the counter.

When you opened the door to your little bakery, the tingling overhead bell warmed your unwanted guest’s expression in a way that it most certainly should not have—lighting the whole of him with this sort of wide-eyed, innocent, joy that belonged nowhere on the face of someone you’d watched cart literal corpses into town.

“Mon pâtissier!” he chirped. “What a fine morning it is, no?”

The sun hadn’t even started to rise yet. You could still hear the drone of crickets and toads in the distance, basking in the humid darkness of the night.

“Sure,” you shrugged. “We’re not open for,” you glanced at the moon, still full in the sky, “at least four more hours. If that’s what you’re waiting for.”

“Oh—non, non, non,” Rook waved you off. “I just wanted to watch!”

“…Watch?” you repeated.

“It’s quite the fascinating process!” he absolutely beamed. “Taking such basic, individual, components and turning them into something so spectacularly sweet and heartwarming! Quelle inventivité! I’ve heard nothing but excellent things about your marvelous menu!”

‘From who?’ you wanted to ask, because you’d never heard of anyone being able to hold a conversation with this man for more than a stuttered sentence at a time, let alone for long enough to go about giving dessert recommendations. But there was a streak of red blood across his cheek that still looked fresh enough to not even have gone tacky yet, and now that you looked closer, his dark gloves were perhaps a shade too dark to not have been, well…

You sighed and reminded yourself once again that is was absolutely not your business, before handing him the napkin.

He stared at it with that same sort of rapt fascination that had you wondering if this man had ever actually interacted with proper civilization in his entire life.

“Wipe your hands,” you demanded with a huff, and he dutifully scrubbed at his stained fingers. Once he was clean enough that he was at least no longer dripping unmentionables all along your windowsill, you held out the little saucer for him to take.

“Pour moi?” he muttered, looking a bit starstruck.

“If you’re going to say all those nice things about my food, you may as well get to try what you’re complimenting,” you shrugged, and that same eager enthusiasm lit his face all over again. “And it will be a nice treat to take home with you,” you emphasized, with all the intonation of a cheery ‘please get the fuck out before you scare away all my customers for the day.’

But instead of turning and meandering off back to whatever hole he’d crawled out of, he just kept staring at the little treat like he had no idea what to do with it.

“It’s a tart,” you said blandly, fighting the furrow in your brow.

Rook repeated ‘a tart’ under his breath like it was some kind of ancient, forbidden, enchantment, and not like it was literally scrawled into the little menu sign at your door at least a dozen times over.

The Bounty Hunter peered at the little custard treat like you’d handed him a treasure beyond measure. After a moment of carefully poking at the browned crust like it wasn’t literally meant to break apart beneath one’s fingers, he looked back over at you with eyes that were far, far, too green. He lifted the tart up like he meant to give it back to you.

“I ought to offer you la première bouchée,” he smiled.

You blinked, taken aback, and pushed the plate back into his hands. “That’s not how free samples work.”

Rook tossed his head back with a bout of boisterous laughter that should have been loud enough to wake everyone on the block. You glanced around nervously, hoping no one was about to come running out to make noise complaints.

“Ahh~ But how else will I know the best manner in which to savor such a treat?”

“You eat it,” you gaped. And then, slowly, because you weren’t even sure you were dealing with a functional human being anymore. “With your teeth.”

The Bounty Hunter, with his blood smeared cheeks and even bloodier clothes, put all those shiny, pearly whites of his on display in a merry grin. He swept forward in a grand bow that had the feather in his hat bobbing about in a way that reminded you far too much of a wagging tail.

“Of course!” he chirped. “In my home you said, yes?”

Please, you wanted to groan. Go there. Leave.

“Ideally,” you said instead, and Rook ducked his head until that purple hat of his had cast the whole of his face into shadow. He reached up to tap two fingers against the wide brim and tip it forward.

“Merci, merci!” he trilled. “Then I will endeavor to consume this marvelous spécialité humaine in the proper fashion. A very good morning to you then, cher pâtissier!”

He straightened with a merry little hum and began making his way back down the cobblestone road. In the soft light of the setting moon, his footsteps left odd prints in their wake—inky, black, dripping things that had faded entirely by the time you were able to focus enough to get a proper look at them, leaving you wondering if they’d really just been nothing but a trick of the night.

Well, that was fucking weird,you frowned, shaking the fuzz from your head. You slipped back inside and the door jingled pleasantly as it slammed behind you. But then again, when wasn’t customer service a trip? These people were all ridiculous.

Bright and early the next morning, you were waiting for Deuce to arrive with his delivery of a fresh crate of eggs. It was ungodly early, as it always was. But at least there was no hunter at your window this time around—

There was a bang and a screech, and then an unfortunate sort of cracking-squishing-yucky noise that sounded an awful lot like a couple dozen eggs meeting their doom. You frowned and tucked your rag into the ribbons of your apron and ducked out from the backroom with a sigh. Deuce was at the door. Or, well, Deuce was on the ground in front of your door. With the shattered, yolk, remnants of your shipment scattered all around him.

“I’m not paying for that,” you huffed irritably, and your friend looked up with a squawk.

He looked like he was trying to say something, but his face just kept flashing back and forth between deathly pale and a miserable sort of mottled red.

“I—! You—! And he—!”

“Use your words, Spade,” you sighed.

“I do believe he’s trying his best, cher pâtissier!”

You froze, and turned in near-slow-motion to see a beaming Bounty Hunter crouched at one of the little painted benches lined up neatly along your storefront. Not on one, like a normal person. But beside one. On the ground. There was no blood on him today. None that was very obviously dripping down his face at the very least. He didn’t seem like he’d come bearing any ill will, but your Chicken Dealer was still splayed out on the ground—nearly convulsing—so that wasn’t a great sign either.

“What’s going on out here?” you demanded, hands at your hips.

“I do believe Monsieur Spade had himself a bit of a fright,” Rook beamed, and then turned towards your very gaunt looking friend with a soft tut-tut noise that for all its amiability didn’t sound particularly sympathetic. “You really ought to work on your balance, hmm? Alas, all these petits oeufs have gone to waste.”

“What?!” Deuce immediately bristled, on the defensive. “If you hadn’t scared me, then none of these chicks would have had to die so tragically in the first place!”

“For the last time,” you sighed, grinding the heels of your palms into your eyes. “Unfertilized farm eggs are not baby chicks.”

“But Ace said—”

“Enough! With what Ace said!” you snapped, exhaustion and a sore lack of tea, or coffee, or anything wearing away at your already fragile sanity. “Ace would sell you snake oil and cry to your face about you underpaying for it!”

“Oh?” Rook chirped, unfolding himself from his crouch to stand at his full height. He wasn’t particularly gangly or long limbed—not even especially tall, all things considered. But there was something about him that made him loom. From the sharp cut of his purple robes to the harsh, starched, white of his tight collar. He was neat, composed. And yet… very much not civilized. “Is this not a person who wishes you well, cher pâtissier?”

You frowned, something odd tugging at a sixth sense of yours. Just… a little something on the periphery of your nerves, singing that the words you chose now would mean a lot more than they ought to.

You hummed, low in your throat, and considered.

“Ace is himself,” you said finally, “but he’s a friend nonetheless.”

“Magnifique!” Rook beamed and clapped his hands together with a near lovelorn sigh, all at once perfectly pleasant and soft. “It is such a very good thing to have friends!”

“…Is that what you are?” Deuce asked, enough of that enraged spunk fading away to leave him properly cautious once more. His blue eyes flickered pointedly from the bounty hunter, to you, and back. “A friend?”

You sighed and turned to retreat back into your little shop without a word. Deuce scrambled to his feet to follow you in hesitantly, still dripping with the remnants of too many eggs. You shot him a look, and he immediately darted over to the mop and bucket you kept propped up in the corner. Rook stood in the doorway, nearly just a blur of bruised shadow against the backdrop of the pre-dawn darkness, and you watched him out of the corner of your eye. After a long moment of terse silence, he stepped beyond the threshold with a little hum. He wiped his feet pointedly on your little welcome mat, and then turned to stand at the counter. He fished around in the pockets of his cloak for a moment before withdrawing a strange little flower. He placed it on the countertop with a bright smile that crinkled the corners of his green eyes.

You stepped forward to observe it curiously, and your brows shot up in surprise.

It wasn’t a flower at all. What had looked like the folded arch of soft petals was actually a dainty pair of wings. It was a tiny butterfly—caught in a perpetual sort of stillness. It was bright, and colorful, and so carefully preserved that even when you trailed a flour-coated finger along the thin membranes of its wings, it stayed clean and crisp.

“What’s this for?” you asked.

“Payment, of course!” Rook smiled. “For the lovely treat you gifted me the other day.”

You sighed, not at all in the mood to discuss the lack of viable conversion rates between copper coins and bugs.

So instead you settled on huffing, “Free samples are free. It’s in the name.”

Rook just kept on smiling, unbothered. Deuce knocked into some set of drawers or other—or maybe the coatrack. Who knew—and you shot him an irritable little scowl. The guy was like a bull in a china shop on the best of days, let alone when he was trying to multitask, and be sneaky about it all the while. The bounty hunter’s grin twitched a bit at the corners, like the idea of your blue-haired friend trying to stealthily keep a watch on him was just the funniest thing.

You glanced back down at the little, frozen, butterfly. It really was very pretty, even if it was a little odd.

When you ducked back behind the counter, you unearthed a blueberry muffin from one of many stacks of trays there. It was little lopsided, and maybe there were a few too many bits of fruit in it. Surely no one would have wanted it anyways.

You plopped it on the countertop, and both Rook’s eyebrows shot all the way up his forehead. When he made no move to take it, you pushed the confection closer. The wrapper slid along the counter in a heavy, sticky, way. You’d have to remember to wipe it down again after. The Hunter reached out carefully to pluck the treat up between his fingers. He squished it delicately, in a similarly cautious way as to how you’d stroked the little butterfly.

“Is this also for eating at home?” he asked, observing the offering with a wide, wonderous, expression.

“Yes,” you said, just in time for Deuce to nearly annihilate your trash bin. “Please enjoy it.” Please get out. You’re distracting my maid.

Rook Hunt dipped into another of those ridiculous, bobbing, bows and pinched the brim of his hat between his fingers.

“Your generosity continues to warm my heart, mon cher,” he crooned, eyes practically sparkling from behind the sharp cut of his heavily lined lashes. “I will endeavor to return your kindness tenfold! A hundred!”

You waved off his sentimentality with a flick of your wrist and a not so delicate ‘shoo shoo.’

The hunter left your little bakery with a spring in his step and an outpouring of flowery promises that had your head spinning. He melted seamlessly into the shadows of the early morning, and between one blink and the next, he’d vanished entirely.

You would have thoroughly enjoyed the well-earned silence that followed, if not for the veritable storm cloud brewing over your friend’s head.

“Do I get one…?” Deuce asked finally, staring outright at the remaining muffins and sounding small and hopeful. And like that clearly wasn’t what he’d meant to say at all.

“Maybe if I had the eggs to make more,” you lamented, brushing your hands against your apron.

Deuce made a wounded noise which you had exactly zero sympathy for. You got to work wiping down the counters and sorting through the bits and bobs you’d need to start your day.

“…You know he’s not right, don’t you? That bounty hunter?” Deuce finally said, setting the mop aside. “You must have heard at least some of the rumors floating around town. I don’t think anyone even knows if the guy’s human.”

You shrugged.

“Anyone who has to wake up when I wake up each morning has long given up on humanity anyways,” you droned, only sort of half kidding.

Deuce frowned, clearly unhappy with your non-answer.

“You’ll be careful, won’t you?” he asked, stern in his fretting. There was still a big ol’ chunk of eggshell tangled up in his bangs.

“When I am ever not?” you smiled, and carefully pocketed the little, blue, butterfly.

When you popped by the market stalls after closing shop for the day, the street was abuzz with all the usual gossipy nonsense that you’d long since learned to let settle at the back of your brain like white noise. You were busy debating if you had enough arms to manage balancing yet another bag of strawberries (they were at their height of freshness these past weeks it seemed, and you were like a little fruit goblin hoarding them while you could), when a particularly shrill bit of chatter worked its way past the pleasant curtain you’d let fall across your thoughts.

“There was another one,” the butcher’s wife whispered in a way that was most certainly not a whisper.

“I heard,” chittered the man who really should have been trying to sell you more strawberries if he’d any kind of business sense whatsoever. He turned on you with a look that meant you were clearly about to be dragged into a conversation you were entirely unprepared for. “It was one of yours, apparently!”

“One of my what?” you blinked back into focus.

“One of your regulars,” he said, like a secret.

“That strange Bounty Hunter came through again,” his coconspirator hissed, with a hand lifted as if she meant to cover her mouth. “He dropped off the body the other day—delivered the heart straight to the Felmier’s porch!”

“Who was it?” you asked, just like you knew they wanted you to.

“Sir Hamlen,” the butcher’s wife said. “You know, that awful toad who could eat you out of house and home.”

That sounded like all of your costumers, and more than half of your closest friends, but you gave yourself a moment to sort through your scattered thoughts and try and connect whatever dots they’d been throwing at you.

“Sir Hamlen…?” you said after a moment, slowly putting a face to the name. “With the terrible goatee?”

They both nodded enthusiastically.

“Rotten pig,” the butcher’s wife piped back in. “Served him right, if you ask me. Everyone was expecting the Crown would put him to death anyways.”

You shrugged again. You hardly knew the man, but he’d always paid you well enough that you didn’t really have any ill will towards him. You went back to fussing over balancing bags of berries, but then… Well, there was something a bit funny, actually. He’d been a loud sort of person, with no filter to speak of. One afternoon, he’d stumbled into your little shop absolutely pissed on cheap drink and all but burping bubbles.

‘You know,’ he’d lulled, dropping a full coin pouch on your countertop. Which you’d taken in its entirely with zero hesitation. ‘I’d die happy if my last meal was these fucking tarts of yours.’

‘Is that so,’ you’d drawled, in the bland way you answered literally every customer who spouted off whatever nonsense was kicking around in their heads.

‘Aye,’ he’d sighed, practically stooped over. ‘Gonna have to pry ‘em outta my cold, dead, hands.’

“Huh,” you muttered, thoughts wandering back to a pair of bloody gloves and the little treat you’d pressed into them. Huh.

TAG LIST [CLOSED]

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#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Rook Hunt x Reader #Rook x Reader #Rook Hunt x Yuu #Reaper!Rook #Monster Mayhem #Fantasy AU #Rook Hunt #Deuce Spade #My Writing #Monster Mayhem Rook Part 1

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golbrocklovely · 1 month

Text

complicated // sam golbach

A/N: had an idea like this for quite sometime, and i was finally able to finish this fic. just so everyone's aware, there WILL be a part two. but it might not be in the way you think lol hope you enjoy this fic and lmk what you think :)

prompt: you and sam needed a stress relief, and if you couldn't get it from who you really wanted it from, second best was better than nothing at all. || sam golbach x fem!reader

trigger warning: SMUT, drunk sex, cursing, snc are both single in this fic, angst, finding comfort in each other, friends to lovers, kitchen sex, almost getting caught, mentions of babygirl, good girl, sam is using you and you are using sam

word count: 4020

~~~~~~~~~~~

To say my relationship with Sam and Colby was complicated was a bit of an understatement. But I had no one to blame, really, except for myself.

I had known them for years, being one of the first friends they made once they moved out to LA. We were always friendly with each other, and kept in contact over the years. Then one day, they told me about how they needed an assistant, someone that could help out behind the scenes as well as being in videos occasionally. Things fell into place perfectly, and I signed on to be their assistant. I moved out to Vegas with them, living in an apartment not too far away from their place.

God only knew why I even had my own place since I crashed at their house more often than not.

Our relationship never seemed all that complicated.... until one day. Something clicked in my head, and suddenly I became extremely aware of how attractive Colby was. His eyes, his smile, his voice. Sam, of course, was attractive too. But he always had Kat, so it was never appropriate for me to like him. But Colby... he was basically an eternal bachelor. So, it made total sense for me to like him.

And our friendship was a bit strange to begin with. We were both naturally flirty people, constantly hitting on one another whether sober or drunk; but especially when we were drunk. There were some close encounters with us, especially once we started opening up to one another. I could count on two hands how many times we had kissed, and on one how many times we had almost gone farther than that. But we never finished what we started.

The problem with Colby is I could never tell where we stood entirely. Sometimes, it seemed like I was all he wanted to pay attention to. Other times, he was with someone else, and wouldn't even glance my way. It was strange. He was always close, but somehow an arm's length away.

And some nights, I couldn't stand him. The back and forth, the cat and mouse game... It was exhausting, to say the least. Sometimes I just wanted to know how he felt. Exactly. With no add ons or extra shit. But with Colby, it was never that simple.

This was normal for us. But things changed once Sam became single, and both of the boys were out on the prowl. It was like their auras changed, and suddenly I was seeing them through different eyes.

I had no one to blame except myself. But at the same time, I didn't feel guilty.

If he can have fun, so can I.

~~~~

“But did you see him? He was basically humping the air!” Colby laughed, kicking his shoes off.

I followed him and Sam into the kitchen area, our usual hang out spot. “Oh my God, yes! It was almost like your old Vine.”

He groaned, “Please don't bring that-”

“Baby grinnnnndd oooon meeeeeee!” I sang dramatically, completely offkey.

He deadpanned, “I hate you so much.”

I faux gasped, clutching my nonexistent pearls. “Wha? How could you say that? I'm one of your best friends!”

“And you're about to be unemployed if you keep it up.” Colby crossed his arms defiantly.

I narrowed my eyes. “You wouldn't.”

He smirked, “Try me.”

I turned away from him, yelling to my other best friend, “Sam! Tell Colby he can't just fire me because I'm making fun of him.”

Sam looked up from his phone, “Uh? I wasn't paying attention to what either of you were saying.”

“What are you doing?” I asked, dropping the topic.

He stared at me innocently, “...Trying to order Taco Bell.”

“Oh my God, Taco Bell.” Colby moaned, closing his eyes, “Oh, fuck.”

I grimaced, “Damn Colby, try not to come in your pants. It's just Taco Bell.”

“I'm sorry, I just get hard for Taco Bell.” Colby admitted casually.

Sam chimed in, “Dude, I get hard for Taco Bell too.”

I scrunched my face, “You guys are weird.”

Colby smiled playfully, walking away, “I'm gonna go change, order my regular?”

“Gotchu, brother.” Sam nodded.

I sighed, leaning against the island. I watched Sam scroll through his phone, clicking away at options for food.

“What do you want?” He asked.

I shrugged, “I don't know. Can I see your phone?”

“Come over here. I don't want to throw my phone.” He commented.

I huffed jokingly, walking over to him, taking it from his hand. "Well, someone's in a shitty mood."

“I'm not in a shitty mood. I'm tired, I'm drunk, and I'm very hungry. And I wish I ordered Taco Bell in the Uber home.” Sam replied, exacerbated.

“So... a shitty mood?” I repeated.

He grumbled, “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

“Is something the matter?” I questioned, still looking at the Taco Bell menu.

He paused, then finally spoke. “It's been a year.”

I glanced up, “A year?”

“Since we... broke up.” He finally finished.

My eyes widened, putting his phone down on the counter. "Oh shit, I'm sorry Sam."

He exhaled, swatting at me, “It's okay.”

“No, we shouldn't have.... gone out tonight.” I half-heartedly argued.

“Why? So I could sulk at home over my failed relationship? I don't think that would have been any better.” He quipped.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” I placed my hand on his shoulder.

“I don't know.” He leaned back, rubbing his eyes tirelessly, “It just feels weird, you know? I never thought I would be single again, so all of this just feels... off.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, you're not the only one struggling in the love department.” I remarked.

“What? You and your secret pining for Colby not working out for you?” Sam sassed.

I glared, sucking my teeth, You know, sometimes you can be a real ass.”

“What? Because I can see you like Colby and he's just... blind, to it?” He smirked.

“Why don't you tell him that and not me?” I jeered.

“I'm not getting involved with whatever the two of you got going on. I swore off helping his dating life long ago.” He chuckled, putting his hands up defensively.

I scoffed, “You were literally his wingman tonight as he flirted with the waitress!

“And you wouldn't have noticed that if you weren't watching him like a hawk.” He mentioned.

I rolled my eyes, my hands resting on my hips. “Trust me, I wanted to look away. But it was like watching a train crash.”

Sam laughed, “A train crash that ended in him getting her number.”

I exhaled. “Again, the whole 'you're an ass' comment stands.”

“Why don't you just tell him how you feel?” He rebutted.

“He knows,” I winced, shrugging. “He... has to know. He just pretends it's not real. When there's no one else, that's when he comes to me.”

“And how does that make you feel?” He inquired.

“Like shit. I hate being a second choice.” I muttered.

He hummed, “I know the feeling.”

“Yeah, well at least you got to be first. I don't think that's ever gonna happen with me and him.” I sighed, ignoring my heart dropping at my own words.

Sam, always the optimist, replied, “Maybe that's better in the long run. Maybe you work better as friends.”

“Maybe.... But what about you?” I stared up at him.

“What about me?” He chuckled.

“You really do have a knack for just changing up the conversation so you don't gotta talk about yourself.” I pointed at him, pushing my finger into his chest.

“What do you wanna know?” He asked.

I questioned, looking into his eyes. “How are you feeling? Genuinely.”

“Genuinely... I'm…” He was hesitant, but spoke, “a bit lonely.”

“Have you tried to be with other girls since your break up?” I queried.

Sam nodded, “Yeah. But none of them seemed right. I've realized I don't like being alone.”

“Not many truly do.” I added.

“It just feels odd not having someone there, you know? You wake up for years with the same person over and over again, but once they're gone it's like... something's missing.” He exhaled, his head falling back.

“Well, someone is.” I murmured, leaning against him.

He groaned, rubbing his eyes, “I kinda feel like a teenager again, but in the worst way.”

I turned to him, puzzled. “Really?”

“I can't tell how I feel anymore. Or what I want.” He flipped his hands over, weighing the options, “Am I lonely or just alone? Do I miss her or just the comfort that having her brought?”

I jokingly mimicked him, “Am I finally into someone new or am I just horny?”

“Yeah…” He gave me a strange look, but laughed, “What a weird way to put it, but yeah.”

I pffted, “Oh, I'm sorry. You two just said you get hard for Taco Bell, but I can't say I get horny sometimes?”

“Well you are my employee.” He smiled sarcastically.

“And you're my employer. So it's even worse.” I glared, “I should report you to HR.”

“We don't have HR.” Sam deadpanned.

“HR will have to hear about this... once they exist.” I declared.

He rolled his eyes at me, “Are you really horny that often?”

I inhaled, “Bro, honestly.... it's really bad sometimes.”

“Really? Like how bad?” He pushed.

“The other night I almost called up an ex just to see if he would fuck me.” I admitted, uncomfortable by the memory.

He whistled, “Ooof, that's pretty bad.”

“What about you? How horny do you get?” I asked, almost confused why I was.

He thought for a second, then stated, “Mmm, maybe every couple days.”

I snickered, “Oh that's not too bad. Aren't guys notorious for being constant horn dogs?”

“I guess so, but you already know I'm not like most guys.” He winked.

I shook my head at him, “How unique of you.”

Sam stared at me, his gaze a mix of annoyance and... something else I couldn't place. His voice came out low, almost husky. "Are you horny now?"

Butterflies erupted in my stomach, and I did my best to play them off. "Maybe a little. What about you?"

He raised his eyebrows, noting my statement, "Maybe just a little."

I nodded softly, my eyes taking in his face. He was really handsome. He always was, even if most of my feelings were for Colby. His eyes were blue, but very different compared to Colby's. Icy and intense in nature. They stared into mine, his eyes flickering down my face to my lips. I mirrored him, looking at his.

They looked awfully nice....

I don't know how, but we must have gotten closer and closer to one another. And suddenly, his lips were on mine. His arm wrapped around my lower back, pulling me towards him. My hands rested on his shoulders, catching my balance. His kiss was soft, but fierce. Our tongues met in a matter of seconds, a gasp falling from my lips when his entered my mouth. He pressed his body into mine, our hips meeting and grazing each other sexually.

Holy shit, I was kissing Sam. And not only that, I was liking it.

Sam must have also came to this realization, that he too was kissing me, because he pulled back abruptly. Shock was written all over his face. “Woah…”

I breathed, leaning back against the island. “W-What was that?”

“I don't know. Wow, um…” He sputtered, taking a step back.

I cleared my throat, “Yeah that was... surprising.”

“You can say that.” Sam rubbed the back of his neck.

I exhaled, looking at him. "Guess we are really horny."

He agreed, letting out a light laugh.

We stood there in awkward silence, trying to get our bearings. My heart fluttered in my chest as I realized how turned on I had become just making out with him.

I really was in dire need to be fucked. And Sam... seemed willing enough. At least, for a moment there.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the loneliness. But something came over the both of us in that moment. We locked eyes, and it became apparent that things were changing. The awkward silence turned erotic, like one of us was waiting to make the next move. I wanted to, but what if I was wrong?

Fuck, I just... needed him.

Sam bit his lip, his eyes tracing my form. Once they landed back on my face, a look came over him. It was intense, his pupils blown wide. He looked eager, determined... hungry.

“Come here.” He mumbled lowly.

That's all I needed to hear.

I rushed up to him, our bodies slamming into one another. Our mouths met hastily, jumping right back into what we had been doing just minutes before. He wrapped his arms around me, his hands resting low on my hips. He spun us until my back hit the counter in the far corner of the kitchen. His hand slid down to my knee, raising it up so it rested around his hip.

He pulled away quickly, putting some space between us. Are you okay with this?”

I tried catching my breath, “W-wha?”

“Are you okay with this? Do you really want this?” Sam questioned, repeating himself.

“Yeah I do. Why would you ask?” I furrowed my brow.

He scoffed, “Come on, Y/N. We just spent ten minutes talking about how you wanted Colby.”

“Yeah, and you spent the better half of that talking about how you miss your ex.” I retorted. “Obviously, we aren't each other’s.... first choices. But that doesn't mean we can't have fun. Let's just enjoy this, and not make this a big deal.” I snaked my arms around him, pulling him back into me.

“Fine with me.”

He lowered his face to my neck, sucking and nibbling on the sensitive skin. I lulled my head back, allowing him as much access as he wanted. He pressed his hips into mine, sparks shooting up through my core into my entire body. I whimpered unexpectedly, Sam smiling into my neck at the sound.

I tugged lightly on his hair, pulling his head back. Our lips met again, my hand roaming his chest. I found the first button of his shirt, undoing it. I slowly followed suit with the others, my fingers tracing down his torso as I did.

He grabbed my wrists, stopping my motions. “Shouldn't we go back to my room and do this? Do you wanna get caught by Colby?”

“How about we stop bringing him up? I don't want to be thinking about him right now,” I smiled bitterly. “And anyway, you know as well as I do that man is probably knocked out asleep on his bed. So we'll be good til morning.”

“I don’t think I'm gonna make it that long. Maybe three rounds max.” He joked.

“Oh wow, three rounds?” I gazed up and down at his body, “I'll settle for one right now.”

“Same here.” He kissed me quickly, pulling back for a moment, "but just in case he's not totally asleep, let's not get fully naked."

“Lame. But fine, I guess.” I huffed.

“Trust me, I would love to see all of you, but not now. Not here.” He whispered sweetly.

I giggled, his face and lips pressing into my chest as he lowered my top more. His tongue dragged across my skin, and I felt like I was on fire.

Maybe all of that tequila was a good call, after all. Because God... the feeling between my legs was just growing hotter and wetter by the second. All I wanted was Sam.

Was there a part of me that also wanted Colby? Yes. But that part would have to shut it for now. Because he wasn't here. He didn't choose me. Sam did. And I was going to enjoy every second of it.

Our kisses became harsher, more passionate, as our hips grinded together harder. I could feel him against me, his bulge pressing right against my core. I grazed my hand down his torso, finally resting it on his belt. I undid with my one hand, trying my best.

He laughed, pulling back from me. “I'll get it.”

“Do you have a condom?” I breathed.

“Yeah, in my wallet.” He grabbed it out of his pocket, placing it on the counter.

As he undid his belt, I took the condom out, ripping the package with my teeth. I gazed down at his dick; it strained against his underwear, begging to be touched. I reached out, cupping him softly.

“O-oh, fuck, Y/N.” He choked out a moan, his eyes closing at the feeling.

“Does that feel good, Sammy?” I whispered, biting my lip.

He glared, a smirk on his lips, "You know I hate when you call me that."

I bit back a smile, “But I enjoy it so much.”

He hummed, “And I guess I'll enjoy this.”

Sam closed the space between us, his eyes never leaving mine. His hand slid underneath my skirt, palming my sex instantly. I gasped as my wet panties pressed into my aching clit. I shuddered against him, a dark chuckle leaving his lips.

“That's it, babygirl. You're so wet for me, aren't you?” His voice was raspy as he spoke.

“I told you I was horny.” I rubbed my palm harder into his cock as he did the same to my clit.

“Yeah, but only a little bit. If this is only you a little horny, I can't imagine what you're like completely turned on.” He pressed into me more, kissing up my neck.

My breath hitched, “Get inside me and you'll find out.”

“Ain't gotta tell me twice.” Sam lowered his pants and underwear down enough for his cock to spring free. He took the condom from my hand, rolling it down his shaft. I watched in anticipation, direly needing him inside of me.

I yanked my panties down, kicking them off my heels. Sam lined up with my entrance, our eyes meeting again.

His tip teased me, “You ready?”

I nodded, “Please Sam, just-”

He inched his way in, filling me slowly. We both moaned in unison, the sensation hitting us hard. I was so wet and slick, he was able to push all the way in easily. Once our hips met, his hand cupped my face.

I opened my eyes, and his searched mine. I should have felt weird in this moment. Here I was, in my employers' and best friends' kitchen being fucked by one of them while the other was just a room or two away. We could get caught, we could be seen or heard at any moment. I shouldn't have wanted this. Sam was my friend, and not the one I really wanted in my heart.

But my feelings be damned if I wasn't gonna enjoy every second of this. Plus, it's not like I was the only one getting something out of this. I was his second choice, and he was mine.

Sam started bucking his hips, building up to a good rhythm. My hands slid up his back, resting on his shoulder blades. He leaned his forehead against mine, his eyes closed. He was concentrating on his movements, of going deeper into me. His one hand rested on my ass, cupping and gripping it as he thrusted. The other was in my hair, burying deeper into my locks.

“You feel so good, Y/N. So fucking wet.” He uttered, his voice shaking.

“I need more, Sam. Pleaseeee.” I whined.

“I gotchu, babygirl.” He lowered his hips, hitting my sex deeper, “Just like this?”

“Oh my- Fuck! Yes, just like that!” I cursed loudly.

He hushed me, snickering, “Shh, you can't be too loud. You might wake him. Unless that's what you want…”

“What?” I raised an eyebrow, pulling back slightly.

He slowed his movements down, tracing my jaw with his thumb.“You wanna get caught, don't you?”

I hated that the idea did excite me. The thoughts swirled in my head; would Colby be upset? Would Sam? The what ifs made my mind wonder.

Sam grabbed my face suddenly, a little rougher than I expected him to be. “Look at me.”

I blinked, staring into his eyes.

“Don't look away from me, okay? I want all of your attention on me and what I'm doing to you. Got it?” He commanded.

His tone was sexy, my body jolting from the sound. “Okay.”

He pecked my lips, “Good girl.”

I gasped as his hand slid down to my clit, rubbing it in time with his thrusts. My body clenched at the sensation, my hips speeding up.

“You need more?” Sam growled.

I hummed, only able to nod. My nails dug into his back as he sped up his movements. He began fucking me harder against the counter. He held me steady, going deeper as he did.

I shuttered, “Fuuuck Sam. You make me feel so full.”

“Yeah? Feel fucking amazing, Y/N.” Sam grunted, “God, if you squeeze around me one more time, I'm gonna-

I smirked against his neck, squeezing his cock inside of me. He halted his hips, raising his head to look at me.

He pushed his dick all the way in, filling me completely. His fingers started rubbing my clit faster and faster. My mouth fell open, my body shaking with pleasure..

Sam glared into my eyes, watching me as I almost came undone. I gripped him hard, panting. I could feel myself getting closer and closer to the edge, and all he was doing was using his fingers.

“You right there for me?” He hissed.

I whimpered, pleading, “Please let me come.”

“Stay right there for me. Don't come yet.” He demanded.

He picked up his speed again, fucking me faster than he had before. His cock pounded into me repeatedly, adding more to the pleasure of his fingers on my clit. I could feel my wetness leak down my thighs. I was so close, unable to hold on for much longer.

“Sam, pleaseeee..... I'm so fucking close.” I mewled.

He groaned, closing his eyes tightly. “I'm right there, babygirl. You gonna come for me?”

“Fuck, yes, yes! Please Sam!” I cried, begging.

He slammed his hand down on my mouth, letting out a small laugh. “Don't fucking scream.”

My response was muffled, but he could tell what I said.

He lowered his mouth to my ear, whispering aggressively, “Squeeze around me. Do it, Y/N. Come for me.”

I bucked my hips with abandonment, my head falling back as my cries were silenced by his hand. Sam grunted lowly as he came, his fingers pressing into my clit while he was deep inside of me. My body spasmed, my orgasm hitting me in waves.

Sam fell against me, his hands sliding and wrapping around me in a soft embrace. We stood there for a moment, catching our breaths.

The silence was cut suddenly.... by the sound of Colby's door shutting.

