#fic: of ruin | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

assriels · 8 days

Text

lessons in touch

pairing: azriel x f!reader

summary: azriel’s curiosity and penchant for spying reveals exactly why you’ve been more…enthusiastic in bed lately

word count: 5.8k :0

warnings: smut (not super detailed)!! 18+ mdni pls, az being nosy

a/n: this is one of my faves so far :’) i have this persistent silly headcanon that az is the biggest busybody of them all and that’s why he’s so good at his job

masterlist

banners by @/cafekitsune <3

Sex between you and Azriel was far from boring. It was a well known secret that Azriel had a predilection towards kink and experimentation, so your adventures with him between the sheets never left either of you dissatisfied. Far from it, actually.

Being with him was always pleasurable, wonderful, and unrivaled by any you’d had before him. During girls night, you had always attested to his prowess, said that his skills of observation extended past the battlefield and very much into the bedroom. And his wingspan…you would neither confirm nor deny whether the theory around Illyrian males and their wingspan was true, much to their chagrin, but the mischievous smirk that curled your lips was all they needed to confirm their suspicions.

Azriel was a skilled lover; he knew your ins and outs, understood almost innately how to coax pleasure from you with a simple, well placed brush of his fingers. More often than not, Azriel had you in a puddle on the floor before he could even take his pants off. Which, ordinarily, was a more than welcome skill — you loved how well he knew you, adored how he loved you so much that his brain was like a file cabinet of information about things you liked.

But you’d grown frustrated lately, more and more desiring to reduce Azriel to the same pleasure filled putty that he so often did with you. His composure was infuriatingly ironclad; you knew he felt the same primal, overwhelming desire that you did — such was the nature of the mating bond — but he was much better at masking it.

In short, you wanted to know what made him tick, what made him beg and whimper and plead with you to touch him. You’d been mated for a year now, and while his desire for you never waned, you had yet to find the one thing that made him sink to his knees and beg the way he so easily coaxed you to do for him.

It was no secret that your mate had a bold competitive streak. But your own stubbornness rivaled his own, leading to long, long card game nights and sparring matches — much to everyone else’s entertainment.

Though you knew you had no reason to feel such competitiveness when matters of the bedroom were concerned, you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of annoyance that Azriel had so easily figured out how to make you squirm in a multitude of ways — with all your cards on the table — while you were still somewhat in the dark about his most favored bedroom inclinations. Azriel kept the secrets of his hand close to his chest.

So you vowed to yourself that you’d figure it out, test his composure to see how exactly to make that beautiful, calm countenance crack. It was like a game, but one you were more than willing to play and even more determined to win.

Ever the observer however, Azriel caught on to the changes in your excitement beneath the sheets, amusement and adoration coursing through his veins as he reveled in your sudden vigor, never shying away from a challenge.

You had been more experimental in your bedroom endeavors as of late, asking him to bend you this way and that, introducing things that he never thought you’d be interested in — not that he was complaining in the slightest. Though your differences were strikingly obvious, Azriel would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious about where your sudden interest in various sexual niches had sprung from.

Initially, it was all fun and games; if you wanted to explore then so be it — he’d match you stroke for stroke every time. But eventually, his nosiness had wedged its way deep into each crevice of his mind until he was all-consumed, curiosity devolving into a burgeoning anxiety.

Was something wrong?

Azriel was positive that if you were bored you would tell him. Had you heard something from one of the others that spurred you to want to explore more? Had you felt as though you had to introduce novelty every time to please him?

You had to have known that was far from the truth; no matter your state, Azriel had always made it clear to you that you were the most exquisite creature he’d ever had the privilege of knowing, let alone laying with. He didn’t think there was anything wrong…at least not for him. Maybe you felt like something was missing.

“Penny for your thoughts, brother?”

Rhys’s voice snapped him out of his anxious musings. Azriel hadn’t realized that he was pacing so furiously he could have worn a hole through the floor. Both Rhysand and Cassian had been watching with amusement glinting in their eyes. After all, it was a rare sight to see their ordinarily calm and stoic shadowsinger so worked up.

The same poker face Azriel had worn to win countless games of cards against his brothers masked his features now, but the twitch in his brow and the near missable ruffling of his wings were tells that Cassian and Rhysand were well acquainted with.

The shadowsinger had never perfected his stone faced indifference when he was thinking of you.

Cassian ventured a guess, “Have you upset Y/N?”

Cassian had meant to tease, but the way Azriel stayed silent had his eyebrow arching in question. Azriel ignored the curious glance from his brother as his mind ran in circles once more.

Had he upset you? Was your sudden experimentation in bed some roundabout way of telling him that he had done something to hurt you? No, no…that didn’t make sense, he was being illogical.

Or…Had he somehow missed picking up on something that you liked?

Your sudden interest in sexual exploration was far from a problem, but he got the niggling sense that you were up to something, playing a game that he wasn’t privy to. And he wanted in.

Azriel was private by nature, never revealing more of his relationship with you than absolutely necessary to his brothers, not wanting to overshare in fear that he’d fall victim to their incessant teasing. But this…maybe it would be useful to get their opinions about your sudden change in interests? Cassian and Rhys were both mated males afterall, and maybe there was something Azriel was missing. He would never admit it to anyone but himself, but he fell victim to his crippling neuroticism more times than he’d like to. Curiosity and anxiety were two sides of the same coin.

So he indulged and told his brothers of your sudden vigor in bed, enthusiasm to try something new every single time. You’d been insatiable as of late and he didn’t know why; nothing had changed that he knew of and it was concerning him, he couldn’t stand not knowing.

“So,” Rhys started tentatively, narrowing his eyes in confusion, not quite grasping the issue that Azriel was so hesitant to endorse. “Y/N is trying new things in bed.”

And elsewhere, Azriel thought with a ghost of a smile on his lips. He’d leave that part out, though; Rhys probably wouldn’t appreciate knowing the details about the going-ons in the dining room of the townhouse. And the gardens. And the hallways.

“And you’re complaining?” Cassian asked, incredulous, similarly at a loss for his brother’s concern.

“I’m not complaining, Cass,” Azriel groaned and slumped unceremoniously into a chair (much like an irritated school child who’d been caught doing something they weren’t supposed to), immediately regretting his poorly thought out decision to confide in his brothers. “I’m just confused. I don’t know what she wants.”

“Have you considered asking her?” Rhys inquired, infuriatingly teasing smile curving his lips.

Azriel deadpanned and clicked his tongue, not believing that Rhys would assume he was so inept at communicating with his lover, “Of course I’ve asked. She just says nothing’s changed. I believe her, but it’s still bothering me and I don’t know why.”

Both Cassian and Rhys resisted the urge to laugh, mentally conversing about how Azriel’s affections for you often reduced him to an adolescent-like lovesickness, begging and willing to please. Az had been this way since they were children; fiercely competitive and subsequently pouty if he didn’t have the upper hand, always wanting to know and learn everything he could.

This side of the shadowsinger was one that did not make an appearance often, reserving itself until he was around the few he trusted wholeheartedly.

The past couple of centuries saw even less of this endearingly childish and competitive Azriel – even around his closest friends – as Night Court duties and his identity as Spymaster overshadowed most opportunities to be vulnerable in his relationships.

But when you came around, light began to spark beneath the shadowy depths of Azriel’s countenance as you slowly coaxed him to trust and love as fiercely as everyone knew he was capable of, with the reckless abandon that his childhood self so easily embodied.

“Maybe check her nightstand,” Cassian teased with a wink, only half joking, as a quiet happiness bubbled within him at the small glimpses of Azriel’s vulnerability. “Some of Nesta’s best kept secrets are hidden there.”

Before Azriel could furrow his brow and chastise his brother for snooping through his mate’s belongings, a realization hit him.

Nesta.

You had been spending an awfully large amount of time with the eldest Archeron sister in the library lately, choosing to hole up there in lieu of your other hobbies when you weren’t training or engaging in your various other Night Court duties.

But Nesta would be a dead end. There was no way he could approach her without tipping you off to his secret sleuthing. Though he and Nesta were friends, her loyalties laid with you; there was an unexplainable female camaraderie between you – a chosen sisterhood, if you will – and if he asked if she knew anything about what was going on, she’d go running to you, mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

The conversation with his brothers was about as helpful as he initially thought it would be, and he let himself succumb to their jokes about how wrapped around your finger he was. Azriel had endured it graciously, knowing better than anyone that they were right, that he was indeed wrapped so tightly around your little finger that he was unsure of where he ended and you began. That he would gratefully stay in the palm of your hand for as long as you would allow.

But that night, after you had told him not to wait up for you because you’d be having drinks with Feyre and Mor, Cassian’s voice reverberated insistently in his mind.

Check her nightstand…best kept secrets…

Azriel resisted the urge to snoop for all of ten minutes before his inherent nosiness clouded his judgment and got the better of him; afterall, his love for secrets is what made him such an effective spymaster. Before he knew it, he was rolling onto your side of the bed, inquisitive hands pulling open your bedside drawer.

Hidden among the small stack of books he had given you was a thick novel with a cover he recognized, but gave no second thought.

It was a book you said Nesta had lent you. When he asked if you liked it you said it was “only okay” and that you’d let him know if he should read it when you were finished. Despite your lukewarm review, however, it had never left your side, and he had found you on more than one occasion cozied up with it in your hands, cheeks dusted with a heat he knew all too well.

Azriel was well aware of the content of the books Nesta favored, often lending a reluctant ear to a whiny Cassian whenever she paid more attention to her books than him.

But there was no way your sudden excitement for novelty in the bedroom could be inspired by Nesta’s smutty recommendations…right? He leafed through, assessing hazel eyes quickly skimming the paragraphs, catching glimpses of the prose that had you so enraptured.

Azriel felt the back of his neck heat.

It was smut, as he assumed. But this was truly…filth. Pure, unadulterated, filthy smut.

Azriel was a lover of all books, never having been one to categorize or judge them by popular opinion. And, to be completely fair, he had read a decent amount of books filled with sex and romance.

But…he was sure that the acts detailed in this one would make even the Court of Nightmares’s debauchery look saintly. Even Azriel, who had been correctly assumed to be the kinkiest of the Inner Circle, felt tame in comparison to the words flickering across the pages of your book. How did you read this with such impassivity on your face?

Azriel snapped the book shut with such force the pages blew a cool, gentle breeze onto his heating face. He tried – and failed – to not picture you in the position the main character in your book was described in, unintentionally sending a soft hum of his burgeoning arousal down your bond. He was beginning to understand your desire to replicate the more salacious scenes detailed in your novels.

Having fun without me, Az? Came your teasing inquiry in his mind, as he meticulously replaced all of your belongings into your nightstand.

Don’t be nosy, he quipped back, extremely aware of the irony of his statement. And then after a beat he added, answering your question with a sincerity that never failed to grip your heart, Never without you, love.

You left him waiting for a response a little bit longer than you normally would as you attempted to control the thundering beat of your heart in your chest. You were convinced that no amount of time could ever diminish the effects that Azriel’s blatant display of love had on your composure. As much as he was wrapped around your little finger, you were just as tightly wrapped around his.

I take back what I said earlier, wait up for me.

Azriel smirked to himself, feeling a flare of triumph, It’s a date, then. Maybe I’ll find something interesting to read in the meantime.

If you caught on to his sly insinuation, you did not let on, just continued bantering with him for a few moments before returning your full attention to your friends, who were no doubt attempting to extract morsels of information from your obviously lascivious exchange with your lover.

But that night – even after Azriel had promptly fucked you into a blissful oblivion – had yielded no more information about your recent proclivity for finding a new kink, so Azriel did what he did best and spied.

He kept a watchful eye on the books you read, and tracked the times you asked him to try something new. He spent more time in the library than necessary under the guise that Rhys had put him up to some research.

Which was only half of a lie. He was in there to do reconnaissance, yes, just not for Rhys.

Azriel scanned the bookshelves for anything that seemed like it had been recently replaced, pages still clinging to the sweet scent of your skin. A title he recognized caught his eye and he slotted it out of place, flipping through the pages to confirm his suspicions.

This book was shorter than the others he’d seen you carry around, but certainly no less obscene. A smirk pulled at Azriel’s lips as he read a dog eared chapter that you had clearly marked for inspiration, recollections of your most recent tryst in his office flooding his awareness.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

You had sauntered into his small, private study at the House of Wind, short dress skimming the curves of your thighs as you bent to greet him with a kiss to his cheek. He’d been distracted at the time — surveying maps and cross referencing with ancient textbooks — and barely tore his attention away from his work long enough to squeeze your hand in greeting.

But you didn’t seem to mind, opting to make yourself comfortable and purveying the books neatly organized on his shelves. When you’d found a book you thought would be interesting enough — though probably not quite as interesting as the one you’d just finished, per Nesta’s recommendation — you settled into the armchair across Azriel’s desk, shoulders against one armrest as your legs draped over the other.

Azriel looked up at you then, soft smile curving his lips. He loved when you kept him company while he worked; somehow, whenever you were around, work never seemed nearly as daunting or overwhelming.

You met his gaze with your own grin, silently communicating your support of him in the way that only mates could, tugging gently on the bond before winking at him and resettling your attention back to the book in your lap.

The both of you worked in that wonderfully comfortable silence for a while before Azriel caught you fidgeting out of the corner of his eye. The sun had begun its routine descent below the horizon, cool breeze stirring the sheer curtains framing his windows. Though summer had plagued the days with heat and humidity, the nights were still cool as the last dregs of spring eked away.

He looked up, intending on asking if you needed anything — a blanket, maybe — but the words died swiftly in his throat when he eyed a flash of bare skin as you swung your legs to stand, showcasing just enough for him to clue in to the fact that you were indeed not wearing underwear. Or anything else under your dress, if the peak of your nipples beneath the silk was anything to go by.

Selfishly, for a brief moment, Azriel decided that maybe keeping the windows open wouldn’t be so bad.

He pried his eyes away from your form making its way back to his bookcase, and instead attempted to tamp down the raging lust stirring in his belly so he could focus. But the mental picture of what he knew lay beneath the barely there fabric of your dress coupled with your scent made the lines on the map he was studying blur into nonsense.

Though intelligent and compassionate at heart, Azriel often found himself a slave to his baser male instincts when it came to you. There was little – if anything – you could do to quell the raging need to touch you, kiss you, be near you at all hours of the day; his desire for you was a constant hum belying his daily routine. He had not one iota of self control when you were involved, much to his simultaneous thrill and chagrin.

Inwardly, he cursed himself as he stole another glance at you as you stretched onto your toes to reach a book on the top shelf.