We pulled away from one another, glancing at each other with wide eyes. We hastily pulled our clothes back on, fixing ourselves as best we could before Colby appeared.

I turned my back towards the boys, a noticeable blush on my face. I ran my fingers through my hair, adjusting it the best I could.

“Hey did you guys order Taco Bell yet?” Colby called, his voice coming from the other side of the kitchen island.

“Um, uh. N-no. Not yet.” Sam stammered out, clearing his throat.

Colby sighed dramatically. “Can you hurry up and do it? I'm fucking starving.”

I turned around, finally feeling relaxed enough to join in. “Yeah Sam, hurry up. I'm hungry.”

“I thought you said you were full.” He stared at me with a playful glint in his eye.

“Well,” I jested, cursing him out in my head, “I guess I have a bigger appetite than I thought.”

I gave Colby a quick once over, realizing he was shirtless and in sweatpants, like usual.

Definitely a bigger appetite…

|| part two >>

#sam golbach #sam golbach fanfiction #sam golbach fanfic #sam golbach x reader #sam and colby smut #sam golbach fic #sam golbach angst #sam golbach one shot #sam golbach oneshot #colby brock #sam and colby

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magicalbats · 8 months

Text

Kinktober Day 8: Breeding

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 6762

Warnings: Afab!reader, Hunter/prey, noncon, baby trapping, lots of pregnancy talk, biting, marking, doggy style (Heh), vaginal sex, cream pie, pheromones, sex pollen? Kind of?? Don't know what else to call it lol

⭐

The forest could be a dangerous place if you didn’t keep your eyes open and pay attention. That was the very first thing he’d taught you. A hard lesson to learn after you’d nearly tumbled straight off a high embankment right into the croc infested waters below, just because you’d been a bit too distracted by the lush scenery to watch where you were going. He’d chided and lectured you for upwards of twenty minutes about safety, situational awareness, common sense and self preservation after none too gently yanking you back from the unseen ledge.

A mother hen. That’s what you’d thought of him at the time.

But he’d never warned you about this. Had never told you what to do when the impending threat did not stem from the forest itself or the wildlife that inhabited it. When he was the danger nipping at your heels rather than the crocs or the jaguars, or the territorial fungi defending their young.

Somewhere along the way you seem to have forgotten that Tighnari was still a predator no matter how polite or friendly he may have otherwise seemed.

Twigs and branches snap a deafening chorus around you as you barrel through the underbrush, barely even seeing where you’re running but just knowing you had to flee. It wasn’t so much a higher functioning thought as it was an instinctive compulsion that had gripped you in a chilling fist when you saw the way he’d looked at you back at the small camp. The way he’d prowled towards you, his well groomed tail stiff and flicking out behind him. You’d never seen Tighnari look at anyone like that before, least of all yourself, and it had scared you. There was no denying that when you were currently making a mad dash through the damp, sticky rainforest on the slim hope you’d be able to make it back to Gandharva Ville and dissuade him from further pursuit.

But you also felt hot in a way that did not seem to have anything to do with exertion or the muggy, oppressive atmosphere in the oxygen dense environment. A bit dizzy, even though you should have had more than enough stamina to make the sprint without becoming faint.

Confused and gasping, you reluctantly slow to a stop and reach out to brace your sweaty palm against the rough bark of a tree. The opposite hand presses over your middle, clutching at the deep stitch in your gut that was making it so difficult to breathe. What was happening to your body, now of all times? You don’t get to linger on that thought for very long.

A soft, deliberate rustle of leaves somewhere behind you brings your head up with a sharp snap. Not only was Tighnari close but he wanted you to know it. You’d watched him track a large male boar that had turned overly aggressive at the height of its mating season rut without making more than a whisper on the forest floor. The wild, mindless thing hadn’t even realized it was in danger until it was much too late … He never would have allowed you to hear him moving around like that unless he wanted you to.

Wait.

Mating season? Rut?

Your eyes go big, widening to the approximate size of dinner plates. But before you can fully process the implication of what that would mean, what it would suggest, you hear the snap of a branch directly behind you and quickly spin around.

Tighnari offers you what you think is supposed to be an apologetic smile. But his usually crystal clear eyes are so shuttered and glazed over with some unknown heat that it does absolutely nothing to comfort you. The stark flush staining his round cheeks seems to stand out against his complexion like someone had taken harsh brushstrokes to his face. Perhaps most incriminating of all, though, is the way his sharply pointed, proud ears curl down to droop low over his skull. He was visibly a wreck, and he looks at you across the scant distance like you were dinner.

“Sorry about that,” He murmurs in such a hushed voice you have to strain to hear it. “I knew this time of year was coming, but I thought I’d be able to better control myself than this. I wasn’t expecting you to start ovulating at the same time.”

A shudder dances up your spine and you straighten, subconsciously digging your fingers into your stomach as you let go of the tree. So that was it, then. “It’s okay.” You whisper back. You were frantically trying to sort through your whirlwind thoughts without setting him off any further, avoiding both quick movements and loud noises. Maybe if you just stayed very, very still … “You just startled me, is all. I thought you were mad at me or something so I thought I’d head back early.”

You force a quiet laugh, hoping to ease some of the tension sparking between you and him, but when Tighnari opens his mouth nothing comes out. He looks like he wants to groan as he slowly drags his gaze down your front, lingering briefly on your chest before sinking lower to lock on the hand you’ve got cupped around your middle. Shoulders stiffening in response, you force yourself to uncurl your arm and let it hang at your side. It doesn’t work though, and his hazy eyes remain locked on your belly even when you take a shuffling step back.

Oh, this was not good. This wasn’t good at all.

“Tighnari - -“ You start to say, but he cuts you off before you can try to reason with him.

“Can you feel it too? The surge of hormones, the sensitivity … is your blood pumping as fast as mine is right now?” He takes a sedate step towards you then, and you quickly back up another pace. Looking a little sad about that, a little disappointed, he seems to force himself to stand still instead of pressing closer. “Humans can be funny creatures, you know. They’re just as susceptible to changes in environment as any other living organism, but they often overlook the real reason for their sudden mood swings or shifts in behavior. They think it’s some higher force dictating their actions. Like their sentience absolves them from hormonal influence.”

He pauses then, looking at you with such barely contained animal hunger it makes every single hair on your body stand on end. It was like he wanted to consume you. Rip you open and gorge himself on everything right down to the bones. Suddenly, you weren’t sure if he wanted to mate with you or eat you alive.

But he just licks his lips after a time, clearly struggling to rein in his control. “I know you’re scared. I can taste it on the back of my tongue, but I promise I have no intention of hurting you. It’s just — sudden, isn’t it?”

“That’s an understatement.” You grumble even as you force yourself to draw a deep, shuddering breath meant to ground you and calm your nerves.

But when you let it out with a stilted exhale Tighnari faintly shivers as if you’d physically touched him, his eyes slipping shut in what could only be savory pleasure. You can see his tail eagerly flicking behind him, like his every instinct was screaming at him to pounce and to claim, and to take; and a fresh wave of horror washes over you when you realize he’s scenting you on the air. Whatever you were currently feeling was only a very small, dulled fraction compared to his heightened senses.

Idly, you think you should try running again, but he speaks before you can muster up the courage to follow through.

“Do you know what else I taste? Arousal. So hot and thick it’s even overpowering your fear response. I don’t think you realize how innate your body’s reaction is to me right now.” Letting out a shuddering exhale of his own, Tighnari slowly looks at you again with an expression that is so miserable, so needy, it makes your knees grow weak.

And not because you were scared, you’re more than a little horrified to realize.

“You’re so fertile it’s making it hard to even think straight. All I want to do is pin you down and bury myself in you for hours on end, and your subconscious hormonal response tells me you want the same. Humans can’t go into heat. Not really, anyway. They’ve long since lost the need for seasonal mating cues when they can reproduce at any time of the year thanks to their societal based advantages … but I think you’re the closest you can get to it right now. You don’t understand why you want me to take you to mate but you do feel compelled, don’t you?”

You probably would have laughed if your heart wasn’t wedged inside your throat, threatening to choke you. Even at the height of his rut — that was the only thing you could think to call it — he was still so scientifically minded and intelligent that he was actively analyzing the situation, even lecturing you in the gentle, prodding way he always nudged you towards the right answer. It was almost insidious how benign this conversation would have otherwise been if you hadn’t been doing everything in your power to ignore the sharp throb in your lower belly.

He was right. You did indeed feel a stifling amount of desire for him and your cunt seemed to squeeze around nothing every single time he mentioned or even alluded to mating, claiming, heat and, perhaps most alarming of all, reproduction. It was as if a venomous worm had crawled inside your brain while you were sleeping and taken up root there, influencing your decision making with its potent toxin. Your judgment was extremely clouded, yes, but even despite that you still recognized what a dangerous game this was. How foolish you would have been to play it.

You wanted him, in that moment, more than you could ever remember wanting anything else, but the consequences of taking that plunge were another matter entirely. It was just too soon. You were still a young researcher, still had plenty of time to give yourself over to another and make a family together. Maybe it would be with Tighnari, maybe not. But like this? You just couldn’t rationalize it in your head.

“Listen to me carefully,” You finally speak up, feeling like you were facing off with a very dangerous apex predator when his ears give an aggressive twitch and attentatively swivel towards you. “I understand what you’re saying. I feel it too. There’s no denying that, but I don’t think this is a good idea for either of us. You have so many responsibilities already and I do too. This isn’t the kind of decision we should make on a whim. I can’t — I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

Rather than backing down, he surprises you by taking a sudden step forward. “If it’s your livelihood you’re worried about, I make more than enough to support you as well as any kits we might have. I can take care of you.”

“K - kits!” You stammer, absolutely gobsmacked.

“Yes, and it’s not like it’s unheard of for female researchers to suddenly become pregnant during their studies at the Akademiya or shortly after graduation. This is a normal part of life, and some of them even manage to return to their fields after having children. It doesn’t mean an end to your work, just a … pause in it.”

You just stand there, gaping at him in shock and disbelief alike. That was all quite easy for him to say because he wouldn’t have to worry about the toll it would have on his body, the strain and stress of giving birth to another tiny, helpless life or taking care of it afterward the same way you would be expected to. He couldn’t make milk to feed a baby, he wouldn’t need to pause his work to stay up late tending to it or take hours out of his day to change and clean the damned thing. All of that would fall on you, and even if you could somehow manage to find enough energy to work on your research while juggling an infant at the same time … how much would you realistically be able to devote to those pursuits? How much would you waste just raising the offspring he was trying to foist on you?

Going through with this would spell the end of your career and he had to have known that, so why? Why was he looking at you like what he’d said was perfectly reasonable and logical? Like you were the one with the problem?

Your stomach cramps so hard it threatens to bowl you over on the spot and you stumble, blindly reaching back to brace against the tree again. He watches you do it with so much attentive interest it makes you feel vaguely like a bug being studied under a microscopic lens but you’re a bit too focused on trying not to hyperventilate to pay it much mind. You felt like you were going to be sick. Never before have you experienced such suffocating, oppressive dread and you have no idea how to process any of it.

But then, he makes the decision for you.

When he takes another step closer you bolt, lurching into a dead sprint that nearly sends you tripping head over heels into the underbrush. You manage to keep your balance though, somehow, and you careen through the trees at such a blind dash it’s a wonder you don’t knock yourself out slamming into anything.

The heavy sound of his footfalls behind you doesn’t come as a shock but it does encourage you to run faster, harder, your legs screaming in protest while you gallop across the uneven terrain as fast as they can carry you. A stray root catches your foot and makes you stumble, but even then you don’t stop. It feels like your heart is going to erupt right out of your chest cavity at any given moment and you just keep running like your life depended on it because, well. It probably did.

You aren’t sure how far you actually make it or for how long he lets the pursuit go on, but you’re distinctly aware of him right on your heels the entire time, much to the detriment of your quaking nerves. Tighnari keeps pace with you easily enough though, making it quite clear that you were at a sore disadvantage in the forest he knew like the back of his own hand, and you realize it’s a losing battle long before he actually puts an end to it. You weren’t sure how much more of this terrible hunt your body could handle.

You’re so strung out that it almost comes as a relief when he finally slams into you from behind and lands on top of you in the dirt and grass, crushing you under his sturdy weight. Gasping and heaving from the impact as much as exertion, you jerk your head up as if to scream — thinking perhaps you were close enough to Gandharva Ville that someone might hear you — but you don’t get the chance.

Aggressively curling himself over your shuddering body, Tighnari slips a gloved hand under your jaw to keep your neck craned back and slams his mouth against yours. It’s not so much a kiss as it is nipping teeth and bared fangs, but it still muffles the plaintive shriek you let out against his lips. You feel him shift on top of you and slowly grind against your ass, his knees forcing you to stay in place where they bracket your hips, and you outright choke at the hard press of his straining cock. He takes quick advantage of it and delves his tongue into your mouth, claiming every inch of you he can reach as you groan around the intrusion.

It’s like there’s a second heartbeat between your legs now, just as frantic and uncontrollable as the one in your chest, and it pulses so hard it almost hurts when he humps you with increasingly fast, stuttering snaps of his hips. You think he’s completely lost control if he can’t even wait to get your pants down, the total absence of his usual calm, levelheaded demeanor a decidedly bad sign for how this was going to play out. You didn’t think you could stop him … but maybe, just maybe you could reason with him.

“Tighnari!” You croak when he finally, abruptly disengages from your mouth. Sucking in harsh, gasping mouthfuls of air as he directs his attention to your jaw and your neck, mindlessly nipping at your skin, you desperately try to think of something to say that might persuade him to listen. Easier said than done, of course, but you finally settle on, “I don’t mind having sex with you - -“

“Thank you, thank you,” He practically sobs against your pulse, sounding so needy and desperate it inspires a sympathetic flutter low in your gut. “You’ll be an amazing mother, I just know it. Thank you.”

“N - no!” Blindly reaching around, you try to shove at him with one hand but it’s no use. He’s solid and unbudging on top of you. “We can have sex but — ahhn! But you can’t cum inside! Do you hear me? You have to pull out!”

A vibrating growl rises low in his chest, bleeding into you as he seems to settle his weight more firmly across your back. You choke at the sensation of him laying out on top of you, his legs splayed wide to press the full brunt of his straining cock into your defenseless backside while his feet hook over your calves. In a move that would have greatly impressed you under better circumstances, he forces your legs apart in this prone position until it feels like the only thing stopping him from claiming you right then and there is the thin layer of clothes separating him from you. Completely vulnerable and helpless like this, all you can do is lay there and take it when he starts thrusting his hips again.

“If we mate,” He snarls into your ear, grunting at the sensation of his cock dragging over your cunt. “There won’t be any stopping it. No pulling out. You will be mine and that will be the end of it.”

Letting out a keening groan, so low and heavy it seems to make your eyes vibrate in their sockets, you weakly claw at the dirt in an attempt to ground yourself. You could tell you were slipping under now, your body running so hot on fast pumping adrenaline and potent endorphins that you couldn’t help but crave the release he promised. It was sickening, in a way, the instinctive arch of your back. The way you subtly angle your throbbing cunt up at him, welcoming the pressure of him digging into you. How he just keeps grinding and thrusting until you’re hyper aware of not only how soaked you were but how badly you actually wanted to feel him moving like that inside of you.

You didn’t just want it, you needed it.

“Ahhn … T - Tighnari! If you really get me pregnant - -“

“Not if.” He cuts across you so forcefully you seethe, squeezing your eyes shut in distress. “I will. There really isn’t any room for debate on this. You’re so fertile, sweetheart. I can taste it. Your mind might not be in agreement, but your body is just begging to be taken and bred. This is what you were made for, don’t you see?”

Choking on your protests, you plaintively shake underneath him when he somehow manages to wedge his hands under your sweaty, heaving body. It’s a tight, pinching squeeze and you hiss as he palms at your top and roughly yanks to get it pulled up. Realizing what he’s doing, you twist underneath him with renewed frenzy but it’s useless. He’s got you so thoroughly pinned all you can do is let him inch it up bit by bit until your tits finally spill out and you seethe when they touch the cool ground. You didn’t really want to be taken like this, like an animal in the dirt, but even trying to desperately cling to your shirt isn’t enough to dissuade him, and he soon has it yanked right over your head.

You just barely manage to snag at one of the sleeves when he carelessly tosses it aside, trying to pull it back towards you even if only so you can spread it out under your body, but you’re not quick enough. Tighnari’s hands immediately slip under you again, and you outright yelp when he squeezes at your chest in a much too tight hold. The sound that comes out of you is haggard and bleating, and he ignores it completely in favor of kneading the bountiful flesh with a quiet groan of his own.

“You really were made for this,” He seems to marvel, the awed inflection in his raspy voice doing nothing to make you think it was a compliment. “Your breasts have a good shape and the weight of them is pleasing as well, but the fat distribution suggests you’ll not only produce high quality milk but plenty of it too. Even if we were to have twins, I suspect you would have no issues keeping them fed and happy.”

You twist against his hold, hating the words as much as the way he squishes your tits in his fingers. “N - nooooo!”

“Yes.” Shoving his face into the dampened crook of your neck, he issues another low snarl against your pulse. “Just thinking about you holding one of my kits to your chest is going to make me cum … I really don’t think I can control myself much longer. I'm so sorry, sweetheart, but … but I’m not going to let you up off the ground until I’m sure you’ve been properly bred. You’ll be with child long before I’m through with you today, I promise. I promise.”

His breath catching as if just saying it was enough to make him feel pleasure unlike any other, Tighnari nuzzles into you with an affectionate little rumble in his throat that sounds oddly like a pur. It’s almost enough to stop you in your tracks, because you’ve never heard him make a sound like that before, but then he directs his fingers to the tips of your breasts and you can’t quite stop yourself from squawking when he latches onto the nipples.

“These are also nice. A little small right now, but I’m sure that will quickly change once you start producing milk. They’re firm but pliant, and,” He pauses to give them a quick, biting pinch and a squeeze, making you wail underneath him. “Very receptive by the looks of it. That might prove to be an issue, though it shouldn’t be anything too major.”

“Nghn … w - what do you mean?”

“Hm? Oh, I just meant it might cause you some discomfort at first, with the fangs and all.”

Groaning, you weakly drop your head to rest on the grass in complete and utter defeat. You were exhausted and horrified at how casually he was discussing this but even that was not enough to deter your own pulsing arousal from robbing you of the will to fight. His perfectly reasonable, if not breathless, manner of speaking on these matters wasn’t exactly helping either. It was a little hard to keep up the pretense of being an unwilling participant in all this when he made it sound so perfectly benign … so normal. So expected that you don’t protest when he hunches further over you to put his face close to yours; big, crystalline eyes taking in your expression from a scant few millimeters away.

Evidently seeing that resignation reflected back at him, he tips his head and seals his mouth over yours. You accept his kiss without complaint this time, slowly giving yourself over to the steady pull of his lips. Rather than aggressive nipping and biting, it’s something much more tender and soft, and you moan faintly when he continues to flick over your nipples until they feel oversensitized and raw. It takes you a long beat to realize he’s stilled his hips, just resting on top of you now, but you don’t miss why. Even with a few layers of clothes between you and Tighnari, you can faintly make out the intense pulse of him where he’s pressed tight against your cunt.

It doesn’t last long though, and you take a gasping breath of fresh air when he finally pulls back some moments later. His hands reluctantly drag down off your chest to find the hem of your pants, which he quickly fumbles with to get them pulled down. A fresh sense of urgency rushes in to replace the temporary calm that had fallen over the small clearing he’d pinned you in, and you quickly start to breathe harder as he works your last remaining clothes down your legs. You never thought you’d find yourself spread out on the forest floor like this … but there is no denying the way the vibrating tension in your body doubles, and then triples when you feel air hit your exposed backside. No denying how you shudder so intensely you feel sick with it, and arch your back to present yourself to him like — like a bitch in heat.

“Tighnari, please!”

Abruptly, he seems to give up and he leaves your slacks bunched around your thighs in favor of impatiently grabbing hold of your hips so he can yank you back against him. A startled yelp bursts out of you as you’re forced onto your hands and knees, trembling at the heavy press of his cock from behind. Tighnari grinds against you for a brief moment, emphasizing how very wet you are for him when his own slacks brush over your cunt to smear sticky slick, and then he’s quickly fumbling to get them shoved out of the way.

Breasts swaying, you twist around to look back at him but you don’t get the chance to really see anything. One second he’s reaching between your bodies and the next he’s leaning into you, your mouth dropping open on a silent scream when the blunt head of him starts to sink into your entrance. You’d known you were heady with arousal but it still comes as something of a shock when he simply slides against your guts, gliding easily into your cunt until the sudden stretch becomes too much and you cry out.

Softly shushing you, he readjusts his weight and brings both hands up to clutch at your hips again so he can hold you in place while he leans over you. You moan, haggard and strained, as he settles along your back not unlike before; but this time when he shoves his face into the crook of your neck he suddenly bites down. Hard.

“Wait - -!”

There’s nothing you can do to stop it. At first it’s just a sharp, debilitating pressure and then the next second you feel his teeth break the skin, tiny little canines sinking deep into flesh. The puncture wound burns on the tender side of your neck and you choke on some kind of hurt little animal sound, stiffly jerking against him. But you were effectively trapped with the risk of tearing open your own pulse hanging over your head like this, and all you can do is loose a frantic, pained groan when he starts to nudge his hips forward again, gradually sinking the rest of the way inside you.

You understood now, why he’d delayed this long enough to let you relax into it and come to terms with the fact you even wanted it at all. He’d lulled you into a false sense of security just so you wouldn’t be fighting him tooth and nail when the time came for him to finally leave his mark on you … it was insidious and cruel, and you wince when each pulsing throb in your cunt seems to reflect in your neck. It’s not lost on you that this is a twofold attack meant to dominate and disable in the same breath, so stricken by the pain and the searing stretch that you just kneel there in the dirt without even making an attempt to struggle against it.

Finally, he settles into your upturned ass and issues a huffy, muffled groan against your neck to send fresh jolts of hurt shooting through your nerves. His grip on your waist is bruising, but barely noticeable when compared to everything else you were feeling. For a drawn out beat, the two of you just stay like that, perfectly still and panting hard against each other until, at last Tighnari angles his cock back. It’s a stilted, painfully slow drag against your guts but he quickly pushes back in without pulling out all the way, jostling you slightly to make your tits sway. Hissing through clenched teeth, you dig your nails into the ground underneath you while he steadily works himself up to a quick, snappy pace that soon has you rocking against him to the loud plap, plap, plap of skin hitting skin.

Without warning, he suddenly loosens his jaw and you outright wail at the sensation of his teeth receding from your skin. It’s immediately replaced by the soft, wet warmth of his tongue lapping at the wound as if to clean it, a soft whimper coming from him in apology. Still, though, he doesn’t stop fucking you, his rigid cock spearing up into your cunt so forcefully you sway unsteadily on your hands and knees. It was too much. He was jackhammering you way too hard, too fast, and you couldn’t brace against it.

“Tighnari — wha - wait a second!”

That faint, vaguely cat-like pur rises in him again and you shudder uncontrollably when it seems to vibrate straight through you. He turns his head to bury his face in your shoulder, panting and gasping while his hands abandon your aching hips in favor of groping at your front. Your tits were still tender after the first time though, and you can’t quite stop yourself from crying out when he pinches your nipples again. He grunts when your cunt clamps down around him in response then does it again, tugging at your sore little teats until you wildly buck underneath him.

“Oh! Archons!”

That’s the last thing you manage to get out before the coil snaps. His cock is so hard and demanding that it seems to hit that spot deep inside you every time he plunges inside, and even devolving into a shuddering, writhing mess against him isn’t enough to make him slow down. He fucks you right through it even when you whine in overstimulated agony, pussy flexing around that stiff intrusion so hard it makes you feel faint. Dizzy. You felt like you were going to pass out, and you scrabble at the ground for something to hold on to. You were sure your body couldn’t take much more of this brutal pace but he showed no signs of slowing down anytime soon.

“Please —!”

“I told you, didn’t I?” Tighnari hisses against your skin, shuddering against your back. “I’m not going to let you up until - ngh! Until you’ve been properly bred! I’m sorry but I - I promised!”

Bleating like a wounded animal, you futilely try to angle away from him — just for a moment's reprieve, even a short one — but he just follows you, pressing himself flush to your shuddering frame. The added weight of him settling on top of you like that is too much for your shaking arms and you collapse into the grass, moaning raggedly when he simply follows you down.

His hands move to squeeze around your rib cage, making your already labored breath hitch, but he just drags his palms down to take hold of your hips again. Rather forcefully, he pulls you back against him until you were balanced on your knees, the upper half of your body stretched out along the ground. You choke on a flustered sound when you feel your tits drag across the dirt, swaying heavily in this position, but that hardly seemed to be the most pressing matter at the moment.

Somehow Tighnari manages to piston into you even faster like this and each plunging thrust of his hips seems to steal the air from your lungs. The deafeningly loud sound of your sticky cunt sucking him in deep, readily welcoming him and trying to pull him in even deeper, rushes in to join the sharp slap of his pelvis meeting your ass. Your body responds eagerly though, even at the cost of your own dignity, and your eyes start to roll back when you feel a second orgasm fast approaching, much sooner than you could have ever anticipated.

This was insane. No one single cock should have been perfectly tailor made to slot inside your body like a missing puzzle piece and yet, that’s exactly how it felt. The shape of him was contoured just right to hit every pleasure inducing bump and ridge along the way, the length perfect to stroke you right where you needed it most. Even the stiffness of his cock was exactly what your pulsing guts craved, unrelenting and hard but still pliant enough to adjust to your internal pressure. It was like …

It was like you really had been made for this.

That chilling thought is what sends you over the edge, and you shriek so wildly through the convulsions he has to slip his arm forward and cover your mouth. Squealing behind his palm, you jerk and ride out the waves of mind numbing pleasure, jerking uncontrollably on his cock, but even then he doesn’t relent for even a second. He’s got you so thoroughly pinned under the driving weight of his pelvis that you’re forced to keep your back arched even through your shuddering climax, and the sloppy wet sounds of penetration only seem to grow even louder. You felt like you were dripping all over yourself and leaving damp little patches in the dirt under your spread legs, and a hot jab of embarrassment spears through you at the thought.

No one had ever made you feel like this before, so overwhelmed and helpless to do anything but shake and drool obscene amounts of slick out of your cunt. It was quite easily the hottest experience of your life.

You’re so aroused, so very turned on by the total domination of your body that even your mind starts to slip, and by the time his breathing becomes sharply uneven you don’t even have the wherewithal to beg him to pull out. You just lay there, spread out underneath him, eyes rolling in doped out bliss while you heatedly groan behind his hand, and convulse on his stuttering cock. He was close and that was obvious even when you were lolling in and out of full consciousness from getting fucked within an inch of your life, but you still lift a shuddering hand to weakly grasp at his arm where it’s lock around your front. Something told you you’d want to hold on for this.

“Oh! M’gonna’ cum! I’m cumming, sweetheart, I’m cumming! Are you ready? Ready for me to fill you up?” He wheezes against the side of your head, entire body juddering with the intensity of his impending release as much as the exertion. “I’m going to breed you, I’m — ahhn — I’m breeding you, sweetheart, I’m cumming!”

Whining low in your throat, aching and sore, and well past the point of overstimulation, you writhe under him and instinctively tip your pelvis up to better accept his seed. He doesn’t miss it and a full bodied tremor overtakes him, making him shake so hard it’s a struggle to keep pounding into you. But he manages, somehow, his hips snapping at an uneven, frantic pace now until finally — finally, Tighnari lets out a deep, half strangled groan that rises in pitch, becoming gaspy and needy at the tail end as his cock jumps and sputters inside you.

You’re distinctly aware of the moment his semen hits your clenching guts in a hot, stifling pulse and your mouth drops open but nothing comes out. Spurt after heavy spurt, it just keeps coming to settle deep within you until it feels like you’re drowning in it. The sensation alone is almost enough to send you quaking right over the edge into another orgasm, the weakly contracting muscles in your cunt locked up in dizzying tension, but you manage to stave it off as your head starts to clear. Barely, though. Just barely.

Even in this fucked out state you still realized that the very last thing you needed was for another orgasm to pull his load even further into your body and run the risk of encouraging fertilization. There was still a chance you could reverse this, if you made it back to Gandharva Ville in time …

Pulled from your muddled, hazy thoughts, you let out a quiet whimper when he slowly eases back and slips out with an embarrassingly loud wet pop. The motion seems to pull with it a quickly cooling dribble of cum that oozes down your cunt, running over sticky creases and folds. You shudder at the sensation even as you gingerly push up to your elbows and glance down at yourself only for your eyes to nearly pop right out of your skull when you see how much semen is actually coming out of you. It hadn’t felt like that much to your abused innards but the proof of it is right in front of you. It’s a thick, creamy thread that stretches from your cunt, dangling tauntingly between your legs, rather than the clear little droplet you'd expected, and you feel immediate panic rise in your chest.

That couldn’t be right … if he’d ejaculated that much then — how much was actually inside of you?

You just couldn’t wrap your head around it.

Shifting on his knees behind you and evidently oblivious to the internal crises you were currently facing, Tighnari reaches down and catches that sticky thread on his gloved finger so he can push it back inside you. Grimacing at the sight as much as the sensation, you screw your eyes shut and try counting to ten. This was fine. As long as you made it back before fertilization took place, you could still take a contraceptive herb. Maybe two, just to be sure.

But, to your surprise, when you move to get up, still trembling and panting, he just grabs ahold of your hips to halt you in place and you prickle defensively. Twisting around to look back at him, you choke on whatever you’d wanted to say when you realize how he’s looking at you. Still hungry, still hazy. Oh, this was most assuredly not good.

“Tighnari - -“

“Not yet.” He murmurs, dragging you closer to press his pelvis flush against yours, and you practically jump out of your skin when you realize his cock is already half hard, quickly filling out again. You stammer in protest, heart thudding a frightened little pitter patter against your chest, but he just leans across your back to put his face close to yours, focus attentively locked on your expression. “We need to make sure it took, sweetheart. I promised to breed you, didn’t I?”

Ignoring your soft whimpers, he closes the distance and seals his mouth over yours, kissing you so slowly it makes your head spin. You couldn’t believe he still had the stamina or the desire to keep going after that … but more than anything you couldn’t believe yourself.

Cunt eagerly throbbing in response, you rear back on him with a low, stilted moan, even when every fiber of your being was screaming at you to run. It was like you were intoxicated. Drunk on all the pheromones he was putting out and consumed with a need so great even your higher functioning mind couldn’t fight it.

And so distantly you almost don’t even notice it, the bite on your neck pulses.

⭐

Crossposted here

#genshin impact #tighnari #tighnari x reader #self insert bullshit

385 notes · View notes

whiskey-tango-matcha · 3 months

Text

Hard to Shake (M, cold)

Woof, that was too long of a hiatus. I'm back with some Greyson sickfic! In this, Greyson has a one night stand and ends up 'running into' his hookup in a not-so-stellar way. This was a fun write, I'm feeling a little rusty after taking a couple months off writing but I hope you all like it. Please let me know what ya think, good, bad or indifferent! :)

CW: M snz, colds, contagion, coughing, some M/M romance but nothing above PG-13 lol. 5k words (it's a slow burn, shocker, I know)

Hard to Shake

The club was dark, humid, and loud as fuck - just the way he liked it.

“I’ll get us drinks,” Matt said, disappearing into the crowd to push towards the bar without waiting on Greyson’s response. Not that he would have stopped his counterpart; Matt had a boyfriend waiting for him at the end of this black hole of a night. Greyson, alternatively, was on the prowl for a bed, and someone to share it with.

They had begun the night at two pm, just an hour after brunch ended, since the only way to get a proper buzz on a Sunday was to start early as hell. Elijah had closed the restaurant early – “We’ve had ten guests all day. It’s too damn hot for brunch, and I want to go home” – and Mark was currently on a plane home from England after a week spent with family; it was like the universe was begging them to go out.

The restaurant’s reservations had been capped at a tiny number the next two days to prepare for their food writer dinner on Wednesday, and Greyson was so nervous about this career-shaping dinner that he could barely keep himself from lapsing into panic attacks at the slightest provocation; it was Matt who insisted on the bender.

“We haven’t gone on a good one since Mark and I got together,” the sous chef had said after service. “And you need a drink, you're acting like a psycho.”

Greyson, never one to deny himself a good binge drink, had taken the bait and allowed himself to be paraded through the city for the rest of the day. Now, at eleven pm and with Mark back at his and Matt's place safe and sound, Greyson could feel the night coming to a close. Time to round it out with a good old-fashioned one-night-stand.

Without waiting for Matt to return with the drinks, Greyson sashayed onto the dance floor and began grinding on whoever seemed the most into it – he ground on a group of drunk men, twirled between two gorgeous women who laughed giddily through the song, and put his tongue into so many people’s mouths that he lost count. Of course it was fun; it always was. But the hunt for a bed partner had proven, thus far, unsuccessful.

“There you are,” Matt slurred, coming up behind his boss and shoving a whiskey into his hand. “Why do you always run off? I’m about three seconds away from getting you one of those toddler-leash backpacks.”

“Makin’ friends, Matty boy,” Greyson said, chugging his drink and slamming the glass onto the closest table he could find. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of goin’ home to a warm, naked man in our bed.” Greyson elbowed Matt playfully and the younger man rolled his eyes.

“Fair ‘nough,” he said, sipping his drink. “Hey, actually, I saw someone who was exactly your type back near the bar. Talkin’ about food and everything.” Greyson raised his eyebrows, intrigued, and Matt looped his arm into his boss’s and led him back towards the horseshoe-shaped bar. “Let’s see if we can’t get you fucked to sleep.”

Matt pushed the two of them through the crowd, his head on a swivel, until finally he spotted the man he’d been talking about. “There he is,” Matt said, pushing Greyson towards the bar. “Do your thing.”

The sous hadn’t lied; this man was quintessential Greyson’s type. Shorter than his six-foot-three-inches by about half a foot, perfect skin, hair coiffed in a way that just smelled of total pretentious douchebag, and a full blazer and dress pants at the club. Oh yeah, Greyson thought, pulling the elastic out of his sandy curls and shaking them to fall around his shoulders, there’s the rest of my evening.

“Hi,” Greyson said, pushing himself in front of whoever the guy had been talking to before. “Can I buy you a drink?”

***

In his defense, he hadn't known the condition of the man he'd left with until they got to his apartment. The club had been dark; he could barely hear the sound of his own voice, let alone the wheeze of someone else’s. And he’d been really, really drunk.

“Hh-! EISHH-oo! ISHH-oo!” The man – Reed, Greyson had learned his name was – curled into his elbow to sneeze as he pushed open the door to his apartment. “Shit, pardon mbe,” he muttered, clearing his throat and beckoning Greyson in. The chef, blasted as he was, simply ignored Reed’s constant sneezing.

“Now, where were we?” Greyson purred, pawing the back of Reed’s head and pulling it into his own. The two stood in the entry of Reed’s apartment – a truly incredible fifteenth-story one-bedroom in the Upper East Side with its own doorman – making out until Reed had to pull away to catch his breath.

“Shit,” he said again, panting, “sorry. Thought the worst of this fuckin’ cold was behind mbe but – ISHHOO! Snrf. Apparently ndot.” He wiped his nose on the back of his hand and cringed. “I understand if you don’t want to stay,” he said, giving Greyson an apologetic look.

Greyson remained unfettered. “Reed,” he said, taking a step back towards the other man. “Stop talking. And get in bed.”

Reed’s face colored. He opened his mouth to say something, but Greyson cut him off with another kiss.

“What did I just say?” Greyson asked, taking off his t-shirt and unbuttoning Reed’s expensive-looking button down. “Get in the bed -” - he yanked the shirt off the smaller man and licked him, navel to collar bone, prompting a moan - “- and let me take care of you.”

To his credit, Reed did as he was told. He did as he was told all night long.

***

“Lij, I don’t want to alarm you.”

“Greyson, I don’t want to hear it. Zip it. I’m being so serious right now.”

“I don’t want to alarm you,” Greyson repeated, slamming the rest of the bottle of Pedialyte and holding onto the prep table as if for dear life, “but I think I may be dying. I think I may need you to call me an ambulance.”

Elijah swung his chair around and strode towards the chef. He took the sunglasses Greyson had placed on his face the moment he walked inside the bright kitchen and tossed them across the room. He regarded the chef with an annoyance usually reserved for parents of crying toddlers at Disneyland.

“Your drinking antics, Grey, are what most people would describe as ‘a you problem’. You decide to get unreasonably wasted and then come in to prep one of the biggest dinners of your career? That’s a you problem. I don’t want to hear it. The only thing I want to hear is your knife going into and out of different types of food.”

“Does that mean you don’t want to hear about the incredibly hot guy I hooked up with last night?” Greyson asked, a smile blooming at his lips. Elijah, despite himself, felt his eyebrows raise halfway up his face.

“But you haven’t slept with anyone in months,” he said, annoyed at himself for taking the bait but too curious to stop himself from saying anything. “I thought you were on a self-imposed time-out?”

Greyson shrugged, pushed his hair into a bun at the top of his head, and secured it with an elastic. “I was,” he said. “But - and you’re not going to believe this, but it’s true – I am finally feeling… I dunno. Healed?”

“Healed?” Elijah asked, snorting. “I think you’ve been taking too many hot yoga classes. Like, spiritually healed?”

Greyson tipped his head back and forth, considering. “Kind of,” he said. “Like… ready. Moved on from Collin. Prepared to get back out there for real, not in a self-punishing way.”

Elijah whistled, long and low. “Wow,” he said, patting Greyson’s back. “Well, congrats, man. A little over a year and you’re finally back on your feet. That’s actually quite impressive.”

“Thanks,” Greyson laughed, shoving Elijah playfully. “I was also really drunk and you know nothing stops drunk-Greyson when he decides he’s going to sleep with someone.”

“There it is,” Elijah said, rolling his eyes and laughing. “So… tell me about him. Did you get his name?”

Greyson dead-panned his boss as he pulled knives out of his bag and cracked his neck. “Yes, I got his name, Elijah. That’s what healed people do, they get people’s names before sleeping with them, and I am, as previously stated, healed.”

Elijah flipped the chef off lazily, non-committal. “Well, out with it then,” he said. “What’s his name? Tell me about the night.”

“His name is Reed Parker, and we fucked til the sun came out,” Greyson said simply, laughing at his own gregariousness. He looked up when he realized that Elijah wasn’t laughing – in fact, his face had gone stark-white. “What?”

“Reed Parker?” Elijah asked, pulling out his phone. “You’re sure that’s his name?”

“Umm, according to him at least, yeah,” Greyson said, unwrapping a pan with a cleaned striploin in it. “Why, do you know him?”

“No,” Elijah said, pushing his phone towards Greyson. “But if that’s him, we’re going to know him in two days.”

Greyson looked down at the phone and felt the wave of nausea he’d been holding back all morning wash over him – oh. Oh, no.

Pulled up on Elijah’s phone was an Instagram post from The Foodie Society – a group of well-acclaimed food critics and writers in the city. The group that was hosting a dinner at Elliot’s in two days. The group that would likely be the deciding factor in whether Greyson got nominated for a James Beard award this year.

We are so excited to announce Reed Parker, writer of the extremely popular food blog, ‘Eat Like You Mean It’, as our newest Foodie Society member! Reed has been a prolific writer and food critic in the city for nearly five years, and we are so delighted to have him aboard. Can’t wait to collaborate with you, Reed!

Above the blurb was a photo of – undoubtedly – the man that Greyson had slept with the night before. He looked markedly healthier in the photo, and his hair was a little longer, but there wasn’t any was it wasn’t him. Greyson swallowed hard.

“Oh… shit,” Greyson muttered, lowering himself to the floor. “Oh, no.”

“Maybe he was drunk, too?” Elijah said, the panic clear in his voice. “Maybe he won’t remember?” Elijah kneeled down next to Greyson, trying to console him. “Hey, Grey, it’s alright. Obviously you guys didn’t know who the other one was. It’s not like he’s going to think you slept with him to get the nomination. It was just drunk sex. Right?”

“He gave me an out,” Greyson muttered, shaking his head. He looked up at Elijah, eyes wild. “Maybe he did know, or maybe he figured it out on the walk back to his place, because he gave me a fuckin’ out.”

“What do you mean?” Elijah asked, pulling Greyson back to his feet. The chef stood, but placed his head in his hands and his elbows on the prep table, as if to steady himself.

“He was getting over some sort of sickness, and he said he’d understand if I didn’t want to stay. He basically told me to get out and I just… fuck. I told him I didn’t care, and I stayed the night. Shit. I’m never going to get nominated now. There’s no fucking way.” Greyson rubbed both hands down his face and shook his head in disbelief. “I fucked myself.”

“Greyson,” Elijah said, taking his friend’s chin and lifting it so their eyes met. “You didn’t fuck yourself. Okay? He didn’t know it was you. It was a mistake, and also he’s brand new there, it’s not like he’s THE deciding factor. Just – wait, did you say he was sick?”

Greyson, his chin still in Elijah’s fingers, looked away from his boss with just his eyes. “Uhh… I mean, yeah, kind of, I guess. He had some sort of cold, I think.”

“You purposely slept with someone who was sick three days before this huge dinner?”

“Umm… did I mention I was really drunk?”

Elijah sighed loudly and threw his hands in the air. “Never a dull fuckin’ moment with you, is there?” he mumbled, storming into the office and pillaging through their medicine cabinet. He returned a moment later with Emergen-C and Airborne in his hands. “Take those.”

“Yes, sir,” Greyson muttered, pulling them to his side of the table. “Sorry.”

“I think it’s crazy that out of all the millions of people you probably saw yesterday, the one you just so happened to pick is a food writer who could decide your future fate who also had a fucking cold. There wasn’t a single other person in the city you could sleep with?”

“Apparently not,” Greyson muttered, pouring Emergen-C into his water bottle. Elijah took a deep breath before continuing.

“Let’s just… let’s try to get through the next couple days,” he said, heading back to the office. “I am glad you want to get back out there,” he continued from afar, “just maybe give them a cursory Google before you bang them next time. Okay?”

Greyson, completely deflated, just nodded. He swallowed and thought he could already feel a twinge of a sore throat, which would just figure. His dick had sealed his fate. Fuck.

***

Tuesday, May 12

NEW MESSAGE

Matt

3:53pm

r u almost back??? idk how much longer I can handle them at each others throats.

Mark

3:58pm

On my way back now! Are they at each other’s throats again?? I thought they were over it..

Matt

3:59pm

has elijah ever REALLY been over smthn..? & greyson’s going down fast af so hes pissy.

Mark

4:02pm

It seemed like he was in the downward slide when I left...ugh. ok, I’ll be back in 15!

“We are ndot,” Greyson said from behind his sous chef, “at each other’s throats.”

Matt jumped at the sound of his boss’s voice and quickly clicked his phone screen off. “Don’t read my private texts, Chef, that’s rude.”

Greyson shrugged and pulled a tissue out of the box on the desk next to Matt. “Don’t talk shit about your boss and you don’t have to worry about mbe being ruuhh – huh! Hh...IGTSZHH-ue! Hh-NTSHZH-ue!” Greyson crumpled into the jacket he’d pulled over his chef’s coat to sneeze. His hair fell over his face, blocking the grimace he hid as he sucked in through his nose.

“Bless you, moron,” Elijah called from the dining room. Greyson rolled his eyes so hard he felt it splinter in his head. Matt winced when he saw Greyson shudder with pain, and stood from the desk.

“The prep sheets for tomorrow are all written, Chef, tell me how I can help you,” he said, guiding Greyson into the chair. Greyson allowed himself to be sat down, despite his better judgment.

“I feel pretty good about -”

“You feel pretty good? Is that a joke?” Elijah asked, pushing through the swinging kitchen doors and leaning on the office door frame. Greyson gave his boss the dirtiest look he could muster and turned back to Matt without a word to his boss.

“I feel confident about the first three courses for tomborrow’s dinner, but the steak and dessert I feel like we’re way behind. Plus I have ndo idea how the guys are looking for service tondight, so pick which one of those you’d rather tackle and I’ll – hhuh! Hh...HUHESTZHH-ue! Fuck, snrf.” Greyson grabbed another tissue and blew his nose before finishing. “I’ll do the other onde.”

Matt nodded while Elijah stood wordlessly in the doorway. “I’ll get with the guys and help them with tonight, make sure it goes smooth,” he said. Greyson nodded back and his sous looked away and scurried towards the line. Elijah, in stark contrast, pushed past Greyson and sat at the other end of their shared desk, unwilling to look away from the mess that was the executive chef.

“How ya feeling?” he asked finally. Greyson pulled another tissue out of the box just in time.

“HRTSHH-ue!” he sneezed into the tissue and let a tickling flurry of coughs escape as well. Elijah sighed, looked into the kitchen, and reached past Greyson to shut the door to their office.

“How are you feeling,” he asked again. “Seriously.”

Greyson sighed wheezily and pulled a hand down his face. “Honestly?” he said, looking Elijah in the eye, “like fuckin’ shit.”

Elijah sighed as well. “You seemed okay when you came in this morning,” he said, as though it mattered.

“I felt okay this mborning,” Greyson admitted. “I mean, I felt like it was coming but I definitely didn’t feel this… shitty.” He shrugged. “It just… I don’t kndow. Hit mbe out of nowhere.”

Elijah nodded. “I mean, if you want to leave so you’re good for tomorrow, you know I’ll understand.” Greyson just scoffed.

“I have so mbuch shit to do before tomborrow,” he said, sucking in through his nose and coughing again. “There’s ndo way in hell.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, until Elijah sighed. “Fuck, Greyson. I’m really sorry.” He looked up at his friend, the true pity evident on his face. “I know how important this dinner is to you. It’s still going to be great, okay? If you need to par it down, do it. It’s not like they know what’s on the menu til tomorrow. I’m cutting off reservations tonight so you can go home early, okay? We’re going to make this work.”

Greyson had to set his jaw to keep from tearing up. “It’s mby own damn fault,” he said. “Ndo need to baby mbe – hh...HTSHH-ue! HRTSHH! NTSHH! Huh! Huhhh-ETSZHHH-uee!” Greyson collapsed into his own lap, lapsed into coughs again. Elijah handed him a water bottle, which he took the cap off of while wiping his nose with the other hand.

“Can we go back to you being a dick to mbe?” Greyson asked, his voice rough. “That I can handle.”

Elijah pressed his lips together to keep from smiling. “Sure, Chef. Get your lazy ass up and start prepping,” he joked, pushing Greyson’s arm lightly. “Sitting is for the weak.”

Greyson smirked, an attempt at a laugh that wouldn’t make him cough. “Thanks, Lij,” he said. “Let’s get this stupid fuckigg show on the road.”

***

Course One

Compressed Cantaloupe

tarragon | smoked sea salt | brown butter crumble

Reed sat in the cushy, velvet chair and attempted to make himself comfortable. He hoped beyond hope that this dinner would go as quickly as humanly possible.

After their little rendevouz at the club, of course Reed had looked Greyson up; in this day and age, who wouldn’t look up their previous night’s partner, if only to make sure they weren’t some sort of psycho killer. And after he looked him up, of course he realized that oh. It was that Greyson Abbott. The same one whose food he was about to be poised in front of. The one who he and his fellow writers gathered around this table were tasked with deciding whether or not he was worthy of a Beard nod.

Of course.

Reed shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. The other writers had started talking immediately and, this being his first dinner with them, he was feeling awkward and left out. He really could have used the distraction of talking about their craft, but apparently he would have to earn a word tossed in his direction. This was going to be a long evening.

At least the restaurant is beautiful, Reed thought to himself. He’d never been to Elliot’s before, and now he was kicking himself for it. The wrap-around bar, the view of the park, the chandeliers… everything was gorgeous. He just wished he wasn’t here with these people, under the circumstance that his fling was in the kitchen plating up. That put a bit of a damper on things.

“Good evening,” a husky voice came from the head of the table, and Reed whipped his head to see a gorgeous plate of food placed in front of him, and the absolute god of a man he’d slept with a few days before standing just feet from him. Reed swallowed hard.

“I’mb Greyson,” Greyson said, and Reed immediately clocked the congestion in his voice. So you did give him that cold. Asshole, Reed chided himself. Greyson attempted to clear his throat before continuing.

“If you’ll excuse mby voice, I’mb at the tail end of a cold,” he continued, and Reed felt his face flame. Tail end, he thought. Yeah, sure.

“Our first course is compressed cantaloupe,” Greyson said. “I hope you enjoy. Pardon mbe, I have to get back to screaming at mby cooks.”

The group laughed in earnest as the chef walked away. Reed, too embarrassed to even look at the other writers, just picked up his fork and gathered a bite on it. He stuck it in his mouth and closed his eyes.

Christ, Reed thought, he cooks as well as he fucks.

Course Two

Hamachi

yuzu pearls | grapefruit | coconut crème

“I swear to God, Mbatt, what is goigg on?” Greyson yelled the moment he walked back into the kitchen. “We’re already behind, and none of the hamachi is on the plates yet? Can we please get it the fuck together che – ehh! HhITSZHH-uh! HRITSZHH-ue!”

Greyson yanked his chef’s coat over his nose and mouth and ducked away from the plates. The cooks called, “Bless, Chef,” and Elijah came up behind him with Sudafed – “The good shit, from behind the pharmacist counter,” he’d promised Greyson earlier, when he made an emergency trip to Walgreens for medicine – and popped two into his hand.

“I just took two,” Greyson croaked, sucking in through his nose.

“Well, it sounds like they’ve already worn off,” Elijah countered. Greyson swallowed the pills and coughed. “Is he out there?”

“Of course he’s out there, Lij, did you think he’d cancel because of mbe?” Greyson said, washing his hands and heading towards the pass to place hamachi on plates. “Like you said, hopefully he doesn’t remember.”

“Hard to forget a giant, loud, blonde buffoon who’s sporting the cold you just got over,” Elijah murmured, and Greyson flipped him off. “Just saying,” Elijah said.

“I don’t have timbe to think about him,” Greyson said, swallowing painfully. “I can’t think about anything but this.”

Elijah nodded. “You’re right,” he said. “Let me jump in with the pearls.”

Course Three

Lamb Lollipop

harissa | mint chutney | bbq ‘chip’

“Pretty incredible, right?”

These were the first words uttered to Reed all night, said moments after the third course was placed in front of him and seconds after Greyson disappeared back into the kitchen. Reed could see him dip into an elbow to sneeze before he made it back to the kitchen. He cringed; poor guy. This was all his fault.

“Reed?”

The writer who’d spoken to him waved a hand in front of his face to snap him out of his stupor. Reed pulled his head back to the table and smiled. “Really incredible,” he said. “I mean, this guy has talent.”

“For sure,” the other writer said. “I mean, he’s been hoping for a Beard nod for years.”

“Yeah?” Reed asked, hungry for any bit of lore he could get about Greyson. The other writer dug into his lamb as he nodded.

“About five years,” he said. “The menu is deemed as one of the best in the city, and he changes it every single day. I mean, the guy’s an animal.”

Reed nodded slowly. He could only imagine how hard Greyson had worked, how nervous he was, especially with Reed's stupid ass sitting here to judge him. Especially when Greyson was sick as a dog.

“That he is,” Reed said, and he took another incredible bite.

Course Four

Rutabaga Tart

fennel | feta | cured egg yolk

“Matt can put these on the plates, Chef,” Elijah said, putting a hand on Greyson’s back. “Take a quick break before you have to talk to them again. Drink some water. Blow your nose.”

Greyson shook his head, pushed the flop sweat off his forehead. “This is mby shot. These are mby plates,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. “I’mb here until the end.”

Elijah pressed his lips together and flashed Matt a look. The sous chef just raised his eyebrows and gave a little shrug. Once Greyson was like this… well, there was certainly no arguing with him.

“Okay,” Elijah said. “I’ll make you some tea, then.”

“Thank you, Lij,” Greyson managed, before ducking under the pass to sneeze into the collar of his chef’s coat. “God, fuck, I’mb gonna have to throw this thing away after this.”

“More like burn it,” Matt countered, prompting the first laugh from Greyson all evening.

“Burn it is right,” Greyson said. “HHITSZHH-ue!”

Course Five

Striploin

deconstructed bearnaise | white asparagus | duxelle

The fifth course was placed in front of them, and the writers looked up expectantly at Greyson.

“Forgive mbe,” Greyson said, his voice strained to a whisper. “I’ve yelled mbyself out in the kitchen, so mby number-two will introduce your last two courses.”

The writers tutted or laughed and looked over towards the sous chef – everyone except Reed. Reed was staring at Greyson, hoping he could hear his thoughts. I’m sorry you’re sick. I’m sorry I’m here. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

The sous finished the description and the writers began to eat once again. Reed was sure he could hear the younger chef say to Greyson, “Just one more, Chef,” as they walked back to the kitchen.

Reed sighed and took a bite of his steak. He closed his eyes; perfection.

He did not deserve to be here.

Course Six

Matcha Milk Bombe

coffee | pastry crumb

Greyson placed the final pastry onto the final plate and turned away to cough as the servers brought his final plate of food to the critics. He felt like he was attending his own funeral.

“I don’t think I can go out there again, Lij,” Greyson said, shaking his head and crouching down on the ground. “I can’t look at all of themb, I’ve embarrassed myself enough.”

“You haven’t embarrassed yourself at all, Grey,” Elijah promised, pushing Greyson’s sweaty hair out of his face. “But I understand if you’re too exhausted. I’ll go out for the last one, thank them all for being here.”

“Please,” Greyson said. Elijah nodded, stood, and left the kitchen to meet the writers, while Matt nodded towards the office.

“Go,” he said to his boss. “Sit. You did it.”

Greyson shook his head. “Gotta clean mbyself up first,” he said, standing and moving towards the kitchen doors. “I’mb using the damn guest bathroom, fuck those pretentious assholes.”

Matt laughed in earnest. “You’ve earned it for sure, Chef.”

Greyson slipped into the guest bathroom, hoping no one saw him, and locked himself in a stall. Finally, he sat down and let himself go.

“HITSHH-ue!” Greyson sneezed into the open, then quickly grabbed a handful of toilet paper to keep from becoming the restaurant’s biggest biohazard. “HTTSHH! IIITZSCHUE! Huh! Hh…. huh, huhhh… huhhETSZHHH-ue! Huh! HRRRSHHH! Fuuuck mbe.” Greyson blew his nose, beyond exhaustion. He felt like shit. He knew he looked like shit. He’d put out shit food, he’d been in a shit mood… this whole thing was just… shit.

Finally, feeling a little more cleared out, Greyson flushed the toilet paper and unlocked the stall. When he exited, he nearly jumped out of his skin. There, in the doorway, was his fling - Reed.

“Jesus,” Greyson said, placing a hand on his chest. “Give a guy a fuckin’ heart attack.”

Reed shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, then let Greyson by to wash his hands. “Sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to scare you. Bless you. By the way.”

Greyson huffed out a laugh. “Thangks,” he said, drying his hands. “Sombe cold you’re passing around town. Shouldn’t you be finishing your meal? Or was it so bad you’re here to hock it back up?”

“It was incredible,” Reed said earnestly. “Truly, Greyson. Thank you. I… I’m sorry. For being here, for getting you sick, I – I didn’t know that this place was… um… yours.”

“Mmm, more Elijah’s than mbine,” Greyson mumbled, looking away from Reed’s face. “But, uh… thank you. Glad you enjoyed. Hopefully it's ndot for nothing.”

"I don't think it will be. They all had nothing but good things to say. I'm just the grunt, but I mean...you have my vote. You're... You're incredible," Reed said, the words escaping his mouth before he could even consider what he was saying.

Greyson tried to hide a small smile by looking down. They both stood awkwardly until Greyson cleared his throat. “I, uh… better get back to mby guys,” he said, starting towards the door.

“I had an amazing time the other night,” Reed blurted out suddenly. “I, um… I haven’t stopped thinking about it, actually.”

Greyson smirked, the tension finally broken. “Yeah?” he asked. Reed nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing his neck awkwardly. “You’re… you’re hard to shake.”

Greyson took a step closer to Reed, looking him in the eye now. He sniffled, rubbed his nose, and crossed his arms, a smile dancing on his lips. “Who are you, Reed Parker?” he asked. Reed’s face flushed bright red.

“I – I don’t know what you mean. I’m a food writer.”

“Mmm,” Greyson nodded. “Well, Reed the food writer who can’t get mbe out of his mind, at the moment I’m a bit, uh… incapacitated. But,” Greyson pulled a Sharpie out of his coat’s side pocket and grabbed Reed’s hand, “if I’m still rattling around in your brain in a few days… give mbe a call.” Greyson coughed into his shoulder, capped the Sharpie, and gave Reed a little smile.

“I will,” Reed said, biting his cheek. “Thank you. For, um… dinner.”

Greyson paused, thinking, then took a bold step towards Reed, grabbed his chin in his hand, and planted a deep kiss on his lips. “It was my pleasure,” he said, and stepped out of the room.

Reed stood, flushed and breathless, for a moment. The kiss sat, swelling his lips, sweeter than any dessert he’d ever had; he looked at the number on his hand, felt his heart catch in his throat.

Greyson Abbott, he thought, looking towards the bathroom door. Holy shit.

#whiskeyswriting #snz #sickfic #snzfic #coldfic #snzblr #snez #male cold #male snz #ooo we have a new character hope you guys are into him bc i have ideas lol #im not a huge fan of the first part of this story but i really like the ending. whatever its fine #we're going with it. idk. i want to post it ive been looking at it for 8 hours so into the ether it goes #happy to be back :)

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kedsandtubesocks · 3 months

Text

be your hallowed ground

Demon!Ezra x F!Reader

summary: 1700’s. the journey home before you is long, weary, and you are alone… but not for long

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI. colonial era inspired AU, inexperienced!reader, religiously raised reader, historical/societal period negative views of women, major supernatural elements, religious discussions along with Christian imagery & mentions of scripture, Ezra’s use of petnames, heavy corruption kink, possessive!Ezra, finger sucking, wound kissing and one small moment of blood consumption, Ezra lifts reader with his demon strength (reader has no physical description), intense kissing & spicy moments, f!oral receiving, light overstimulation, briefest mention of Ezra watching/stalking, sacrilegious themes, dark & spooky vibes

word count: 7.9k

a/n: so this is my first Ezra fic & i blame this AU on my ex catholic school kid roots along with playing too much cult of the lamb bcs here we are lol I wouldn’t be here without the ones who paved the way/inspired me to take the jump to write Ezra so thank you @morallyinept @julesonrecord & @lowlights for being true lovely guides, also to @pastelle-rabbit @haylzcyon & @ahauntedcowboy for letting me scream/cry about this lol I love each & every one of y’all - and to you, if you decide to take a peek and read, thank you so much ♡

The forest stretches out far, daunting.

Twilight glimmers on the last of her heels and you hope to return home soon. You can almost hear your father’s anger at your stubbornness for not staying at the inn for another night and for simply being on this journey in the first place. You should’ve saved up for a carriage ride home.

Now, alone in the woods, you fear the tree branches will soon reach down to claw you into their canopy cluster above.

Deeper and further you walk through the forest path. You haven’t prayed much recently. But you faintly remember words urging you to not fear the terror of night, nor the danger that prowls in the darkness, and you’re gently eased. You also think of the early spring blooms scattered among the town waiting for you.

Then a branch cracks behind you, the sound of someone stepping on it, and you stop.

The trek has been silent, eerily so. Not even bird chirps or the wind’s breeze has filled your space. Yet it now sounds like something approaches.

You whip around.

No one stands behind you. Only the dirt and dust linger in the air.

The woods must be clouding you with unnecessary dread. You’ve walked these roads alone before and you will walk them again even though the forest seems darker now.

Determined, and slightly frightened, you spin on your heels to quickly return on your journey.

“There you are, turtle dove.”

The voice startles you so suddenly you almost collapse. Strangely accented, the thick drawl flows heavy with a twang of someone from the wild southern territories.

Your heart beats fast like a petrified rabbit and your eyes snap towards the source of the voice.

Leaning against a large tree is the most exquisite man you ever believe to be crafted.

Dressed in a striking coat, a beautifully sharp nose and dark facial hair, he’s ethereal. You also spot the most interesting tuff of white blonde hair against his dark chestnut locks. What’s startling are his magnetic inky eyes staring at you.

“I don’t know you, good sir.” You politely reply.

The man smiles like a fox creeping around a chicken coop.

“Ezra is my given name, turtle dove. Now we’re no longer strangers.”

His name - Ezra.

Like his name suggests you wonder if maybe he’s here to provide aid, your personal blessing.

Yet his words flutter out duplicitous and heavy like something dangerous chains around them down.

“Then good day to you, sir.” You nod, a polite reply, and decide to withhold your name.

“May I accompany you on your journey?” He suggests surprisingly gentle, his words olive branch-like offers.

You ask him where he is even headed, and for what brings a well speaking, slightly suspicious, man as himself into these woods.

“The same as you, sweet bird,” Ezra replies simply. “We all have our journeys to be upon. Mine just happens to coincide with yours. A rather fortuitous blessing if I do say so myself.”

Your eyes narrow. Something scratches at the back of your mind urging you to keep walking and pay no heed to this man.

But then the wind picks up.

From a soft breeze it quickly transforms into the strangest howl, like a warning of the dangers lurking all around. In a slight panic your eyes survey your surroundings. This man might be a stranger, but having company might not be such a bad choice.

“Come now.” Ezra comments reassuring and steady even among the howling winds. “These woods are wild and deep, ain’t no place for a treasure such as yourself.”

He is handsome, the most stunning man you may ever see. And the glimmer in his eyes seems to beckon you.

After you quietly nod, your journey expands by one.

With a gracious bow of his head, the man from the shadows falls into step beside you.

The wind suddenly, but thankfully, settles. However, tension prickles against your skin and a strange warmth blooms from the center of your chest.

“So, what’s a lovely angel like yourself doing here, a babe in the woods?” Ezra begins.

Your fingers tighten against your cloak while the truth stays sealed tight.

The man chuckles.

“Don’t go shy on me now, sweet dove,” he teases.

You huff annoyed. However, seeing as how you will be traveling with him until you return home, you decide to engage with him.

Your dearest friend moved to the next town when you both became fully grown. She fell in love with a married man in a loveless marriage to a cruel woman. Because of that your friend was condemned to banishment. Now, she’s with child. Some even whisper the child was maybe even convinced due to witchcraft.

However, with the recent passing of your town’s relentless head clergyman, you hope this will help improve the situation.

Ezra listens patiently, letting you quietly explain everything.

“And so you traveled to visit your dear friend like a kind emissary.” He notes. “Your town must be in an uproar over you visiting her.”

“They are.” You answer stiffly.

Your father absolutely detests it. Even the governor’s son, who has shown interest in courting you, has made it known that your lenient position doesn’t help towards a marriage possibility. But you won't falter in your loyalty. Especially after your faith has been so shaken from seeing the harsh treatment given to your friend.

“A fair decision.” Ezra agrees. “All those upset are fools anyway. Seems they forgot the good book even mentions how cherished a gift it is to forgive others just as the lord forgives us.”

He quotes scripture so passively it surprises you. He doesn’t seem like a spiritual type. If anything, Ezra seems like a man who slinks around the shadows late at night among the thieves and brothels hidden at the edge of town.

“You’re right,” you agree with him. “Who are we to judge others on simple matters of passion compared to our lord, especially to condemn it?”

“Lust is considered a grave sin though, dear birdie, so I understand why.” He quietly answers while his words scurry over your skin. “After all, look at the predicament it entangled your dear friend in.”

“And don’t passions of the flesh wage war against the solemnity of the soul?” Ezra politely answers lightly referring to scripture and you wonder if he is a man devoted to the good book.

So you reserve your words again.

“Please… do not silence your song, biride.” Ezra coos.

“Now, tell me your thoughts,” he whispers low.

As you swallow hard, your skin feels tight against your bones. But you decide to speak freely, as dangerous as it may be.

“It’s true that my friend committed a terrible sin.” You begin with a shaky sigh. “I understand her punishment. But for others to be so cruel when faith says to forgive and embrace salvation feels hypocritical.”

“True indeed. And as you said, all this for the sake of condemning passion? There are worse commandments to shatter under heaven’s watchful eye.” Ezra drawls out.

“Exactly.” You agree with a firm nod more at ease with your new companion.

“Besides… isn’t the act of creation an offspring of passion?” He challenges and the thought stuns you.

The stranger is correct and his perception moves you.

You’ve never engaged in such discussions like this with anyone before, especially not with a man. You noticed he speaks to you like an equal, never diminishing your ideals or fully trampling on your opinions.

Something greedy urges you to slow down your step and spend as much time with your new companion.

“So, is there a husband of yours waitin’ at home to meet you with passions, dear dove?” Ezra asks with the curl of intrigue in his voice and you almost choke on a gasp.

“A rather forward question to ask a stranger.” You snap back sharply and glare at him.

Ezra keeps his abyss eyes drawn forward and doesn't seem bothering at your reply or the discussion matter he brought up.

“Thought we established we’re no longer strangers?” Your stranger mutters back.

“We’ve discussed religion, the ways of the hearts and their passions. Only good friends touch on such topics, yes?”

He’s unbearably confident, and he knows it. You want to storm off, maybe even demand him to leave. But you can’t do it. You almost can’t endure the thought of him leaving now.

So you reply stiffly. “No. I have no husband at home.”

“Truly?” He now squawks confused.

“Ain’t that a damn shame.” He purrs. “A creature lovely as yourself deserves to be worshiped every minute you’re here among this green earth.”

Your heart thumps erratic against its cage.

“Are you mocking me, good man Ezra, for not being married?” You deflect with a shaky voice.

“Never, turtle dove.” He reassures. “I believe the ultimate sin is to be denied any shade of passion.”

“Especially for a beauty marvelous as yourself.” He exhales and his voice dances devilishly.

An uneasiness settles into your legs, like your body could give out at any moment.

“What you say is blasphemy,” you manage to reply, however your voice wavers. “A heathen's words.”

“I could’ve recounted the same about you moments ago when you spoke your thoughts.” He mutters back.

Your heart drops. He’s correct. This man has your thoughts tied up in so many knots and you cannot find a path within yourself.

“No need to worry.” Ezra says. “Treading into heathen’s territory is never frightful when you have a companion.”

You don’t know how you feel about this conversation or where it seems to be heading towards. Your gaze turns to Ezra. He continues staring ahead composed.

He’s a strange unorthodox man, an anomaly, someone you never believed existed.

“Now tell me… have you tasted desire, my sweet turtle dove?”

His eyes now move to you, catching you staring red handed. Like an exposed thief, your gaze flies away from him.

His question, as if composed of thorns, constricts around your throat refusing to let you answer.

You’ve tasted it on the tips of your tongue. One of your old childhood friends became a courtesan at a brothel. During her nights off, you’d sneak out to visit her. She recounted with giggles about the various sexual escapades she’s experienced. It made your mouth water wishing for the embrace of a lover, to understand what it meant to be truly desired.