Beauty incarnate, truly, he thought. Azriel’s eyes tracked each slope and valley of the lines of your body, taking his time to commit each curve to memory, the way he should have been doing with the maps sitting now uselessly on his desk.

You looked at him over your shoulder, small pout on your lips, “Az, can you help me? I can’t reach.”

Azriel’s heart leapt. It’s like you were doing it on purpose, and in hindsight you definitely were. But despite the gnawing adoration encouraging him to fall to his knees and worship at your feet, he stood with the cool grace of someone unperturbed by their mate’s subtle seduction.

Azriel obliged you, coming up behind you, one hand curling around your hip to steady himself as the other reached easily to the top shelf to grab the book your fingertips skimmed. As he leaned forward, you could feel the hard planes of his chest against your back and you wanted to abandon all your plans to slowly seduce Azriel into a puddle on the floor, but you remained steadfast in your decision. Nesta had pushed a book into your hands and said she tried this once with Cassian and that the resulting hours were pure heaven, and you wanted to test the theory, curiosity rivaling that of your mate’s.

You barely registered Azriel putting the book in your hands, too lost in the warmth of his familiar touch. But you composed yourself quickly, leaning back into him to kiss him in thanks, not so subtly pushing your ass back into his hips. A feeling of revelry settled in your chest when you felt him already half hard beneath his pants, his fingers curling tighter around your hip.

Oh so reluctantly, you pulled away, perfect picture of obliviousness as you plopped back down on the armchair you were occupying previously.

Azriel thought he would collapse in on himself when you went to sit back down. You had him so tightly ensnared it was like he was still in the midst of the initial mating frenzy. He briefly wondered if the mind-boggling need for you would ever go away, though part of him knew hoped it never would.

He took a moment to compose himself — if that was even possible when one’s mate was clearly playing a dangerous game of seduction — bracing himself with one arm steady against the bookshelf.

Despite how much Azriel so greatly wanted to shirk his responsibilities to bend you over his desk, he wouldn’t. Not yet anyway. The work day wasn’t quite over, and the plans he was making for you would surely last too long to finish his research afterwards. So he steeled himself and took a deep, steadying breath, willing his blood to fill his head again so he could think with some semblance of clarity.

Though at baseline, he always found it difficult to think rationally when you were around.

While Azriel was trying — and failing — to regain his composure, you were feigning extreme interest in the book you had selected at random: The History and Systems of Fae War Treaties.

If Azriel had been paying any attention to what you were reaching for, he’d have caught on to your ploy, but luckily for you the mere sight of you was enough to render him at least somewhat incapacitated.

You took a peek at him over the back of the chair, triumphant satisfaction crooking your lips into a mischievous smile. Maybe this would be the day he finally cracks, you think to yourself.

But as the sun dipped lower beneath the skyline of Velaris below, and as Azriel stubbornly worked away at his desk, you felt the tiredness of the day settle into your bones, pull you deeper into the plush leather of Azriel’s loveseat. Cassian had run you ragged with training this morning, and Rhys and Amren had your mind working tirelessly as the three of you attempted to draft a peace treaty in a meager four hours.

But you wouldn’t sleep, not yet, not until you had reduced Azriel to a beautiful, orgasmic mess in his chair. Not until the hazel of his eyes were blown dark with desire and pleading as you straddled his hips.

The next hour was a fight to stay awake as the words on the pages in your lap began to blur into obscurity, mind muddling with theories and questions — though the book was an off handed choice, you couldn’t deny that the information was coincidentally incredibly pertinent to the discussion you were having with Rhys and Amren earlier in the day.

The telltale sigh of a day’s work completed pulled your attention away from your book, gaze settling on your mate. His hair was mused in a way that told you he had spent the last however long skating his fingers through it, but as always it fell perfectly across his forehead in defiance of the tiredness creeping up his neck.

Azriel’s eyes met yours and apparently your coy seduction earlier still held his body in a vice, evident in the way he stood and stalked to you. There was a cool, domineering edge to his movements and you knew your plan had worked to a degree, but the determination you had to break him down had leeched out of you the same way the night had stolen the day’s heat.

You hummed in satisfaction as he leaned down to kiss you, the pressure gentle and so, so sweet. A stark contrast to the dark and tempting storm of desire Azriel flooded your senses with down the bond.

Never once breaking the contact of your kiss, he’d wedged a knee between your legs as one hand braced against the arm of the loveseat while the other danced at the hem of your dress, endearingly asking for permission.

Your mouth curved against his and you guided his hand up to your hip, gasping delightedly when his hand tracked further up your waist, bringing the hem of your dress up with it as he slotted your hips more comfortably against his leg.

His lips traced a scalding trail of open mouthed kisses against your jaw, your neck, a chuckle rumbling deep in his chest that had your hips rolling against him.

“So bold for me,” he said, his hand skating across your unclothed skin while he urged your hips to grind a little harder against his thigh. You gasped, the pressure so wonderfully perfect against your cunt.

Though your initial intention was to get Azriel all hot and bothered, you couldn’t deny that the game you had set yourself up in had the same effect on you; the lingering, almost lazy path his eyes swept over your body every time you shifted across from him left heat singing between your legs, untamed longing for you dancing down the golden thread between you.

“Az…” you rasped, arching your hips up to meet his still clothed body, the top of your dress pushed languidly down to your waist as Azriel played slow music on the skin of your breasts. The loveseat was a cramped fit at best, but Azriel’s surprising flexibility and dexterity made it work despite the general largeness of his wings and frame. He’d made even the smallest corners of the House work for your sexual escapades.

The memories of all the scandalous little happenings you two have been partaking in the past few months flitted across your mind’s eye like an erotic slideshow, and you groaned. Legs tightening around his in desperate search for more friction, more contact, more of him. His name on your lips again was a wanton plea, a sound so wonderfully obscene Azriel almost came in his pants.

“Hmm?” He hummed, closing his lips around your nipple, teeth gently tugging before his tongue was quick to soothe the ache. The way your hips were grinding so shamelessly against him had his head spinning with a swirling mix of lust and love, and he clung to the last shreds of self discipline he had. It was all he could do to not tear both of your clothes off and sink himself deep into your brilliant warmth.

Azriel had always been patient, mastery over his desire was a skill he’d honed meticulously over the past few centuries — though you had a way of quickly unraveling his self control with one flutter of your eyelashes. But he wanted to make this last for you, wanted to draw out your pleasure for as long as possible. So he pressed his thigh more firmly between your legs, his own hips slotting against the side of your body.

You gasped at the feel of him, of how hard he was against your hip, and you tried to reach him, tried to get him to release some of the tension you knew coiled in his belly. He groaned deep and breathless when you pressed insistently against him, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he continued his ministrations on your body.

Azriel’s hands were everywhere, trailing paths around your breasts, up your neck, into your hair, and between your legs the way he no doubt was doing with the maps on his desk earlier.

It was infuriating how close you were already, how swiftly the tables had turned (though you half blamed the sudden onset of your fatigue the day had cursed you with), how with one well placed touch you were on the brink of collapse at Azriel’s mercy yet again.

He was urging your hips faster now, his fingers and lips making quick work of all the places he knew would have you keening. And before you could even register that he was still fully clothed, hard cock still straining against the confines of his pants, you were falling, breathless and dizzy with release.

The night had been far from over. You came twice more in that godsdamned loveseat – once with his fingers buried inside you and another time with his head between your legs – before he whisked you away to your bedroom where you finally, finally felt the delicious stretch of him inside you.

By the time the sun was making its appearance over the horizon once more, you had lost count of how many times Azriel had you begging.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Though your spicy little rendezvous in his office – and encore in the bedroom – wasn’t quite an exact replica of what played out in the book you had apparently just read, Azriel had thought your coy seduction had its intended effect. He’d been so fucking desperate for you that he couldn’t wait until you were out of his study to have you coming for him.

But, as he skimmed the pages of the chapter you marked, he couldn’t help but think that maybe he wouldn’t mind being fully at the mercy of your whims, wouldn’t mind submitting to the pleasure that you so easily coaxed from him. He was already always so eager to please you, so willing to crawl to the ends of the earth for you if you had so much as suggested you wanted him to.

“Azriel?” Nesta’s voice dripped with wicked amusement, effectively pulling him from his erotic reverie. “I never thought I’d see you in this section of the library.”

Fuck.

He hadn’t anticipated that he’d run into Nesta, a severely idiotic oversight on his part considering the House’s library was something akin to her own personal sanctuary. Azriel turned slowly on his heels to face her, mind working in overdrive to come up with a viable excuse for him being there.

“Nesta,” was all he came up with. Pathetic.

Her smirk turned deadly when she realized he was floundering. Arms crossed over her chest, chin tilted ever so slightly upwards, she looked the very portrait of smug amusement; he would expect nothing less of his friend who moonlighted as Lady Death.

Nesta’s eyes dropped to the book he forgot he was holding, and her eyebrows shot up in understanding, “Ah, I just recommended that one to Y/N. She gave it a hefty five stars. Said it was…intriguing.”

Nesta’s sly comments were enough to confirm Azriel’s suspicions that you were taking bedroom inspiration from the arsenal of smutty books the House stocked. And, with the way Nesta was biting her tongue, he could tell that she knew exactly why he was there.

Cassian, that fucking mouthy bastard.

Before Azriel could open his mouth to tell her that it wasn’t what it looked like – even though they both knew it was exactly what it looked like – Nesta stalked past him, pulling books off the shelf with striking precision. With a stack of five books balanced on one hand, she took the one Azriel was holding and reshelved it.

“These are Y/N’s favorite,” she said, this time with a little bit more softness and understanding as she placed them gingerly in his arms. “I’m sure she’d love if you read them.”

Azriel scanned each cover, a fond smile working to tilt the corners of his lips. You did love these; he had been familiar with these covers long before you were even mated, always keeping a lovingly watchful eye on the things you enjoyed, filing the knowledge away in his mind for later.

“Thanks, Nesta,” he said sincerely, adoration for you filling his chest with warmth as he remembered the excitement lighting your eyes while you read these books, cute flush radiating off your cheeks.

Nesta only nodded, giving his shoulder an encouraging few pats as she stalked off to another aisle, no doubt scouring the shelves for a new read.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Azriel told himself that he’d only read a few chapters — for research — but he hadn’t realized that he’d spent the better half of his day off lounging on the loveseat in his study.

Despite his previous reservations around the smutty books you’d so lovingly treasured, he found he was enjoying them — and not just for the well written, detailed sex scenes that you were pulling ideas from. He was two-thirds of the way through the second book, in the midst of the big climax, when you snuck up on him.

“It seems you’ve discovered my dirty little secret,” you said coyly, arms coming up behind him to snake around his shoulders.

Azriel jumped at your sudden appearance, inwardly cursing himself for teaching you how to sneak up on someone so effectively. He closed the book swiftly, feeling a flustered blush creep up his neck.

You pouted and rested your chin on his shoulder, “Aw, you were just getting to the best part! Don’t stop reading on my account.”

Azriel groaned but gave in, leaning back into your touch, “Don’t tease me.”

“I would never tease you, my love,” you said mockingly before kissing his cheek. “It is really the best part, though. The paint scene—“

Before you could regale the details of the main characters’ sexual escapades, Azriel took your chin in his fingers and slotted his lips over yours in a silent plea to stop your innocent tormenting. He reveled in the way you kissed him back without pause; he didn’t think he’d ever get used to the way you loved him as eagerly as he did you.

“Dirty little secret, huh?” He quipped, lips brushing yours as a bemused smirk lifted the corners of his mouth. You rolled your eyes as you made your way around the back of the chair, gesturing for him to uncross his legs so you could settle yourself on his lap.

Your weight was a welcome comfort as he continued prodding you, “Is this why you’ve been so…eager lately?”

“I didn’t think you’d notice,” you admitted, winding your arms around his neck as he scoffed in mock disbelief.

“Give me some credit love, I notice everything when it comes to you.” Came his quick response.

You pursed your lips, half in childish dissatisfaction that your little game was over, “I just wanted to know how to get you to beg for me. I needed ideas.”

Your nonchalance belied the wicked sensuality of your words and he chuckled, wrapping his wings around you both before mapping a scathing trail of kisses up your neck. The pillowy feel of his lips brushing your ear made you shudder, his teeth nibbling playfully at your earlobe as he hummed deep in his chest, “We have a lifetime together, there’s no rush. But since you want it so badly, shall I show you how well I can beg for you?”

Azriel’s offer sent an exhilarating shiver down your spine, and you so desperately wanted to give in, wanted to watch him come undone beneath you as he pleaded with you to touch him. But you shook your head despite yourself, competitive stubbornness the only barrier between you and what you wanted.

“I want to earn it, make you want me so bad you can’t help yourself.”

Your words were a breathy murmur that nearly had Azriel flipping you over right there on the too small lounge chair, but he resisted, prioritizing his assurances that you were the only thing he wanted every second of every day.

“That’s the thing, beloved,” he whispered in your ear, deep voice doused in honey reverberating in your bones as your desire flared so wildly it made you lightheaded. His hand, calloused palms rough against your skin, skated beneath the hem of your dress to grab hold of your hip and move you so you were straddling him.

This was the image you played over and over in your mind. The unbridled, unrestrained look of pleading in his eyes that blew his pupils wide, that had his hips shifting against yours in a display of just how much he wanted you.

“I always want you,” he continued. “I’d beg for you like I am dying of dehydration and you are my oasis. Just ask, and I’ll do exactly as you say.”

You were mesmerized, finger tracing the sharp contours of his jawline before ending at his chin, tilting his gaze up with the same practiced dominance you’d seen him slip into countless times before. You savored the way he shuddered at your touch, pretty lips parting as his chest heaved.

The corner of your mouth quirked, your breath a ghost over his lips, “Show me, then.”

2K notes · View notes

stripeyworm · 5 months

Text

your manic pixie dream girl and nightmare bad boy all in one I love binggeyuan sooo much. If I'm MIA, it's because I've fallen into quite the rabbit hole lately and going into hibernation!!

#my art #fan art #svsss #danmei #mxtx #binggeyuan #luo bingge x shen yuan #sorry i read so much good fic of them and it's ruined my life.#wolf boy that is a sopping wet dog x secretly very milfy otaku came for my NECK. won't lie!!#ough binghe we're in it now #been particularly mentally ill lately but this is my “nice” account so im hiding it in the tags #read nyoomerr's fics guys. pip is so good!!