You’ve been tempted to fall into bed with the blacksmith’s brother but once you discovered his cruel treatment of the women in town you were soured by the thought. So during the late nights alone your fingers slipped under the quilts and you would find a sticky taste of passion.

Getting caught up in your thoughts keeps you quiet.

“When I was a younger man and lived in France.” Ezra begins with a sudden gentle musing, the voice of a storyteller almost. “Even when I migrated here to the southern territories, I learned of an interesting turn of phrase.”

“La petite mort.” The words flow from him beautifully, rolled with such finessed precision. Hearing him speak sparks a jolt up your spine.

“I’m not quite sure you know of it, but do you know what it means?”

Your eyes that had glazed over are now back on Ezra. His devastatingly beautiful face remains serene.

“The literal translation is ‘a little death.’” Ezra continues. “But what it speaks of is the little moment of feeling as if you’re dying when experiencing true orgasmic release, something that makes us see god.”

His words, hanging with a thinly concealed desire, rip through you and a slickness slowly pools between your legs.

Now his eyes flicker to you.

“A pleasure so rapturous we taste a little death.” He mutters looking so intently at you that you want to scurry and hide away.

But you can’t. You’re drawn into his gaze, a poor moth entrapped by his erratic flame, and you’re not quite sure if this fire is hellfire.

Rationale within you screams this man could be a robber or could be leading you into his sticky web to simply harm you. Yet it seems like he could vanish into smoke.

You also notice you and Eza have both stopped walking. Now staring into his eyes, you discover storms in them.

Until an oncoming storm arrives all around. The wind erupts into howls. It whips around fast and you tug your cloak closer trying to stay warm against the gales.

Your face even scrunches up at the drastic change in the weather.

A firm hand moves to your back pulling you closer until you rest within the shade of a firm body. Ezra has drawn you into his side, lifting his cloak to cover you, and your eyes become full moons.

“To keep you sheltered from this weather. Though, we may need to hunt for some sanctuary soon.” He mutters.

He smells of pine, like the forest itself gave him to you. However you also catch the smallest hint of something smoky, like he slept too close to a campfire.

But, his words confuse you.

“Terrible weather? It’s simply just bad wind.” You yell against the wind and glance around the forest.

That’s when you notice how terrifyingly dark it’s gotten. The tree branches now stretch above like monstrous limbs crawling along the darkness.

How long have you been out along the trail? You haven’t even reached the halfway point to town. The woods now loom incredibly dark like a chasm ready to swallow you whole.

Then the drum of thunder comes, and the skies open up, as if on command by Ezra’s prophetic words. The rain unleashes a downpour. You squawk like a petrified bird at how soaked you’re getting even being covered by his coat.

“Come!” He cries over the storm keeping you close. “I believe there is shelter close by.”

So through the darkness you go, led by him off the path and deeper into the thicket.

How did he know a shelter was nearby? Shouldn’t he have come here earlier and left you on your journey? Or did he maybe sense the storm was coming and wanted to keep accompanying you.

The rush of the rain along with how quickly Ezra moves you and him feels as if you’re flying through the forest like your feet never once touch the ground.

Your body stops and out from the darkness, among the rain, stands the faint shape of a building.

Ezra guides you inside and you exhale relieved you’re out of the storm.

The stale smell of dust greets you first and makes your nose crinkle.

Looking out to your new makeshift shelter, you find yourself standing in a very abandoned church. Dried dead leaves scatter the floor. Vacant pews hold a hollow ghostly emptiness. You didn’t even know this chapel was here.

“How did you know of this place-” you turn to ask Ezra but discover you’re alone.

So focused on soaking in the church you didn’t even notice his departure.

“Ezra?” You call for him and silence replies.

Where could he have gone?

“Worry not.” Ezra’s voice floats out an echo. From the side of the sacristy, beside the main congregation hall, he emerges.

How did he get there without you noticing?

In his grasp is a lit candle. The flames create interesting shadows upon his handsome face as his molten eyes stare at you.

“Apologizes,” he reassured you with the ease of a saint. “Went to scavenge for some light.”

“Seems you were unsuccessful.” You dryly tease, walking towards where Ezra stands at the front of the congregation.

A slight tug of amusement comes over his heavenly face.

“We shall make camp here until the storm quells.”

No better place to find sanctuary than in a chapel, even though this one has seen better days.

Outside the wind continues rattling the windows while the rain creates a soothing melody. Yet, there is an emptiness here, like you can’t sense any sacred spirit within these walls. You wonder if the Lord maybe has even abandoned this space.

“Come rest with me, turtle dove.” Ezra beckons to you as he sits casually on the floor up besides the altar.

“You can’t sit there!” You whisper urgent.

“Why? Who is here to stop me?” Ezra counters with raised eyebrows and amused crinkled eyes.

“This is sacred ground! You can’t simply sit in the sanctuary like it’s some sort of encampment!” You argue.

“Biride,” Ezra begins. “This momentary shelter is merely a building. The same way all buildings are just simple creations of stone and labor.”

“Not buildings like this, especially when our lord resides here.” You reply like a dutifully faithful follower.

Ezra now sits up from his lax position to glance around. His eyes survey every inch of the space.

��You say our Heavenly Father is here. But tell me, turtle dove, do you sense his presence here?”

He noticed it too.

Your tongue becomes metal, heavy and bitter.

“Come,” he urges again, kinder now. “Rest. Your legs need their strength for the rest of your journey. It will be much more comfortable than those stuffy pews.”

You narrow your eyes at him, still hesitant. Defiant, you try sitting in one of the vacant pews only to find clusters of spider webs creating a slightly unnerving barrier. And you didn’t want to check every pew for availability. You were too tired.

Refusing to meet Ezra’s eyes you step past the pews, into the sanctuary, and delicately sit a small space away from your companion.

“See? Not so hard, and you didn’t even combust into flames sitting here.”

You glare at him while Ezra grins triumphant. Silence settles. But with a man who readily embraces the gift and curse of gab, it feels dangerous.

A small gurgle of a noise rumbles out and your face heats up horrified. You didn’t realize you hadn’t eaten this entire journey.

“A bit peckish, dear dove?” Ezra chuckles a smokey thing.

You’re about to grumble under your breath annoyed until he again peers around the abandoned church.

“Rather unfortunate there doesn’t seem to be any source of subsidence here.”

You quietly reassure him as you shift your cloak to reach for your covered satchel. Thankfully, your morsel of a wrapped loaf was spared from the rain.

“I have this for us to share.” You quietly announce.

Ezra gasps small but surprised.

“Divine goddess, you are salvation.” He breathes out.

“I am no goddess. No one person is divine in such a way.” You correct him.

The man hums. “If the maker created man in his image does that not mean we are shades of god in our own ways?”

Midway unfolding the bread out of the paper, you halt.

You never thought of it that way. It made sense. Slowly, it feels as if a wagon wheel is turning in your head leading you towards something you cannot reach.

“Sweet turtle dove,” Ezra calls to you. “Would you be so gracious and let me consecrate our feast?”

You’re stunned by the heartfelt request. This man seems to be a never ending labyrinth confusing you with no end in sight.

You slide closer to sit fully beside him. Readily you hand him the wrapped bread and try not to jump at his hand brushing yours. His skin is soft, warmed, and your knuckles tingle from the simple exchange.

“Thank you kindly.”

Now holding the bread in one hand, Ezra moves the other to lightly hover above the morsel. Closing his eyes in prayer, Ezra begins.

However, he mutters low and so fast that you can’t even catch a word of his prayer. You wonder if he even is saying anything or is simply mocking the form of prayer.

You’re about to chide him until he quickly finishes. Dreamily opening his eyes Ezra then simply breaks the bread into two.

“To break communion with someone lovely as you is an honor.” With a gracious grin, your stranger hands you a piece. You thank him with a soft mutter.

The storm continues its wrath and you arrive at a bleak conclusion. Your night will be spent here in this eerie abandoned church with this strange mysterious handsome man.

Resigning yourself to that, you sigh and take a bite out of the bread.

The bread was a simple one you got from the neighboring town’s bakery. It’s nothing special. You’ve even thought it rather stale at times.

However, the bread you taste now is indescribable.

It melts in your mouth, wonderfully soft and warm. There’s even the sweetest taste like a whisper of a fruit that reminds you of apples. An uncontrollable moan of satisfaction escapes you.

But your eyes widen realizing how you just acted.

Embarrassment floods you fast and you anxiously gaze at Ezra who smirks at you.

Unable to stare at him long, you turn back down to your lap. The bread looks exactly the same as it always does.

Is your mind so exhausted it believes this stale morsel now tastes this heavenly?

You must be imagining things.

Besides you, Ezra shuffles. Out of curiosity your eyes lift towards him and find the man shrugging off his coat.

He even removes his waistcoat to reveal his simple white slipover. Rain still lingers on his skin allowing the pristine white cloth to stick to him. Without the coat you’re given clear sight of his glorious neck.

A thought flutters into your mind.

You imagine sinking your teeth into his beautiful flesh and lapping up all the rain droplets.

Dread fills you.

How could you think such thoughts?

“Turtle dove,” Ezra’s voice shatters the silence almost making you jump.

“If you could create a world of your own, what would it look like?”

The question stumps you, even brings in a twinkle of curiosity. What would bring on such a question? You suppose it must be a way to break the silence and pass the time.

In thought, you hum a small noise.

“I think…” you quietly utter and let your thoughts flow.

You think of a world built on compassion, one without hunger or war, of one filled with peace and justice.

“And without sin, I suppose.” Ezra gently comments and your eyes turn to him.

He stares towards the ground with a peculiar look shadowed over his handsome face.

“Yes of course.” You answer. Sin is the root of all evil and corrupted humanity’s souls.

“What if I told you some sins are not all evil? And that what you long for, dear turtle dove, is not a world void is sin, but one free of guilt from it.”

Your face scrunches up a bit confused over his nebulous words.

“Should we not all live in indulgence?” Ezra adds, clarified in his words.

“Indulgence leads to corruption.” You reply parroting all the countless sermons that discussed this.

“If our creator didn’t want us to indulge, then why did he indulge in creating such a world so lush as this one?” Your stranger offers.

You try gathering a reply, thinking of all the lessons about how this world is meant to be seen in awe and appreciated. Not to indulge in. But now all your arguments seem to fall short, not even sound correct in your head.

Before you can press the discussion further Ezra leans closer towards you. Your thoughts and body become completely petrified.

You should lean away, lean back from his casual intimate movements.

But you can’t. Or, within the deep terror of your heart you know the truth. You don’t want to.

His thumb moves towards the corner of your mouth and you transform completely into stone.

Ezra’s ink eyes haze over while his thumb gently swipes against your skin.

“Crumbs.” He mutters, answering for his actions. Yet, his hand doesn’t leave.

You don’t shove him away or demand him to go. The downpour rattling the windows becomes the church’s only noise while you and this man sit in the stillness.

Ezra’s attention falls to your mouth.

His thumb now strokes the corner of your lips. You believe it’s to wipe more bread crumbs away. Then his thumb swipes across your bottom lip and a sharp inhale escapes you.

His eyes and yours find each other.

“You deserve to live in indulgence,” Ezra whispers deviously rich.

Your skin feels ablazed and your throat dries. Out of instinct or perhaps something darker you wet your lips. In that movement your lips press against his thumb and your tongue manages to swipe at his skin.

You’re rewarded the faintest taste of him, a crumb of his salty golden skin, and it’s like a thread slowly catches fire.

You want more, need it.

Possibly possessed now, your mouth opens up and simply slips more of his thumb into your mouth.

The moment the salty taste of him hits your tongue your eyes close.

Feeling his finger in your mouth against your tongue, against your teeth, is divine. His flesh must be coated with ambrosia because your mouth waters aching for more.

Heaven, or this must be a slice of it.

Until horror strikes you and you realize what you’re doing. Terrified eyes now open, you’re about to pull away and yelp horrified.

Ezra’s hand rapidly moves to cradle your face firm and slide his thumb deeper into your mouth.

“Oh my sweet bird,” he coos now closer to you. “You’ve tasted the pleasure I can give, the magic I can conjure. Don’t deny yourself this.”

His beautiful nose presses into the side of your face nuzzling against your skin and your eyes close. Bliss overtakes you.

“Now” his voice drops a dangerous lulling whisper. “Hollow your cheeks for me, and suck in.”

You do as told and the groan Ezra lets out vibrates deep past your skin. You even let out a whine.

You’ve heard the noises men make in the waves of passion, but this was decadent. You never knew a man could sound this beautiful.

You wanted to hear him even more. And knowing you did this to him? A syrupy drunken pride courses through you intoxicating.

You suck harder, allowing your tongue to caress his skin and Ezra exhales heavenly.

Before you can indulge any further, a creature screeches into the church and shatters the sensual spell. You shriek in terror and scramble. Wings furiously flapping come and out of reflex you cover your head.

Then a solid body collides into you and your world falls over.

You hit the floor of the sanctuary with a soft thud. It would’ve been a harder fall if not for Ezra’s hand cradling your head to soften the impact. Your eyes look up to find Ezra covering you, protecting you from whatever flew in.

Your heart thumps loud in your ears, a horrible drum drowning out your thoughts. His broad shoulders, firm frame, he really is a man crafted out of pure beauty and desire now that you’ve tasted his skin.

“Blasted bats… must’ve been nesting in here.” Ezra comments with a mutter while his eyes stay watching out.

Now you faintly hear the familiar chirps of the creatures. You hope they all leave soon or move to another area within the church.

Slowly the rustling settles. Ezra does not move from his post above you, a shield keeping you safe from the interrupting creatures.

His large hand cradling your head holds you gently but with a firmness that speaks of his control.

The strangest clash of sensations arrives. Like Eve awoken out of her blissful sin, you’re keenly aware of the cold clothes sticking to you. Particularly your wet cloak weighing on you sends a chill crawling up your skin making you squirm.

Ezra’s eyes slip back to you. The candlelight highlights the shadows of his face and his eyes seem deeper than before. Candlelight doesn’t even reflect in their abyss.

Until his obsidian eyes go wide in a slight panic.

“Your wing, turtle dove.”

Now confused you shift to lift your arm up. A small cut has ripped through your cloak and blouse sleeve. You didn’t even notice or feel it. Must have cut yourself on the old wooden floor below.

The church didn’t seem this dilapidated to have rotten wood floors. However, without upkeep, it only makes sense everything begins to splinter and decay. Thankfully the cut isn’t deep but dark crimson does stain the cloth.

“Oh,” you even mutter a bit stunned.

Gently Ezra shifts to help you up while being cautious of your wound.

“Are you in pain?” He asks, concerned.

“No.” You shake your head, truthfully telling him you didn’t even notice the cut.

Ezra delicately moves towards your arm. “May I?”

You nod quietly.

Gingerly, your mysterious stranger places his hands on you to further inspect your wound.

“It doesn’t hurt.” You reassure him.

Surprisingly, Ezra stays silent. His eyes remain on your arm. As if you’re an injured sparrow, he folds up your blouse sleeve delicately.

The faintest touch of his thumb strokes your bare skin and your throat constricts tight. This unknown mystery of a man tenderly touching you clutches at your soul.

“My creator, so heavenly in his wisdom,” he suddenly speaks low, like his voice is dipped in sticky honey. “Taught me this is how we heal wounds.”

Then Ezra draws your arm up and he leans down. And in that swift moment, he presses his lips to your wound.

A tender kiss.

Your breath hitches, tripping over itself. You indeed had his finger in your mouth moments ago. But this opens a chasm in you. Especially as you watch him lick away your blood at his lips

Then his lips return to your skin, on your wound, and it feels like devotion.

There were saints that kissed the wounds of your lord and now how angelic, reverent, Ezra’s face looks, you imagine him as one.

However, his lips start kissing all across your arm, quickly becoming greedy. Like a silent thief, he continues kissing up your arm with deliberate nips.

If he is a robber, this thievery is divine. You even squirm, squeezing your legs together because a slick wetness leaks between them. You wish to quell this burning urge to be touched.

Your mind only focuses on Ezra’s lips that you don’t even notice he unclasped your cloak until the heavy cold weight drops off you like shackles unchained.

However, an awful breeze across your skin makes you shrink back from the cold and snaps you into awareness.

You can’t do this with a man like this, a stranger.

A fanged piece of yourself urges you to simply give in, especially with a man not known in town. The internal struggle vanishes when Ezra’s breath tickles against your exposed neck.

“Do you wish me to stop, my turtle dove?” He coo’s. “I believe you deserve to taste this indulgence.”

“I don’t know you.” You croak out. Yet your voice doesn’t even sound convinced of your own resolve.

“Oh but you do.” Ezra pleads, his voice drenched in gilded desire.

“You know me.” He urges. “This is what you wanted. Your heart summoned me. I heard your call and here I am.”

“What do you mean?” Your voice cracks, an unsteady foundation.

“The hidden truths in your heart,” Ezra whispers and his breath dances upon your skin a ghost’s hymnal.

“The festering jealousy of knowing your dear friend found adoration, even out of sin…you wished to know of such delights. And your anger of this world for damning you to such solitudes, of being so constricting - it all called to me.”

Fear captures your heart. This couldn’t be true.

“Oh but it is,” Ezra answers you.

You don’t even know if you spoke those words aloud or if this man has now slithered into your thoughts.

“All those nights you longed for a lover,” he mourns sympathetically. “All alone with just your fingers in your sweet sex.”

You choke on air, gasping for some sort of relief from this terror drowning you.

“Oh and I’ve watched you for so long, my bird.” He bemoans. “Ached for so long to claim you mine.”

“You…you’ve seen me before?” You stammer.

“Indeed I have. I know you’ve partaken in sin. And the guilt you hold consumes you. Let me be your redemption,” Ezra continues with a pure temptation crawling from his voice.

You should be concerned at how this man has seen you before. Yet…With his mouth simply a breath’s pace away from you nothing seems to matter. Because your mind only wants him to kiss you, ravish you.

“You must say it, my angel.” He mutters.

Do you dare jump off the ledge and plunge into this molten fire?

A light terror runs across your skin, like hearing the hiss of a snake yet not seeing it. Something is afoot with Ezra. You can’t pinpoint it…

But you also wonder if this doubt is born from the chains of your faith holding you back?

“Ezra.” You mumble his name, a choked noise.

“I await your command.” The man reverently responds as if in a mass himself.

“Please….” You whimper out.

“Please what?” He murmurs and his twang clouds his voice even more.

“Please….touch me.” You croak while your voice trails.

It unleashes a monster.

Ezra’s lips dive onto your neck, kissing upon your skin with a possessed fervor. Even while sitting, the sudden rush of his lips, the scrape of his facial hair against you makes your body collapse.

It only allows for Ezra to sweep you into his arms.

Yanking his face away from your neck, you’re about to mourn the loss of him against your skin until his lips swoop in to consume yours.

You’ve kissed others before. In the hidden shadow of buildings after dark, you’ve even recently shared a kiss or two with the blacksmith’s brother a handful of times. They’ve been wonderful but secret encounters.

This however sets your soul on fire.

His tongue swiftly maneuvers into your mouth and now tasting him from the source, you never want to know a day without this, without him.

You moan, yanking at him closer, and try to slide your own tongue against his now. It’s messy, wet, a clash of bone and spirit but it’s delicious.

Sliding his arms under your legs, Ezra lifts you up with ease as he stands. You squeak against his lips, but then your eyes roll back when the man suddenly begins sucking on your tongue.

Your body feels like it will crumble at any moment.

That’s when you notice you’re being laid upon something cold and flat.

Wearily you find you do rest high upon something.

And now, the church is lit.

You panic looking around. The torches lining the walls burn with warm flames and illuminate the space in amber light.

How? Ezra did not leave you for one moment. Was there another here? And if so, how did you not hear them?

A warm calloused hand moves to cradle your face and your eyes snap to Ezra who peers down at you with smoke filled eyes.

“Don’t fret, my dove. We are only here.” He reassures, leaning down to kiss you again and your eyes shut once more.

“And if you’re not simply focused on me, then I’m not doing this correctly.” He mutters against your lips.

A wanton drunkenness comes with how consuming he kisses, especially as his mouth pulls from your lips to lick against your jaw.

He hums a satisfied groan.

“Oh my darling turtle dove, you were born to be worshiped by me weren’t you? And I blessed to simply be your devout disciple.” A revered holiness oozes thick from his voice.

“Let me venerate at your holy temple.” Ezra exhales against your throat kissing your feverish skin.

This is more than you can handle. It’s tremendous. It’s too much, yet not enough. It’s building something just out of your grasp, a flame that can’t be extinguished and scorches so fierce.

Blinking out of the haze, you find instead of being beside you, Ezra, like magic, now stands by your feet.

His hands slide up your legs and yank you closer towards him.

A yelp of surprise squeaks out from you. Any other noise or thoughts get swallowed up when Ezra’s hands snake under your skirt and up your legs.

Your eyes close under the sensation of his calloused warm hands.

“Do you know what true sacrifice cleanses sins?” Ezra asks with gravel in his voice.

“Hm?” You mumble, unable to create a response with how wonderful his fingers feel caressing your thighs.

“It’s to offer up one’s life. That’s the ultimate form of sacrifice.”

His words terrify you. Is he insinuating what you think he is? Are you to be made a lamb to slaughter because of the desire consuming you?

“Shh…” Ezra notices your worry and soothes you, rubbing gentle circles on your skin.

“Fear not, my dove. For I shall bring you redemption just as you’ve brought me mine.”

Slowly, he hoists your leg up and your eyes widen. He shifts to stand between your legs. Keeping his gaze on you, the mysterious man kisses your calf, a calming balm that also ignites a heat brewing in you again.

“Tell me,” Ezra asks, speaking into your skin. “Has anyone tasted you…here?”

Suddenly his fingers graze against your sex and warmth floods your face at just the thought.

You heard of such a thing from your friend at the brothels. However it was a rare occurrence, almost seemed mythical.

“No.” You breathe out.

“Shame.” Ezra mumbles. “All for me I suppose. A wonderfully ripe peach, all mine to consume.”

His inky dazed eyes flicker to yours.

“Will you let me take you to heaven, my lovely? May I swim in your ocean and taste your pearl?” Ezra offers like a man asking for your atonement.

The terminology is not missed on you and lust crashes in a dizzying tidal wave.

Quietly, swallowing thick, you nod yes.

Pride grin tugs at Ezra’s lips and his eyes twinkle like a creature lurking out from the woods.

Softly closing his eyes, he returns to kissing your skin. Except this time he moves up your leg with a purpose -

Like he’s on a holy pilgrimage.

Almost bewitched you watch him kneel down and push up your skirt to reveal your under garment. It’s a sight you want seared into your memory.

Then Ezra presses forward and kisses your covered sex. A gasp rips wild from you and your eyes roll back.

With a fast rip, Ezra takes apart your undergarments. Bare to him, his tongue then licks against your cunt and the most debauched sound you never knew you could even make escapes you.

“Do you enjoy? Wish me to continue?” You don’t know how Ezra’s voice swirls around you, a caress in the whispering wind, but you nod frantically.

“Ezra please… more.” You whimper.

And he does as you command.

Ezra pulls you apart with a wet devotion and frenzy that feels like you’re being devoured. He’s feasting on you.

You whine, even slap a hand over your mouth to silence how loud you’ve become when he sucks hard on the pearl of your sex.

“No.” He mumbles wet within your molten heat. “Let me hear you, my lovely.”

You don’t deny him after that.

The storm now rages outside, violently ramming into the windows. It mixes with the cries of your pleasure ripping through you.

When your climax arrives and knocks you out of this realm, you scream Ezra’s name while your legs shake.

“Beauty divine,” Ezra sighs, devout and borderline drunk.

Breathing down from your high with your back fully now flat against the floor surface, it hits you.

You’ve been lying on the chapel’s altar this entire time.

The offering is you. You indeed are the sacrifice, one of vitality. The throne of ecstasy is a form of life…

And did Ezra not tell you passion is also a tiny death itself as well?

Before you can gather this, Ezra dives back into you again and you squirm unbelieving this man can want more. He’s a man possessed like he’s trying to consume you from the inside out, devouring you until he reaches your marrow.

“Ezra.” You whimper. It borders too much, but you also don’t want this to stop.

“Let me feast, my dove.” He growls back and you catch it.

Ezra’s voice sounds distorted, fluttering between his twang and now a jagged danger sounding monstrous.

Wearily, trying to stay aware among the heat of building rapture, you exhaustedly lean up.

Between your legs Ezra is a sinful sight. His broad shoulders keep your thighs open as his tongue dips into the caverns of your cunt. You melt, unable to keep your eyes open.

But you want to watch him, want to remember this for as long as you can.

Especially now that the storm rages all around. You even wonder if the decaying church’s roof might be ripped off.

So your eyes open.

From between your legs, Ezra glances up.

His mouth stays stuck to your sex, except his eyes are completely hollowed out.

Drenched in darkness, like ink spilled entirely into them, they’re unholy and inhuman.

A scream rips from you but you can’t tell if it’s born of fear or pleasure. Or maybe both have blended together.

Your hips rise galvanized more and more, unable to stop their grind into his lips. Ezra’s grip keeps you secured and grounded.

Yet the sensation of sharpened nails now scrape against your skin.

You discover there are indeed claws, gruesome and monstrous claws, that form Ezra’s hands and arms.

“What- what are you?!” You sob.

Ezra hums and peers up at you.

“Salvation, my lovely. Yours and mine.”

A second orgasmic high hits and from the overwhelming pleasure your vision goes white. You wonder if this is heaven.

Or perhaps it’s hell.

Maybe you have died.

You should scream in terror or pray for absolution. But it’s so hard when this tastes so incredibly intoxicating, a most potent elixir.

As your body crumbles back against the altar, the overstimulated sensations become numbing, fogging your mind. Your eyes flicker up to the ceiling of the chapel.

You cannot find your god anywhere in the shadows.

The back of Ezra’s clawed hand gently strokes your cheek.

So tired, barely able to stay awake, your exhausted gaze flickers to him.

Those eyes of his, dark chasms of hell, should be soulless. But instead he looks at you with utmost tenderness.

The blazing lights of the church cast a warm glow outlined around Ezra, almost like a halo.

It’s beautiful. He’s beautiful in the terrifying way a fire is.

The mystery known as Ezra suddenly whispers out your name and you realize…

You never once gave it to him this entire time.

He is the last sight you see before your vision finally falls into the darkness.

When you awake, you’re among your quilts and bed.

You’re home.

Rapidly you look around so confused. How did you end up here? Was it all a dream?

“You’re awake!” Your father cries relieved and rushes to your side.

He thankfully answers all your questions.

You had arrived the morning after the storm. However, you hadn’t been alone.

“You had fallen ill on the road.” Your father explains. “But, thanks be to God, the new pastor sent to our town discovered you and carried you home.”

Now you’ve been resting ever since.

Had that experience been a fever dream, a temporary temptation conjured from your heart’s dark desires?

That had to be a dream, one brought on by your sudden sickness. So you rest and stay in bed for most of the day. From your window you admire the beautiful clear skies, the wonderful weather, and wildflowers growing so lovely.

You also notice your arm is completely healed, like you were never cut to begin with.

Midafternoon, a knock arrives at the door.

Your father calls your name. “Someone here to visit!”

Your mind sorts through all the possibilities of who is here to see you. You never expected your dearest friend to enter in with tears in her eyes. Overjoyed emotion washes over you as she rushes to embrace you.

“How can this be?” You hiccup, wiping away the tears. She was rarely allowed back home, especially now with her early pregnancy.

“The new pastor,” she smiles wide. “So holy and forgiving, he spoke to the judges and they are all redetermining a new sentence for me.”

You almost whisper out a prayer of thanksgiving. You hoped in your heart this would happen. She doesn’t stay long, wanting you to rest and you urge her to do the same.

By twilight another knock at the door arrives.

“Seems we are quite popular today.” Your father teases out from the main quarters.

Then he exclaims in excitement at seeing who’s arrived.

“Oh we are so blessed to have such a considerate clergyman coming by to visit!”

The new pastor. You’re beyond interested to meet this man and now you will.

When your father enters your room, Ezra waltzes in behind him.

Fear seizes your soul.

No. It couldn’t be.

This must be a man that looks like him down to his beautiful sharp nose and white patch of hair.

“Pleasure to see you again and under better circumstances.” Ezra’s clear twang rings out low and twinkling within your room.

Your heart rages rapidly and wild.

“Don’t look so terrified.” Your father chides soft but you still can’t believe this sight before you.

“Might I have a moment of solitude with your dear offspring?” Ezra asks with all the humility of an apostle.

Your father readily agrees, shutting the door behind him.

Now in the confines of your room Ezra slowly saunters towards your bed, a creature approaching its prey.

He exalts your name on an exhale.

You try to speak, but nothing comes out and Ezra moves to kneel beside your bed. His eyes twinkle with patient and pious understanding.

“Shh…no need for words, my dear turtle dove.” He quietly soothes you.

So many emotions clash in you, a tremulous onslaught you can’t handle.

“Have you come to kill me?” Fear manages to escape your lips and Ezra’s glorious face drops.

“Oh no, my beloved birdie. I’d never lay a hand on you with any violence or killing intent.” He reassures, a tender caress. “I’m here to free you. For us to set everyone free…did you not hear of what I did for your dear friend?”

His hand graciously cradles your cheek.

You should be terrified this man, this creature, is here. But you’re not.

Instead consuming relief and dangerous glee fills you. He is real. It was real.

Your hands clasp onto his and you hate how much you lean into his touch

Ezra leans forward and places a kiss against your forehead.

“What are you?” You ask barely above a whisper.

“The shadow of an angel, perhaps a monster to some.” He replies back. “But yours, nonetheless”

And you want him to be yours.

This is wrong to feel so greedy, to want a creature this dangerous. But were demons not once angels who deserved forgiveness and love?

So shifting your face you turn and place a kiss against Ezra’s palm.

Now when you hear the sermons, when you hear Ezra preach, you will think of Eve with sympathy because you understand.

You too fell for the serpent.

After all, evil never looks so beautiful as it does holding you. And desire never tasted so divine, never felt so holy.

Outside your window, the wildflowers begin to rot and the sudden rumble of a thunderstorm rolls in.

#sorry my ex Catholic school ass jumped out in this one & I need to go bathe in holy water now holy shit #anyway me and demon Ezra love you very much #ezra x reader #demon!ezra #ezra x f!reader #ezra (prospect) fic #ezra (prospect) x reader #ezra 🤎#pedrostories

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transingthoseformers · 8 months

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Nononono. I love SG!ConstructProwl. Because consider in IDW Baseline he never accepted them truly and they left him.

In SG they are successful at wooing him.

Oooooh.

Concept.

In SG it is the Constructicons are medics. In BL, they forcibly converted Prowl because of orders and feel in love with his brain. In there's during the SG!ProwlOP divorce, they find him beaten and broken left to die, and having seen what he went through feel sick at the idea of leaving him, and his Spark case is compromised. So they temporarily hook him into their Gestalt system since it is made to accept others, but Prowl latches on to them and is utter enraptured by their loyalty and love. He knows it exists but feeling that kind of loyalty and naivete about being goodness in the world after everything he sees is charming and what's more he wants it. So they've been chosen by a feral sleazy cat/mean girl who is very much now "Optimus who?" and eyeing them up while they squeak and push at him with a broom especially since he refuses to break the bond and gives them sad cat eyes that they know–they can feel his think which is beautifully sharp and horrifically clear and calculating–it is fake but the thought of hurting him and echoed memory of rejections and beatings and not being enough that radiates at the spark of him makes them unable to let go.

Even more Prowl is more than rwady to go full ride or die and has decided to be their murderous "he said no pickles" girlfriend and torment them into not overworking themselves and glare at the Decepticons who ask for assistance or projects and make sure they eat and are fed and have a schedule. The Constructicons overextend themselves to support everyone and have issues saying no.

Prowl does not.

The Decepticons are horrified at the implication of taking advantage and Megatron finds himself agreeing with Prowl about them taking care of themselves while they get upset at first but reluctantly admit he's right.

"Of course I am." Is Prowl’s only response as he shoves cube of Energon flavored to each of their exact tastes and locks down their work stations (Soundwave conveniently distracts Shockwave so he can't help them hack back in) and shuffles them to berth.

Hm, I have thoughts now about Workaholic!SG!Constructicons and their small bossy new self-assigned wife.

Exactlyyyyyyy

In SG, they said "we may or may not be able to fix him but we can try"

Also yes yes on SG medic!constructicons.

Exactly, SG ProwlOp is a toxic relationship I can absolutely see happening as an on/off thing that's been going on since before the war but of course this is the final off switch.

They just have to save him, they've gotta. And they do. Prowl happens to latch on very tightly and does not want to let go lol

It is such the opposite of canon and now he's the one who is sticking close by, because he has felt Positive Emotions that do not come from someone else's Negative Emotions for the first time and he's hooked.

"Would you like me to kill that guy???"

"... No thank you, but it's the thought that counts?"

Yes I'm fiddling around with the constructicon's colors and I am so tempted to keep the purple and not the green

Awww yes and he is making sure they don't implode by being selfish for them (oddly selfless of him, but he'd deny that)

Sdfg yep yep he is their evil bastard they have adopted and he's bullying them into self carem

#maccadam #transformers #sg prowl #sg megatron #sg soundwave #sg shockwave #wavewave #oops! i guess since the tag is there I've gotta keep it #:3 #constructiprowl #constructicons #sg optimus prime #prowlop #well past prowlop #idw prowl #transformers shattered glass

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virginburial · 11 months

Text

.·:*¨༺ a little death. ♱ chad meeks-martin ༻¨*:·.

SUMMARY: in which you have a pretty intense night terror alternatively, in which you, a friend of the core four, is stuck at a slumber party, where Chad comforts you after having a nightmare

SHIP: afab!reader x chad meeks-martin WARNINGS: explicit content (minors stay out), unprotected p n v, praise kink, sub!reader, soft dom!chad, choking/gagging, reader jealous as fuck towards Tara, ethan/chad rivalry?? for your attention, "i kIsS tHe sCaRs On hEr SkIn!1!1!!1! XD" type shit, chad is coochie drunk (and a heavy dirty talker), random storytelling/porn with a plot. fluff if you squint. TW FOR: mentions of murder, character death, grief, recovery/healing, ptsd related topics, body image.

WORD COUNT: 6.1K

SONG: a little death by the neighbourhood.

A/N: hello hotties!! i told myself "this is going to be a short one it's pretty to-the-point" but then i forgot who the fuck i was and realized i don't know chill and wrote 6K words of this. typical me behavior. this is for my shawties you love some emotional intimacy <3 chad is the actual loml, i'm shocked i'm writing for him now when i should've done this more last year lol REBLOGS, NOTES, AND COMMENTS ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED !!

.·:*¨༺♱༻¨*:·.

you woke up to your scream.

It was Halloween weekend, and the news had just broke about the two murdered college students, and their film professor. You, a Woodsboro native knew exactly what this meant. You weren't just any Woodsboro native; you were directly involved with the recent Ghostface massacre of 2022. You had lived in Woodsboro for only a short fraction of your life, yet what happened there impacted everything you do now.

You had moved from the south; Georgia-Florida-Alabama-ish. You met your current friends in your eighth grade year; coincidentally, the year one of your friends, Tara, had an issue where her sister ran from home. you enjoyed your little life there until it was viciously torn from you by your best friend and her psycho-groomer boyfriend-who you always had a bad feeling about. you were dating Wes at the time of his death, and after he went, so did all of your patience for the slasher genre. fuck the box office, fuck the critics, fuck the movie.

when things had finally settled down, you and your newfound family decided to make the ambitious move to new york. you were stuck being undeclared though as you slowly figured out what you want to get out of your experience at Blackmore. which all leads to now; October 30th, and the boogeyman you only saw in your dreams or in old photos of amber, was now prowling Manhattan for the survivors and fresh meat; ridiculous and fucked, that's what that is. your new friends; Ethan, Quinn, and Anika barely knew the drill. but you did. you've played this game before, unaware you were playing; now your focus could not be shaken.

Sam had suggested a fucked-up slumber party of sorts; "if we all stay together then he won't attack." "or we could be feeding him an all-you-can-eat buffet." Mindy croaks after Sam. Regardless, you knew that it was probably for the best everyone stayed together, especially the new ones. you had your suspicions about Ethan, who seemed to have taken a liking to you. the average sweet nerdy boy who's a bit corny, it all seemed a little too familiar. he would still try to get you to talk to him, stare you down, you could've sworn he stole something out of one of your drawers some time ago while looking for the restroom. you would never admit this out loud, because everyone is always so fucking uptight, but you never really cared about how he objectified you. you liked the attention.

but he gave off joe goldberg energy, and you were more of a steve harrington girl.

it beats having to look at your long-term crush, Chad, who was falling for Tara. you always felt like the silver lining of both of your partners dying would be that he would finally look at you; but just like Wes when she first got attacked, Chad's eyes were on Tara. fucking Tara. nothing wrong with her, she was your friend. maybe you just needed to stop crushing on and dating boys who would all rather fuck Tara Carpenter than give you the light of day. but then again, you don't even think you're ready for romance to reappear in your life. last year you were manipulated, stalked, and stabbed; Tinder sex would be a nightmare. so there goes that pipe dream.

you were sleeping in Tara's room with Quinn, Mindy, and Anika, while Chad and Ethan slept in the living room and Sam slept in Quinn's room; which was closer to everyone. It took everyone until midnight to get ready for bed, then Tara's music was too loud, and then Mindy and Anika started getting frisky which caused Tara to yell out "ARE YOU GUYS FUCKING?!" which led to Quinn screaming and laughing, which caused Ethan and Chad to rush in like knights ready to save the damsels, who were just making out. so Anika and Mindy were banished (by Chad) to Sam's room. you made a mental note to remind Sam to wash her sheets.

you knew, despite the horrible situation that was starting to arise, that right now felt like any other night with your friends, and that it might be the last time things will ever be this way. so what had you screaming the way you are now? if not, a horrific night terror you had about how everything went down last year: the look in Richie's eyes piercing you through the mask as he violently stabs you, leaving gashes as you screamed out for the one person who can't even rescue you; Wes. this happened three hours after the last person went to sleep, making it 3 am.

the thing with you that the others don't understand is that you had frequent nightmares about what happened. it's nearly a nightly occurrence and every night it's something different; Mindy's under the mask, Amber, Tara, Chad, Ethan, Sam, Anika, the Bodega guy, the guy who played Billy in Stab one, fucking Gale Weathers. It keeps you up half the night, flashing your phone flashlight in the corner of your dorm and waking your dormmate. you used to sleep with a hunting knife; stuffing it under your pillow and holding it under there. you also have several cans of bear mace; you were Wes's girlfriend after all. you inherited all of his self-defense tools.

the only one who understands is Sam. You can't believe the situation that's been happening between her and Tara; you would've killed to have an older sister who cares about you like Sam. Of course, your ID starts talking and tells you that Tara is just ungrateful to have a supportive family and Chad's attention and not want it. It fills you with envy. Sam gets it. Sam gets you. Sam tells you to try tea or get a medical marijuana card like she did, or try Zoloft like Mindy is doing. Mindy sarcastically suggests substance abuse.

you scream, having it rip through the still silence that filled the apartment. with a flip of a light switch, the big overhead light shines over the scene of you; hyperventilating and pacing around as Tara rubs her eyes. The boys, with Mindy, rush into the room on queue as Quinn stands up from the bed. "hey! hey y/n!" she tries to get your attention, anything to break you free from the sobbing mess you were starting to become. Tara decides to do the worst possible thing and start shaking you, she seems almost confused and pissed off as to why you woke her up. "y/n! look at me-" Tara tries to get your attention. "hey! Tara, that's not helping-" "-y/n, girl, what's wrong?" Quinn talked over Ethan.

then, finally, Sam chimes in and pushes past everyone; shooting Tara a worried look as she slowly wraps her arms around you. you slowly sink in Sam's arms and sob as she softly pats your back. "another one?" she asked, and you nod, unable to speak as you take a harsh gasp and slowly breath out, trying not to sob more than you already have. you hated being so emotional in front of your friends, you hated being emotional in general.

"wait so there was no one in here?" Ethan chirps.

Sam shakes her head. "no." she huffs out. "no no, just a night terror...I had one like this the other night. she'll be okay-" "-like hell she is, Samantha! I mean, look at her! she's shaking like a chihuahua!" Mindy blurts out. "I'm gonna make you tea, y/n," she announced as she went to the kitchen. Sam sighs, you could almost feel another brick weigh Sam down with the way she carried herself, then Tara spoke up. "Sorry I shook you, I...I panicked," she admits, which you knew was the truth.

you sigh softly, your face beet red, blinking away the last of your tears. "it's f-fine-" "-it's really not, I mean, do you shake someone when they're having a seizure?" Tara lightly jokes, earning a small laugh as you sniffle.

Sam speaks up. "I think one of us should stay here with y/n, at least until she falls back asleep. I would but I am very tired."

"I don't mind-" "-i'll do it," Chad and Ethan said in unison, which ended with Ethan's side-eyeing Chad. then Chad spoke up again. "I can bore her with one of my old football stories, plus i've known her for years." if only you could read Ethan's mind, even when the look on his face said it all. Sam looks down at you, getting your nod of approval before glancing back at Chad. "yeah, that sounds good."

Chad, who had come in charging with a chunky remote controller, just passed it to Ethan as he went back into the living room to grab his pillow. Sam rubbed her eye. "the girls can move to my room-" "-yikes." Mindy jingles as she came in with a mug. "I might've been sleeping there, with Anika, if you know what I-" Sam's face falls flat. "-you better be fucking joking, Mindy." she deadpans

"It's not like you're using that new mattress at its full capacity."

"okay gross." Chad gags, clutching his pillow and throwing it on the mattress. by then, Tara and Quinn already moved into Sam's room, probably collapsing at the door and sleeping on the floor as Mindy handed you the warm tea. She gives you a look that makes your stomach flip, it was almost sympathetic. almost like Mindy herself knows how it feels to be woken up like that. Mindy retreats to the room before Sam can say anything else. she sighs. "now I have an excuse to go to Target, and burn those sheets." she turns to you. "you sure you're gonna be fine here, with Chad?" she asks, Ethan, peering right behind her.

"Yeah, thanks, Sam," you tell her as she walks out, leaving just you, Chad, and Ethan. Ethan just purses his lips and gives you a weak smile before shutting the door and the lights off. you sit back down on the bed, grab the mug of tea, and sipped it sweetly, feeling the hot liquid run down your throat as Chad turns on the lamp. The room was cold, dimly lit with autumn new york air hitting your skin from the window next to you, the one Quinn cracked open.

Chad groans softly as he flops on the messy bed. he's surprised anyone is even getting a wink of sleep tonight, especially you, with how stiff and cold you got the moment everyone left. he stares at you for a second, unable to say anything before blurting out. "...do you wanna watch a movie on my phone? it can be a funny one." he offers. "I have We Are The Millers downloaded." but you just retract even more. why? why can you just shut off whatever's stopping you from opening up? maybe it was the stark realization you never really trusted anyone, ever.

you stayed silent, unsure of what to do; he wouldn't have offered if he didn't care a little. plus, it was only until you fell asleep. he was not going to stay with you the entire night. you turn to him, biting the inside of your cheek as you sip more of the tea. "no thanks, i've already seen it." you say. he isn't like Ethan; Ethan would just start leading the conversation with questions like 'Oh so what's a movie you haven't seen?' and whatever movie you think of off the top of your head will be the one that'll play. Chad just kind of stops after that; less of a nuisance but you were sure he wasn't at his full power since he hasn't really slept. because Chad can be annoying.

"you know you hit the floor, right?"

you furrow your eyebrows. "what?"

"you fell off your bed, that's what woke you up. it was very loud, and woke me up," he says as he scoots over to you, sitting right next to you. "I'm a light sleeper now, it's a recent development. it's not all that fun...Tara said you were murmuring in your sleep too before you hit the ground." your face burns with embarrassment. "...how often does that happen?" he curiously asked.

"What is to you?"

"just looking out for you. y'know, since the masked killer that tried killing us last year is trying to kill us again." his voice dripped with sarcasm. you scoff. of course. "...it happens a lot, maybe one of two times a week? it used to be every night."

"I guess that explains your caffeine addiction."

you chuckle weakly. "thanks doctor dudebro."

"I'm just saying, I wish you would've told one of us you were having nightmares..." he voices. "you know, Mindy used to have really bad nightmares. She would call me almost every night around the same time, just screaming and hyperventilating. it feels pretty real at the moment. then you wake up and it's not real." he mumbles towards the end. looking down a bit. you study the expression on his face, you knew Chad was more than some meathead jock, he gave you butterflies, and he seemed to be the healthiest among the survivors. he looks at you. "I'm on like 75 milligrams of Zoloft at all times so...I know what it's like, I've had my fair share of Richie-Amber adjacent nightmares," he confesses.

your stomach churns from what comes out of his mouth. "is that why you agreed to stay here? to talk me into talking about what happened and get medicated-" you jumped. Chad shakes his head. "no no, I'm not here to tell you what to do, or how to heal, It's just...hard seeing you this way." you know exactly what he means, so you dropped the stubborn act. "I know none of us are really dealing with it, but now it's happening again...and I don't want to get hurt again. I don't..." he processes what he's about to say before expressing it; "...I don't want any of us to get hurt again."

"...do you think about her?" you blurt out. "liv, I mean."

Chad freezes. you almost start to feel bad about bringing her up before he responds with. "most days." he croaks out softly. "sometimes I think if I would've just done what she wanted and went upstairs with her, things would be different." he fiddles with his fingers. "but then again, probably in the worst way, right? I don't know what I would've done if...if it was Mindy. or you." he flashes you a frail smile. "I think about her every time I hear a Paramore song, or when I see orange is the new black on Netflix or pink box dye. I hate the smell of that sugar cookie body mist that Quinn uses, it's the same one Liv had. She wanted to study 'abnormal psychology', she would've loved it up here...what about you? Do you think about Wes?"

"every night." your voice slightly breaks. "his Spotify account is still up, all the music he neatly organized into playlists for us is still on there, just collecting dust," you mumble, then, you feel pressure slowly lift off your chest as you continued to talk about him. "I deleted Spotify, though. can't be on there without seeing something he made for me or seeing his face, and Instagram too. His dad gave me a box of his things at the funeral and I brought it with me here, I can't look at it for very long without crying," you confess. "...can I be honest?"

"This is probably the most honest you'll ever get me, so shoot."

You let out a sigh, feeling your heart drop to your stomach as you stared into his eyes. "things in my life were already starting to go downhill before everything, and now...it never will feel the same, you know? I will never get over this, i'll just have to learn how to live with it when it's already happening again." Chad watches you, seeing your eyes sorrowly hang as the words spilled from you. he hates seeing you like this. you used to be so full of life, animated, and passionate; now you were just a shell. he softly bumps his shoulder next to you and gives you a reassuring smile. "...you're not alone." his voice softly spoke. "it feels lonely, but you're not alone."

you finish the tea, setting it on the nightstand before Chad speaks up again. "what makes you say that, though?" he perks up. "that things were starting to go downhill?" he asks, maybe genuinely curious. you bite the inside of your cheek. "I had this feeling that Wes was in love with Tara. I thought I was just going crazy but after Ghostface attacked her, and I saw the way he looked at her, I knew I couldn't keep denying it anymore. I just wanted him to look at me the way he looked at her, everyone looks at her like that, but now he can't because Amber wanted to cosplay Stu Macher." you spat, your condescending tone dripping in anger. "...i've just been filled with jealousy ever since, mostly towards Tara, sometimes at Quinn...the whole situation made me feel...ugly."

Chad scoffs a little, and you immediately get defensive, but the better half of you knows Chad is not going to judge you. "you? jealous of Tara?! Tara Carpenter? The same Tara in this apartment?!" he seems almost appalled. "y/n...Tara Carpenter is a mess." he exposes. "Tara shows up to class drunk. Tara got her driver's license suspended. Tara's mom dropped her after her dad and Sam left already. Tara almost died three times!! Wes was crazy for you, he loved you-it annoyed the shit out of me really but he did. Tara might be pretty but she isn't you...I know what you're trying to say, but the last person you should be jealous of is Tara." Chad rambles. silence falls on the both of you for a second as you process what he told you; he's right. Tara has some horrible luck, you needed to stop comparing yourself to her.

"...if it makes you feel better, I get jealous of Ethan."

well, that was a shock. "huh?!"

Chad chuckles softly. "yeah, I do, I get jealous of Ethan sometimes." you can notice him getting a bit flustered. "he-he's just lucky, you know? he didn't experience what we did, so he can walk alone at night and go to bars without feeling like he's being watched...he isn't active, which annoys me so much." he raises his hands in defense. "I know I know, it's not my life, but when he does tag along and goes to the gym with me, he can work out a lot longer than I can. he can wear whatever he wants. he can take his shirt off and no one will stare at him or ask questions. he doesn't have chronic pain. he can go and date whoever he wants and not feel bad about his body, or feel bad that he's cheating on his dead girlfriend...little shit like that makes me jealous," he admits, pressing his tongue against his cheek. "my injuries from last year were so severe that I can't even play my favorite sport anymore, and Ethan just gets to sit around and play World of Warcraft with his perfect nervous system." his words stung.

you couldn't think of anything to say, because he was right; it's not fair, none of this is fucking fair. suddenly, you can't help but slide your hand over to his, squeezing it softly. Chad studies you for a second, his brown eyes scanning how beautiful your features looked in the dark, you couldn't help but notice how clammy his hands were starting to get, he opens his mouth to say something, then he stops himself before saying something else; "...can I show you?" he asks.

you glance over at him, seeing how close to you he already was. you could feel your cheeks heating up as your eyebrows slightly raised from his request. you were shocked that he trusted you. "you...wanna show me? you won't even show Mindy-" "-Mindy can never take anything seriously, y/n. She's gonna call me Tony the Tiger if I show her." that made you chuckle, considering one of the scars that you had also looked like animal print; or you romanticized it to the point where it reminded you of a zebra stripe. so you nod. "yeah...yeah you can show me."

Chad, noticeably nervous, sighs before lifting his shirt slightly, revealing not one, not two, or three, but four or more deep scars that dented his already chiseled chest. your face flushes, blood traveling to your cheeks as you examine his body, how his skin was still healing, how deep the valley of his abs truly was. your throat goes dry, almost like you can't process the amount of pain Chad might be going through or what he went through when he got those scars. It's almost like he sees you contemplating on what to say; if there was anything you can say to make him feel better. your lips slowly part as you lean in closer.

"you can touch it." Chad chimes.

you look up at him for approval, even though he told you that you could. shakily, your hand slowly grazes down his chest, your fingers running down the canyons of his chest, reminding yourself that this was the case for you too, both physically and mentally scarred. you could feel Chad's breath hitch softly, and you stop. "did I hurt you or-?" "-no, no you didn't hurt me..." he says softly, his pupils growing in size as he watches you feel him. you know the room was not well-lit but you knew he could see you blushing. before you know it, Chad's hands slowly creep over to your hips, pulling you closer in the most unsubtle way. "may I?" he asks.

you were flustered, and all the blood that ran to your cheeks ran down to your core, feeling your heartbeat slowly revive itself down there as Chad's big hands rested themselves on your lower back. you squeezed your thighs together; you've wanted this for so long, you wanted Chad's attention since sophomore year, so you nod your head. Chad smiles softly at you before lifting your shirt slightly and exposing the scar on your stomach. you blushed from the tension and the embarrassment. you could feel Chad's hot breath on your neck as his fingers slowly graze your curves, just softly skimming past the waistband of your pajamas as he looks into your eyes. "...did I mention that I get jealous of the way Ethan looks at you?... Same reason I was so annoyed with Wes-"

the desperation of having Chad's hands on you drives you over the edge as you crash your lips into Chad's, feeling how chapped they were as you relax into the kiss. you did this for your inner teenager, who's probably doing summersaults because you're finally kissing Chad Meeks-Martin. before you knew it, Chad eagerly kisses you back, one of his hands squeezing your waist as the kiss grew more and more passionate. you weren't expecting this, but thinking back at it now, you should've seen this coming. you pull away from the kiss, realizing that your hands involuntarily wrapped themselves around his neck, and your faces were just a few inches apart. "well shit..." Chad mumbles as you notice his cheeks turning a dark shade of red.

he then grabs your chin delicately and kisses you softly, making sure you were present as his hands drop to your hips. the last person you were with like this was Wes, and you knew Chad was in the same boat with Liv. you pull away, seeing his lips chase after yours as you placed his hand on his chest. "Chad...should we be doing this?" he stares into you, his bottom lip caught in his teeth as he gnaws on it, unsure of what to say. "I would like to..." he said softly, pulling you closer. "We should make some new memories..." he huskily whispers before attaching his lips to your neck. your breath hitches as you grab onto him, and once he does that, you realized you wanted nothing more than to fuck Chad. "w-we should." you respond.

Chad manhandles you, again, pushing you back up against the mattress, grabbing your neck and jaw as he leaves open-mouthed kisses, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin as a soft gasp leaves you. he hovers on top of you, his breath getting heavier with each kiss before pulling away from your neck entirely. the look he gives you is full of passion. "besides, can't watch you squeeze your thighs like that and expect me not to want you..." he mumbles softly. your heart feels like it's on crack at this point, your stomach cramming with anxiety and lust as you kissed him roughly.

his lips felt so right on yours like they were always supposed to be there. he quickly gets in between your legs and reattaches his lips to your collarbone, his hands sliding down to your hips as you press them up against his growing bulge. a small moan escaped passed his lips as you grab his face and bring him back to your neck. every touch fills you with passion, your moans getting increasingly louder before Chad completely pulls away. "shhh." he chuckles softly, grabbing your jaw and making you look at him, squeezing your cheeks a little. "our friends are right outside, don't wanna wake them, right angel?" god he's so fucking fine. "no matter how cute you sound."

Chad delicately pulled your shirt off, revealing your tits, since you pulled your bra off before climbing into bed. his eyes could not peel away from them, as hard as he tried to focus on anything else. he gently flicked his tongue around the bud off your left tit, then slowly slides his tongue down your stomach, over your scar, and down to your abdomen. your face soured up from how different it felt having Chad kiss and suck and lick down your stomach. he leans up and kisses you. "your body is so beautiful, you know that?" he mumbles softly against your ear, and you respond by nodding, because deep down you always knew, just never affirmed.

Chad's hands slowly found themselves sliding off your silk pajama shorts, which might've been driving him crazy all night. he slowly reveals your panties, basic cotton white boyshorts with a wet stain conveniently down the middle. he pulls you to the edge of the bed, standing up as he gets a better look. he smirks at the sight of it, you could see his mouth nearly watering as his left hand softly grazes your clothed core. his class ring hitting your sensitive nub as your hips gently jerk to the sensation of it. then, his hand softly slaps it, a soft, wet squelch coming out of you as your body jolts again. you whine as he starts to speak; "fuck...poor angel, must be very desperate, huh?" he taunts.

you can barely think of what to say, already so desperate to feel him that you just lazily nodded your head. he grabs your face. "cmon, use your words." he says gently. it makes you feel so weak in the knees as his free hand softly caresses your cunt. "when was the last time you came, angel? you're so sensitive..." he uses his thumb to rub your throbbing clit in circles, still waiting for you to answer. "l-long ago..." and you weren't lying. it's hard to focus on yourself and your needs when you're constantly in survival mode, and it's harder to make yourself cum when the last person who did got brutally murdered. Chad gets it, considering how flaccid his anti-depressants made him. seeing you in this position, though, finally gives him the hard-on he's been waiting for. "let's fix that."

He slowly slips two fingers into you, watching your back arch as he quickly covers your mouth, his hand taking up half of his face as he thrusts them slowly in you. he sees your body slowly adjusting to his fingers as your muffled moans pushed pass the cracks of his knuckles. his class ring hits your clit with a certain rhythm, making you twitch as you hold onto his wrist. "fuck" you mumble in Chad's hand as he starts to recklessly pound his fingers into you. his actions were so rough but his words were so sweet, causing your brain to almost malfunction; "taking my fingers so fucking well." he pants softly.

your faint moans turned into muffled screams when Chad stuffs a third finger in there, curling them and thrusting them deeper and deeper into your aching hole. his hand clamping harder around your mouth as your screams got louder and higher. he looked so determined to push you over the edge, it's almost like he wants you to cum all over his fingers.

your eyes flutter as his thumb grazes over your clit. fuck. fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. you wish you had the entire apartment to yourself so you can scream and moan and do Chad on the dining table. for now, you're settling with him shutting you up with his knuckles deep in your hole. you can't help but feel your walls tighten around his fingers. he drags his fingers out and glances up at you, seeing how flustered and aroused you were as he slowly pulled off your panties, shushing you gently and moving his hand away from your mouth. "open wide angel." he hums before stuffing them in there.

you could taste how tart you were, saliva staining the panties as he slowly slides his finger down your folds, using his free hand to whip his cock out. You faintly groaned out in frustration. you haven't felt this good in so long, your skin hot to the touch as your fingernails dug themselves into his shoulder blades. your eyes pleading as they found themselves staring at his cock; you knew Chad was pretty big, Liv might've ranted a little bit about how she was 'sore' from the first time she did it with him. you weren't expecting him to be so thick either. you could see his cock tremble, his tip already soaked in precum as it glistens in the dim lighting, the lamp hitting it just right as he smirks at you. "come on, angel, show me how bad you need it." he coos softly, brushing your hair behind your ear.

you rest yourself on your elbows, staring down at that Alaskan bull worm Chad calls a penis as you imagine yourself getting nearly split in half by him. how badly your hole was begging for any kind of contact as Chad's muscular arm wraps itself around your thigh. you could see his hand slowly pump his cock as he waited for your answer, maybe you propped up the way you were could get the job done for him. you whine and try to squeeze your thighs again before he forces them open, prying them apart like a Venus flytrap as he slowly inserts himself. His tip slowly sinking into you "o..oh-f-fuck..." he groans softly, his voice getting even huskier as he pulls down on your hips. "your cunt sucks me up so well, angel...you're s-so tight." he mutters.

he slowly starts lunging his hips against yours, sweat gleaming from his forehead as he admires your reaction to every thrust, seeing your eyebrows furrow, your mouth falls open, your eyes fluttering, all of it just drives Chad insane. "such a pretty girl..." he nearly growls as he throws one of your legs over his shoulder; it's almost like he wanted to pace himself so he wouldn't get lost in the pleasure she was giving him; but it seemed nearly impossible as his pace increases.

your muffled moans got louder and louder, causing Chad's strong hand to wrap around your neck and squeeze it softly, your moans becoming inaudible as he starts to brutally fuck you into the mattress. you thought this whole exchange would trigger something primal in you, freak you out too much that you end up running out of the room, but it was quite the opposite. Chad leans down. "your pretty moans are gonna wake t-them up, angel." he warns her again, his tone was so sweet though, it made you melt. "how do you t-think everyone's gonna f-feel when they see you getting fucked out-mhm-like the doll you are-?" he groaned out softly, his teeth grazing your ear and tugging on it.

pleasure began to overwhelm you, your moans and whimpers turning into gasps and yelps as Chad clapped the hand he choked you with over your mouth, again. "f-fuck baby...you w-wanna be my angel, don't you?" he mumbles softly as your body started to jolt with pleasure, you could feel the panties hit the back of your throat, the essence of your juices left stuck on your tongue as your nails scratched up Chad's back. he then answers his own question. "I know you do, sweet girl...fuck, you hear how good you're taking me?" he praises.

your own pleasure starts to build up as your back arches, and you can't help but cry out from how good it made you feel, it almost made you regret waiting so long before making a move on Chad, or anyone else really. Chad's dirty ramblings keep you on edge: "My cock fits so perfectly inside of you a-angel...wanna be buried in you like t-this all the time-mhmfuck-" his whispers start to turn into strained statements, the sound of skin slapping echoing inside the room, if anyone else was awake in the apartment, they probably would have already noticed the intense fucking happening in that room.

the tip of his cock starts punching your g-spot like a boxer and his punching bag, you can't contain your muffled moans getting any louder; which causes Chad to cover your mouth for a third and final time. you could feel his cock seize inside of you as Chad's own groans start filling up the room. you were almost worried that Sam or Ethan were going to charge in here and see Chad balls deep inside of you. the pleasure starts to overwhelm you as your thighs shake uncontrollably, your hot breath wafting back into your face as Chad groans out quietly. "y-you need my cum, baby? mhm? that'll g-get you sleeping-" he manages to get out before feeling your juices gush out of you; realizing you had cum all over his cock, your body jerking in response as your eyes fluttered close.

involuntarily, Chad's cock squirms before you felt the thick ropes of his cum spill inside of you. you watched as his tense body finally relaxes into your touch, his heavy breaths and soft groans hitting your neck. seeing him slowly pull out and realizing he forgot to grab a condom from his wallet or check if Tara had some, oh well, it's not like he's gonna get murdered on the way to the pharmacy and back. he notices how limp you've become as he moves his hand away and pulls the panties out of your mouth. you can't help but notice how charming his smile was. he was glad he can catch you at this moment, all worn out and lazy but perfectly content, and finally dozing off to sleep. Chad gives you a lazy, soft kiss before you finally fell asleep.

the next morning, Chad and Mindy had run out to get breakfast; you were the last one to wake up, which Quinn noted as a good thing: "It means you finally caught up to your sleep schedule." which couldn't be further from the truth. you couldn't help but think about just a few hours prior, how good it all felt, how he basically fucked all the nervous energy out of you; feeling zen before the wave of reality hits you. The news was on, still talking about the new local Ghostface killings. you weren't sure if the slumber party kept you safer from the attacks or put you right in the middle of them, all you knew was that you had Chad as a bodyguard now. and when Chad finally comes back with several bags of Dunkin' breakfast sandwiches, he gave the only sprinkled donut he ordered to you.

.·:*¨༺♱༻¨*:·.

buy me a coffee ૮⸝⸝> ̫ >⸝ ა

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azrielhours · 1 year

Text

Waiting on a Ghost

Azriel x Reader

Word count: 9k. lmao

Synopsis: Reader moves to Windhaven before the Great War against slavery begins to help the cause. A fleeting romance blossoms unexpectedly between her and Azriel as attraction pulls them together, as they tiptoe around a bond that grows in their chests. They seek each other, and she waits to reunite with him through the war, through silence and sound, through hope and home. Inspired by the Odyssey.

Song inspo: Yebba’s Heartbreak by Drake

Warnings: Smut. Canon typical violence. This one hurt a fkn lot lol.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There’s nothing unique about the out-of-place feeling that comes with moving. You knew there would be a sense of uprooting upon changing homes. What you didn’t know was that your new home wouldn’t be a place. It would be him.

Rumours about a war breaking out had initially seemed like conspiracies. Enslaved mortals revolting, Human Queens leading an uprising. It quickly became a reality check when the King of Hybern massacred his slaves. The threat of war lurked like a storm on its way to claim fathers, neighbours, sons, to make widows out of wives, exchanging loneliness like a transaction for its violent means.

Your father knew he would be more useful to the cause closer to the fray, which is how you wound up packing your belongings and moving to a war camp called Windhaven. Home to the aerial cavalry of the Night Court, your father explained.

Settling in was as fast-paced as the war preparations. Warriors of legendary might walked the grounds, and you quickly acclimated to the sight of an Illyrian warrior shooting down from the sky in a landing. As your father worked tirelessly with weapon making, you’d found the nearest female and offered to do anything useful. “Please.”

She’d turned out to be a seamstress, noting your flustered state, unused to the casual prowl of the inked warriors that called this place home. She’d told you her name was Rhiannon as she directed you to meal preparations.

You did your best to ignore the stares you received during the communal dinners; the male hunger.

Rhiannon would laugh in passing at your flushed cheeks. “They’re not used to seeing refined ladies,” she’d tease. “I fear for the health of my sons when they see you.” You would rush back to work to the sound of her laughter.

One evening, there was a shift in the kitchen energy, whispers of some entourage. One of the girls informed you the High Lord had arrived. The soldiers he’d come with were seated nonchalantly amongst the usual faces you’d begun recognizing.

The High Lord was nowhere to be seen, and the warriors were no different than the rest. You gingerly stepped between the only empty seat, situated before a hulking warrior standing nearby who was turned away, occupied in conversation. You leaned forward to set your tray down, but before it contacted the table, something slammed into you from behind, knocking you forward. You braced for impact, losing your grip on the tray. Gasping in horror, you anticipated the clatter of dishes, but it never came. A hand to your left shot out instinctively, stabilizing the tray. Warrior reflexes. The table fell silent in the wake of your tumble, all eyes on you as you pushed yourself up off the table.

You turned, searching for the cause of your fall. Before you stood the warrior who’d been previously conversing; a giant, rugged mass of a male with hair down to his jaw. Red siphons gleamed in your peripherals. “I’m so sorry,” he said, hazel eyes wide. His hands were open and paused mid-reach, like he stopped himself from steadying you.

“It’s okay,” you breathed, still shaken.

“I didn’t see you. You’re so—” he brought a hand up, holding his index and thumb out to convey smallness. A laugh huffed out of you at his mild panic. He dropped the pinching gesture. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, smiling this time. You turned to assess the table. The tray… someone had grabbed it. Mid-air. You found it’d been set down by its saviour. The male seated to your left whose attention was now on you. Another set of hazel eyes.

These ones stole your breath away.

You stared and he stared right back. His golden-tanned skin seemed to glow in contrast to the darkness of his raven hair, his fighting leathers. “Oh,” you breathed. God, he was… beautiful. The most beautiful male I’ve ever seen. Pink blossomed on his high cheekbones, further accentuating the elegant planes of his face. “Thank you,” you breathed.

His head dipped in a silent nod. Shadows wafted around him as he continued to watch you. You ducked your head and turned abruptly to escape the weight of his gaze.

You ran right into a hard body. Stepping back, your eyes met with the first perpetrator. He smiled sheepishly, muttering another apology and stepping aside.

“Cassian, would you stop harassing the poor girl?” A female voice drew your attention. Lady Rhiannon. Thank God. She strode towards the table, a kind smile on her face. “I told you you’d sweep my boys off their feet. But it looks like they beat you to it.”

You stared, face hot.

“I was talking about the fall you took, darling,” she winked. “Isn’t that right, Cassian?”

“I’m very sorry about that,” he said again, brows raised in earnest honesty as he took the empty seat.

“These are your sons?” you exhaled.

She nodded, smiling fondly. “There’s one more. Rhysand, who’s just speaking to his father.”

You nodded, still off-kilter. She just chuckled, offering her arm, guiding you back. Cassian, Rhysand, and... The pretty one. They didn’t say his name.

“Azriel,” she said softly. You glanced over in question. She smiled knowingly. “His name is Azriel.”

You began blushing again. With a gentle pat on your cheek, she left you with your thoughts.