3K notes · View notes

charlie-artlie · 9 months

Text

Bonnie in the real world 💖

#five nights at freddy's #fnaf #glamrock bonnie #fnaf ruin #fnaf security breach #arts #obligatory ‘’i’m sure this has been done before’’#showing up fashionably late to the barbie memes party #but this really is like. the core of my fanon interpretation of him and the glamrocks in general #one day i’ll write the fucked up melodrama fic that lives rent free in my head about this very topic

7K notes · View notes

prahacat · 2 months

Text

when the horrors catch up and you take an evening off to batch-process

#obi-wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #maybe obi-wan just read the outline for the next wip #why do i love to torture him so #one of my fav fanfic genres has to be meta fic horror #just imagine. how deeply disturbing it must be to find out you're a fictional character #somebody has *intentionally* written all those horrors onto you #and it wasn't even the guy who created you #he did his part. but the ppl who love it most to ruin your life and see you suffer are your fans #it's not enough that there's prob a lot of jedi rpf around in the gffa already. scarred obi-wan for life #lmao drawing anakin like this gave me so many flashbacks to my old ocs where almost every male character had that hair #also i have a job interview in one hour dsdsfhjgj #my art #prahacat draws

1K notes · View notes

serenity-black · 2 months

Text

STOP SELLING BOUND FANFICTION

I cannot blame them for pulling their works, in fact I'm proud of them for doing so. Fanfiction is a community of gifting. As authors we write fics and share our works for free. Fanfiction is a weird, fragile, liminal space that can crumble at any time. This fragility needs to be respected.

If you want fanfiction to be around for you to enjoy, then the rules need to be respected!

You can bind fics. You can gift bound fics. DO NOT SELL BOUND FICS!!

Or soon we won't have fanfiction anymore and the world will be much darker for it.

#youre ruining it for us #fanfiction writer #fanfics #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 #fanfiction.net #dramione #aziracrow #good omens #harry potter #bound fanfiction #bound fics

877 notes · View notes

urdepressedslut · 10 months

Text

Just Like That

♡ Pairing: tfatws!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

♡ Summary: While you two were supposed to be repairing Sam’s boat, you end up giving Bucky head instead.

♡ Warnings: SMUT, blowjobs, deepthroating/face fucking, slight praise kink, literally no plot just filth

main masterlist

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT | 18+

He couldn’t stop his hips from thrusting into your lips, the way your tongue ran on the underside of his dick— tracing the bulging vein.

“Doll… oh my… fuckkk.” He moaned out, his flesh hand tangling their fingers into your hair.

You hummed, sending vibrations into his dick. The action had him gripping your hair tight, the slight pain from your scalp shooting straight to your core. The throb had you whining around his length.

“Making me feel s’ good baby.” He praised breathlessly, easing his grip on your hair— petting it down soothingly.

You flattened your palms on his thighs, pushing forward until the head of his cock bumped the back of your throat.

His hips bucked instinctively, almost crying out at the way your throat was squeezing him. He grabbed the doorway of the boat, the wood splintering in his metal grip.

You pulled all the way off of him, before swallowing his entire length again— gagging as his head hit deeper in the back of your throat.

“S’ fucking good baby…” He whimpered, his head tilted back in ecstasy.

You snuck a hand down, playing with his balls, letting your other hand pump his length. You glanced up at him— spit leaking from your lips. You watched with lust filled eyes as he panted and whined.

“James… you’re so hard,” You purred, his head snapping down at you, “Bet you’re close, huh?”

He let out a pathetic whine as you squeezed his balls—his face contorted in pain.

“Words baby.” You demanded, leaning forward to swirl your tongue around his head.

His hips twitched slightly, the sensation of your tongue massaging around his tip heavenly. He let out a deep moan, feeling your tongue lick over his slit.

“S’ close doll— just like that.” He praised, letting his fingers comb through your hair.

There was something about you kneeling before him, eyes glossed over with lust, as the tears trailed down your cheeks— that made him absolutely feral. The position was so submissive, yet you held all the power. He was melting at your touch— his body putty at your hands.

You pumped his achingly hard length, giving his tip kitten licks. With your free hand caressing his thigh, you could feel the muscle twitch under your palm.

“Gonna cum James?” You asked hoarsely, his hazed over eyes meeting with yours.

You captured his length again, deepthroating him until your nose was buried into the hairs at the base of his cock. You gagged again, the convulsion from your throat making him growl in pleasure.

“Oh… that— keep doing that baby fuck…” He begged, his hips having a mind of their own, rocking into your face.

You whined around him, trying to breathe through your nose as he began to fuck your throat.

You reached around, grabbing handfuls of his ass— kneading the flesh. The action only made his thrusts deeper, his moans needier.

His thrusts were harsher, his needs a priority and if he had to use your face to chase his high— so be it. You on the other hand, we’re dripping. Your pussy was throbbing, him manhandling you making your entire body tingle— ache with desire.

He was nearly crying, his pants mixed with whines, getting impossibly close to the edge. You whimpered around him, his sounds only edging you on.

“Fuck baby… yes— you’re fucking mine,” He growled, his length growing impossibly harder at the image of you crying around him, “All mine.”

Your nails dug into the skin on his ass, your face drenched in tears, salvia leaking out of your mouth and down your chin. You gagged again, spurring him on further, his thrusts quicker. He grabbed your head, fucking your face with such force and suddenly he was pushing impossibly deeper in your throat, your jaw aching.

With an animalistic groan, he was spilling his seed down your throat. His breathing slowing, the waves of euphoria flowing throughout him. He stayed like that for a moment, relishing the feel of your throat around him.

At last, he released his death grip on your head. Slipping his cock from your throat with a hiss, his head sensitive. You gasped, panting in attempts to fill your lungs with the needed air.

With hooded eyes, Bucky gazed down at you with pleasure hazed eyes. His cock twitched at your flushed face, the tears tracks mixing with your spit— and his cum that had snuck out. Your eyes were slightly bloodshot, but as you gazed up at him— you were looking at him with such desire. You looked as if you were just getting started, and you wanted to devour him again.

“Such a good girl.” He whispered, voice hoarse.

He cradled your face, caressing your clammy cheek. He gently pulled you up, helping support your swaying state. You leaned into his palm, holding his gaze with adoration.

“I love you James.” You spoke into his palm, placing a kiss on his rough skin.

“I love you more baby.” He told you, wrapping his metal arm around your lower back, pulling you flush to him. “Now, let me return the favor.”

#bucky barnes #the winter soldier #marvel cinematic universe #reader insert #sebastian stan #buckybarnes #marvel imagines #oneshot #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes smut #beefy bucky barnes #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws bucky barnes #literally ruin me #like pls i need him to gag me #i’m feral

3K notes · View notes

flowercrowngods · 3 months

Text

who did this to you. part 3

🤍🌷 read part 1 here | read part 2 here pre-s4, steve whump, protective (but scared) eddie. now with robin!

The number rings in his head, echoing off the inside of his skull and sinking lower and lower until his heart strings join the symphony that leaves him shaking as the memory of Harrington’s slurred voice is drowned out by the dial tone that feels harrowingly like a flatline right now.

Said I’ll go blind. Or deaf. Or just… die.

Eddie doesn’t really feel like his body belongs to him anymore, or like there’s anything left inside him other than panic and fear and that stupid, stupid shaking that he can’t suppress even as he bites his knuckles. Hard.

The pain helps a little not to startle too much when the dial tone stops and a female voice begins speaking to him. Still he almost drops the phone, cursing under his breath as he pulls his hair to collect himself and get his voice to work.

“H— Hi, hello, Mrs Buckley? This is, uh. I. I’m. A friend of Robin’s, could you, uh—“

“Oh, of course, dear,” the woman says, and Eddie feels his eyes beginning to prick with how nice she sounds even through the phone.

Does she know Steve, too? Would she worry if she knew? Would she curse Eddie for not taking him to the hospital right away? Would she blame him if anything happened?

“I’m sorry? What did you say your name was?” she asks, repeating herself by the sound of it.

He blanks, for a whole five seconds, before he spots a note stuck to the fridge saying Don’t forget to eat, Eddie :-)

“Eddie,” he croaks. “Uh, Eddie Munson.”

“Alright, Eddie Munson, I’ll see if I can grab Robin for you. You have a good day, dear, yes?”

No. “Thanks.”

The hand clenched in his hair pulls tighter and tighter until the tears fall and he can pretend it’s from pain and not from— whatever the fuck is happening.

He waits, phone pressed to his ear with a kind of desperation he’s never really felt, and never wants to feel again. He doesn’t even know what to tell Robin; what to say. It’s not like they ever hang out or have anything to say to each other, so why would she—

“Munson?” Robin’s voice appears on the other end, a little too loud for Eddie’s certain state, and he does drop the phone this time, scrambling to catch it and only making the situation worse as it dangles by his knees.

He drops to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest and reaching for the phone again.

“Hi.”

“What do you want? How’d you even get this number? I swear, if you—“

“It’s Blue. I mean, Steve. Harrington.”

That shuts her right up, and Eddie clenches his eyes shut for a moment, hoping to keep the tremor out of his voice if only he takes a moment to breathe.

The moment stretches. And Robin’s voice is wary and quiet when she speaks again.

“What about Steve.”

Eddie rubs his face, leaving more dirt and grime to fill the tear tracks, and clenches his fist before his mouth.

“Eddie,” Robin demands, dangerous now. Nothing left of the rambling, bubbling mess he knows her to be on the school hallways. “What. About. Steve.”

“He… He’s hurt.”

There’s a bit of a commotion on the other end, before Robin declares, “I’m coming over. You tell me everything.”

“You— I mean, he’s in the hospital with my uncle, so—“

“I am. Coming. Over,” she says, enunciating every word as though she were making a threat. Maybe she is. But the certainty in her voice helps a little, anchors him the same way that Wayne’s calmness did. “And you tell me everything.”

Eddie finds himself nodding along, knowing intuitively that there is nothing that could stop her now. Knowing that he doesn’t want to stop her.

“‘Kay.” It’s a pathetic little sound, all choked up and tiny. She doesn’t comment on it.

One second he hears her determined exhale, the next she’s hung up on him and Eddie is greeted by the flatline again. He lets out a shuddering breath and leans his head back against the wall.

Breathing is hard again, but it’s all he has to do now, all that’s left to do, so he focuses. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold. His lungs are burning and there’s something wrong about the way he pulls in air and keeps it there, desperately latching onto it until the very last second, his exhales more of a gasping cough than calm and controlled.

It takes a while. Longer than it should. But with Harrington’s blood still on his hands, with his heartbeat in his ears so loud he can’t even hear the words Wayne used to say about breathing in through the mouth or the nose or… or something, he—

He’s fine. He’s home. Wayne’s got Blue, and Buckley is on her way, and… He’s fine.

People don’t just die.

They don’t.

He’s fine.

Eventually, Eddie manages to breathe steadily, the air no longer shuddering and his hands no longer shaking. It’s stupid, really, being so worked up over someone he doesn’t even really know. Sure, everyone knows Steve fucking Harrington, and everyone sees Steve fucking Harrington — whether they want it or not. He has a way of drawing eyes toward him even if all he does is walk the halls with his dorky smile and that stupidly charming swagger he’s got going on. Always matching his shoes to his outfit.

Eddie can relate.

Always reaching out to touch the person he’s talking to; clapping their back or shoulder, lightly shoving them in jest, ruffling their hair or chasing them through the halls, moving and holding himself like teenage angst can’t reach him. Like he belongs wherever he goes. Like he’s so, so comfortable in his own skin. Like the clothes he wears aren’t armour but just a part of him; a means of self-expression.

Again, Eddie can relate. He can relate to all of this.

It’s almost like the two of them aren’t so different after all. Just going about it differently.

And now he’s… Bleeding. Slurring his speech. Wheezing his breath. And Eddie feels protective. Eddie feels responsible. Like he should be there, like he should get to know more about him. About Steve. About Blue.

But he can’t. And he won’t. So he gets up with a groan that expresses his frustration and the need to make a sound, to fight the oppressive silence that only encourages his thoughts to run in obsessive little circles, and he hangs up the phone that’s been dangling beside him all this time.

He needs a smoke.

He needs a smoke and a blunt and a drink and for this day to be over and for time to revert and to leave him out of whatever business he stumbled into by opening the door to the boathouse and, apparently, Steve Harrington’s life.

But unfortunately, the universe doesn’t seem to care about what he needs, because just as he steps outside and goes to light his cig, he catches sight of a harried looking Robin Buckley, standing on the pedals of her bike as she kicks them, her hair blowing in the wind to reveal a frown between her brows. A wave of unease overcomes Eddie, an unease he can’t really place. Maybe it’s the set of her jaw, or the tension in her shoulders, or maybe it’s the worry and anger she exudes.

It never occurred to him before that Robin Buckley might not be a person you’d want to set off. And not because of her uncontrollable rambles.

“Munson!” she calls over, carelessly dropping her bike in the driveway and stalking toward him.

Almost as if summoning a shield, Eddie does light the cigarette. Pretends like the smoke can protect him.

She doesn’t stop at the foot of the steps, though, climbs them in two leaps and gets all up in his space with that unwavering look of determination — so unwavering, in fact, that it almost looks like wrath. Cold. Eddie wants to shrink away from it, not at all daring to wonder what could make her look like that upon hearing that Steve’s hurt.

I don’t wanna die, Munson. I never… I didn’t. With the monsters or the torture.

But those are the words of a semi-conscious teenage boy beat to a pulp, they can’t— There’s no way. Eddie misheard him, or Steve was talking about some kind of inside joke, using the wrong terminology with the wrong guy. It happens. It happens when you’re out of it, really! The shit he’s said when he was shot up, canned up, all strung out and high as a kite… He’d be talking of monsters, too, and mean some benign shit.

But the way Harrington looked, none of that was benign. The bruising all over his face, the blood still dripping from the wound by his temple or his nose, the way he held himself, breath rattling in his lungs, or—

“Hey!” Buckley demands his attention, giving him a light shove; just enough to catch his attention, really, and just what he needed to snap out of it. Still the smoke hits his lungs wrong and he coughs up a lung, further cementing his role of the pathetic little guy today.

“Hey,” he says lamely, his voice still croaking as he crushes the half-smoked cigarette under his boot. “Sorry.” He doesn’t know for what. But it feels appropriate.

She shakes her head, rolling her eyes at him as she crosses her arms in front of her chest.

“Tell me,” she says at last, and even though there is a tremor in her voice, she sounds nothing short of demanding. “I want the whole story, and I want it now.”