Before crossing the threshold back to the kitchen, you turned to glance at the table. Through the sea of people, you found him watching you. The shadows swirling around his head and wings were like the seeping essence of a dark angel; his eyes were clear and focused as they held your gaze.

Azriel.

The days passed and the males grew restless as talk of war circulated. You kept your head down, helping everywhere you could. At the end of your shift in the kitchen, Rhiannon came to personally invite you to her home for a gathering. “To keep the soldiers’ spirits up.”

“I don’t have anything nice to wear,” you patted down your apron. You’d given everything away with the abrupt move.

“You’re talking to a seamstress,” she teased. “I’m sure I have something for you.”

At her house, she had you try on dresses until you found one you liked. In your gratitude for her continuous show of kindness, you insisted on staying to help prepare for the gathering.

Guests began trickling in as the sun set. High-ranking officials populated the sitting area, and the house was soon full. You served refreshments, ushering guests in. Looking to the door for the hundredth time, you suppressed your disappointment at the absence occupying your awareness. You chastised yourself for caring, for wanting him to see you dressed up instead of frazzled in an apron, dumbfounded and speechless.

Motion on the windowsill pulled you out of your thoughts. Moving closer to get a better look, you realized what it was.

Shadows.

Immediately, you backed away, fussing with your skirts. The door opened, and in walked Cassian and another male bounding for Rhiannon. So this is Rhysand, then. At her friendly beckon, the males’ attention turned to you.

“Y/N, dear, you’ve met Cassian, and this is my son Rhysand.”

Cassian smiled down at you with wide-eyed sincerity. You returned his smile before surveying Rhysand.

His violet eyes matched his mother’s. “Please call me Rhys.” He offered a hand, tugging yours up to kiss your knuckles. “You’re the new lady, aren’t you? The one Cassian knocked down.”

Cassian muttered under his breath as you laughed. “I’m not a lady.”

“You certainly look like one,” he mused.

“Where’s Azriel?” Rhiannon asked, unfazed by her son’s shameless flirting.

“On the veranda,” Cassian answered.

Rhys’s gaze turned to you once more, something suddenly sparking in his eyes that made you brace yourself. “He could use some encouragement,” he purred.

“I’m sorry?”

Cassian smiled, catching the insinuation. “He’s a little shy. Maybe you could ask him to come inside.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

Oh.

You took your tray and made your way to him.

Azriel was leaning against the wooden railing, observing the attendees occupying the grounds, wings folded tightly to his spine. A shadow curled at his ear, and he turned to face you, standing straight and tucking his hands behind his back.

His eyes tracked you as you approached him. Your stomach was doing flips beneath his stare, but you forced yourself to break the silence. “Lady Rhiannon—she told me your name is Azriel.”

A dip of the head. “It is. What’s yours?”

You suppressed a shiver at the baritone drag of his voice. “Y/N.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Were you just going to stay out here all night, Azriel?” You shamelessly indulged yourself, testing his name again. A small part of him you could borrow like sugar.

“I think I’m alright out here,” he spoke gently. He eyed the drinks in hand. “You’re always carrying a tray,” a small smile tugged his lips upward.

You matched his smile. “Except for when I drop it in front of all the soldiers.”

His smile deepened. “That’s on Cassian, not you.”

You took another step forward. “Well, thankfully you were there to help.”

Despite the command of his stature, he averted your gaze, flushing. “Don’t mention it.” He’s a blusher, then. He still smiled, tugging at your heartstrings. A beat of silence, then he said, “You’re here to help with the war efforts?”

“Yes. My father is a blacksmith.”

He nodded thoughtfully, eyes wise beyond his years. “Do you miss home?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know if… I have a home.”

He studied you. “No?” he asked softly. “No scenery or family to miss?”

You averted your gaze. “Not really. I don’t have any family besides my father.” You offered a small smile to ease the tension. “I brought my favourite books with me, that’s enough for now.”

“I’m not unfamiliar with that feeling,” he voiced, eyes scanning the crowd of warriors.

“No family?” you repeated his question.

“I have my brothers. That’s enough for now.”

A beat of silence as you both sat in your confessions.

“You’re going to fight in the war?” You asked foolishly.

His attention returned to you. “Of course. It’s an honour.”

You nodded, pain suddenly stabbing in your chest at the thought. Azriel’s shy nature was blasphemy in war. Maybe he feels as out of place as I do.

Looking around at the males, you sought to distract yourself from the sorrow you felt. Azriel noted your distressed gaze sweeping the yard, misunderstanding its cause.

“Let me,” he said, taking the tray off your hands.

You huffed a laugh. “You’re always taking trays from me,” you teased.

Azriel just smiled. “I’m at your disposal.”

As he turned to step off the veranda, you couldn’t stop yourself— “Azriel.” He halted, turning back to face you. “When you’re finished… come inside.”

Caught off guard, he stared, brows high.

You cleared your throat. “They, um… they told me to ask you to come in.”

He cocked his head to the side, a crooked smile this time. “Did they?”

You bit your lip shyly. “Mhm. I mean, only if you’d like to,” you tried.

He didn’t indulge you, holding his ground silently; a cheekier side of him that he hadn’t shown before. His crooked smile remained, eyes narrowing playfully at your slip of the tongue.

You scoffed, blushing harder. “Will you come inside please, Azriel?”

He laughed, letting you off the hook. “Alright. I’ll meet you inside, then.”

“Okay,” you said, turning on your heel before you made any more of a fool of yourself.

Inside, Cassian and Rhys immediately bounded over, displaying a familiarity with you that warmed you to the bone. “Where is he?” Cassian asked.

“He’s handing out drinks to the other warriors.”

Cassian and Rhys exchanged a bewildered look. “What?” you asked at the sudden shock.

“You got Az serving refreshments to the Illyrians?” Cassian gaped.

Rhiannon joined your group, smiling as her boys howled with laughter. She smiled at you. “Like I said. You’re bad news for the health of my sons.”

A week passed since the gathering. Azriel never left your thoughts. Even your father noted how you’d often zone out, gazing at shadows as evenings fell, watching them dance. Your daydreams would frequent the memories of the gathering, the shy glances on the veranda, how happy you felt when Azriel indeed came back to you.

Cassian and Rhys kept you company. When Azriel arrived, it felt like something settled into place. Like the sense of uprooting had resolved. He smiled and walked over, and you listened as his brothers told you animated story after story of all the trouble the three of them had gotten into through the years.

Your joy was cut short when Azriel got called away for something with the High Lord. You didn’t get a chance to see if he’d ask you to dance with him.

A knock on the door yanked you back to reality. You crossed your house to answer the door, but your father was already there. You peered from behind him as he opened the door, freezing at the sight of the hazel-eyed Illyrian standing on your veranda with his hands tucked behind his back. Your father asked him, “What can I do for you, son?”

Azriel dipped his head in greeting, eyes flitting to yours before addressing your father. “Sir, I have some books that belonged to my mother. They’re of no use to me. I thought since your daughter was learned, she might… appreciate them.”

“That’s very generous,” your father said, stepping aside.

“Thank you,” you breathed, reaching to take the books Azriel pulled from behind his back. Two novels. His fingers brushed against yours, and you hoped your father wouldn’t notice the blush staining your cheeks.

“You must come in,” your father said, turning to lead the way inside. But Azriel opened his mouth to object, his cheeks blushing red.

“Oh, no, I should probably get back,” Azriel objected, his eyes darting to the floor.

“He seems more comfortable outside, father,” you cut in. “Perhaps you could go on a walk with him.”

Azriel’s eyes widened, and you bit back a smile. “Well the weather is nice,” your father said, gesturing for Azriel to lead the way. Azriel looked back at you as your father exited the threshold, throwing a playful glare at you for having cornered him. You grinned brazenly, closing the door.

You spent the next while sitting by the window in your room, watching fondly as Azriel walked with your father around the grounds. You only felt slightly guilty for orchestrating it. The books he brought you were clutched to your chest like treasures. You finally broke your attention off the pair outside and opened the first novel.

The smile was wiped off your face. There was a note written in precise handwriting that fell onto your lap, and a portrait of Azriel. You couldn’t help but trace over the portrait of his handsome face like a widow, like he was yours and the longing you felt was justified. You let yourself read his note.

You said your books are enough home for you. These are my favourites, so you have a piece of my home as well.

Rhys made me add the portrait. So you don’t forget me, Y/N.

You’d gotten used to the routine of things, finding fulfilment in the work and bustle of the camp. Most of all, you anticipated the glances during dinners. His books sat on your nightstand. His portrait inside, his handwriting. You’d pass by tables of warriors and beam with glee, thinking they don’t know I have Azriel’s books in my room. In the kitchen, singing as you worked. They don’t know he wants me to remember him. It made you hope and dream, made the future feel less bleak.

Until one dinner, when a young boy came running through the halls. The Windhaven Messenger, bringing a letter from another Illyrian camp. “The High Lord commands deployment!”

The communal hall fell silent as the boy continued his declaration. “The King of Hybern has sent out his commanders. We set out westward tonight!”

The Illyrians immediately rose, the silence turning over as quickly as it fell. The warriors left their tables and began exiting to prepare to march to their high lord. Some were whooping in excitement, some looking for their friends, a few sending prayers above. Your stomach sank, the dishes in your hand clattering to the floor. You didn’t care, stepping over them and searching for him, for his brothers.

You found Azriel at his table, a calm force standing still while everyone around him rushed about. His face was solemn but settled. Once again, his very nature seemed sacrilege in the face of battle. A contradiction that seemed unnatural and cruel.

You held each others’ gaze, the entire camp bustled around you while the two of you stood vigil at either end of the hall, two upright pillars surrounded by a raging storm.

Finally, someone clasped Azriel’s shoulder, drawing his attention aside as he listened, likely a command from a superior. Azriel looked back once more before he followed the male outside with the rest of the Illyrians, leaving you to pick up the pieces off the floor, broken glass and broken heart alike.

When the cleaning finished, you headed back to your house. At home, you took what you needed, steeled your nerves, and headed in the direction your heart commanded before cowardice overpowered you.

Lady Rhiannon’s house. Three knocks on the door as loud as your heart hammered. You told yourself you wouldn’t mind if Cassian or Rhys answered the door. They deserved goodbyes as well, deserved your prayers and parting words.

But when Azriel opened the door, you sighed in relief. Then got overtaken with nerves all over again. “Azriel,” you breathed.

He stepped out onto the porch, jaw tense and eyes piercing. “Y/N.”

He could surely hear how your heart raced, see how you fumbled with your hands. “I—I brought you this book. To take with you.” You extended it forward.

His eyes softened. “A piece of your home.”

Holding his gaze steadily, you said, “Yes. A piece of my home.” Spoken with the certainty that only he brought out of you in this place as you drank him in like the elixir of life.

His head dipped imperceptibly. “Thank you,” he held the book with reverence, opening it. You held your breath as you bore the vulnerability. Inside the book was your own portrait for Azriel’s remembrance, and a note. You watched as his typically stoic face opened, how his eyes widened, his mouth parted.

You’d required Cassian’s aid in tracking down an alchemist to render your portrait using Dawn Court magic. Your note to Azriel was as an invitation to write to you. Permission. You stepped back on the porch, watching the men walk the ground as he read your note.

Perhaps my books aren’t enough anymore. Perhaps I’ve finally found the home I’ve been searching for.

I could never forget you, Azriel Shadowsinger.

You turned back to him, and Azriel’s piercing hazel stare flashed to yours. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. Neither of you knew how to maneuver around the sentiments. You shook your head, turning to leave in the wake of bashfulness. “Y/N,” he breathed, reaching forward.

He wrapped a strong forearm around your waist, pulling you back to him. You gasped, body flush with his chest, hands flying to his shoulders. Azriel kissed you, pulling you impossibly tighter to his broad chest, so firmly to him that your feet left the ground. His other arm wrapped around you, and you melted. His lips were soft but his kisses were demanding. He pressed deeper into your mouth, leaning forward until you were set back on your feet, but you still clung to him. Your eyes remained blissfully closed as you gasped inhales, exhaling sighs into his mouth when he didn’t let up, claiming your bottom lip between his own. His hard body around yours made your head cloud over, made you breathe harder as you tried and failed to regain your bearings.

Until the front door opened again, and Azriel released your mouth. Cassian and Rhysand stepped out and walked around where the two of you remained firmly embraced. Rhysand laughed, his stride unfaltering as Cassian followed, yelling over his shoulder, “he’ll be back!”

Azriel rested his mouth on your shoulder as they strode off, as you caught your breath, still clinging to him. His arms released your waist, hands moving to your shoulder blades as he too panted raggedly. He still pressed you to his chest, his shadows dancing around your pairing. Finally, he broke off entirely, leaving you standing in a complete daze on the porch. He re-entered the house with the door open between the two of you. You watched as he slung a bag over his shoulder, securing the last of his weapons onto his person, then stepped back onto the porch. He stared into your eyes, the intensity piercing, nearly making your knees buckle.

“I’ll wait for you,” you breathed.

Azriel was still breathing hard. He didn’t say anything, just clutched onto the book. He slowly walked around you, holding your gaze, collecting his composure. Until he turned, joining his brothers at the end of the yard.

You ran down the path to where women gathered to send their men off and waited for Azriel’s unit to march on. A chorus of goodbyes and well-wishes echoed in the air, colonels organizing their men, but you could’ve sworn a soft lullaby drifted above it all as you found Azriel in the ranks. As he took you in with the same longing in his eyes that you just tasted on his lips. You heard the melody play and tried to lean into it, to let it be the last thing you felt as he marched away instead of the sorrow rapidly displacing it. I’ll be here, you vowed. And you’ll come back to me.

There was a sense of fracturing between your ribs. Perhaps your heart breaking so soon after he’d just made it dance with unity, with joy and yearning and rightness.

His gaze snapped to yours one last time. Determination in them this time. You felt it as much as you saw it. Yes.

Azriel, you will come home to me.

Only after the Illyrians shot to the skies did you break your gaze. Pointing it further skyward, you commanded, bring my home back to me.

The beginning was the hardest; the jarring sense of deprivation after weeks of liveliness, of full tables and packed schedules. There were days when you’d wander the grounds, memorizing his home while he was away, searching for glimpses of the honing of his life.

You never knew silence could be so sinister.

Painful days stretched to painful weeks. Months.

News came in scattered clusters through letters received by the women. Hybern sent out his greatest commanders, Amarantha and Clythia to partake in the war. That’s what prompted the hasty deployment.

You wrote to Azriel, asking about his wellbeing, if he had any idea when it would be before he returned. If he was safe.

Azriel did not write back.

Every morning, you’d head to the communal hall where the messengers brought letters from the living and reports on the dead. You’d search for Azriel’s name in both and find it present on neither.

According to a woman whose husband marched in Azriel’s legion, the High Lord coveted Azriel for his Shadowsinging powers, that he now personally commanded Azriel. That explained the radio silence, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. The High Lord fears that his son will rival him in power, she told you, rubbing your arm. He’s separated the three boys in fear of usurping.

Lady Rhiannon would visit, would wipe your tears and shed her own. My Rhys is only 28, she once cried. She told you how Azriel had been imprisoned by his father for 11 years, how he ached to fly, what scarred his hands. She stopped when your tears made it hard to see, instead telling you about how Cassian used to hide in his wings as a child when he was embarrassed, how he played pranks on the High Lord’s council, how the boys once convinced him to swim in the nearby river and took off with his clothes.

That was in the first year. In the second year, it became less bearable to speak about Azriel. There were a few Illyrians who stayed behind, who had the gall to try to court you in his absence. One in particular, Eurymachus, was relentless. He’d find you in the communal hall and tell you, “He’s not coming back. You’re waiting on a ghost.”

The ghost of him was better than any living man.

By the third year, some women moved to a camp closer to the war, including Lady Rhiannon, whose departure was salt on your bleeding wound.

News was still scattered. The last you’d heard, there was a realm where the slaves were freed by two warriors named Miryam and Morrigan.

You prayed that brought the fighting closer to an end. Hope became a ration of war.

When days slipped by and the nights lingered, you’d close your eyes and replay the last time you touched him—the first time, the only time—his hard chest against yours. How his hands pressed you close, how he breathed directly into your mouth. So you’d slip out of bed and write to him again.

Azriel Shadowsinger,

I did not get the chance to dance with you. I never got to hold your hand, never got to walk with you. But still, I dream of the day I live out those wishes. I’ve been evicted from my home all over again. I may be inside a structure but it’s just a matter of rooms. My true home is wherever you are. I pray my home is safe, I pray it’s on its way back to me.

I feel something deep in my chest that sings to me, that feels an awful lot like an instrument. It stirs inside me like a canary in a coal mine. Maybe I’m losing my grip on sanity, but I tell myself that it’s you, that you may not write to me, but your heart sings to mine.

I did not get to say vows to you, Azriel, and maybe I never will, so let this be my first. I take you, Azriel Shadowsinger, for everything you are, in your sound and silence. I will continue to wait for you, and I will only stop when I stop breathing. Come back to me.

Seven years.

The war went on for seven excruciating, unimaginably long years.

Your father died in the fourth year, making the passage of time longer and shorter at the same time, making it run weird, stretching in some places, thinning in others. You’d been bedridden for months. Other women at the camp came to care for you but remembrance was a blur.

“I’m waiting on a ghost,” you’d told them once.

“Doesn’t it make sense to live for him, then? What’s the point if you’re both ghosts.” That was the day you left the bed.

Live for the ghost. Live for Azriel.

You’d learned archery. The deserters trying to court you persisted shamelessly, only growing bolder with your father’s passing. His passing also meant the money gradually ran out. The women trained you, giving you something to do with all the waiting. Gave you the means to provide dinner for the small group of you that ate together.

They all knew who you waited for. You stopped going to the hall to seek his name, only listening for the strum that sometimes arose inside your ribs, willing one back. A shout across the void. A reminder of unsaid vows.

Until one day a woman came running with a letter in hand.

It was from Cassian.

You opened it with shaky fingers. It contained three words, but three were enough.

He’ll be back.

It was another day of biting cold as you drew your bowstring, hunting wild turkeys for tonight’s meal. You fired with practiced aim, walking to collect your game. You were barely outside Windhaven, beginning to turn around when you spotted a male in the distance. Eurymachus, no doubt on his way to try his luck again. You scoffed, notching an arrow in your bow, steadying your aim.

You spared no mercy. “Stop where you are,” you commanded, a voice of practiced authority after years of sly men with sly tactics. “Turn around and leave this camp!”

The male slowed, raising both his arms in surrender, but he still stalked forward. “Y/N?”

“Stop where you are, or I’ll shoot!” You fired a warning arrow above his silhouette, notching another.

The male halted at last, lowering his arms. Smoke drifted off them as they lowered.

No, not smoke.

Shadows.

Your bow lowered, every thought eddying from your mind.

Your heartbeat began pulsing in your ear, almost loud enough to block out the faint lilt in the air, a song that played on the wind.

Then that strum in your sternum pulled taut and released.

Your arms went slack.

Azriel Shadowsinger stood before you. His shadows slithered tentatively towards you on the snow, halting before making contact. He looked at your bow, then scanned your face, the bewilderment in it.

“Azriel,” you choked. Azriel. Dropping your weapon, you cried louder, “Azriel!” Azriel. Azriel. Azriel. You began running to him.

Running home.

His eyes fell shut in utter relief, at the sound and sight. They opened again, surveying you with holy reverence.

You halted your running. This time, his name fell in wet whispers. “Azriel.” Azriel. His presence was like a phantom pain.

He walked towards you, that music on the wind a divine witness.

Your knees threatening to buckle. It was really him. Azriel was here. You nearly shook your head in disbelief, watching as he walked closer while your tears silently fell.

Azriel stood in front of you, letting out a deep shuddering exhale in relief. He looked utterly exhausted, but his eyes were bright and entirely fixed on you.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you spoke softly, voice shaking. “Come with me. Let’s go home.”

Home.

Azriel fell asleep as soon as you brought him home. You didn’t touch him yet, just walked before him and tried to calm your racing heart. You took him to your room, watched as he took off his bag, his weapons, his coat. You ran to fetch him some water and came back to find him asleep on the bed over the covers. Bringing one of your blankets over him, you watched as he slept.

He was older, the contours of his face deeper. His cheekbones stuck out more prominently, his jaw even sharper. You wondered how far the lines of change also cut within, if that softness was carved out of him in the carnage and killing fields.

You wept silently by his side as he slept, wept for your youth that slipped away in the prison sentence waiting for your Shadowsinger, wept for his youth that barely made a dent in his life. For the years that estranged you, the weight of them crashing down all at once. Wept in relief for the end of it finally arriving, like the lull of sleep claiming people at nightfall.

Finally, you picked yourself up and got to work, preparing a meal for him.

You sat in the living room, doing what you’ve become an expert in over the last near-decade—you waited. The stars came out, and the Shadowsinger came down.

A kernel of youth returned to his face after resting and washing up. He’d changed into a linen shirt and slacks. He still hesitated around you, clearing his throat, standing in your space but not sitting. You rose to meet him halfway. “Did you receive my letters, Azriel?”

He nodded. “I have five. I kept them in the book you gave me. Cassian brought them to me when we were in the same camps, which was not often.”

A beat of silence. “I sent out hundreds.”

Azriel’s eyes widened. He broke your gaze then met it again. “I suspected the High Lord was keeping them from me.” He absentmindedly rubbed against his sternum. The same place you felt that stirring within. His eyes sobered. “Even without… communication, Y/N, you are what kept me sane out there. Kept me from the darkness.”

You thought of the strength you drew from him after your father’s passing. “Me too, Azriel.”

He continued. “I didn’t need written word to know the sound of your laugh. The colour of your eyes.”

The familiar yearning, the shy glances you both exchanged made you feel like your youth was creeping back into you. It was your turn. “You hiding out on the veranda,” you smiled.

A playfulness lit his hazel eyes. “You carrying a tray.” He matched your smile.

“Well, I needed an excuse to see you, didn’t I?” Tears warmed your eyes again. “I waited every day, Azriel. I waited every day for seven years for you. Longing to see your face.” His eyes fell shut, pain etching his handsome features. A longing he knew all too well.

His brows furrowed. “I fear that the time apart isn't the only thing that came between us, Y/N. I fear that the war’s changed me more than I bargained for.” An inhale. “I want only to offer you goodness, but if I had any, I fear that it’s all gone now.”

Your heart stuttered. “Azriel, I wrote to you once that I take you as you are. In sound and silence, and I’ll tell you that again right now. I take you as you are. And I know the goodness isn’t gone because I can feel it.” You traced down your breastbone.

He looked at you in astonishment. “You feel it?”

“Yes. I can feel you, Azriel.”

The edges of his lips tugged up in a smile, his eyes still wide with awe. The muteness for once felt like a sanctuary and not solitude.

After years of unspoken communication, you both acquired fluency in silence. You walked to him, standing before the hearth. The canary inside pulsed, and you sent a pulse back.

“The day we left, I thought my ribs broke from the… ache of leaving you. I felt it in my bones, a cleavage. But the soldiers, when nights were quiet, they whispered of a bond that ran so deep, it overpowered marriage.”

Yes. “I felt it too that day, Azriel.”

He nodded, gaze focused. “They say it’s like a…”

“A snap.”

He took one step closer. “So that makes us—”

“Mates,” you breathed.

Another nod. “Mates.”

Yes. That admiration stayed in his eyes.

Then, his voice softened. “I know we’ve been waiting all this time, Y/N, but… if it’s too much—I don’t want to rush you. The—mating—if you want it, or—” crimson tinted his cheekbones, reminding you of a younger Az— “If you’d want me—as your husband. Whatever you want.”

You mirrored his wide-eyed wonder as his words stripped you to the barest, most base self. To your soul. “I want you like I’ve never wanted anything, Azriel. Husband, mate, both, anything. Any capacity I get to have you, I want it.”

He nodded, the embodiment of certainty and truth. “Y/N, I want to marry you. I want you to be my wife as well as my mate.”

You nearly scoffed, but your heart was bursting with joy. “I’ve already vowed myself to you on paper.” Lost in whatever archive or fireplace the High Lord stored your letters. You felt light, felt certain like you’ve never known certainty. You beamed comfortably at him. At your mate. “The war, it’s made certain things feel… trivial. Like a wedding.” You looked away, thinking about it for a moment. The stars were your only witnesses. There were no priestesses to call on, no contracts that could bind you more strongly to each other than the binding you carried in your bones—in your soul.

Returning your gaze to his, you found bountiful patience in his eyes. “You know,” you spoke softly, “where I’m from, there was a culture nearby where all you had to do was say ‘I do’ three times, and it was enough to marry a couple.”

Azriel did not smile. He looked at you with the intensity you missed for seven years. An intensity that meant promise. You were his entire focus, and he did not yield. In a clear voice, he declared, “I do. I do. I do.”

You laughed to keep the tears abated. But you maintained that intense gaze, and breathed, “Azriel. I do, I do, I do, I do, I do I do, I—”

His lips cut you off. He took one stride towards you and wrapped an arm around your waist.

Married.

Just like that, you were married. In your heart—married. He held you to him, and the years apart were nothing. The feel of his hard body—harder than you recalled—was everything right in the world. Safety personified as he held you to him, taking care to be gentle with you. All the unspoken words were heard and felt on your lips. You broke off from his mouth, not seeking to waste a minute longer. “I have… my corset, it’s got so much lacing.”

The bond inside you sang louder than ever. You felt his desire grow, matching yours, strumming on the instrument strung across your chest bones. You turned around, moving your hair out of the way. He rested his warm hands on either side of your waist. He traced them up your back, beginning to gently pull the laces loose, helping you out the corset. Then he pulled apart the ties of your skirts, watching as they pooled at your feet.

You slumped into his body, relishing the reliability, the knowledge that he came back, that he was real. His hands gripped you into him as he began kissing your shoulder. Only your shift separated your body. Turning in his hold, you fisted the hem of his shirt, freeing it from his pants. He yanked it off at the neckline.

His powerful body had packed on even more muscle. He was littered with scars that you ached to trace. Placing your hands on his abdomen, you dragged them upward, trying to permanently etch him into your memory. His chest rapidly rose and fell beneath your fingers. You gazed at him innocently, wanting to remember how his face contorted with pleasure from your touch, from his restraint. His jaw feathered, lips parted, pupils dilated. He bent forward and kissed you again, seizing the opportunity with your craned neck. He was less careful now, pulling you firmer to him. You gasped when a hardness pressed into your stomach. He kissed down your jaw, paying attention to your neck. His kisses were hot, making you gasp and press your legs tighter together.

He reached the juncture of your shoulder, cradling your head to him as he continued his path. Then he pulled the straps of your shift to either side of your shoulders, and let it pool at your feet with the rest of your clothes.

He stepped back, looking down your form with a fervour that made you begin shaking. “You’re beautiful,” he rasped. He pulled you to him by the waist, bending to kiss your throat. Then down your chest, kissing over the bond. He slowly sank to his knees, your hands braced on his shoulders, watching as he continued his path downward. His hands slid down your form, cradling your hips, your thighs.

“I used to think of your little hands,” he said, voice guttural. “Your waist. The way you felt under my hands.”

You ran your hands through his hair, carding your fingernails over his scalp. He groaned, resting his head against your hip as you did.

“Your hands, Azriel. The way you held me. No one’s ever touched me like that before,” you exhaled, sinking to your knees, seeking to kiss him again. At his level, he kissed you so deeply that you began tilting backward. He guided you to the floor, admiring how you looked in the glow of the hearth.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he ground out. He didn’t break your gaze, even as he reached for one of your breasts. Your back arched, writhing when he thumbed your peaked nipple. When your writhing caused your legs to part, he snaked a hand between your thighs, feeling up the creamy skin til he found what he was seeking.

You inhaled sharply as his fingers spread through your wetness, easing some of the aching pressure. You couldn’t help but moan, helpless under his skilled hands as he continued to massage your apex. Then he eased a finger into your entrance, stroking in and out of you. Your head spun, brows pinching together at the euphoria. He studied you closely, your contorting features, how you moved against his hands. He bent down, kissing you, swallowing your moans as you were pulled closer to a precipice. He eased another finger inside, stretching you open as you squirmed. “That’s it,” he spoke breathlessly into your mouth. Then he curled his fingers inside you and you shattered. The climax tore through you, back arching and limbs trembling. He pulled back to watch you fall apart.

When your heaving lessened and you could open your eyes again, he kissed you. You pulled him down by the neck, wanting more of him. He moved from your side to situate himself between your open thighs, bending to rest his weight on his forearms on either side of your head. His body rested over yours. You gasped at the hardness of him pressing at the apex of your thighs. As he kissed you, you reached for the hem of his pants, fussing with them until he helped you remove them.

Utterly bare. He cushioned his length against your wetness, grinding into you while he kissed you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, giving him wider access, urging him on. He finally reached down and guided himself into you.

Your breathless writhing halted. You stared wide-eyed as he pushed the first inch into you, an uncomfortable stretch. He shuddered, jaw clenched as he restrained himself from entering further. His eyes were locked on yours, noting the rigidness, how you held your breath. “Breathe for me, sweetheart,” he spoke tenderly despite the tension in his body.

You inhaled, trying to relax. He kissed you, softly this time. His tongue teased into your mouth, working against yours. When he groaned into your mouth, you relaxed, sighing contently. He continued to kiss you, and when he tried to pull away, you chased him, wanting more. He carefully pushed his length further into you, pausing again. He zeroed in on every reaction you made to his ministrations. He continued to breathe hard, controlling himself despite the pleasure flooding him, despite the urge to sheathe himself. He bit your bottom lip, and the friction of his hard chest against yours made you involuntarily roll your hips further onto his length.

His breath hitched as you tested his endurance. His thorough carefulness heightened your need for him. With the heels of your feet, you began pressing him further into you. He exhaled in relief but tried resisting. “It’s okay,” you whispered. “I want it.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he breathed.

“You aren’t,” you lied.

He shook his head, words failing him in the wake of your tightness.

“Please,” you exhaled.

He studied you before moving his fingers to your clitoris, thumbing at it slowly. You gasped, instinctively rolling further onto him. He continued to sheath himself while his thumb rubbed against you until he bottomed out. He kissed you, holding himself in place. With him fully inside you, there was no space between your bodies. With your arms wrapped around his neck, you pulled him impossibly tighter to you, moaning into his mouth.

When you rolled your hips beneath his, he started to move, pulling back an inch and thrusting back in, working you through the movements. Pleasure overpowered any stinging discomfort as he moved inside you, stroking against spots that made your toes curl. Your back began arching on its own accord as you chased the feeling, holding him like he was going to leave again. His head fell into the crook of your neck, breathing hard against the tight pull of your entrance, how he glided with ease.

That build-up began churning in you again as he sped up his motions. You could hardly breathe, couldn’t think. Beginning, middle, and end—all things were Azriel, Azriel, Azriel. As he moved in you, you could’ve sworn your souls were dancing together, the bond between you one entity that thrummed with life. Your thighs shook from the unbearable pleasure, your head thrown back on the floor. He kissed your neck, pumping into you while your legs tightened around his waist. His audible panting was an erotic rhythm, and when he angled his hips forward on his thrusts, he hit a spot within you that sent you into another spiraling release. You clawed at his back as he continued to move inside you through your climax until you felt a warm wetness release into you, and his hips finally ebbed.

He remained tucked inside, resting his body on yours as you rubbed soothing strokes down his back. Your breathing calmed, heartrates slowing. He released himself from you, making you gasp at the sudden loss. He pulled the throw blanket on the couch, draped it over you, and lay back beside you over the animal skin on the ground. You immediately wrapped yourself into his open arms, laying your head on his chest and bringing the blanket over him as well. He held you to him, kissing your head. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

He continued to stroke your hair, the side of your neck, your back, murmuring softly into your hair as you fought off the lull of sleep. It wasn’t until you felt a distinct sensation of contentment in your chest that you drifted off, to the sound of his voice caressing you. “I’ll be your family. You’ll be my family. And this can be our home.”

You wanted to tell him that he was your home, but the peace he brought you overpowered you, dragging you to sleep.

When you awoke the next morning, you waited for the subdued dread to wash over you as it always did, but all you felt was a warmth in your chest cavity. You arose, taking in the space around you that’s never felt like home as it did now. You spotted your husband in the kitchen, quietly pacing as he heated the food you made the night before.

When his shadows wafted around you, he came to see you. A smile graced his beautiful face as he crouched before you to kiss your temple, muttering a greeting. You reached for your shift, dressing yourself and joining him in the kitchen.

“We forgot to eat last night,” you said.

“We’ll have it right now,” he smiled easily, taking his seat at the table where he’d warmed everything again. Turkey stew. He’s also managed to find some pastries and coffee. You began eating your fill, famished after the strenuous activities the night before. Azriel did not eat, prompting you to pause.

At your questioning gaze, he spoke. “If I eat this meal, that officiates our mating bond.”

Though your heart raced at the notion, you just smiled. “What are you waiting for, then?”

Azriel relaxed, returning your smile, the crinkles by his eyes deepening. You watched as he took a bite of your stew, watched as he ate his entire share. When he set his plate down, exhaling, the glint in his eyes made your flutter. The strum in your chest now felt like an open channel. You pushed an experimental feeling through it. Adoration. He sent it back, and you felt it course through your skin. He beckoned you over, sliding his chair back to make space for you. You padded over, sitting on the table before him. He kissed you, the restrain he’d shown last night a foreign concept. As you pulled him to you by the neck, fisting his hair in your fingers—

There was a knock on the door, halting your actions. You reluctantly pulled away, laughing at the glassy look in his eyes as he forced himself to let you go.