And so he does. He tells her everything, bidding her inside because he needs the relative safety of the trailer even though the air in here is stuffy and still faintly smells blue. He pours them both some coffee and some tea, because asking what she wants doesn’t feel right in the middle of telling her how he found her supposed best friend beat to shit in the boathouse he went to to forget about the world for a while.

She stills as she listens to him, staring ahead into the middle distance somewhere beneath the floor and the walls, her hands wrapped around the steaming mug of coffee. Eddie stumbles over his words a lot, unsettled by her stillness, her lack of reaction. She doesn’t even react to his fuck-ups. People usually do.

He wants to ask. Where are you right now? What have you seen? What’s on your mind? What the fuck is happening?

But he doesn’t ask, instead he tells her more about Steve. About how he seemed to forget where he was. About the pain he was in. About the smiles nonetheless. The way he reassured Eddie.

That one finally gets a choked little huff from her, somewhere between a sob and a laugh.

“Yeah, that sounds like him alright. He’s such a dingus.”

There is so much affection in her voice as she says it that Eddie can’t help but smile into his mug.

“Dingus?” he asks, hoping for some lightness, hoping to keep it.

But the light fades, and her eyes get distant again. Eddie wants to kick himself.

“Just a stupid little nickname. An insult, really.”

“Oh.” He doesn’t know what to do with that. If he should ask more or if he should say that he has a feeling Steve might appreciate stupid little nicknames. Especially if they’re unique. Especially if they’re for him. But what right does he have to say that now? What knowledge does he have about Steve Harrington that Robin doesn’t?

So he bites his tongue and drinks his coffee, cursing the silence that falls over them as Robin mirrors him, albeit slow and stilted, like she doesn’t know what to do either. Or where to put her limbs.

“Wayne’s got him now. I took him here, after the boathouse, because I didn’t know what to do. He said he didn’t want the hospital, said there’s…” He trails off.

Robin looks at him, her eyes wary but alert. “Said there’s what?”

It’s stupid. Don’t say it.

“Eddie?”

With a sigh, he puts his mug on the counter and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “He said there’s monsters. In the hospital, I mean. He said that.”

Instead of scoffing or at least frowning, Robin clenches her jaw and nods imperceptibly, her eyes going distant again. Eddie blinks, the urge to just fucking ask overcoming him again, but with every passing second he realises that he doesn’t actually want to ask. He doesn’t want to know, let alone find out.

He just… He just wants to go to bed. Forget any of this ever happened. But he can’t do that, so he continues.

“Brought him here and Wayne took one look at him and convinced him he needed a doctor. And, Jesus H Christ, he was right. I’ve never… I mean, those things don’t happen,” he urges, balling his hands into fists even in the confined space of his pockets. “Right? I mean… Shit, man.” He bumps his shoe into the kitchen counter; gently, so as not to startle Buckley out of her fugue like state.

“You’d be surprised,” she rasps, staring into the middle distance again and slowly sinking to the floor. There is a tremor in her shoulders now, barely noticeable, but Eddie knows where to look. Without really thinking about it, he grabs two of his hoodies he’d haphazardly thrown over the kitchen chairs this morning while deciding on his outfit and realising that it was altogether too warm for long sleeves today. But now, right here in this kitchen, the air tinged with blue, they’re both freezing.

Because fear and worry will take all the warmth right from inside of you and leave you freezing even on the hottest day of the year.

She barely looks at him when he holds out his all-black Iron Maiden hoodie to her, freshly washed and all that, but she takes it nonetheless, immediately pulling it on. It’s way too large on her, her hands not showing through the sleeves, her balled fists safe and warm inside the fabric. It would make him smile if only it didn’t highlight her stillness, her faraway stare, and the years he has on her. She’s, what, two years younger than him? Three?

It seems surreal. Everything, everything does.

Robin Buckley in his home, sitting on his kitchen floor, swallowed by a hoodie that is a size too large even for him, but it was the last one they had in the store and he doesn’t mind oversized clothes, can just cut them shorter when the need arises or layer them or declare them comfort sweaters for when he wants to just have his hands not slip through the sleeves on some days. And now Robin is wearing his comfort hoodie because her best friend was bleeding in his car earlier and then on his couch and now in his uncle’s car, and they never even talk, but he knows that Robin’s favourite colour is blue, but not morning hour blue because that makes her sad; only deep, dark blues.

Her favourite colour. Her favourite person.

It’s so fucking surreal.

He drops down beside her, leaving enough space between them so neither of them feels caged, and mirrors her position: knees to his chest, chin on his forearms. Staring ahead.

And silence reigns.

“Your uncle,” she says at last, finally breaking the silence that’s been grating on Eddie’s nerves and looking at him, really looking as she rests her cheek on her forearms crossed over her knees. “Tell me about him.”

There is a gentleness to her voice now despite how hoarse it is. Maybe she’s just tired, too. And scared. At least the shivering has stopped.

Still Eddie frowns, confused as to why she should be breaking the silence to ask about Wayne when everything today has been about Harrington. About Steve. About deep and dark blues.

“Uncle Wayne?” he asks. “Why?”

“Because,” she begins, and sighs deeply, works to get the air back in her lungs. Eddie wants to reach out, but instead he just clenches his fingers a little deeper into the fabric of his hoodie. “My best friend is hurt very badly and the only person with him is your uncle, and I need to know that he’s in good hands. Or I swear to whatever god you may or may not believe in, and granted, it’s probably the latter, but still I swear I’ll give into my arsonist tendencies and burn down this city, starting with your trailer if you don’t tell me that your uncle is a good man who will do anything in his power to make sure that boy gets the help and care he needs. And deserves.”

Her jaw is set and her bottom lip trembles, but it doesn’t take away from the absolute sincerity in her threat.

“So, please,” she continues, her voice breaking just a little bit. “Tell me. Tell me about your uncle.”

Tell me about your favourite person.

Eddie swallows, and mirrors her position once more, so she can see his eyes and know he’s sincere. Because he’s learned something about eyes today, about how much in the world can change if only you have a pair of eyes to look into.

And he nods, looking for somewhere to start. “He’s the best man I know. He’s the best man you’ll ever meet.”

She clings to his eyes. Searches them for the truth, beseeching them not to lie. He lets her.

“Took me in when I was ten, because my dad’s a fuck-up and my mom’s a goner. Took me in again when I was twelve after I ran away. Makes me breakfast and I pretends the dinner I make him is more than edible.” He smiles a little, because how could he not? “He’s my uncle, but still he’s the best parent anyone could wish for. Writes those little notes that he sticks to the fridge, y’know, the one with the smiley face? Tells me to eat, because I forget sometimes. I tell him to drink water, because he forgets. First few years, he’d read to me. And the man’s a shit reader, has some kind of disability I think, and at some point I learned that he wasn’t reading at all. He was telling me stories all the time, conning me into thinking that the books were magic, and that every time I’d try to read the book for myself, the story would change.”

There’s a lump in his throat now, and his eyes sting again. But Robin doesn’t seem to fare any better than him if her wavering smile is any indication.

“There’s no one,” Eddie continues, “who will make you believe in magic quite like uncle Wayne. Or in good things. And d’you wanna know what he told Blue when he said he was scared of going to the hospital?”

Sniffling, Robin shakes her head.

“He said, Okay. Then we do it scared. And all of that after he just… with that patience he has, told him everything that was gonna happen. And that he’d be there with him through it all. That he knew the doc and wouldn’t let anyone else near him, and that there’s no need to be scared at all.”

He sighs, breathes, stills. Swallows, before looking back at Robin.

“So, if there’s one person who’ll make sure that boy gets the help and care he needs and deserves…”

“It’s uncle Wayne,” Robin finishes his sentence, her voice still hoarse, but Eddie likes to think it’s for a different reason now.

“It’s uncle Wayne,” Eddie says, nodding along as he does.

There is something like understanding in Robin’s eyes now, and Eddie hopes it’s enough. Enough to calm the spiking of her nerves, enough to settle the coil of freezing nausea that must reside in the pit of her stomach, enough to let the next breath she takes feel a little more like it’s supposed to be there.

He wants to say something more, wants to reach out and reassure her that everything will be okay, but he can’t know that. He doesn’t feel like it’s entirely true, let alone appropriate right now.

There’s something in Robin’s eyes, in the way she holds herself, like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like she accepts his words at face value but doesn’t really believe them. Like she’ll only rest when she’s got her best friend back in her arms and hears the story — the whole story — from him.

And Eddie doesn’t fault her, because the thing is, he doesn’t know what happened. Steve said that Hagan came at him, but that’s really all he got out of him before he started talking about death and shit, and Eddie really didn’t want to ask any more questions then.

So they sit there for a while, the silence oppressive and unwelcome, clumsy and awkward; Robin’s mouth opening and closing a lot, like she wants to ask questions but doesn’t dare to ask them — and Eddie doesn’t know if he’s glad about it or not. Doesn’t know if he wants to hear the kind of questions asked with that kind of stare.

It is only after a long while, when Robin’s shoulders start shaking again and she buries deeper into the hoodie and her own spiralling thoughts, that Eddie breaks the silence again, replaying in his head the last moment between him and Steve.

“He’s not gonna break,” he tells her, aiming for gentle and reassuring.

What he doesn’t expect is the minute flinch, the jolt shooting through her body and the pained expression it leaves her with. What he doesn’t expect is what she says next.

“You know,” she begins, her voice as far away as her eyes, and it’s like she doesn’t even know she’s speaking. “Sometimes I wish he would.”

What?

Eddie blinks, swallowing hard.

“Just for, just for a break. Just so he can rest. Let the rest take over for a while.”

That… He doesn’t— What the hell does that even mean?

“Like maybe then the world would… snap back.” She snaps her fingers, just once. This time it’s Eddie who flinches. “And everything bad would disappear. But it won’t. And he won’t.” She swallows. Then quietly, almost inaudible, “He won’t break.”

And the way she says it… It was reassuring before. And now it feels like a burden. A curse.

Who the fuck are you, Steve Harrington? And you, Robin Buckley.

Eddie shudders, knowing he doesn’t want the answer to that anymore. He doesn’t want the questions either. So he buries his face in his hands, closes his eyes, and breathes. The adrenaline has worn off by now, the repeated panicking that added fuse to the fire has ceased now, leaving him worn out and strung out, tired and exhausted. He pulls up the hood, burrowing into the warmth.

And then he stills. His usually twitching, fumbling, fiddling body falling entirely still beside Buckley.

It’s like time stops for a while there, even though Eddie knows that it’s dragging ever on and on. He’s inclined to let it, though. He’s too tired, too exhausted to really care about what time may or may not be doing.

“Why’d you call me?”

It takes a while for Eddie to realise that Robin’s spoken again, asked him a question out loud, the cadence of it different to the endless circles of questions Eddie’s got stuck in his head since the early afternoon tinged in blue against crimson.

He lifts his head, tucking his hands underneath his chin, and looks over at Buckley. Her hair is dishevelled now, her mascara smudged and crusty. Her lipstick is almost all gone, with the way he sees her biting and chewing on her lips.

“I… It seemed like the right thing to do, y’know? He kept repeating your number. In the car, it was like… Sounds dramatic, but it was like his lifeline, almost. Repeated it so often it kinda got stuck.” He shrugs. “Seemed important, too.”

Robin frowns; a careful little thing. “How’d you know it was me?”

“Well, he just talked about you. Y’know. Tell me about your favourite person, I told him, because that’s the thing you gotta do to keep people, like, talking to you. Not shit about what day it is, or what. Just, y’know. Let them talk about things they like. Things they’ll wanna tell you about. ’N’ he talked about you.”

She’s quiet for a while, letting his words sink in. And Eddie wonders if she knew. That she’s his favourite person. If he ever told her. If maybe he took that from him now. It’s a stupid thing to worry about, really; the boy was bloodied and bruised on his couch just an hour ago, there are worse things at hand for Eddie to worry about. But now he wonders if he just spilled some sort of secret. Some sort of love confession.

“Did you, I mean… Are you guys, like, dating? Did I just steal his moment?”

Robin huffs, but it’s more like a smile that needs a little more space in the room, a little more air to really bloom. It’s fond. She shakes her head, her eyes far away again, but closer somehow.

“Nah,” she says, and the smile is in her voice, too. Eddie kind of likes her voice like that. “We’re platonic. Which is something I’d never thought I’d say. Not about Steve Harrington, y’know?”

And the way she drags out his name… Eddie can relate. Like it means something, but like what it means is nowhere close to reality. Nowhere close to what it really means. Nowhere close to Blue.

Robin sighs, the sound more gentle than it should be, and leans her head against the cabinet behind her. “We worked together over summer break. Scoops Ahoy.” Her voice does a funny thing, and her eyes glaze over as she pauses. Eddie waits, his lips tipped up into a little smile, too; to match hers.

“What, the ice cream parlour?”

Robin hums, her smile widening at what Eddie guesses must be memories of chaos and ridiculousness. “I wanted to hate him,” she continues. “But try as I might, he wouldn’t let me. Or, he did. He did let me. Just, it turns out, there’s no use hating Steve Harrington, not when he’s so… So endlessly genuine. There’s nothing to hate, y’know? And then he…”

She stops, her mouth clicking shut as her eyes tear up a little. The Starcourt fire. Eddie remembers the news, remembers the self-satisfied smirk when he’d heard about it, remembers sticking it to the Man and to capitalism and to the idea of malls over supporting your friendly neighbourhood businesses.

Guilt and shame overcome him as he realises that they must have been in there when it happened.

“He saved your life?”

Robin’s eyes snap toward him, wide and caught, and Eddie raises his hands in placation.

“In the fire? Were you there?”

“Y—yeah.” She swallows hard, avoiding his eyes. “The fire. He saved me. Yeah.”

Eddie nods, deciding to drop that topic right there; to lay it on the ground as gently as he can and cover it with bright red colours so he never steps on it ever again.

“He must be your favourite person, too, then, hm?” he steers the conversation back away into safer waters.

“He is,” she says, sure and genuine and true. “It’s just. I don’t think I’ve ever been anyone’s favourite. He has a lot of people who care about him, you know? A lot of people he cares about. Even more numbers memorised in that stupidly smart head of his.” She huffs again, burrowing deeper into Eddie’s hoodie, pulling the sleeves over her hands some more. “It’s stupid, to be so hung up on this. Is it stupid?”

“I don’t think it is,” Eddie says, scooting a little closer to Robin. “Like, I don’t even know that boy, right? But even I know that he’s got some ways to shift your focus or something. Give you a silver lining, or something to take the pain away even when he’s the one who… I don’t know, that’s probably stupid, too.”

“Nah,” Robin says, scooting closer to him, too, until their sides are pressed together and she can lay her head on his shoulder. “It’s not stupid. You’re right; that’s Steve for you. ’S just who he is.”

It is, isn’t it?

You’re so blue, Stevie.

She’ll say something corny when, when you ask her, jus’ to fuck with you. Sunset gold or rose, jus’ to mess with… But is blue.

Blue. ‘S nice.

Yeah. Yeah, he is.

Eddie lets his thoughts roam the endless possibilities and realities that is Steve Harrington, the depths he hides — or won’t hide, maybe, if you know how to ask. Where to look.

Maybe he’ll find out, one of these days. Not about the terrible things that leave him scared of the hospital, not about the horrible things that have him speaking of death and dying like he’s accepted them as a possibility a long time ago.

He swallows hard and shakes off these thoughts, because things like that just. They don’t happen. They don’t happen to blue-smiled boys who trust you to be kind even when they’re beaten straight to hell. And they sure as hell don’t happen when uncle Wayne’s around.

Nothing bad has ever happened when uncle Wayne was around.

And he wants to tell Robin, wants to make that promise. But part of him can’t bear the thought of being wrong. So he keeps his mouth shut and just sits with her, their heads as heavy as their hearts as they wait.

The sun is long gone when the phone above him rings again, spooking and startling them out of their timeless existence.

“Yeah?” he answers, his heart hammering in his chest. “Wayne?”

“Hey, Ed,” Wayne’s voice comes through the phone like a melody. Calm and steady. Robin is scooting closer, and Eddie shifts the phone to accommodate her so they can both listen. Somehow, they ended up holding hands — and holding on hard. “We’re coming home now.”

🤍🌷 tagging:

@theshippirate22 @mentallyundone @ledleaf @imfinereallyy @itsall-taken @simply-shin @romanticdestruction @temptingfatetakingnames @stevesbipanic @steddie-island @estrellami-1 @jackiemonroe5512 @emofratboy @writing-kiki @steviesummer @devondespresso @swimmingbirdrunningrock @dodger-chan @tellatoast @inkjette @weirdandabsurd42 @annabanannabeth @deany-baby @mc-i-r @mugloversonly @viridianphtalo @nightmareglitter @jamieweasley13 @copingmechanizm @marklee-blackmore @sirsnacksalot @justrandomfandomstm @hairdryerducks @silenzioperso @newtstabber @fantrash @zaddipax @cometsandstardust @rowanshadow26 @limpingpenguin @finntheehumaneater @extra-transitional (sorry if i missed anyone! lmk if you don't wanna be tagged for part 4 🫶)

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #who did this to you #something has Shifted in this part and i wanna do a literary/meta analysis of it but i dont wanna ruin the fun or be annoying but hhh #also sorry if you don't like this bc it's so different from the other two but the sudden adrenaline crash will do that to ya #we'll get Blue back soon don't you worry 🤍#also eddie's mind is running in circles and he doesn't have wayne to stop him this time sooo if this feels repetitive and redundant???#then let's pretend it should read that way actually (and also eddie is an obsessive little guy he'll ruminate forever if he doesn't have #an outlet sooo)#also rambling fumbly robin going deadly still over an injured steve is the hill i will die on actually like that just makes me feral #dio words

820 notes · View notes

kingkatsuki · 2 years

Text

Saw this post and immediately thought of Eddie Munson.

Warnings: 18+, dacryphilia, unprotected sex.

“Oh shit, baby.” Eddie’s thrusts stuttered as he watched wet tears stream down the apples of your cheeks and down to the pillow beneath your head. More glistening against your thick lashes as they blurred your vision, blinking them back, “Did I hurt you? Are you okay, princess? Fuck-“

Eddie moved to pull out, eyes wide with worry as a warm hand cupped your cheek, feeling the wetness beneath his palm.

“No- no,” You whined, your thighs tightening around his hips to stop him from pulling out of your tight cunt. Your hands immediately reaching out for him- any part of him, nails scratching his sides in your feeble attempt to keep him seated inside you, “Eds, please don’t stop.”

“Shit-“ Eddie groaned at the sensation of you pulling him back inside your slick heat, “But you’re crying, sweetheart.”

“Feels so fucking good, please don’t stop Eddie. Wanna cum so bad.” You we’re rambling now, your hips rocking against his pelvis to try and give yourself some much needed friction. Trying to get yourself back to the same cliff point Eddie had you teetering over moments earlier.

“Jesus christ, pretty girl. You’re gonna be the death of me.” Eddie’s eyes rolled back as he planted his palms either side of your head, caging you against him as he tilted his head slightly so he could stare directly into your watery eyes, “Does my cock feel that good, huh? So deep inside this needy little cunt it’s making you cry?”

He rut into you hard and fast, the sound of skin slapping against skin filled his humid bedroom as you cried out for him, feeling him hit that same spot so deep inside you that you were certain you ascended to a higher plain of existence.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Eddie snarled, feeling the way your cunt clenched around him at the harsh tone to his voice, “So stop crying and take it.”

Your mouth parted in a silent moan as your nails left crescent shaped moons in his back, pleasure clouded your mind and made it difficult to breathe as Eddie’s thrusts were unrelenting, “God, this sloppy fucking pussy was made for me. All mine- all, fuckin’, mine.”

Each word was annunciated with a harsh rut of his hips, the thick veins along his cock dragging against your inner walls perfectly as he fucked you into the shape of his cock.

“Eddie,” You mewled, your toes curling as you felt close, just a little more-

“Keep crying, pretty girl. It’s getting me close.” He bit back a moan as your warm cunt choked him as you felt yourself falling into your bliss.

“Eddie, I’m gonna cum- I’m cumming, oh my god.” Your cheek pressed against the dampness of the pillow beneath your head, soaking up the fresh tears that streamed down your temples as you came hard.

“Your pussys so fucking greedy, fuck-“ Eddie’s hand was quick to grasp your cheeks between his thumb and fingers, pulling your head back to meet his gaze as he sloppily fucked into your pulsing cunt, “You want me to fill you up? Fine- fuckin’ take it, it’s yours-”

You gasped as you felt his warm, milky cum coat your inner walls. Giving a few more shaky thrusts as he fucked his cum deeper inside you, the light sheen of sweat dewy against both of you as your skin stuck together.

“You are pure sin, sweetheart.” Eddie groaned, his chest heaving as he tried to regain his breath, warm lips pressing against the dried tear streaks along your face, “Pure fuckin’ sin.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson thirst #eddie munson x you #this man is ruining my life #i should be writing fics and here i am with brainrot

12K notes · View notes

surielstea · 22 days

Text

Honeymoon

Based on this request.

Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: Azriel and Reader celebrate being newly weds.

A/N: I hate this ngl but I hope you guys enjoyy

Word count: 5.2k

The sound of Cassian's rambunctious laughter echoes throughout the entire house but Azriel was too preoccupied staring at me to take any notice of his brother's amusement— which was targeted towards Morrigan. Who was so drunk I doubted she could walk. I giggled as she battled with a stubborn wine cork, and was evidently losing. Familiar arms wrap around me and pull me into a warm embrace. "Let's go home," Azriel murmurs and I look up to him with a soft smile. It was two hours past midnight, our wedding ceremony started at noon. It's been a long day, to say the least.

"I just want to make sure Mor gets home safe and then—" I begin to pull away from his grasp but he tugs me right back into him. "Do you ever worry about yourself?" He questions and I roll my eyes. "I'm allowed to care for my friends." I justify but he only pulls me closer. "It's our night." He argues and I can't help but melt into him at the words. "Mor will sleep here tonight, you've got nothing to worry over." He gently rubs up and down my sides and I solicit an exhausted sigh. "We can go home and spend our first night as husband and wife together before we leave for the Summer Court tomorrow." He offers, his tone alluring. I twist my lips to the side, contemplating giving in to my newlywed husband or staying around until everyone found their way home.

"Okay?" He prods and I look up to him once more, though I should've known better than to let my gaze meet his and still expect to deny him. "Okay." I nod and his smile goes wide, resulting in dimples appearing to crease his cheeks.

He barely even lets me say goodbye before he winnows us right into the sitting room of our home.

Azriel pulls me through the dimly lit hall of our house as I stumble over my heels, squeezing his hand tightly in a signal for him to slow down, the eager male however had no intention of wasting any more time without me in his arms, just us two.

I'd be lying if I said some alone time wasn't exactly what I needed. Alone time, with him, that is. He seems like the happiest male on earth every time he glances back at me while I'm already looking at him returning his grin.

He pulls me into the master bedroom, leaning back against the door behind him and clicking it shut. I let go of his hand and stride toward the bed, plopping down onto it in a bundle of white tulle.

My feet are practically screaming they're in so much pain. I groan as I lean down, unable to reach the clasps of the heels due to my excessive amount of skirts. Azriel only chuckles as he watches me struggle to get ahold of my shoe. "What's so funny?" I glower up at him and he folds his lips inward to stop himself from laughing any further. He stepped closer and in two long-legged strides, he was directly in front of me. "Nothing beloved," He crouches down and settles on his knees before me with a sickeningly sweet look in his eyes. "How many skirts can one dress have?" He muttered as he pushed the ballgown material in every which way. "Too many," I sigh, head craning to the side as I stretch my neck.

I feel sweet relief as one of my shoes comes off, and the other quickly follows.

He discards the horrid heels across the room and looks up at me proudly. I would marry him all over again just because of that look. I grab him by his collar and pull him up towards me with a sloppy grin, leaning forward and pecking his lips with an uncontrollable smile.

"Your suit looks really good on you," I say dreamily as I begin unbuttoning his dress shirt. "Yeah?" He looks at me with a teasing smile, standing to his full height and staring down at me. "Mhm." I nod with a dazed smile, utterly love-drunk on him. His hands come to the back of my head, undoing my pinned-up hair that took hours for Nuala to do this morning. Shadows swished around us haphazardly as we both silently took care of each other.

Once I got his shirt fully undone I moved to tug it down his shoulders.

I feel a tug at the base of my scalp and I wince as I realize my hair is being pulled. "Ow— Azriel," I bring my hands back to meet his and he looked at me with slight amusement. "My fingers are too big." He muttered and a smile pulled at my lips. "I've heard that one before." I snicker and he rolls his eyes, taking his hands away from my hair and allowing me to do it myself.

It takes me less than a minute until my hair is unbounded and tumbling down my back. I look up at him with a soft smile and he mirrors it, hands coming to my cheeks reflexively, cradling my face in his all-too-big, scarred hands.

"My beautiful wife," The words roll so easily from his tongue and the title has me flushing profusely, by the mother, we're married and he still makes me go red. He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to my lips.

The kiss isn't hungry or lustful, just pure innocence and love. His rough hands are gentle when holding me, and his lips on mine are so precise and careful.

I smile wildly at the feel of warm adoration flooding through his side of the bond without hesitance. I sent my own version of it back only to find his mental shields completely gone, it was just us, the spymaster didn't feel the need to hide anything.

I pull back and quickly stand to my full height, silently turning around, and without a word he understands what I want. His fingers come to the white laces of my dress, untying the delicate strings as gently as he could manage. As soon as he's got them all undone, then the rest of the clasps, I can fully breathe again. I release a soft sigh as I feel the tight bodice loosen and dip from my chest. He helps me step away from the gown, shadows carrying the expensive white fabric to the armoire where it'll be hung.

"That dress is evil," I sigh in relief, looking up to Azriel who was preoccupied staring at every inch of my body.

I was wearing a dainty white lingerie set that seemed like it would fall apart completely if he were to pull at one loose thread. "You've been wearing this all day?" He grabs me by my waist and pulls me into his chest. I giggle at his neediness and wrap my arms around the back of his neck, then give him a cheeky nod. "I would've taken that dress off a lot sooner if I'd known." He hums, head dipping into the juncture between my shoulder and neck. My hand goes into his hair as I lean up into him, he was the only warmth I could find in this cold room. The lighthearted and sweet energy between us shifts into something powered by need.

He backs away from my shoulder and moves to kiss my lips with a passion I recognized well. My hands come to his jaw but before he lets me even think about reciprocating his urgency he's moving back to my jaw, peppering kisses down the column of my throat, the valley of my peaked breasts, all the way to my navel as he lowers down onto his knees. —And when he pushes me back onto the bed and settles between my legs, I know, he's mine and mine alone.

He looks up at me with swirling hazel eyes, all I have to do is nod before he's shredding through my undergarments, and without much foreplay, his lips attach to the apex of my thighs.

Breath escapes me as he wickedly flicks his tongue over my sensitive clit, my hand shooting into his hair as a whine drags from my throat. I feel him smile against me at the reaction, I look down to see his eyes already on me, catching my gaze. My brows furrow as shadows swirl around my thighs and pin them down onto the bed as he slowly moves downward to where I ached for him most.

His tongue slips over my slit and I arch upward. "C'mon Az, don't be mean." I cry out, pulling at his hair as he teases at my entrance with a stupid smirk on his face. "Need more," I whine. "What exactly do you need more of?" He purrs, his breath fanning over my wet folds, forcing me to clench around nothing for any form of friction. "No teasing." I shake my head with a pitiful whine. "Not even just a little?" He mocks, then his teeth nip at my clit and my breath hitched as I feel heat flood the sensitive area. "You like that did you?" He taunts, his tongue coming flat against the bud to soothe it. "Don't worry baby," He tuts as shadows swirl up my arms and tether me to the bed to prevent my squirming. "Just be a good wife and I'll give you what you want, yeah?" He hums and the proposition makes me throb with pure need.

"Az," I sigh out helplessly, tugging at my restraints but my whines die in my throat as his tongue delves into my folds, collecting every drop of arousal that was a result of him and him alone.

I grin my hips up into his face and he grins wildly, his hands coming around my thighs to pull me closer as he feasts on me like he hasn't eaten in years. My hips lift as I buck into his mouth and my silent command somehow reaches him, because the next thing I know he's dipping lower and finding my opening.

I open my legs wider before he can even think to ask and he smiles at how well he's got me trained. "Good girl," The praise slips from his lips and pushes me towards my climax more than anything else. His head dives low and his tongue enters me without struggle.

I clench the sheets in my fist and tears begin welling in my water line. "Fuck, Az," I moan out. He replies with a wicked flick of his tongue, his arms tightening as he brings me closer, I glance down to see him entirely engulfed in the taste of me like he was drunk on my arousal.