You opened the door, gasping and swinging it wide open at the sight of Lady Rhiannon. You threw yourself into her arms; she laughed, catching you and embracing you. You felt a warm, solid body press into your back as Azriel joined your embrace, wrapping his massive arms around the both of you. “Azriel,” she breathed, and you felt her tears wet the side of your neck as she beheld her adoptive son.

When you pulled away, you wiped her tears like she’d wiped yours countless times. “The boys are at my house. They’re home. That’s all I wanted to say,” she spoke joyfully. The two of you had made it to the end of your own battle. You nodded, promising to be right over as she turned on her heel and made her way back to her awaiting sons.

When you closed the door behind you, Azriel stepped back out of your reach. “We just confirmed our mating bond. If you want to go see the boys, we’ll have to be quick, before the frenzy.” He took another step back, his nostrils flaring, eyes screwing shut like your scent was an aphrodisiac beyond his endurance.

You laughed. Walking over to your pile of clothes leftover from the night before. “I’ll be quick,” you said, yanking on your skirt, pulling your corset over your head, lacing it tight. When you glanced at Azriel, the look of utter and complete desire in his eyes made you laugh again. His hands were fisted at his sides, and he was breathing deeply as he tried to school himself.

“I’ll walk over first, then you can make your way over. If that helps,” you offered.

“Okay,” he said, huffing a laugh at the nature of the situation.

You strapped on your bow and arrow, then blew him a teasing kiss goodbye at the door, laughing as he groaned dramatically. You walked as fast as you could to Rhiannon’s house.

Turning a corner, your bubble of contentment burst when you spotted Lady Rhiannon stopped near her house by a male on a horse. It was Eurymachus.

You walked over, notching an arrow on your bow. “How many times have I told you to leave this camp, Eurymachus?” you said.

His attention slid to you. “Looks like all your waiting was for nothing, Y/N. I see your little lover never made it back from the war. I told you you were waiting on a ghost,” he sneered.

You saw the door to Rhiannon’s house open, but you kept your eyes trained on Eurymachus. Cassian stepped out, sword in hand. “I suggest you heed the Lady’s warning before the High Lord returns.”

Eurymachus jumped, turning abruptly to face Cass, then turned to face you again, disgust on his face. “Are you his female as well? You rejected me for a band of bastard scum?”

“Watch your mouth,” you warned.

“I don’t take orders from whores.”

Cassian threw a dagger and it found its mark in his thigh. He yelped, swinging his sword, dismounting off his horse as it reared. Eurymachus reached for a dagger and threw it clumsily at Cassian. It missed its mark, nicking Rhiannon’s arm. Cassian advanced and they clashed weapons; you gasped, dropping your bow and arrow and ran to the Lady to check on her. Cassian knocked Eurymachus out with a sword to the back of his head, turning to join you at the Lady’s side.

Cassian helped her up with you, but before you could take her into the house, a pit of dread uncoiled itself deep in your gut. You halted, the breath leaving you suddenly. Cassian spotted your wide-eyed stare. “What?” he demanded, searching the surroundings for a threat.

He moved stealthily, so it wasn’t his footfalls that gave him away. But when you instinctively looked back, you spotted Azriel walking toward the scene, a look of calm rage on his face as he took it in. Before you could utter a word, Eurymachus rose from his spot, scrambled for your bow, and shot Azriel.

A ringing noise rose above everything else in the world. Rhiannon’s mouth parted as she screamed, but no sound reached you. Cassian scrambled to reach his brother, but you didn’t hear that either. You also didn’t feel the ground as it suddenly found your body, as the snow wetted your hands.

And worst of all, you couldn’t feel him anymore.

A mockery of the words that were said just hours before. Hours.

The bond in your chest flickering like a dying light.

The arrow jutted out of Azriel’s chest. He sank slowly to his knees, staring wide-eyed. Large, warm hands were the first thing you felt, and you turned in confusion as you felt a body behind yours. Purple eyes swimming with anguish met your own. Rhysand winnowed you closer to him. To your fallen Shadowsinger.

When the world rematerialized, so did your sensations. Rhiannon sobbed, Cassian demanding that Azriel stay awake, Rhysand’s laboured breathing. Cassian turned slay Eurymachus. Rhysand let go of your arms and instead grasped his mother’s gently pulling her away from Azriel who lay on his back.

You knelt beside him, your hands trembling. “No,” you breathed. This couldn’t be real. “No, Az. Please no.” You shuddered as you tried to breathe, to think— “Please don’t go. You just came back.”

You brought your shaking hands to cup his face. Blood was trickling out of his mouth with every breath, quiet agony in his eyes as he tried to wheeze around the arrow in his heart.

“You can’t leave again,” you sobbed. “You’re my home,” you whispered. You leaned over him, resting your mouth on his, crying onto his lips.

Your chest flickered once as Azriel heaved in a final breath. “I love you, Y/N.”

You pressed your lips to his, willing every ounce of love, devotion, yearning, and want down the bond as it slipped through your bones. Azriel’s eyes shut, peace overtaking his features at that last sensation, as your heart utterly shattered. You willed the bond back with all your might, but there was nothing.

You remained there, broken in half, crying over him until warm hands soothed down your back until Rhys picked you up gently off his brother and took you inside the house.

There was no more music in the world. Only vague noises, mutterings of We’ll take care of you, Y/N, don’t worry, and it’s gonna be okay darling, I’m here. All you could process was the stillness inside.

After all that time with your heart stretched across space and time, you found yourself once again, waiting on a ghost.

Two years later

Your friends gathered on a balcony. Soon after Azriel’s funeral, you’d all needed to leave Windhaven, needed to get away from the reminders of his life, of the catastrophe of his loss.

Once again, you’d given away your belongings and found yourself moving, enduring the uprooting that had nothing to do with a physical structure.

It’d taken months for you to speak again. This time there’d been no strum in your chest to help. No hope to be found, because it was too small to make a dent inside you. Until it eventually grew strong enough to be felt.

Your new family helped you. When you finally broke your silent vigil, you’d told them what he was to you. How your bond had snapped into place, how it’d taken seven long years to see through to your mating.

How you’d decreed your wedding in a cottage living room with only the Mother to see.

They’d cried tears of joy and tears of pain at the revelation, at the knowledge that Azriel had found his other half before shattering your heart and leaving you again.

Time went back to being measured through the passage of pain. That first year, you’d missed solstice, missed all celebrations, only enduring what you needed to survive. Not for yourself, but for him.

The hope that he left behind, because even in his absence, Azriel always left an inkling of life inside you, whether it was the strum of an early bond, or a kick against the inside of a womb.

It was Starfall, and the boy that clung to you was now just over a year old.

Your son.

Arion.

He inherited his father’s hazel eyes, his raven hair. He even looked at you with a certain focus that made you want to weep. His name came from an older Illyrian dialect that meant melodious song. Named after the music your bond carried on the wind.

Music that spoke when your lover was rendered silent. Music you only heard in dreams now.

Your son fussed on your hip, anxious to see the brilliance his uncles promised would light the sky. Your family gathered around you in support, in grief and love. When the stars began falling, you held your breath, feeling hints of hope creeping up on you, the feeling both foreign and familiar. “See, Ari?” you asked. “Like Uncle Cass said. Falling stars.”

The boy’s eyes were wide with wonder. He was your medicine, your healing salve. His uncles shuffled closer, supportive hands around your frame as you all hoped for a visit.

Spirits of the fallen Illyrians, their comrades shooting across the sky in death like they did in life.

A celestial body arched close by, stealing your breath away. Like a phantom pain, you felt a rattling in your chest cavity; the ghost of a strum. Rattled by a star while your baby reached forward trying to catch it.

Sapphire starlight freckled Ari’s face, and with the tears distorting your vision, you looked at your son and he looked just like him. The blue glow reflecting in his hazel eyes like the glow of siphons on a Shadowsinger. You released a strained laugh, or perhaps it was a sob, and Ari beamed.

“That was your daddy,” you whispered to your son, smiling through your tears. Ari’s eyes widened further, turning back to watch the stars.

You quietly wept, clutching Ari tighter to you, sending your last farewell to your husband, your mate, your friend down where the bond used to be. I’ll wait for you, you vowed. Waiting on your ghost, in this life until you got to see him again in the next.

Live for the ghost. Live for Az. For Ari.

“Happy Starfall, Ari,” you breathed, smiling at your little musician, the living embodiment of your bond. Then, to your beloved, you sent out to the stars—

Happy Starfall, Azriel. I love you. I do, I do, I do.

taglist: @iimisty-a @feyretopia @aroseinvelaris @cullenswife @reiincarnatiion @sfhsgrad-blog @answer-the-sirens @mrstangerinejohnson @marigold-morelli @courtofjurdan @azriels-mate123 @emotionless-lover @marina468 @slvtherinseeker @owllover123 @banasheefan56 @nyotamalfoy

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel/reader #Azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fanfic #azriel spymaster #azriel smut #azriel fanfiction #acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel angst #this hurt so fkn bad y'all. not me crying over my own writing. stand up

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novafire-is-thinking · 11 months

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I haven’t seen anything about how similar Prowl and House are…

…so now you’re all gonna hear about it from me >:)

Prowl is to House as Ratchet is to Dr. McCoy.

House is the king of committing medical malpractice in the name of personal interest and the good of his patients.

Prowl is the king of committing war crimes in the name of the good of Cybertron and personal interest*.

*There is a whole post I want to write about this later.

^ There were very few significant differences I could think of.

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve laughed while watching House M.D. because I was reminded of Prowl. I love both of them so much. lol

Prowl fans: If you want to know what Prowl would be like as a doctor, check out House M.D.

House fans: If you want to know what House would be like as a giant alien robot strategist, look no further than Prowl.

Some quotes by House that could have also been said by Prowl:

“If nobody hates you, you’re doing something wrong.”

“It’s nothing personal. I don’t like anybody.”

“I take risks; sometimes patients die. But not taking risks causes more patients to die, so I guess my biggest problem is I've been cursed with the ability to do the math.”

The last one is especially Prowl.

#if any of you read my story in the future and see similarities to House then you’ll know why lol #idw prowl #the wolf of petrex #non tf reference #house md #hate crimes md #<- yes that’s House’s actual fandom nickname #perhaps I should start calling Prowl:#War Crimes P.D.#also hi to any House fans who know nothing about Transformers #excuse this crossover post that has ended up in the House M.D. tag

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deaf-solitude · 13 days

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In The Shadow of the Valley Pt. 2 (Squire!Thaddeus x Knight!Reader)

Pairing: Thaddeus x Knight!Reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings/Tags: Future graphic violence, injury and blood, branding, stitching, no use of Y/N, placeholder knight name for the reader, mostly gender-neutral but reader is called “sir” at some points, the reader is called “my lord” a lot too, reader is also a bit of an asshole but dw they soften up

Summary: You’re a knight sworn to the Brotherhood of Steel, and you’ve just lost your asshole squire to a yao guai. Maybe it’s for the better, as you prefer to work alone anyway. Unfortunately, the Brotherhood thinks otherwise and quickly sends you a replacement. Turns out that the replacement is someone you never wished to meet again, but thankfully, he didn’t know it was you! Not yet, at least.

TDLR; What if Thaddeus was assigned to be your squire instead of Maximus’?

((A/N)) I’m back!!! I’m having a lot of fun writing this, so this might turn out longer than I initially intended lol. Also I hope that I’m not too inconsistent with lore/game mechanics, I just started playing Fallout 4 last week and I haven’t gotten very far yet ToT. Anyway, enjoy!!

———

Maybe you wouldn’t kill him. Not before something else did, at least.

You were still on the path of your mission, trying to gain a bit more ground before night fell. However, a pack of sleeping junkyard dogs currently stood between you and a viable camping spot underneath a rocky outcrop, and you were not in the mood to fend them off of both you and Thaddeus. You were both crouched down behind some nearly-dead bushes, trying to figure out how to get around them without waking them up.

God, this would’ve been so much easier without having to worry about the well-being of a squire. You’d rather not be two for two for dead squires in one day.

“What do we do?” Thaddeus whispered noisily, causing some of the dogs’ ears to twitch. You whipped your head around in a manner that meant ‘shut up’, but the pneumatics of your armour made more noise than you intended. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see a few of the dogs quickly lift their heads, on high alert. You and Thaddeus stared at each other, frozen in place in hopes that the dogs just… wouldn’t see you behind the bare bushes.

That unfortunately did not happen, and the feral growling of the hounds spotting you quickly spurred you into action. You pushed Thaddeus further into the brush and stepped out into the clearing, drawing your gun and beginning to take shots at the pack of dogs. A couple dropped, but the rest were eager to get a bite in on you.

“My lord, w-wait!” Thaddeus yelped, stumbling back due to the weight of his pack and falling onto his ass. He struggled to get back up, to help you as a good squire should, but he was having trouble getting the strap of his bag off from where he lay on the ground. Good, that’s what you intended.

“Fuckin’ mutts,” you grumbled, hastily blocking a lunging dog and throwing it to the floor. That didn’t deter it in the slightest, recovering before it lunged for you again. It got a good grip on a protruding piece of your armour, and you spun around trying to hit it off. “Fuck! Motherfucker, get off!”

Thaddeus became more panicked as he heard you shouting, finally slipping out of the strap and aiming his gun at the dog latched onto you. “I’ve got you, my lord!” He yelled, before blindly firing off a shot in hopes he’d hit the dog. The bullet missed, ricocheting off of your armour and startling Thaddeus further as it whizzed by his head.

“Thaddeus!” You yelled in warning, trying to prevent him from getting in harm's way. You weren’t known for things going your way, though.

One of the dogs had split off from you when Thaddeus fired his gun, now set on getting a chunk out of the unprotected human. You saw the prowling animal before Thaddeus did, but in trying to get rid of the one on you, you were too slow to react in time.

Thaddeus screamed as the dog lunged for him, quickly turning his head away and firing blindly again in the direction of his attacker. Every shot missed, and the dog caught hold of Thaddeus’ arm, trying to drag him to the ground.

“Fuck! Knight Mire! Help me!” Thaddeus screamed in alarm, wincing as the dog’s teeth tore through his jacket sleeve and into the flesh of his arm. He cursed loudly again, trying to play tug of war with a feral dog and his arm.

You promptly threw the dog on you to the ground when you heard Thaddeus’ screams, landing a solid stomp on it before rushing to your squire. With the dog preoccupied and trying to maul him, it was easy to get close and restrain it. When it refused to let go of him, you hesitated only slightly before resorting to putting your hands on its head, pressing them together and effectively crushing the dog’s skull. Its body went limp, and Thaddeus was able to rip his arm out of its loosened jaws with a whimper.

You didn’t have any time to check in on him before another dog jumped on your back, trying to rip at the back of your neck.

“Son of a bitch!” You shouted, trying to reach back and grab the dog, but your armour limited your mobility and you were unable to reach it. Thaddeus floundered where he stood, gripping his bleeding arm while trying to decide if he should help you or not.

“Uhm, m-my lord! Would y-you like me to-“

“Don’t fucking move!” You shouted at him, finally getting a shot in on the dog as you blasted it with your arm jet. It yowled, toppling off of you and attempting to limp away from the major burns you’d just given it. You shot it before it had the chance to escape, god forbid if it came back to bite you in the ass. There were only a few left now, and with some well-aimed shots from your gun, they fell quickly too.

You and Thaddeus stood still for a moment, still processing what had just happened while trying to catch your breaths. You carefully holstered your weapon while you stared at the bodies lying around, taking a breath before turning around to assess Thaddeus.

With your helmet facing towards him, he jumped, almost trying to hide his torn arm behind him. “A-ah! Am-amazing job, my lord! You-you really showed those m-mutts!” He exclaimed, a strained smile strewn across his face. You huffed, brushing past him to carry the pack instead. “O-oh you don’t h-have to do that-“

“Come on,” you beckoned, cutting him off and moving toward the outcrop you fought for with the pack slung over your shoulder. God, this thing was heavy. Thaddeus hesitated before following behind, his forced smile dropping as an anxious frown replaced it.

You threw the pack down against a nearby rock, assessing the small area. There were a few stray rocks scattered in a shape that looked like a circle, so you figured you’d get a small fire going in the middle of them once you’d dealt with Thaddeus. Speaking of Thaddeus, when you turned back around to rummage through the pack, he was already digging through it.

“You good?” You questioned, your scrambled voice causing the man to jump again. He whipped around, still trying to hide his arm behind him with a feigned smile.

“Yep! Never been better! Don’t you worry about me,” he rambled, beads of sweat welling up on his temple while he gripped a roll of bandages in his hand. You sighed, crossing your arms.

“Let me see it,” you ordered, making Thaddeus frown in panic.

“N-no!”

You raised your brow, which he couldn’t see, but he still sputtered at your silence from his sudden outburst.

“I-I mean- I’m fine, my lord, really. I-it’s nothing I can’t handle!” He reassured you, getting more nervous by the minute. You were not taking that for an answer. You carefully but firmly placed your hands on his shoulders, turning him sharply so you could get a look at his arm. Thaddeus whimpered in embarrassment, casting his eyes away from you while you inspected the wound.

It didn’t look good, that’s for sure. The dog had gotten a good grip on his arm, and the bite marks were deep. He was at least lucky enough that the dog didn’t thrash, as his flesh didn’t look too torn. It was still bleeding pretty bad, and you were sure it would be infected come the morning if it wasn’t properly looked after.

If you remembered anything from your time at the airbase, you knew Thaddeus was absolutely horrible at first aid. He’d stick a shitty expired stimpack in it and call it a day, which wouldn’t stave away any infection if he left it uncovered. But if you wanted to make sure it healed correctly, you’d need to get out of your power armour and help him. You hesitated but quickly thought of a way to keep your face hidden as you stepped back from Thaddeus.

“Wh-what are you doing?” He questioned you as you backed up against the outcrop wall, giving yourself just enough room to be able to get out from behind it. You hit the release of your armour once you were in position, scrambling to remove your arms so that you could fish a handkerchief out of your breast pocket before Thaddeus got too curious.

Tying it quickly around the lower half of your face, you stepped down and out from behind the armour, walking back over to Thaddeus.

“Give me that,” you muttered, hoping he wouldn’t recognize your eyes or voice while you held your hand out for the roll of bandage.

He just… stared at you for a good couple of seconds, his brain lagging to process that you’d just gotten out of your power armour to tend to him. After a little while, you started to worry that your cover had been blown until he seemed to come back to life, stuttering like a fool.

“I-I- My lord! R-really, it’s-it’s alright, I-“

You snatched the roll from his hands as he stammered, effectively shutting him up as you pushed him down to sit on the rock behind him.

“Take your jacket off,” you commanded, tucking the roll under your arm while you went to retrieve a stimpack from the pack that was next to Thaddeus. He was practically shaking at this odd behaviour from you, not understanding why you were doing this, but he complied anyway. He shrugged the jacket off quickly, along with the red button-up shirt underneath, leaving him in a white tank top.

You turned back to Thaddeus with a water bottle, rag, and stimpack in hand, positioning yourself in front of him to look at his arm. He looked up at you with that pathetic face you knew all too well: the one he’d pull when he would get yelled at by whoever he pissed off at the airbase. Though, you weren’t quite sure why he was making it now. It had been a miracle, but so far, you hadn’t degraded him too much.

“This is gonna sting a bit,” you admitted while unscrewing the cap of the water bottle. Thaddeus seemed surprised again, uneasily grasping at his pant legs.

“You-you’re gonna use clean water for a measly little bite? I’ve lived through worse,” he laughed nervously, unable to hide the twitches of pain that occasionally crossed his face.

You raised a brow, pausing. ”Would you rather die of infection? Because you and I both know the cheap ass stimpacks they give us aren’t very good at sterilizing wounds.”

Thaddeus visibly faltered at your words, not expecting such an argument from you. You were right, of course—he could remember plenty of times when an aspirant would get extremely sick from an improperly treated wound, and in the worst cases, they would die—but it didn't make him feel any better about wasting supplies on him.

“B-but why should we waste the water? I-I’m… just a squire, it’s my fault I was bit anyway. I got in the way,” he mumbled, his eyes downcast and his posture hunched like he was trying to make himself disappear. You sighed, carefully grabbing his arm to inspect one last time.

“Well, it’s a good thing I get to decide what we waste supplies on,” you quipped, unable to stop yourself from smiling a little. It seemed to have reached your eyes, though, since Thaddeus looked up and gave you a small, but grateful smile back.

“I just… didn't expect a knight to care so much,” he disclosed, wringing his hands out. That made you stop for a moment.

You hadn’t realized how much you softened up in the past few hours since you were so hell-bent on hating him when he was first dropped off. Well, it was understandable that you’d wanted to hate him. He was a bully, as far as you remembered. But this man in front of you? You hardly recognized this obedient and meek facade he put on, but his ramblings and blind loyalty were still the same.

That was it, you realized: he was familiar. You didn't get much of that in the wasteland, save for some worn-down landmarks, so you’d covet it where you could. Even if you had once hated each other, it was better than nothing. Besides, maybe having an acquaintance out here wouldn’t be too bad. You would never admit it, but you kind of missed having someone to look after, even if he was supposed to be looking after you. You never did like accepting help, though, even when you so readily handed it out.

“I care about protecting people, even if the Brotherhood has more or less lost sight of that with their tech bullshit,” you offered, beginning to pour some water on the wound to wash away the partially dried blood. Thaddeus winced at the feeling, but he perked up at your comment.

“The Brotherhood does protect people, though. I mean, if we let everyone run around all willy-nilly with post-war technology all the time, there’d be no one left to protect after they all kill each other,” Thaddeus interjected nonchalantly, causing your expression to harden slightly.

He was wrong. With what you’ve seen at the airbase and out here in the field, the Brotherhood had completely lost its way. You had seen how your fellow knights gave no regard for anyone other than themselves, looting and killing where they deemed fit, pushing people around for their own benefit. You were unsure of what they had been like before your time, but now? It felt like you were part of a band of technologically scavenging warmongers.

You were one of the few who hadn’t bought into it, and Thaddeus was one of the many who did.

You bit your tongue while you focused on Thaddeus’ arm because God forbid you said something out of line and he reported it back to the officers. They’d have your head on a stick before dawn. You simply nodded, your brows furrowed as you inspected his now clean wound. The bleeding had slowed, but not stopped, and you could now see just how deep the dog had gotten.

“I’m gonna have to stitch some of this up,” you concluded, not missing the way Thaddeus started shaking as you switched out the bottle of water for the stimpack you’d retrieved earlier.

“Wh-what? Stitches? N-no. No, no, no, just the stimpack will be fine,” he squeaked, attempting to reel his arm back in. You held him in a firm grip, though, readying the stimpack in your other hand.

You gave him a frustrated glare. “It’ll heal faster if we stitch it.”

He shrunk back under your gaze, wanting to protest, but he knew that was a losing battle with you. You took his silence as compliance, and while he was looking away, you quickly jabbed his arm with the stimpack. He yelped, nearly jumping to his feet, but you expected that reaction and held him down.

“What the hell, man!” He squawked, his voice cracking from the pitch it was at. “Give a man a warning, Jesus!”

“I find it’s worse if you know it’s coming,” you shrugged, discarding the empty stimpack and digging in the pack again for some needle and thread. You could’ve sworn you heard Thaddeus whimper in fear while you were practically shoulder-deep in the big ass bag he brought with him. For someone who you thought would’ve seen much worse, he was very squeamish.

That proved stitching his wound to be difficult.

The process was arduous with Thaddeus twitching and shrieking every time you made a new stitch, and he needed quite a few of them. You were just about ready to take back everything you’d previously thought about, one complaint away from hitting him over the head and leaving him here.

“There, you big baby. We’re done,” you grumbled, cutting the extra thread with your pocket knife and quickly bandaging up his arm. He loudly sighed in relief, slumping over with exhaustion.

“Oh, thank God,” he whined, sounding like he was on the verge of tears, “that was horrible.” He snatched his arm back when you were finally done, running his fingers along the starchy fabric as if it would stop the stinging sensation below it

You rolled your eyes at his theatrics, putting all of the supplies you had used back in the pack, and marched off to start a fire. Thaddeus watched you go, chewing on the inside of his cheek before rising to his feet to follow you.

The fire wasn’t hard to start up on your own—you’d done so hundreds of times before—but Thaddeus’ eyes burning into the back of your head had you on edge. A simple glare up at him had him scrambling, averting his gaze as he turned his body around altogether. It wasn’t long before you had a fire going, and had cooked some of the rations packed in Thaddeus’ bag.

The two of you sat down on opposite rocks with food in hand, the fire between you and illuminating your faces. Thaddeus fiddled with his utensil as silence fell over the two of you, seeming to mull something over in his mind before piping up: “Um… so… how long have you been working with the Brotherhood?”

You debated indulging in his questions as you carefully maneuvered a spoonful of corn under your makeshift mask and into your mouth. “Since I was a kid.” You relented, your voice quiet but firm. “Some knights picked me up off the side of the road when I was twelve or so,”

Thaddeus perked up at the new information. “Oh? I’ve-I’ve been with them for a long time, too, but I… don’t ever recall hearing about you. You… were stationed at the airbase, right?”

You paused, intently staring down at your rations. Should you tell him? The last thing you wanted was to spook him off, and you were not in the mood to warm up to another squire. Your gaze flickered back up to Thaddeus, who was staring at you with a tentative expression of fear that he’d yet again pushed his questions too far.

“I was. Maybe we just never crossed paths. I tended to keep to myself.” You shrugged, shovelling another spoonful of corn into your mouth. “I also didn't stick around for very long. I was maybe… sixteen when the Elder Cleric sent me off-base to train for knighthood.”

That part was mostly true, aside from the fact that you’d just blatantly lied about the two of you not knowing each other. Apparently, the Elder Cleric had seen “promise” in you after your altercation with Thaddeus, keeping a close eye on you until he decided you were cut out to be a knight a couple of years later.

“What? How come you didn’t get a ceremony? Or-or a send-off?” Thaddeus questioned, and now you were kicking yourself for saying anything.

“I did get a ceremony, it just wasn't public,” you grumbled, trying so hard to keep him off of your trail.

Thaddeus furrowed his brows. ”That’s weird.”

“You’re weird,” you fired back nonchalantly.

Thaddeus scrunched up his nose at your response before huffing out a laugh, shaking his head as he prodded at his food. “That makes two of us, then.”

It was your turn to snicker, the sound abrupt and quiet as you tried to hold it back the best you could. Thaddeus still heard it, though, and the giant grin on his face was enough to tell you that.

“I-I’m not weird.” You fumbled to recover, but you knew you weren’t wiping that smug smile off of Thaddeus’ face anytime soon.

“Suure,” Thaddeus hummed, finally taking his first bite of food, “That’s why you insisted on patching up my arm even though you could’ve just stuck a stimpak into it and called it a day.”

You huffed, shaking your head. “Oh, God forbid I take care of someone’s wounds. I didn’t know that giving medical aid was illegal now,” you joked, pulling another giddy laugh from Thaddeus.

You settled into a comfortable silence this time, and that soft smile lingered on your face as you stared down at your rations. This felt… nice. It had been so long since the last time you opened up like this with anyone. The back-and-forth banter was something you missed about being friendly with people, especially when everyone you’d met since taking up the knight mantle either ran in terror or tried to attack you.

As if on cue, Thaddeus jolted as he remembered something. “Oh! You should brand me!” He exclaimed excitedly, causing you to immediately lose any peace you had just gained as you frowned behind your handkerchief.

“Oh, fuck no. Do you even know how bad it hurts?” You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose at the suggestion. Your last squire had insisted on being branded, too. When you had finally relented and gone through with it, he screamed like a little girl and wouldn’t stop complaining about how much it hurt for at least three days afterwards.

Thaddeus put on his best pouty face at your denial. “Come on, it's tradition! To show my devotion to you!” He whined, and an odd feeling holed up in your chest from him saying he was devoted to you. “And I-I’m not officially your squire until you brand me!” Well, at least it was a better reason than your previous squire’s: he had just wanted to show it off to his friends the next time he was on base.

You pushed that worming feeling in your chest aside and glared at Thaddeus, but he didn’t shrink back this time. In fact, it almost encouraged him as he leaned forward with his hands linked together in a pleading gesture. “Please?”

You sighed heavily, unable to say no to his big blue puppy-dog eyes. You set your rations down and dragged your hands down your face before begrudgingly rising to your feet and trudging back over to your power armour. Thaddeus whooped obnoxiously behind you, putting a slight smile back on your face as you stepped into your armour. It whirred back to life as the back hatch closed, and you tested out the arms before walking back over to the fire.

Thaddeus watched intently as you stuck the tip of your hand guard into the hot flames, the metal ‘M’ and the area surrounding it heating up and turning a dangerous red. Once you started to feel the heat through your gauntlet, you pulled your hand back and turned to Thaddeus, who had immediately swivelled around so that you had access to his back.

Your hand wavered as you tried to recall the words of the declaration used for branding. You got it, mostly, and recited the words plainly: ”Thaddeus, it is your most sacred duty to protect the Brotherhood. After which, it is your most sacred duty to protect… me, Knight Mire.” You paused briefly while speaking, feeling like you were forgetting another sacred duty. After a moment of thinking, you still couldn’t recall what it could’ve been. Ah, forget it. If you couldn’t remember it, it was probably dumb anyway. You continued: “Do you accept?”

“Oh, yeah. You bet I do,” Thaddeus chuckled, showing no sign of discomfort or fear. You shrugged at this; maybe it would go better than you thought.

“Okay, hold still,” you concluded before pressing the back of your hot gauntlet to Thaddeus’ back. You jolted when he suddenly let out the most high-pitched scream you think you’d ever heard from him, but you made sure to keep your gauntlet still to prevent fucking up the brand. Shouts and groans spilled from Thaddeus’ lips as his skin continued to sizzle, but he miraculously kept still with deep breaths between each pained noise. You were almost worried he’d pass out from whatever pain he was feeling to have him react this strongly.

“Hold on, hold on, it’s almost done,” you quickly reassured, your stomach starting to flip at the sight and sound of this whole process. Branding was never something you particularly liked to witness. After another second or two, you pulled back your hand, causing Thaddeus to loudly sigh in relief as he fell forward onto his knees. He continued to heave and groan, shakily crawling over to one of the rocks and sitting up against it, careful not to aggravate his fresh brand. He laughed a bit, and when you could finally catch a glimpse of his face, he had the biggest grin stretched across it, which surprised you. It seemed like he… enjoyed it.

Thaddeus reached a hand back to hover over the brand, but he quickly reeled it back when he felt heat still radiating off of it. “Woo, still pretty hot,” he noted, his hand falling back into his lap. He glanced back over to you, his smile never faltering. “Thank you, Knight Mire.”

You were a bit perplexed at Thaddeus’ joyous mood, freezing you in place as you tried to process the fact that he was talking to you. Any squire you had branded previously—in a ceremony or otherwise—would either be still reeling in pain, giving you a death stare, or complaining about how much it hurt. “Um, you’re… welcome? I guess?” You answered hesitantly, stepping back to exit your armour again.

“Man, we need a duo name now!” Thaddeus exclaimed, and before you could protest the dumbest idea you’d heard in months, he had already started thinking aloud. “Thaddeus and Mire, the- umm,” Thaddeus put a shaky finger to his lips, attempting to conjure up a name for the two of you. You promptly rolled your eyes, sitting down and running the idea over in your head before you blurted out:

“Trademark. We’re trademarked.”

Thaddeus paused, looking at you with a puzzled expression before it clicked. “Oh my god, you’re right! TM! We’re the trademark boys, yeah!” He shouted happily, throwing his fists up in the air with a gleeful expression.

You couldn’t help the snort that escaped you at his exclamation. It sounded much more ridiculous coming from him, especially with how excited he was about it.

“What, so we’re like… The Trademark Boys with a TM on top of it? The Trademark Boys trademarked?” You jested, deciding to entertain the incredibly ridiculous thought.

Thaddeus pointed a finger at you, glad that you were catching on. “Exactly!”

“That’s… that's so stupid,” you sighed with a small laugh, shaking your head and pinching the bridge of your nose again.

“No, it’s genius,” Thaddeus corrected with a smirk, shrugging his red button-up shirt back on while making sure it didn't drag against his brand.

You rolled your eyes at him, returning to your half finished rations in a more joyful mood than you think you'd ever been in.

“Whatever you say, Thaddeus.”

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slytherinsomniari · 1 year

Text

Deal With The Devil| Victor Rookwood x F! Reader

Pairing: Victor Rookwood x F! Reader

Summary: 4 years after you graduated from Hogwarts, you have an unexpected reunion with a former enemy and make a monumental decision.

Word Count: 2829

Themes: Smut, overstimulation, fingering, slightly public indecency

A/N: I do still struggle with dialogue, both with adding more of it and with making sure it fits the character. I hope that with time, my writing will be a lot better than it is so I could make fanfics that are good both for me and for the readers. I did get inspired by other Rookwood fics but I really hope its not too similar to the point of plagiarism. If it is, I will gladly take it down. (Sorry for the cliché title lol)

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Upon your first meeting with Victor Rookwood, you had been intrigued by him from the moment you saw him. He had a certain charm to him, one that was certainly aided by his sleazy yet fashionable attire. There was something in his voice you liked as well. Maybe it was the way he said things in a playful yet serious tone, making him both intimidating and enthralling. When you had dealt a huge blow to his crew in your fifth year, you were disappointed to see him leave but at the time you were too busy trying to stop Ranrok from getting the last repository and destroying wizardkind to really think about it.