My hand goes into his hair as I run out of oxygen, panting heavily at the feeling of his head between my legs. He finds that sweet spongy spot deep inside of me and toys with it, flicking and swirling his tongue across it with a precision that had me mewling his name like a prayer.

He pulls away from the spot for a moment in order to explore other areas, his long tongue pressing against my moldable walls and I clench around him, if it weren't for his hands holding me down I'd be crushing his head in. I grind my hips up in protest so he returns to that spot, and with it comes a forming know that was growing increasingly tighter.

"Fuck, m' close," I warn, confining my ministrations upward with my hips. My movements become ragged and hurried as my high approaches, but he remains fluid and teasing. I whine as he curls his tongue in such a way that I'm left breathless, my hands in his hair go stiff and the knot burrowed inside of me winds itself so tight that it snaps and I'm blessed with a surge of pleasure as it sweeps over me, a mix of both heat and euphoria blooming from my core and as I release, it’s Azriel’s name coming from my lips.

"Good," He eases as he slowly backs away. “That’s it,” His hands stroke up and down my hips and I release a soft whimper at the sensation. “You can handle more can’t you love?” He murmurs between kisses as he naps his lips back up to my neck. “Mhm,” I nod shakily and he smiles, nipping at my sensitive now marked skin. “So good for me.” He rasps before sucking on the exposure of my neck.

I clench my legs together at the absence of the shadows from my thighs but the ones at my wrist remain. I whine as I grind down, already needy for more. He presses a soft kiss to my neck at the action. “Please Az, need you,” I whine and a grin pulls at his lips. “Is that right?” He leans down and the weight of his hardened cock pressed into my abdomen. My brows pinch together and I nod. “Please Az, I’ll make you feel so good.” I implore as I stare up at his delighted expression.

“Be good and stay still for me then, okay?” He prompts and I nod with wide eyes. “That my girl.” He presses a soft kiss to my forehead before dipping down yet again, this time aiming towards my chest. He pulls at the string like bra and it unravels at his fingertips.

His calloused hands grip my right breast while his mouth charts my left. His tongue— that was just inside of me, flicks over the sensitive bud and I whine pathetically, pulling at the shadows holding me down in order to weave my fingers through his hair. Hazel eyes meet mine and for a moment, in the dim lighting, they seemed golden. He released my left breast with one last swipe of his tongue and moved to my right one.

My hardened bud quickly became overstimulated as his scarred thump rolled right circles around it. My chest arched up, closer to his face. He hummed in approval at the action and I sighed out his name, over and over again, he was all I could think about. I was completely drunk on his touch and he hasn’t even fucked me yet.

“Feels good, ah— so good.” I mewl as his heavy cock pressed into my folds. I grind up against the fabric of his pants but it does little to get me any closer to my release. “Az,” I whine. “I know,” He whispers and moves his way back up my chest to my jaw. “I’ll give you what you want, my wife has been so good for me, I think she deserves a reward.” He purrs into the shell of my ear and I nearly moan at just the sound of his voice.

Shadows leave my wrists and unchain me from the bed while Azriel gets off his pants. I do the rest of his work with his boxers, feeling needy enough to get myself the rest of the way to my climax— but when he presses himself into my folds, I know it’d be impossible without him. He presses a loving kiss to my lips one last time before his tip aligns itself with my entrance and without any further warning he pushes himself inside, he only goes as deep as the head and I nearly meet my high at the feel of his thick member finally press into my sensitive walls.

��Gods, so fucking tight.” He grunts out and I smile hazily at the words, wrapping my legs around his hips so I’m forced to open wider for him. He lifted his hips and then thrusts them back in, his movements precise so he only entered another inch or two, but it was enough for a moan to bubble from my lips. “You’re taking me so well,” He presses a kiss to my temple. “Such,” He begins but thrusts deeper mid-sentence. “A good,” thrust. “Wife.” He praises and I tighten around him at the sentiment of the words.

His hand snakes up my waist, thumps at my breast, then past my arm and finds my hand. He intertwines our fingers and I hold his hand tight as he stretches me out.

He rolled his hips at a rate that had me losing any coherent thought. Finally, his base finds mine, his balls slapping against my ass. “Fuck, you feel good,” He curses, his head falling into the crook of my shoulder as he picks up speed and begins pumping into me faster. The sound of his cock entering me has me drooling, and the feel of him, gods, I could feel every ridge as well as the slight curve that gave him perfect access to my most sensitive spot.

“Az, I can’t,” I murmur as I feel that familiar knot begin to form yet again, sensing I wouldn’t last long if he kept this up. “So close,” I sigh with a fucked out expression as he just admired it. “Release on my cock baby,” He hums and I whimper. He increases speed and I barrel towards my high, chasing it and quickly catching up when he doesn’t cease his actions. My hand squeezes around his as white-hot pleasure consumes me whole.

“Azriel,” I cry out as tears drop from my waterline and stream down my cheeks. He doesn’t let up and I never get the chance to come down from my high, the result of my release only lingers but it never fully leaves, it only continues to build. He doesn’t dare stop, if anything he gets faster. My cunt becomes red and puffy with overstimulation, but he doesn’t care, because he knows how much I love it.

“I’m gonna fill you so full baby,” His free hand comes down onto my abdomen where he can feel himself inside of me. “Can’t wait to watch my cum drip out of you.” He purrs, his lips ghosting over my jaw. I squeeze around him at the words, eyes clenching shut at the pleasurable pain. “You like that? Like when I cum inside?” He hums and all I can do is nod. “Mhm, need to feel you spill deep inside me.” I cry out. “Such a good wife,” He admires, and again, that nickname, it leaves me utterly defenseless.

His hand scopes down my hip and grips my thigh before shadows help guide it up, wrapping around his torso and allowing him to press into me so much deeper. “Az— I’m,” I lose breath and he nods. “I know,” He pants. “I’m close too.” He reassures and I sigh in both relief and pleasure. His hips roll once, then twice, and on the third, I grind my hips up to match his pace and we both reach our highs.

His warm seed spurts into me, so much of it that it’s still leaking into me even once my climax passes, only when he slows his thrusts does the flow end. He presses a gentle kiss to my forehead before pulling out entirely with a grunt, his release slipping out of me onto my thighs. He tumbled down beside me and released an exhausted breath.

“You’re so good at that,” I smile dreamily. “I don’t think you would’ve married me if I wasn’t.” He replies with a breathy chuckle. Realization dawns upon me and I turn my head toward him, he is already looking at me. “We’re married,” I say giddily and he nods with the same smile as mine. “We are,” His hand comes to my arm and he rubs his thumb up and down it then stops. “But I think that’ll change real soon if I don’t give you aftercare.” He springs up and I giggle. “I’m glad you know your limits.”

————

"C'mon Az," I beckon as I slip from his arms, dragging a groan from the male who was fisting the hem of my white nightgown and pulling me back down onto the bed. "We're going to be late," I grumble against his shoulder as he smushed me into him. "Tarquin is expecting us at noon." I remind and he grumbles a curse beneath his breath, nuzzling his face into my shoulder. "I don't think he'll mind if we're a few minutes late." He presumes. "Or a few days." The male adds and I roll my eyes as he pulls me closer. "Azriel," I warn and he does nothing aside from a dragged-out whine. "Big baby." I grit out as I squirm from his arms but his hold is iron and I'd be lying if I said I didn’t want to stay in his embrace.

"Just five more minutes." He begs. "You said that an hour ago." I retort with a glare. "And here we still are." He flashes me a crooked smile and I sigh, making my surrender clear. His eyes flash with pure joy while he pulls me impossibly closer, crushing me with his large, tattooed biceps— not that I was complaining.

"Only fife mibuntes," I mumble, cheeks smushed between his chest and arm. "Only five minutes." I feel him nod, he presses a hard kiss to the crown of my head before propping his chin atop it and taking a deep content breath, arms possessively tightening any time I try to move away.

The thought of being married hits me full throttle, the idea of being connected to this male for the rest of my life dawns upon me all in one moment and I feel nothing aside from pure bliss.

I wrap my arms around him and pull him close, flipping us over so he's on his back, his huge wings spread out on either side of him as I straddle his abdomen. He looks up at me lazily and the smile on his face is uncontrollable. "We're married." I grin wildly and he nods, biting his lower lip in order to shut himself up from every stupid love confession threatening to spill from him, so instead his hands come to the back of my neck and he pulls me down, his lips slotting atop mine. "We don't have time for this." I sigh against his mouth. "Then I can't wait to fuck you on the beach." He hums and my cheeks burn hot. I place my lips back over his to ignore replying to his awfully arousing comment.

"It's been five minutes." He mumbles against my mouth and I immediately reel back, narrowing my eyes at him. "Now who's the responsible one?" I tease, flipping off of him despite his whine for me to stay.

I waddle over to my armoire, walking foreign to me due to how impeccably sore I was between my legs.

I find a white summer dress and smile, slipping off my nightgown Azriel dressed me in last night, then putting the flowy dress on. Azriel was quick to appear behind me and tie the strings. I hum contentedly as he places both his hands on my shoulders when he finishes, leans down, and presses a kiss to my temple.

I grin, looking up at him with a cheeky expression before rising onto my toes and planting my lips on his.

"C'mon, get dressed," I press a hand to his bare chest as I swivel around and push him towards the wardrobe.

————

The summer court was hot. Far too hot to be wearing more than one layer of clothing. So Azriel and I ended up on the coast of Adriatta, watching the ocean rise and fall as it washed over the sand. I smile as I walk along the shoreline, remembering how I used to collect seashells as a child, my mother used to take me here every summer before she got sick. I only have good memories of this place.

"Look at this one." I hold out a small tower shell towards my husband and he barely looks at it, his eyes seeming to much rather be on me, a small smile gracing his lips. He holds his palms out where he holds an array of other shells I've found over our walk along the sea. I place the shell into his hands and we continue to walk hand in hand.

I string him along and he follows mindlessly, shadows swishing wherever the shadow of my body was, attempting to stay close to but keep out of the sun. Eventually, we find an alcove made entirely of calcite rock. The archway is just big enough to fit Azriel and his wings, shadows roaming freely in the darkness. We continue walking, Azriel watching me as I look at the structure curiously, like it's been man-made but no one could forge a rock like this.

My breath hitched as I came across a spot still under the rock that arched into a clear ocean view, entirely secluded like this cove was for us and us alone. I smile happily and rush over to my husband who had the beach bag slung over his shoulder. I take it from him and plop it down onto the soft sand, taking a large, blanket-like towel out and laying it down on the ground. Azriel smiles down at me as I plop down onto it. He squats down and hands me my seashells, I take them gratefully.

I line the edge of the towel with the found shells while Azriel dishes his book from the bag before finding his spot beside me. He rests on his stomach, wings spread out, the membrane shining golden and red under the soft gleam of sunlight. I smile at the image until his right wing pokes me in the side. "Ouch," I murmur and his wing tucks back in, he looks at me apologetically. I looked at his left wing which was spread out entirely and decided he couldn't have been comfortable with just one wing stretched out.

I flip over and straddle his lower back, careful to avoid his wings. "Go ahead." I run my hand down the hard structure of his right wing and he takes the hint, spreading it onto my side of the blanket then allowing it to rest comfortably. "We should've brought two towels." I hum and he opens his book back up, seemingly content with me sitting atop him as if I weighed nothing.

I lean down, careful not to touch his wings, and settle myself in the space between them on his broad back. My chest rests against his back as I wrap my arms around his neck and my nose comes to the crook in his shoulder, peering over him to look down at his book.

I read a few pages along with him but soon found the book to be boring, Azriel was always into reading classics that had some sort of hidden meaning he had to find. I could barely get through a few chapters without falling asleep. So instead I rested my head on his shoulder blade and listened to the sounds of the waves crashing against the sand then receding into the water, all to repeat the process over again.

I trace shapes on my husband's tanned back, stars and smiley faces, a lot of hearts, but most importantly the letters that spelled out "I love you" he closed his book once I finished the three words and he turned his head only a fraction. "I love you too." He hums and I smile like a schoolgirl with a crush. I scoot up on his back and wrap my arms around him tighter. I pepper the side of his face in quick pecks and a grin spreads across his features.

He cranes his neck to the side and I manage to find his lips with mine, placing a loving kiss on them.

"Is this even comfortable for you?" I ask and he nods. "I used to do pushups with Cassian towering weights on me, this is nothing." He hums and I roll my eyes at his competitive side. “You’re cute when you try to act so tough,” I say with a hum, my hands taking free liberty in roaming his exposed chest. “The entire continent is afraid of me.” He states and I giggle. “See? Adorable.” I lean over his shoulder and kiss his cheek. He grumbles a curse and I continue roaming his muscles with my fingertips, eventually finding his defined v-line, like an arrow from his hips. I drag my nails up and down the exposed skin, his shorts going awfully low.

"If you keep that up I'll winnow us right back into bed." He warns and I press a soft kiss to his shoulder blade. "Why so far?" I hum, my fingers finding the waistband of his swim shorts. "Don't you want to fuck me on the beach Azzie?" I recall and he flipped over, knocking me off his back. I yelped and he snickers, watching as I shake the sand from my hair. “Not funny.” I stand up, he leans back against his palms and just stares up at me.

“If you’re not going to help cool me off I’m going for a swim,” I glare at him but he stays quiet, just silently watching as I remove the lightweight wrap from around my torso and toss it at him. He doesn’t even try to catch it, just lets it hit him in the chest as he stares unabashedly at my body in the sunlight, glimmering like the sea behind me. He watches as I walk away and towards the shore, I can feel his stare from a mile away, on my waist, my chest, my ass. It didn’t matter, I was apparently uncharted territory, despite the fact that he had me under him last night.

“You want to join me?” I turn back to ask and all he can think of to do is nod. He stood and reached back, then took his shirt off over his wings and it was my turn to stare. His tanned skin rippled with muscle, the sun gleaming down onto his dark tattoos that I’d traced my hands along so many times I could draw them with my eyes closed.

“You staring at me creep?” He squints down at me due to the sun in his eyes. I smile childishly up at him. “Never!” I gasp. “I’m married I’ll have you know.” I wiggle my left hand in his face to show off the sapphire gem on my wedding ring, perfectly matching the color of his siphons. “And my husband could beat you up,” I cross my arms and march towards the water.

“Could he now?” He asks, hands snaking around my waist as I nod. “He’s big and strong, and so tall,” I say dreamily. “He sounds pretty incredible.” Azriel muses and I grin widely. “He is, but you know who’s even better?” I say and his brows crease possessively. “Who?” His hands leave my waist and I whirl around to look up at him. “His wife.” I supply, my smile widening as I watch his confused expression turn to one of realization.

“I’m inclined to agree.” He leans down and presses a soft kiss to my lips, I can’t help but lean up into it.

“Now c’mon,” I grab his hand and intertwine our fingers. “I think I saw a few water sprites earlier I wanna say hi!” I pull him closer to the water. He chuckles and follows along.

General Taglist: @fxckmiup @olive-main @iluvyewman-blog @gaymistakeboi @glitterypirateduck @amara-moonlight @impossibelle @fauxdette @going-through-shit @glam-targaryen @cauldronboilme27 @sarawritestories @tele86 @rogerbarnesxx @azriels-shadowsinger @stinkinstuffie @sandramalikstyles-blog @sassyangel16 @lilah-asteria @starsinyourseyes @inloveallthetime @melsunshine @nighttimemoonlover @ireallywannasleep127 @ilovewarner45

Azriel Taglist: @coolepowersthings @lovely-giggles @quiettuba @judig92 @tothestarsandwhateverend @je-suis-prest-rachel @call-me-a-fool @brieflyclassymortal @cherryjain17 @stqrgirlies-blog @chelsiemp @nyxbranwenn

Comment a “💙” to be added to the general taglist!

Comment a “🖤” to be added to the Azriel taglist!

565 notes · View notes

daechwitatamic · 1 month

Text

Of Ruin: Chapter 16 || KTH

(banner by @itaeewon)

Of Ruin (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni Genre: vampire!au magic!au royalty!au, s2l, slow burn, eventual smut, angst and fluff

Summary: Taehyung of House Rune, Prince of Infracticus has been cursed. You’re the human world’s leading curse-breaker. It should be simple. But unraveling the curse becomes the least of your problems in the face of a world on the brink of civil war… and the love you start to feel for the prince.

A/N: Thank you endlessly to @sailoryooons for betaing!!! 💕

Section Warnings: ig major character death but that’s kind of a technicality, vampire biting, blood drinking, vampire biting, fangwarming??? lmfao, fluff, what i hope is a plot twist lol wc: 5.1k

The passage behind the thrones leads to a corridor not far from Taehyung’s wing. It’s close to the section of rooms that are meant to be yours now. Yours, for your new life as an Infracti. For your new life as the King’s sperasa, until you become Queen.

You’d agreed that doing the ritual in your wing would be best, so that they won’t have to transport you - newly turned, probably unconscious - through the palace.

You are afraid.

You let yourself feel it, don’t deny yourself the right to float in the crawling sensation of terror clawing its way up from your stomach. Taehyung’s hand in yours can’t dispel it. Your pride in him and your love for him, mighty as they are, can’t dispel it.

You’ve become accustomed to fear in your time here. You press on.

In your main room, still unfamiliar to you, Taehyung holds you close, one hand on the back of your head and the other around your waist. You let him hold you, close your eyes.

“Brave,” he whispers.

“I don’t feel very brave,” you admit quietly.

A knock on the door comes and the Queen enters, followed by Jimin. Behind him is Seokjin of Score, and Namjoon. Taehyung arranged all of this once you and Dr. Kim had explained what would be needed.

Namjoon finds you and approaches, face solemn.

“You ready?” he asks quietly as you look over the written countercurse together.

“Have to be,” you say. “Are you?”

He nods. “We can do this,” he asserts.

“And then you get to go home,” you say.

He nods, looking up at you from the parchment. “I’m going as soon as we can confirm it worked,” he tells you, a bit of apology in his tone. Like he’s sorry he isn’t staying with you - even though there’s no way he could.

“Good,” you say, meaning it. “Tell your grandfather… Thank you for everything. And… Thank you, too. I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

“It was an honor,” he says, quietly, then adds, “I’m grateful, too.”

You feel yourself choking up, and you will it away. You need to be clear-headed, professional. There isn’t room for this - not now. You’ll have to be sad later. Still, you tell him, “I hope I can come see you both soon. I’ll try - as soon as I’m able to be around humans.”

He smiles sadly. “Don’t come until you’re sure you won’t eat us.”

“I promise,” you say, smiling a little.

He regards you seriously again. Behind him, Taehyung seems to be organizing the items you’d asked for, going over the directions again. Namjoon says, “This might be goodbye for a while, huh?”

“If the countercurse works,” you agree.

You both seem to hover on the precipice of a hug goodbye. In the end, he gives you a final clap on the shoulder, and then the plan is lurching into motion around you.

The Queen has the things you need - the metronome, a jar of ashes.

You set the metronome to a slow rate, and then usher everyone into place in the open space of the room. Then, you sprinkle the ashes in a perfect circle around the group, locking you in with the magic. No one speaks. They just watch you work, ranging from curious to subdued.

When the circle is perfect, you pull out the parchment with the countercurse and explain one last time.

“This is the point, right here,” you say, pointing and showing the paper around the group of Infracti, “when Namjoon will take over the incantation. The ashes will keep the magic close-by, but you need to close the circle as quickly as possible or we’ll lose the connection.”

“We’ve got it,” Seokjin assures you, steady. “Don’t worry.”

“Okay,” you say, pulse thundering. You wish there was anything you could do to stall. You wish there was a blanket you could pull over your head. You wish there was someone from the future who could come tell you that everything would work out, that things would go as you intend.

“If anything goes wrong,” you add, “break contact as fast as you can, and break the circle of ashes to let the magic out. The quicker the better.”

It is the Queen - though, she is not that anymore, now that her son has been crowned - who lays a cool hand on your arm.

“Nothing will go wrong,” she tells you evenly. “We are all here beside you.”

You nod, wordless.

“I’m going to start, then,” you say, but you have to clear your throat once to make it audible.

You mutter a spell you’d looked up just for this, and your parchment obeys the command, hovering mid-air between you and Namjoon, supported by nothing. Namjoon stands to your right and the Queen to your left, and you press your palms to theirs. With everyone in place, you make a perfect circle, with Taehyung straight across.

“Breathe with the beat of the metronome,” you instruct. “Inhale… exhale…”

You breathe in time with everyone around you until you feel your magic rise up, flowing out to mingle with theirs. It takes some time before you feel ready to start the incantations; with Taehyung all the way across the circle it takes a few minutes before you feel his magical signature touch yours through the flow of everyone else’s. But it is unmistakable when he does, the warmth and belonging that accompany the sensation couldn’t be from anyone else.

When you feel like your magic and his are secure, thoroughly immersed with each other, you begin the incantation. You speak slowly and carefully, feeling the familiar sensation of the curse beginning to untangle. You keep your eyes on the page, try not to get distracted by the others.

There is no room for error - you can’t die twice.

There is no snag this time, no pull behind your navel that tells you the curse is fighting back. When you say your last line, you take your hands from those next to you and step into the circle.

Across from you, Taehyung steps forward too.

Around you, the remaining four step closer and fill the gaps you’d left behind, their hands meeting to close a small circle around you and Taehyung. Namjoon’s deep voice picks up the incantation where you left off. He’s borrowing, pulling magic from the Queen and from Jimin, who flank him.

You meet Taehyung’s eyes. Your heart is in your throat. There is so much you want to say to him. That you love him. That you trust him. That he’s worth this sacrifice.

You can’t speak, though, not during the incantation. Instead, you step close to him, breathe him in, and let him envelop you.

He wraps his arms around you, just as he had before everyone else had entered your rooms. He would have to hold tight, he’d warned you, to keep you from moving too much when your body began to instinctively fight him. And then, after, to hold you up when your legs inevitably give out.

He’d also warned you it would hurt.

You are afraid.

You are afraid, but Taehyung is cradling you between his arms like you are precious, so you take a breath and nod.

Taehyung leans down and nuzzles the spot on your neck that he tends to favor. You stifle your cry when his fangs puncture you, letting out a mangled groan of agony through gritted teeth. You’re glad for his inhuman hold around your back, because your knees do go weak for a moment before you will them back into compliance.

There is no pulling sensation, and no welcome rush of venom. Instead, Taehyung’s hands tighten around you like a warning and then the location of his bite goes white hot.

You hear yourself scream.

The heat spreads, up your neck, down your chest. Your eyes roll back, your throat rasps as your scream continues. Your legs give out, useless beneath you.

You feel yourself start to fight, hands clawing at Taehyung’s sides, body beginning to twist and tug. Taehyung’s hold is true, and you get nowhere. Your lungs burn and your scream dies to a whimper before starting anew after you drag in a breath.

Everything is on fire - from head to toe you are aflame. Your muscles strain to aching as your body tries and tries to wrench itself away from the pain.

Darkness creeps in the edge of your unfocused vision as you kick fruitlessly at Taehyung’s immoveable legs. You hear yourself gasping out sobs between shrieks of pain. You can see less and less, the black swirling at the edges of your vision taking over by the second.

Before the darkness closes in on you, you will yourself to focus, choke down the next scream that crawls up your throat.

You want to see him. You want to see him before you die.

Your eyes fight to find him against the blurriness, and you blink away tears. His mouth is wet with your blood and his cheeks are wet with tears, but when he sees you looking at him, he presses his forehead to yours, and his hands on your back unclench and soothe up and down instead.

There he is, you think. My King. My love. And then you let the darkness come.

—

Taehyung looks around the meeting room, then closes his eyes and rubs a hand down his face.

His cabinet, a mix of his father’s people and some of his own, wait him out.

“Three weeks,” he repeats hollowly.

The Infracti he directs that at nods. “Yes, Maiesti. The council needs time to deliberate. This is, as you know, a bit unprecedented.”

Taehyung purses his lips. It’s true; never before has a King - or former King, technically - been put to trial. Dethroned, murdered, cast away - yes. But not like this - a trial, a ruling of guilt, a council deliberating on what sentence he should serve. A sentencing that could take nearly a month, apparently.

“Very well,” Taehyung frowns. “And what of the other trials?”

An uneasy look passes through the room.

Taehyung sighs. “I asked for this myself,” he points out. “You don’t need to be afraid to talk to me about it.”

A woman at the table inclines her head in deference to her king. “Your trial has been scheduled the week after your father’s sentencing. We thought we ought to give you time to help your sperasa recover.”

That’s where Taehyung would rather be right now, in your dark rooms with you, and everyone in his cabinet knows it.

“Thoughtful,” he murmurs, because it is, because it’s not his cabinet’s fault that he murdered innocent humans while under the power of the curse, not their fault that he wants to answer for it.

“Hoseok and I will be fully prepared to represent your defense by then,” a dark-haired Infracti seated near Jin tells him. “I’m confident in our outcome.”

They move on to discuss the third trial - Seokjin’s father, the leader of the Scores. Seokjin listens politely, but the tips of his ears go red until the topic changes.

Taehyung ticks the trials off in his head, all three, ducks in a row.

“Let’s meet in four days’ time,” Taehyung suggests, glancing around to see if anyone objects. “The trials were my first order of business, but we have a lot of work to do restructuring things around here.”

Everyone at the table nods, and once Taehyung gives a few cabinet members specific directions for tasks to handle in the next week, they disperse.

“Off to see your feral beast?” Jimin teases, as he and Taehyung follow the trickle of people out into the corridor.

Taehyung can’t help but grin, big and boxy. “I like her like this. I’ll almost be sad when she settles down again.”

Jimin laughs at this. “It’s only been a week since you turned her. You have at least another week or two before she calms down.”

Taehyung’s expression slides into a grimace. “Hopefully I’ll still be around once she’s settled and not rotting in the palace prison.”

Jimin’s face goes unreadably blank. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” he says, suddenly somber and quiet. “You’re the King. You could call it off - no one could say anything.”

Taehyung shakes his head. “I need to.”

Jimin purses his full lips at him, but doesn’t retort. Taehyung thinks that Jimin understands, even if he doesn’t like it.

“Yoongi will defend you well,” he says finally. “I’m sure the sentencing will be light.”

“I want the sentencing to be fair,” Taehyung says petulantly. “That’s the whole point.”

“It will be,” Jimin argues. “You were cursed. No one is going to hold that against you.”

Taehyung twists his mouth but doesn’t address this. They’ve been walking as they talk, and they near the doors that lead to your rooms. They’re heavily guarded - Taehyung counts seven Infracti but he knows there are more - mostly to keep you inside.

Jimin tells him goodbye, and the guards move to let him enter. He’s careful to slip through the crack in the doors quickly; the guards are careful to be ready, just in case you get through.

Your rooms are dark, the lamps all unlit, the heavy curtains closed and drowning out any sunlight that might filter through. Normally, Taehyung might expect you to have a fire crackling in the hearth, but part of turning includes several days of unbearable heat, and he’s not sure you’re past that yet.

You come out of nowhere, slamming into him from the shadows to his left, and Taehyung lets himself get knocked to the ground, landing squarely on his ass.

“Ouch,” he says, pouting at you.

Straddling him, rearing back so he can see the column of your throat working in the darkness, you curl back your upper lip, bare your brand-new fangs at him and snarl, the sound snapping and cutting.

He grins. He loves you like this. It makes him feel proud.

“What is it you need, my Queen?” he teases.

Your scowl at him, fangs hanging over your lower lip; you haven’t mastered putting them away yet, and Taehyung thinks it’s the damn cutest thing in the world.

“Drink,” you say, a demand.

“Are you thirsty?” he coos. Your scowl deepens. He knows your consciousness is cloudy right now, a haze of thirst and want and heat obscuring your finer thinking. But you’re in there, behind the haze, and each day a bit more of you shines through.

“Drink,” you insist again, petulantly.

He wishes he could take you hunting - deer, maybe even a bear. He’d loved to see you in action - he has no doubt you’d be a formidable predator, and it sends a thrill through him. But it would be too dangerous; if they happened across a human, you’d have no control. Not yet.

Maybe someday.

Instead, Taehyung flips you without warning, laying his body heavy over yours. You begin thrashing immediately, snarls rolling through you like seismic activity, but he’s stronger and he manages to hold you in place.

He gives a sharp whistle and your doors open. Your thrashing intensifies as you see an escape route, but the guards who wheel in two carts are quick, and soon enough the doors are shut again. Taehyung lets you up, and you skitter to the door, hands working at the knobs. They don’t budge.

You whirl around, looking at him furiously.

“Look,” he says happily, unphased by your anger, “they brought you drinks!”

Eyes narrowed suspiciously, you peer at the carts. There are a few items of blood-food, but unsurprisingly you pass them over. There are carafes of dark liquid, and if you wanted you could just drink. But Taehyung knows what your body is craving - just blood won’t be enough to sate you. Your fangs are tingling, itching to pierce, itching for warmth. You won’t feel better until that need is met, too.