Suffice it to say, you were not prepared nor expecting to meet him 4 years after you had graduated from Hogwarts. You had become an official Keeper and were now working on getting a position at Hogwarts–specifically in the library as it allowed you to learn even more about magic and the world surrounding you. He approached you as you were on your way out of the Three Broomsticks, just as you were saying goodbye to your friends. You were walking away from the pub through one of the side streets when a voice called out to you.

“Y/N was it? What a lovely name for a lovely girl.” You turn towards the source of the voice and find none other than Victor Rookwood. Despite the years, he looked as if he hadn’t aged a day since your first encounter. Meeting him in Hogsmeade was ironic and brought back memories from your first encounter with him. You were younger then and more naive and new to the world of magic, but now, you have changed. You were much stronger now and were not cowed by those who threatened others.

Prowling around you, you feel his eyes pierce your soul. Why is he so interested in me? Is he still after the ancient magic I’m protecting? I sealed it away though…unless he wants to take it back and gain more power than he ever had before?

“What do you want, Rookwood?” You ask sternly, pulling out your wand. Despite your interest in him, for reputation’s sake you had to at least pretend that you outright despised the man–which wasn’t that hard considering all the terrible crimes he’s done.

“Victor,” He replies, glancing your way. “Call me Victor. We’re not strangers now, are we?”

You hesitate for a moment but press on, “Well, Victor?”

“It has come to my attention that we have not been quite as honest with each other as we should have been when we first met.” He gives you a knowing look and continues, “It has been a while, but don’t think I didn’t notice your…longing glances you threw my way all those years ago.”

Flushing and in shock, you try to stutter out a rebuttal but nothing coherent forms.

Chuckling he comments, “No need to worry, your secret is safe with me. I was thinking we could discuss a little transaction that would be for our mutual benefit.”

Approaching you, he took advantage of your frozen state by grabbing your hand and taking your wand away, storing it in one of the wand pockets in his coat. You felt almost naked without it and as you realized what he was doing and tried to get it back, he merely tutted as he put it away, saying, “Come come, that would not be in your best interest dear.”

Without waiting for you to respond, he pulls you into an abandoned alleyway, not too far from the streets but far enough to where no one will see you. Struggling with his pace, you try to keep up when you are suddenly thrown against a wall. You let out a whimper upon impact and do not see him approach you until it is already too late. He surrounds your field of vision entirely, making it impossible to look anywhere else but him. His chest is right in front of you, leaving you free to see his partially unbuttoned shirt and his pale yet slightly sun weathered skin poking out from underneath. It is so deliciously close but Victor springs into action before your thoughts could lead you further astray. With one movement, he pins your arms above your head with one hand, locking you in place and forcing your back to arch and press yourself against him. You struggle to get your arms loose but he doesn’t budge. It is a constant battle between your emotions, torn between wanting him and wanting to escape and pretend nothing had happened. Although both sides struggled equally, one side was quickly winning.

He grabs your waist with his other calloused hand and, giving up on all sense of propriety, you pull one leg out and latch onto him. His body is flushed against yours, with his erect member prodding through his clothing at your entrance. He grinds into you, making you moan. You shut your mouth in an instant, not wanting to be heard. He rocks his hips into yours, yours promptly responding to his touch. Your eyes become lidded with desire and the craving for complete intimacy with him.

Victor grinds slowly but purposely, drawing out your response whether you wanted it or not. He moves his head towards your ear and says seductively, “This is but a mere taste of what I have to offer. The question is, how bad do you want it?”

His voice is that of the devil’s, you can be sure of that. You find yourself increasingly becoming hypnotized by him and the mixing of your long-held desire for him. You knew it was wrong and that he was the enemy, but how could something so bad feel so good? With the way your body was responding, you knew it was already too late to run away. The only thing you could do now is give in and receive the pleasure that he had promised.

He lifts up your skirt with the other hand and lowers it towards your drawers, feeling your throbbing area. You part your legs to give him room, which he takes advantage of by teasing you. He rubs circles on your clit, eliciting a shudder from you. You want him to put his finger, his dick, anything in you at this point. He continues to tease you, running his fingers over your clit. His fingers slightly graze your entrance, sending electricity through your body and making you buck into him, barely suppressing a moan. Victor smirks and you pant heavily, already in the midst of pleasure. At the sudden impact of his finger partially going inside you, you let out a loud moan. He removes his hand from your arms and puts it over your mouth, attempting to muffle your sounds so your time wouldn’t end just yet.

He slides his finger all the way in and moves it around. You want to pull him to you but even though he isn’t restraining you, you don’t have enough strength to do so. Instead, you place your hands on his chest and grip his shirt, keeping him in place and attempting to make yourself a bit more steady. Soon one finger became two and both fingers worked their magic on you, inducing more muffled moans from you. After all of the teasing, you let out a whimper as you unexpectedly cum, feeling it cover Victor’s hand.

As you come to, you can hear more and more people in the surrounding area, leaving the two of you vulnerable and more likely to be noticed. He notices it as well and disengages from you, slowly removing his hand from inside of you and backing off. Taking a handkerchief out from his pocket, he wipes the fluid off and assesses you before speaking.

“How about we go somewhere...quiet to discuss our business?”

Victor grabs you and quickly disapparates with you, taking you Merlin knows where. Once you feel land beneath your feet, you take the opportunity to look around you. On the horizon you could see glittering water and once you looked further down, you could see the beach. The sea is close by and you seem to be on a hilly path leading down towards the beach. He leads you down the path and soon you can see a stone cottage by the seaside.Tannish-grey in hue, you can see that it’s a spacious cottage–and a quite costly one at that.

Once you arrive at the doorstep of the cottage, he opens the door for you and, feeling your heartbeat increase causing it to nearly jump out of your chest, you enter. He closes the door behind you and locks the door, trapping you in there with him. In the middle of nowhere in Scotland. This should frighten you but it doesn’t. Instead, you are greatly excited by it, craving his touch more than you thought you would. Taking your time, you take a look around you as you take in your new surroundings.

Inside, there is a kitchen directly to the left with a long, rectangular table with chairs around it and to the right is the living room with a fireplace and sofa parallel to it with chairs by the sides of the walls. Before you could think about exploring the other areas the cottage had to offer, Victor clears his throat. Clearly taking his time and observing your reaction, he gazes at you with not so hidden desire and with a knowing look. He had never taken anyone to the cottage before. It was his secret hideout and getaway when he wanted peace and quiet away from his men. It was a place where he could escape the more grimy lifestyle he created for himself and live in a more respectable manner that his family name suggested. Although this time, he was there for a not so respectable reason.

Grabbing your arm once more, he leads you up the stairs to his room which is low-lit and decently sized, with a desk with countless papers strewn about and a bed near the center wall of the room. There is a dresser and a few bookshelves lining the room, making it feel cozy and lived-in. While you are trying to burn his room into your memory, he closes the door behind you and approaches. He comes up from behind you and puts his right hand on your shoulder, slowly rubbing it and letting his hand run down your arm.

“Now my dear, there will be no more interruptions. Where were we?”

Flushing, you can feel your vagina pulse in anticipation and begin to quiver. You had already experienced a rush of pleasure in the alleyway but now you are going to experience the pinnacle of it in complete isolation from the world where time would mean nothing. No one would be able to get between you and the mere thought of that excites you further.

“The method of our transaction has not properly been discussed, though there is but one option. Give yourself to me. Give yourself to me and I will show you a world of carnal pleasure. You may refuse, but either way I will have my way with you.”

His words ring in your ears and cause a fire to erupt within your body. Mute and frozen, you can do nothing as he approaches you from the front and grabs at your clothing. He starts to unbutton your shirt and as he gets to your skirt, he drags it off of you slowly, his fingers lingering on the garment as he teases you once more and takes your bloomers down with it. He unlaces your corset, his nimble fingers performing with such ease as if he had done it countless times before. As your corset loosens and falls to the ground, he tosses your shirt off to the side, leaving you in just a chemise. You shiver, both due to the cold and in anticipation for what comes next.

Glancing at the near naked state of you, Victor is hardly able to contain his mounting desire for you. He grabs onto your chemise with force, tearing it off of you and permanently damaging the garment as it is thrown off. You are now fully naked and gasp at the feeling of the cold air hitting your skin. Standing still, you find your senses on fire as you stand on the cusp of having your every wish fulfilled.

“Well? What do you say?” He asks in a near whisper as his eyes do a cursory glance over your body.

Placing his hand underneath your chin and tilting your head towards him, he murmurs,”Let me in.”

Sucking in a breath, you shakily exhale and respond with “Yes.”

He smirks, knowing he’s got you in the palm of his hand and could make you do anything for him. Releasing you from his grip, he watches as you hazily walk towards the bed and get on top of it, the springy mattress bouncing as you do. Laying flat on your back, you shiver and part your legs, eager for the pleasure that was promised. You could feel his eyes taking in the sight of you in the dim lighting, relishing the effect he’s had on you. He quickly undresses himself, unable to resist your expression and visible desire. The bed shifts with his weight as he gets on top of you, the full weight of him pressed against you. His legs rest on either side of you, arms by your head as he gets himself into position. You can feel his penis press against your entrance and find yourself unable to suppress a shudder.

“Please…” You beg, unable to take it any longer. He complies and thrusts fully into you–hard. The sheer force of his thrust sends jolts through your body, causing you to moan loudly. He was not going easy on you but you didn’t care. All you wanted was him, and that’s exactly what he was giving you. Your arms encircle his body and bring him closer to you. Feeling his muscled body lie against yours, you tighten your grip on his back as he growls and thrusts harder and harder into you. Seeing him focused on pounding into you relentlessly, you grab his face and plant a long and lustful kiss onto his lips. It begins in a calm manner, your lips softly mingling with his, but once Victor takes control it becomes more and more intense. You moan into the kiss, arousing him even further.

In response to this, he brings his mouth to your neck and bites down, sucking on it and creating a hickey that you would definitely have to cover afterwards. You yelp, feeling the mixture of both pain and pleasure and bask in it. Your nipples, already hardened, rub against his chest, overstimulating you and sending lighting through your body as he creates multiple hickeys along your neck and shoulder. With your body quaking, you feel a tingling sensation as you reach your orgasm. His eyes flick to yours as he feels your body tremble beneath him.

“Good girl” He lustfully chuckles as you buck your hips into his and release all over him. Your fluids coat him and give him more lubrication, allowing him to thrust easily into you with what should have been a sickening squelch but brought you pleasure instead. Feeling himself about to climax, he speeds up and with one final rough thrust, he spills himself into you. You can feel the mixture of both of your fluids inside you, trailing out on your legs and onto the bed.

The two of you lie breathless and panting next to each other, allowing your bodies to recover from the whirlwind of desire he had put you two through. Turning on your side, you face him with an exhausted grin and nuzzle into him. He turns towards you and moves a strand of your hair behind your ear, remarking, ”Perhaps I should have bargained with you sooner had I known you would be so pliable”

“I would have given in sooner had I known you felt the same way, Victor”

“Well then, our next business venture shall have to incorporate more...unique methods into our bargain. Something more punishing perchance.”

He looks into your eyes and you see a lingering hunger in his eyes that hasn’t gone away yet. If this was just the beginning, you wonder how much further he could toy with you until you broke completely. It is a thrilling thought, one that you are eagerly waiting to realize when you are under his sway once more. He playfully nips at your ear and you giggle. He kisses you on the neck and wraps an arm around you, allowing you to fall into a peaceful slumber, wrapped comfortably in the arms of your former enemy.

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy x reader #hogwarts legacy fanfic #victor rookwood #hogwarts legacy victor rookwood #victor rookwood x reader #victor rookwood fanfic #fanfic #x reader #victor rookwood x you #victor rookwood smut

154 notes · View notes

ravenshavenn · 11 months

Note

Just wanted to say congrats on the followers, and I head canon Severus as autistic too. Sometimes I bring it out more in some stories than in others, but I do think it works and he was based off of a man who was on the autism spectrum too. Also, I'm autistic so let him be autistic. So, a question for you. How do you think Severus deals with having an autistic meltdown? Does he find a private place to let it all go? Does he just ward it off and keep it in with Occlumency? Something else?

Oh, and I thought of another canon thing that could support his autism. Autistic people often have trouble sleeping, and we see him prowling the corridors at night sometimes. Maybe his sleeping issues are related to his autism. Man hasn't heard of melatonin, or it just doesn't work for him. (It didn't for me).

Of course, sleeping problems could also be from PTSD/hyper vigilance which I also see him as having. Also, what is a secret stim that he does in private? And last question, sorry, but do you head canon Snape as smoking? It's a popular head canon and I'm asking because, if you do think he smokes, do you think smoking could count as a stim? :D

Snape and autism

Hi! Thank you so much for your comment its nice to meet someone else who's autistic and in the fandom! We're not alone lol :D and I've tried my best to add to the headcanons bellow, I hope you enjoy! :)

meltdowns - I think he'd unfortunately be a bit ashamed of them choosing to use his occlumency to mask until he could reach a quiet, dark corner somewhere that he could sooth himself but if he was unable to leave a situation for example becoming overstimulated during a meeting he would become noticeably agitated, snapping at anyone who dared to try and talk to him and leaving as soon as he possibly could hurrying away to let his guard down somewhere private

sleep - I agree I could definitely see his autism effecting his sleep patterns the dark circles under his eyes are DEEP I can imagine him trying to brew something for himself to help but giving up after it doesn't work and instead he just wanders the castle enjoying the dark and the silence. Although I can also see his brewing and dark magic research keeping him awake with the need to spend time on his special interests distracting him until morning and he realizes he has no time to rest, accidently pulling an all nighter several times a week just to have time to focus on his various hyperfixations or projects that he has on the go

However, I also agree that he definitely has other issues going on he could definitely have PTSD or depression (or both) meaning that he struggles to sleep and stays awake trying to keep himself calm and away from the negative thoughts swirling around in his head

smoking - I have thought about Severus smoking because I've seen lots of amazing fanart of it and it does pop up in fanfiction every now and again but I'm honestly not sure if I think he would or not

Personally, due to my own sensory issues I'm not a fan of smoking so if I was to selfishly headcanon him I'd have to say that he wouldn't and that possibly living in the time that he did it was popular and so Tobias smoked heavily leading to Severus hating it

Although, with his various mental health issues and it still being the social norm at the time I can definitely imagine him smoking and I can certainly see it being a stim, even though I don't smoke personally I know several others with autism who find the experience comforting and it can also help with anxiety as well therefore, easing Severus's nerves during his days as a spy

stims - Severus definitely tries to keep his stimming in public to a minimum by only rubbing his hands together but in private he feels more comfortable to express himself, I can imagine him grumbling to himself for comfort and making little sounds as he brews, bouncing on his toes when he walks about and tapping on nearby surfaces, also potentially biting his nails? Although he definitely doesn't acknowledge any of this as stimming and puts it down to his "nerves" while being a spy and believes he's just "fidgeting" as that's what he was told in his childhood repeatedly whenever someone saw him stimming

#autistic snape #severus snape #pro snape #snape #snape fandom #pro severus snape #professor severus snape #professor snape #snape community #snape au #snape content #severus snape headcanon #snape headcanon

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niceboyeds · 2 years

Text

strays (e.m.)

Eddie Munson x reader

summary: Eddie comforts and takes care of you when you get a bit drunk and sad.

contains: mentions alcohol, fluff, idrk if i’m missing anything

word count: 1060

a/n: two fics, two nights in a row. trying to clean out my WIPs so i can work on other ideas lol. shoutout to my fellow cat lovers who are allergic and just want to pet all the cats :(

taglist: let me know if you’d like to be added!

@neewtmas

nav

~~~~~~

you throw the van door open, giggling as you stumble out and get tangled in the seatbelt. it had been another fun game night, getting wine-drunk and laughing with all of your friends. nothing out of the ordinary for the older half of your friend group, you all tried to hang out without the teens as often as scheduling allowed.

“Jesus Christ, be careful!” Eddie scolds, unwrapping your arm from the seatbelt and holding onto your arm while the two of you walk around to the stairs leading up to the trailer.

“oh my god! look baby!!” you smack him in the chest, certainly harder than you meant to, and start wiggling from his grasp. a young cat prowling across the trailer park catches your eye, peaking out of the shadows near where you’re walking. you immediately crouch down once Eddie’s hand releases you.

“here kitty kitty!” you call out to it softly, holding out your hand and wiggling your fingers towards her. she saunters over and purrs as your fingertips gently graze her head. “oh hello cutie.”

“leave the cat alone.”

“she wants pets.”

“you’re allergic!”

“and she still wants pets!” you argue again, opening your arms up to scoop in your new friend just as you're hoisted up and thrown over your boyfriend’s shoulder, his arms holding onto you by the back of your thighs.

“hey!! you're no fun!” you whine, holding your hands against your cheeks and squishing them.

“yeah, I know.” he sighs while carrying you inside. “don't touch your face.”

“oops.” you remove your hands quickly but he only groans in response, bringing you to the bathroom and sitting you on the counter.

he quickly grabs your wrists before you rub your eyes, knowing you were about to. sometimes it feels like he knows you too well. “don’t do that.” he scolds again.

“you're grumpy.”

“no i’m not.” he tries his best to smile but you can tell he’s annoyed with you. he runs a washcloth under the sink and wrings it out, leaving it warm and damp as he wipes it gently on your face.

“it’s just not fair.” you pout at him when he’s finished, putting soap in your hands and making you scrub them under the water. “I just want to pet them all.”

“I know. but when you pet them you get itchy and your nose gets all stuffed up. you don’t like that.”

“it’s worth it.”

“you think so?”

“mhm. I would adopt all of them.”

“why’s that?”

“well, ‘cause they need a home too. it’s sad that they’re all alone and scared and hungry.” you can feel the tears in your eyes, feeling heartbroken about all the possible stray animals running around for who knows how long on their own. “and in the wintertime i’m sure they’re cold…”

“oh baby… it’s okay.” his arms wrap around you and you lean into his shoulder, trying to dry the few tears that slipped out.

“i’m sorry.” you sigh, fully aware you likely ruined the evening.

“why?” he pulls you away from him, wanting to see your face while talking to you.

“because we were having fun and I made it all sad.”

“never apologize for having feelings.”

“what about-”

“never. I mean it.” though his words are firm, his tone his gentle.

“okay, thank you.” you pucker your lips to imply you want a kiss and he happily obliges, bringing smiles to both of your faces.

“are you ready for bed?”

“hmm… sure, but you have to carry me.”

“do I now?”

“I mean, I guess you don't have to. but I might just cry again.”

“oh no! we can't have that, can we m’lady?” he kisses your nose before scooping you up in his arms again.

“you spoil me.” you giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“you make it easy.”

he practically tosses you on the bed, making you squeal. he digs through his clean laundry to find a shirt for you to wear, helping you strip off your own clothes.

“arms up, please.” he instructs, pulling his tee onto you but leaving it covering your face.

“heyyy!” you can’t help but laugh until he finally pulls it all the way down. you lay down once you’re clothed, waiting for him to remove his own street clothes before he joins you.

“scoot over, hun.” he laughs at you, seeing you sprawled out on the bed, taking up as much space as possible.

“fine.” you move over maybe one inch before he wiggles his fingers to signify he’s about to tickle you. “no no no!” you immediately roll over, giving him more than enough room to lay next to you.

“always works.” he teases, bringing out a huff from you before you move to practically lay on top of him.

he switches off the lamp on the bedside table and darkness covers the room. it’s quiet for a moment but you know he’s not asleep yet by the patterns of his breathing.

“can we get a cat?”

“no.”

“but… they’re sad outside.”

“we already talked about this baby.”

“I know. it’s just not fair.” you pout again, hoping he’ll change his mind.

“it’s not, i’m sorry. but maybe one day I can get you a fish or something.” this is his attempt to compromise, but you don’t want a fish. he knows that.

“fish aren’t sitting outside in the cold all winter long.”

“you’re stubborn.”

“you’re stubborn” you mock, lowering your voice as much as possible in an attempt to sound like a grumpy old man.

“I do not sound like that.” he laughs at your joke, squeezing you playfully.

“I dunno, sounds the same to me.” you giggle as you wrap your own arms around him tighter.

“we’ll talk about it more in the morning.” he barters, hoping you’ll give in and finally get some sleep.

“m’kay. good thing I have an excellent memory.” you agree, knowing yourself that you’ll likely forget until you see another stray outside.

“yeah yeah, go to sleep silly.”

“go to sleep silly.” you mock again, yawning while doing so as his low laugh hums against your cheek. and you do fall asleep, feeling comfortable laying on your sweet boyfriend as a pillow, content and happy. but you’ll be sure to remember your conversation in the morning, he won’t win this battle that easily.

#eddie munson #eddie x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x reader #stranger things

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angelasscribbles · 4 months

Text

Wild Ride: A Bad Romance Prequel One-Shot

Series: Bad Romance Continues

Original Series: Bad Romance

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairing for this chapter: Riley x Leo

Rating: NSFW

Warnings for this chapter: Lemons

Word Count: 2,503

A/N: If you've read Bad Romance you know who Riley ends up with in the end. If you've read Disney Adventure, you also know that there was a previous weekend with Leo that predates her meeting everyone else. (And she had no idea Leo and Liam were connected until the coronation). Disney Adventure references this weekend (many times lol), but goes into no detail. This is that detail. Or at least the beginning of it.

Way back in November of 2022, I posted a prompt wheel ask event to celebrate passing the 350-follower mark. That was 15 months and roughly 1,100 followers ago. I received 10 asks and completed 9 of them. (and 3 of those launched series, two of which have been completed to date). Here is the list of those asks with links to the completed fics.

This is the last of those asks. And it's only 15 months late. 😆

The ask was from @harleybeaumont and it was for Leo x smut x nightlife. I decided it was the perfect opportunity to answer all those questions I got about what exactly happened the weekend Riley and Leo met in my Bad Romance universe.

I credit @dcbbw for putting the idea of Riley and Leo in my head in the first place. I have loved writing their dynamic both here and in the Disney Adventure mini-series. I hope you all enjoy it as well.

My other stuff: Master List.

Leo Rys, former crown prince, and current international playboy, made his way through the crowd, searching for prey. The BRIC Celebrate Brooklyn Music Festival was one of his favorite New York events. All summer long, free, outdoors, and full of eligible, hot women.

He had been at loose ends since he’d abdicated the throne. Sailing around the Mediterranean on a cruise ship had been amusing for a little while… until he’d gotten his heart handed to him. Again.

He knew he should be doing something with his life, but he didn’t know what. Not yet. He would give himself a couple of years to have fun, then he would get serious about something.

Meanwhile, he was on the prowl for his next good time.

He spotted her next to the stage. The lead singer was eye fucking her, and she wasn’t discouraging it.

She was wearing a crisscross tie-dyed halter top, her hair spilling down her back in luscious dusky waves as she undulated her body while keeping her eyes locked on the singer.

His focus narrowed. Target acquired.

His eyes flicked to the stage. He was hotter than the lead singer, and he wasn’t stuck performing. His odds of pulling her attention were high. He liked his chances.

She didn’t see him coming. It was loud and her attention was occupied. She jumped when a voice spoke in her ear, “I can play the guitar better than that guy.”

She turned her head to say something snarky, but stopped when her eyes fell on the owner of the voice.

Hot as hell didn’t begin to cover it. He was a fucking Greek God is what he was. Blond hair, blue eyes, muscular build, grey T-shirt straining across his chest.

Blond wasn’t her usual type, she tended toward dark and swarthy. But in his case, she’d make an exception.

He looked like he worked out on the regular. He had dimples when he smiled. Broad at the shoulders, narrow at the hips, and barrel-chested. He checked several of her boxes.

And that accent.

Good humor sparkled in his ocean-blue eyes as he jerked his head toward the stage, then yelled in her ear, “I’m better looking than him, too.”

She flipped her hair back as she gave him an appraising look, then leaned forward to yell back, “Are you competing with him for something?”

“Oh, yeah.” He nodded his head vigorously.

“Yeah?” Her eyebrows raised, “What?”

He leaned down to put his mouth to her ear again. “Your attention.”

“You want my attention?” She yelled back.

“I do. You know what else I do better than him?”

“What?”

“Fuck.”

She laughed. “How can you possibly know that?”

He pulled out his cell phone. “I have references. Want me to call up a few old girlfriends?”

Her eyes ran over every inch of him before replying, “That won’t be necessary. I’ll give you an interview right now.”

“What would that entail?”

He had barely finished the sentence when she grabbed his face with both hands and brought her mouth to his.

Her tongue tangled with his, and he felt himself sinking.

She tasted like cherries and summer; her lips were soft and lush. Her tongue was insistent, demanding.

He kissed her back with everything he had.

When she pulled away, she grinned at him. “I guess that was okay.”

“Okay? Just okay?”

“I said it was okay. Take the win.”

“I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t expecting it! Can I have a do-over?”

“Tell you what,” she stepped closer to him, placing a hand on his chest, “Take me to dinner and we’ll see where it goes.”

“Fuck yeah!” Leo grinned as he grabbed her by the hand and led her away from the stage.

When they finally got far enough away from the music to talk normally, he introduced himself. “I’m Leo. What’s your name?”

“Riley.”

“Nice to meet you, Riley. What do you want for dinner?”

“Food is usually good.”

“All right, smartass. Food it is!” He stopped next to a red ninja motorcycle and handed her a helmet. “Ready?”

“Nice bike!” She said appreciatively.

“Thanks. I like it.” He put his own helmet on and fastened it.

She climbed onto the back of the bike with his help and wrapped her arms around him.

His abs were rock hard. She snuggled closer appreciatively.

He started the bike, flipped the kickstand up, and leaned into it as the bike surged forward.

Riley squealed in delight as the bottom dropped out of her stomach.

He stopped the bike in front of Fred’s Pizzeria.

She pulled her helmet off and hit him in the back. “Pizza? I can’t eat pizza!”

“Ow! Why not?” he asked as he pulled his own helmet off.

“I’m allergic to tomatoes!”

“Oh, shit! I’m sorry! We can go somewhere else!”

“Nah,” she jumped off the bike with a laugh, “I’m just fucking with you. I’m not allergic to anything.”

“I…what?” he laughed.

She was already at the door. She looked back at him over her shoulder. “You coming or not?”

He shook his head as he climbed off the bike. This girl was trouble with a capital T.

Good thing he liked trouble.

The pizzeria was crowded, so they ended up eating outside, sitting cross-legged on the sidewalk. The conversation was light and flirty, the looks they exchanged were steamy and anticipatory, and the tension that filled the air was thick and thrilling.

“Hey,” he wiped a smear of marinara sauce from the corner of her mouth, “Do you want to get out of here and go for a ride on my bike?”

“Didn’t I already do that? Isn’t that how we got here?”

“All right wiseass, would you like to go for another ride on my bike? Maybe do other things on it…”

“Other things?” Her eyebrows shot up in interest. “What other things?”

Leo jumped to his feet and reached back for her. “Well, come on and I’ll show you!”

She took his hand and before she knew it; they were on his bike again, speeding through the waning evening light, heading away from the city and toward the shore. Cool, ocean air caressed them as they flew down a coastal highway and then a dirt road. He drove around a barricade and brought the bike to a stop on a small, private beach.

Removing her helmet, Riley shook her hair loose as she asked, “Wasn’t that a no-trespassing sign back there?”

“It’s fine,” He assured her as he pulled his helmet off and tossed it carelessly on the ground before climbing off the bike. “I know the owner.”

He caught her as she slid off the motorcycle, his hands going around her waist as her body bumped into his. He didn’t release her, instead; he pulled her closer. With a cocky grin, he told her, “If you don’t want to make out with me, you’d better say so now.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his grin. “Oh, I was beginning to think you were too chicken to make a move.”

“Too chicken?” He laughed in surprise. This girl had a way of challenging and surprising him, and he liked it. A lot. “I’ll show you too chicken!”

His lips crashed against hers, his grip tightened around her body, and his desire for her became evident as he pressed his body closer to her.

She responded to him as darkness dropped across the beach. One leg went up and wrapped around him as her fingers gripped a handful of his hair. Her head tipped back as his lips traced warm kisses down her neck.

He buried his nose in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply before moving up to nip at her earlobe. She smelled amazing; she tasted amazing, and he needed more. Much more.

His hands worked quickly but gently to pull one item of clothing after another from her body, until she was bare in front of him, her sun-drenched skin gleaming in the moonlight. “My god, you’re beautiful,” he breathed out as he renewed his exploration of her now-naked body. His fingers trailed across silky skin, his tongue caressed taut nipples, and his warm breath sent shivers chasing down her spine. He pulled back with a satisfied smile, pleased with how she trembled under his touch.

“Don’t stop now,” she admonished him, lurching forward to yank his shirt over his head. She gave him a teasing smile before leaning forward and running her tongue up the side of his neck. “It’s only fair if we’re both naked.”

“I cannot fault your logic,” he laughed as he stumbled out of the rest of his clothes. He liked the way she didn’t sit still and wait for his next move. This girl was a firecracker, and he couldn’t wait to watch her explode.

There was nothing between them but the night air as he pulled her back into his arms. “What do you think you’re doing?” He asked as she slid out of his arms toward the ground. A moment later, that question was answered as she took the length of him into her mouth.

His hands sank into her hair, his eyes fluttered shut and his head fell back with a heartfelt, “Oh, fuck!”

For several long moments, he lost himself in the overwhelming pleasure washing over him. His entire body tingled from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. She was good at it. Too good. “Stop!” He placed one hand on her forehead and pushed her gently away as he stepped out of her reach.

There was a mischievous, almost predatory glint in her eye as she stood back up. “What’s the matter? Afraid you’re not going to last?”

“Fuck, yes…” he drew in a ragged breath as his mind spun with ideas. His gaze landed on his bike and his eyes lit up with delight. He grabbed her arm and pulled her toward it. “Come here.”

“What are we—"

“Hold on,” he put the bike on its center stand and swooped her off her feet.

She was still shrieking with surprised amusement as he deposited her on the seat, facing him. He gave her a confident smirk as he pushed her legs apart and knelt before her.

“I like where this is heading,” she arched her body toward him in invitation.

He did not disappoint. This was a man who knew how to deploy his tongue. Her body twisted and withed as she struggled to keep hold of the bike and not topple off of it onto the ground. The soft warmth of his mouth on her most intimate place filled her with heat as the salt air caressed her exposed flesh.

With an expert flick of his tongue, she lost control and slid forward toward the ground as a tidal wave of pleasure crashed through her body.

She was still throbbing from the orgasm when he scooped her up, put her back on the motorcycle, and hit the start button.

His voice was rough and low as he told her, “Turn around. Straddle it like you’re driving it. Trust me on this.”

She prided herself on her willingness to try anything once. Twice, if I like it, was her motto. She turned so that she was facing forward. Leo scrambled on behind her. His arms circled her waist as his breath brushed against the side of her neck. “Now, hold on to the handlebars.”

She did as she was told, gripping the handlebars to maintain her balance as his hands ran freely over her body. She turned her head back to receive his tongue in her mouth. He broke the kiss to whisper in her ear, “Now lean forward, rub that pretty little pussy against the fuel tank and rev the engine.”

Oh, that was something new.

She pressed her body forward as he entered her from behind. He moved slowly at first, sinking into her an inch at a time. The synthesis of him moving inside her, combined with the vibration of the bike pulsing through her clit, sent spirals of pleasure rippling through her body. She controlled the strength of the vibration with the throttle as Leo’s thrusts became faster, harder, and deeper.

She let every inhibition she had fall away as she screamed her release into the deepening night. Ecstasy throbbed in her center, then spread in fiery hot ribbons throughout her entire being as the top half of her body arched off the motorcycle, her head coming to rest on Leo’s shoulder as her lower body rubbed against the smooth metal of the tank.

Her complete and utter abandon pushed him over the edge with her. The sound of her cries in his ears, and the sensation of her clenching around him as a squirt of hot liquid coated his cock, destroyed any vestige of control he had left. With one last savage thrust, he exploded inside her with a guttural roar.

“Goddamn,” he gasped when he could speak again. “That was fucking amazing. Marry me?”

She laughed as she turned her body around so that she was still straddling the seat but facing the opposite direction.

He scooted back a little to give her room and once she was fully turned around; he moved back and pulled her into her arms, raining kisses down the side of her face and neck and dropping them along her shoulder.

She squirmed happily under his affections. “I think marriage might be a bit premature.”

“Fine,” he huffed, pretending to take offense. “But at least come back to my room with me. I have more tricks up my sleeve.”

She hooked her arms around his neck. “That I can manage.”

Forty-five minutes later, they were back in his hotel room. She was in his shower, and he was on the phone ordering room service. She requested chocolate sauce and whipped cream and damned if he was missing out on whatever she had planned for those.

He hung up the phone and flopped down on the bed, hands tucked behind his head. Staring up at the ceiling, he let his mind wander a little. He knew they had just met, but he was completely bewitched.

She was mesmerizing. Her fire reminded him of another woman, the one that he hadn't been able to get over. In his whole life, there had only been two women he had been remotely interested in holding onto, and both had slipped through his fingers. Katie had married someone else, and Liv might be in love with his brother.

He had come to realize that his infatuation with Katie had probably been nothing more than a rebound. How does one move on after being dumped the night before you were planning to propose?

He pushed those thoughts away.

Tonight, he had Riley to focus on and he was determined to show her the time of her life.

Who knew? Maybe it was the beginning of something great.

#bad romance #trr au #trr #trr fanfic #leo rys #angelasscribbles #the royal romance #choices fic writers creations #the royal romance fanfic #cfwc fics of the week #riley brooks

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