The bags, just big enough to be cradled between two hands, are simply called Prey - a little joke by their inventor, none other than Jimin. They were created for newly-turned Infracti, meant to satisfy both needs at once. The pouch is not real skin, though it feels close enough. The blood inside is real.

You hold one between your hands, claws digging in like it might escape, and bring it to your mouth, piercing the pouch and beginning to drink. You let out a happy little sigh, and Taehyung comes to wrap his arms around you from behind.

“There,” he soothes. “Drink all you need. You’ll feel better.”

You work through three pouches before you stop, dropping the deflated Prey onto the cart it came from and turning to Taehyung with wide eyes, and the cutest fang-adorned pout.

“What is it, my love?” he murmurs, brushing a hand over the top of your head soothingly. “Don’t you feel better now that you’ve had some to drink?”

You nod, then reconsider, frowning and shaking your head.

“What’s not better?” he asks, moving to pull you into a standing cuddle.

Your frown deepens and you raise a hand and rub at your mouth, fingers sliding along your protruding fangs with a squeak.

“They hurt?” he asks sympathetically.

“Bite,” you mumble around your pout.

“Alright,” he tells you. “Let’s get comfortable.”

You loop your arms around his neck, and he takes a second to smile into your hair, holding you close. He likes you like this, too driven by your needs to be proud. He likes that you need him, that you want him, that the part of your brain that might make you pretend otherwise, or at least act like it’s less, is currently silenced by your bloodlust.

He lifts you, and you wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you deeper into your wing, seeking out your bedroom. The blankets are rumpled, half-thrown on the ground, like you’d tried to sleep but had eventually kicked the blankets off and gotten up to pace, instead.

That’s probably exactly what happened.

He settles back against the pillows and you straddle him, arms still around his neck. You bury your face against his chest and whine.

“I know,” he tells you, rubbing a hand up your back. You hiss at the contact, pulling away from where you’d been hiding your face.

“Hurts,” you complain.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, trying to touch more gently. He knows your muscles are sore, skin hot to the touch as your body adjusts. “You can bite if you need to bite.”

“You sure?” you ask, and Taehyung notes that it’s one of your first multi-word utterances. A sign that you’re making progress, coming out of the fog a little.

“I’m sure,” he tells you.

You nose at his neck, and he strokes lightly down your back until you find a spot you like.

It’s only a sting when you pierce the skin of his shoulder, over his deltoid, for which he’s thankful. You don’t drink - sangru can’t be ingested - but leave your sore, sensitive fangs buried in his flesh. You wrap yourself around him even tighter, settling in and closing your eyes as you feel relief for the first time all day.

Taehyung tries hard to hold still so he doesn’t knock you loose. He’s glad he can do this for you, help ease your way.

He still finds it incomprehensible that you’d give up your human life for him. He holds still, and he whispers to you that it’ll get better soon, that Potato misses you, that he loves you.

After a while, he feels your breathing even out. He shifts gently, wincing as your fangs slip from his shoulder, the wounds starting to ooze tar-black sangru. Unbothered, he moves you gently into a more comfortable sleeping position, smiling when you hum in your sleep. Then, even though he’s slept all night ever since the curse was undone, he closes his eyes and lets himself drift away with you in his arms.

—

You lay still when you awaken, slowly taking inventory of each thing that hurts. Your head isn’t pounding - that’s a first, since the night Taehyung had turned you. You flex your fingers, roll your shoulders, stretch your legs towards the end of the bed. Things are stiff, but not painful the way they’d be the last few times you’d woken.

You rise gingerly, making your way to the windows, drawing back the curtains and filling the room with light. You blink against it, letting your eyes adjust.

You’re in your own rooms, your new wing in the palace. You wander from room to room absently, trying to familiarize yourself. You feel a little lost, a little out of place. You hadn’t inhabited these rooms for long before turning, and now you’ve been out of it for so long that you don’t even know what day it is.

You’re standing in the middle of the main room - with couches and an unlit hearth, just like Taehyung’s wing - staring absently at nothing when one of your tall doors cracks open.

You almost sag with relief when you see Satuel peek her head inside.

“Hi,” you breathe, deflating.

“You’re up,” she says, sounding a bit surprised. “It’s harder to keep track of you now that I can’t hear your heartbeat from outside.”

This makes you smile. “What day is it?”

She tells you as she comes inside, and you start counting on your fingers. Almost three weeks to the day since you’d performed Taehyung’s countercurse.

“Can I get you anything, Maiesti?” she asks.

You feel your face heat. “You shouldn’t call me that,” you say, a bit aghast. Your voice is rough from disuse. “I’m only Prince Taehyung’s sperasa.”

“You will be Queen soon enough,” she says in that cool, even way of hers. “What can I bring for you?”

You hesitate. “I’m very thirsty,” you admit.

She gives you a quick bow and retreats, and you sink into a chair, a bit dazed. Now that you’re noticed it, the thirst is powerful, and you find it hard to think about anything else.

Satuel doesn’t leave you suffering for long. She returns with a cart full of options - pitchers, Prey, and various pastries that must be blood-food.

You choose the pouches, the Prey, since they relieve both the thirst and the tingling need to bite. Though, you notice absently, the tingling isn’t so bad today.

While you drink, Satuel catches you up on what you’ve missed - the former King’s guilty verdict, Seokjin’s father’s trial underway, Taehyung’s own trial impending. Word that Namjoon made it back, that he’s doing fine settling back into his old life. That Taehyung has been here every day, helping you adjust, in between meetings with his new cabinet.

“Maiesti will be pleased to see you feeling more like yourself,” she notes.

“Do you think he’ll be long?” you ask, a bit wistfully.

Satuel gives you a knowing smile. “I think if I tell him you’re awake - really awake - he’ll leave his cabinet mid-meeting to come dote on you.”

You flush.

“Should I inform him?” Satuel asks, almost teasingly.

You wonder if, somehow, she has ended up as your friend.

You hesitate. “Could I… go see him? I’d really like a walk.”

You clean up before you go, and you’re pleased to find that you remember your way through the palace from these new rooms. It’s startling to walk down the corridor - your gait is awkward, your legs wanting to go faster than your brain thinks they can. But, of course, your brain is wrong - it needs time to catch up to what your body can do now.

You pause at the door of Taehyung’s meeting room, listening.

“I just think,” Seokjin is saying, somewhat hotly, “that there needs to be some weighting to the representation. The great houses should have more say than the lesser houses. We’re the ones here doing the work, we’re the ones here solving problems. The lesser houses can have a representative, but court families should have more.”

“I disagree,” someone else says, their tone carefully polite. “Beginning this new venture with an imbalance of power will only invite trouble. The lesser houses will be resentful from the beginning. It could brew into conflict. We don’t want to replace one monarch with a group of monarchs. Your Majesty, you wanted equality across Infracticus - that means you must start with equal.”

“You both make valid points,” Taehyung muses. “How do we decide? Should we vote?”

You step into the room. A few cabinet members look up, eyes widening. Another does a double take, at first deeming you unimportant and then looking again when they register who you are.

Taehyung lets out a noise like a laugh, a smile breaking across his face. “My love!” he cries. “You’re well?”

“I know my name today,” you tell him. “So that’s something, right?”

He starts to push his chair back, but you raise a hand to stop him. He halts mid-motion, clearly confused.

“What if you appointed representation by breaking up the land instead of by house?” you suggest, jumping uninvited into the conversation you’d interrupted. “I’ve seen it done that way above - it works, more or less. Then it doesn’t boil down to do the Runes get one or two, it would simply be that the Runes living in a designated area have the same representative as anyone else who lives there, too.”

Taehyung’s smile, if possible, triples in size. He finishes standing, pushing his chair away. He points at Seokjin mirthfully. “Discuss this suggestion in my absence,” he commands. “My Queen requires my attention now.”

Out in the hall, he sweeps you into a hug, swinging you in a circle. You laugh, slapping half-heartedly at him until he sets you down.

“You,” he says, “are the bravest, smartest, most beautiful Queen Infracticus has ever seen.”

“I’m not Queen yet,” you point out.

“We’ll start planning today,” he says, and then falters. “That is… if you want. I didn’t mean to rush you. I just got excited.”

You can’t help but smile, slipping a hand into his. “No,” you say shyly. “I do… want. Should we wait, though - for after your trial?”

He sobers. “Yoongi thinks it’ll be over in a day,” he says quietly, not meeting your gaze now. You squeeze his hand, reminding him that he’s not alone in this. “The Elders will testify that I was cursed… Namjoon is willing to testify as well… some of my guards, who kept me in my rooms…”

“I could, too,” you offer.

He nods, but it doesn’t seem like he’s saying yes. “If it comes to that,” he hedges. “But, like I said, Yoongi doesn’t think it’ll be much of a case. I’ll be relieved when it’s over, either way.” He shoots you a conspiratorial look. “And then, yes, we can start planning our events.”

“Events?” you echo.

“Wedding,” he ticks off on his fingers. “And then we’ll have to have a coronation for you.”

“I’d rather do it all in one go,” you admit. “I don’t like being the center of attention.”

He smiles indulgently at you. “You’ll get used to it,” he says. “If it helps, from now on, it will never just be you in the center, at least not alone. Wherever you go, you’ll always have me.”

And it does. It does help.

—

“Come on!” Taehyung’s voice is boyish, downright gleeful, as you struggle to keep up with his long legs.

“Where are we going?” you call to him, but your voice is lost by a strong ocean breeze, the sound carried away and drowned beneath the cries of the gulls and the crashing of waves.

In truth, you’re going slow on purpose, trying to savor this: the ocean you get to live beside, Taehyung laughing and carefree in a way you’ve never seen before, a sense that you belong right here.

It’s hard to wrap your brain around the truth that you don’t need to savor it, don’t need to make it last - you’ll have more time here than you can imagine.

Then, you recognize the stone steps he’s bounding down. He’s taking you to his stables.

“Potato missed me too much?” you tease, finally catching up. He grins at you in response.

Inside the stable, he tugs you past Potato’s stall, giving her a quick pat on the nose as he goes.

“Ta-da!” he crows, leaning over the wooden door to the stall, peering down into the space below. You follow his gaze and gasp, hands flying to your face.

“Taehyung!” you shriek. “No way!”

“You’ll scare her!” he chides, but he’s laughing, reaching to unlatch the door so you can properly meet the baby amarisca that stands in the stall. Her coat is royal blue, her hooves navy, and her eyes as black as Taehyung’s.

You sit on the ground and let her come to you, trying hard not to squeal and scare her even though you’re absolutely vibrating with excitement.

“I can’t believe you did this for me,” you all but sob, so happy you’re almost incoherent.

“You need to name her,” he points out, sitting down next to you, hay and dirt be damned.

“Noodle,” you say immediately. “Her name is Regency’s Noodle. Taehyung, oh my god!”

You almost lose it again when she presses her nose into your hand, and Taehyung beams, his smile as bright as the sun.

You’ve come a long way in your transition. You can go almost the whole day without drinking, mostly needing one end-of-day “meal” (four or five Prey pouches) to get you through. You’re more steady on your feet, practicing zipping around lightning-quick the way you’ve seen others do. And your magic is stronger, too. You’ve been thinking of asking Taehyung if there’s a more formal way you can train in magic, once things are settled.

There’s a lot still to come. Your wedding, your coronation. And though the cabinet has been hard at work, King Taehyung has yet to announce that he plans to dissolve the monarchy and create a more democratic system in its place. Neither of you - none of the cabinet members - expect the news to go over smoothly.

Whatever happens, you’ll face it together. It helps that Seokjin is so involved, practically Taehyung’s second-in-command.

“When she’s big enough,” Taehyung promises you, “we’ll race to my island. We’ll travel to the ends of Infracticus together - I’ll make sure you see it all. We’ll ride together and see all the places you grew up reading about.”

“And then what?” you ask, half-teasing. You have an eternity to fill, after all.

“Whatever you want,” he promises. “We’ll do whatever you want, My Queen.”

And he slides his hand into yours, where it fits like it belongs.

—

Taehyung’s hand is in yours when he meets with you and the Infracti who will defend him at the trial, Yoongi and Hoseok of Cleave.

“I was… going to keep this to myself,” he admits, shoulders rounded with shame. “But I need to know that I truly answered for what I did. And I can’t do that if you only know part of the truth.”

Yoongi looks at you, like you might have some answers. You do not.

Taehyung wilts just slightly more. He glances sideways at you. “My love,” he murmurs, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“Maiesti,” Yoongi says, voice low with warning. He trails off.

Taehyung fiddles with the rings on his fingers, unable to look anyone in the eye. “The whole truth,” he says, so quiet that you and Yoongi both lean closer to hear him, “is that the curse… it wasn’t what I intended - something went wrong -”

“What happened, Taehyung?” you ask, knowing it when you see him start to spiral into half-thoughts.

He braces himself, and then tells you both what happened five nights before you’d arrived.

Before you came to Infracticus, Taehyung had spent an entire night in the deepest archives the palace held. He had thrummed with energy and desperation, as if stopping his father’s actions faster could also undo them. As if finding a solution quickly could absolve him, earn forgiveness.

He’d slapped a palm over the page when he found what he was looking for, after hours of searching, reading for so long that his eyes watered and begged to close.

A curse. A curse that would end his immortality, give him a human lifespan.

“If I die young, without an heir,” he had argued with absolutely no one, his voice echoing in the empty, stone room, “then the crown cannot pass on. After my father, it goes to no one.”

It didn’t solve the problem now, he knew. It meant Sunjae would continue to rule unchecked. But someday. Someday, Taehyung would die, and then Sunjae would die, and then the crown would be free.

He’d rest easier knowing that even if every plan he thought up eventually failed, at least Sunjae would be the last. Taehyung would spend however many years he got trying to stop him, and if nothing worked then at least he could die knowing that after Sunjae, it would end. The monarchy would cease to exist. Something better could rise from its ashes. It had to.

He had stood and pulled the book closer to the edge of the table so he could see it clearly and began borrowing, pulling magic from the world around him. He’d end his immortality, he’d kill his immortal self. For his people. For Infracticus.

“I am Taehyung of Rune, Prince of Infracticus,” he had told the empty room. He would bring his father down. He would end his house’s rule. “But perhaps I can be of Ruin, too.”

<- Prev

thank you so much for being here!! i hope you enjoyed this crazy world as much as i did. may scuttlebug tae live on forever in our hearts :')

140 notes · View notes