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another-lost-mc · 4 months

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Okay but what if, before MC is taken to the future by nightbringer, they had a big fight with the brothers?

Like, they fought about something and said something along the lines 'go away' ' I don't want to see you', but then, when you don't return they start feeling guilty.

At first they'll think you're angry and don't want to talk with them, but when time passes and you don't return they start to get so worried, looking everywhere for you, regretting that the, possibly, last words they said to you were harsh confrontation.

The angst potential 😭😭 how do you think each of the bros would react?

😈🍬 anon

a/n: well, nightbringer sure is a blessing for angst fans.

the worst goodbye | the demon brothers

2.8k words | gn!reader | sfw | angst

cw: mentions of lesson 16 in belphie's part.

Lucifer goes to his office and pretends that he's not angry. He attempts to distract himself with paperwork, but all he does is read the same paragraph a few times over and over again before he throws the page down with a huff. He taps his pen against his desk while he sifts through the emotions clouding his mind. All he felt earlier was wounded pride—that's why he scolded you with more force than necessary, speaking with his cruel, barbed tongue but regretting it just as quickly. He admires and loathes your feisty temper. You're his stubborn, brave little human that stands up to him when most demons wouldn't dare to try.

He plans his apology like a mantra and goes to your room; he knows if he's sincere, you'll give him a chance to make things right. You don't answer your door when he knocks, and he peeks his head inside to confirm that you're not there. He sends you a message with his D.D.D. and shuffles awkwardly in the hallway while he waits for a reply. He asks in the family group chat, but no one's seen you recently and he ignores the initial tendrils of icy fear that make his chest feel tight. Surely you wouldn't have stormed off in a sulk? But he checks the rest of the house and his brothers realize slowly that something is wrong—you wouldn't just leave. Lucifer searches for you himself, around the House of Lamentation and all around the Devildom, searching for anyone that might've seen you, or any hint of where you've gone. But in the early twilight hours, he pours a glass of Demonus that remains untouched while he stares absently into the fire of his private study. His heart freezes over in your absence. Your warmth thawed his icy demeanor, and the roaring fire crackling nearby can't stop the chills that wrack through him when he tells himself that you're gone and he has no one to blame but himself.

You rarely fight with Mammon these days, but when you do, it spirals out of control. He spits out scathing remarks about how he's sick of you trying to pry your nose into his business because he hates admitting that you're right. You try so desperately not to yell (or cry, or both) when you plead with him to forget about whatever risky scheme he's got planned. It's not worth risking Lucifer's wrath and whatever punishment lies in store when Mammon's plan inevitably fails to his own detriment. He stalks away and ignores the sound of your voice cracking in pain when you call his name one last time—and maybe if he were less incensed, he would stop and turn around and apologize. But today he feels particularly stubborn and he doesn't look back. He fully intends on leaping in his car and driving off into the night to burn off some steam, but he slumps against his bedroom door with his head in his hands and tries to remember why he was so angry with you to begin with. He can't pinpoint the reason and he knows you only have his best intentions at heart.

It feels like hours later when he ends up outside your door, head down and tail tucked firmly between his legs. He shouts through the wood when you don't answer and he swears he didn't mean it, that he'll do whatever it takes to make it up to you. You're too patient and kind and loving for your own good, and he tempts fate every time he takes your forgiveness for granted. He opens the door and scratches his head in confusion when he realizes you're not there. He spots one of his brothers at the end of the hall, and his confusion sours into something ashy on his tongue when he asks him where you are. I haven't seen them—we all thought they were with you!

Leviathan plays his game, tapping the buttons on his handheld with more force than necessary, as simmering anger from your fight earlier darkens his mood. He didn't mean to forget about your lunch date, so why did you get so mad? Maybe calling you a worse nag than Lucifer was over the top, but he planned on making it up to you later! He gets lost in his thoughts and plays his game until he realizes it's been a couple hours and his D.D.D. has been surprisingly silent. Sometimes you message him and invite him to talk things out in your room once you've both had time to calm down. He has no idea what it means that you've ignored him all this time and when he tries to message you first, they go unanswered. He shuffles to your room guiltily and hopes you'll be willing to talk face-to-face. It's almost dinner time, and maybe if you're feeling up to it, he can take you out for dinner. He even canceled his raid tonight so he can spend the evening curled with you on the sofa watching movies instead.

He doesn't expect to hear a commotion as he walks down the stairs to the first floor, and his brothers are crowded outside your room in various states of panic. Lucifer sees him and rushes to explain what's going on, but the words turn to radio static in Levi's head. He doesn't even notice that he drops his D.D.D. and it clatters to the ground, cracking the corner of the plastic case you gave him as a present not too long ago. Instead of cuddling with you on the sofa that night, he curls around his body pillow in the tub, his tail twitching noisily against the porcelain while he buries his head and deafens his whimpers in the tear-stained cotton. Come back, come back, please come back—

When the rage subsides, Satan glances wearily around his room and the terrible mess he's made. Some of his favourite books are ripped and torn to shreds across the floor, but the sight hurts less than the memory of your heartbroken face crumpling in pain as you fought back tears. He's done many terrible things in his life he's not proud of, but insinuating you don't care about him might be the lowest blow he could use during a fight. You've only wanted what's best for him, and you try so hard to show the world that he's more than the violent, angry creature that lurks deep inside him.

If only the world could see you the way I do.

Regret quickens his steps and he leaves the broken chaos in his room to find you because he shouldn't have even let you go. Why did it take him so long to apologize? He doesn't deserve it, but if you'll only give him a chance, he swears to himself he'll make it up to you. He hastily wipes away the tears pooling in the corner of his eyes when he notices his brothers lingering outside your room. They're too distraught to notice the sharp bite in his words when he demands to know what's going on and where you are. Nothing they say makes any sense—you wouldn't just leave, right? He’s the first to tear through the house in a panic to find you, ignoring his brothers’ nervous pleas for him to calm down. You're nowhere to be found and eventually he returns to his room in a trance. No one knows how long he stands there, trembling with regret and shame and fury that someone or something dared take you away from him. All his brothers know, judging by the noise echoing through the halls, is that his room is nearly destroyed as he unleashed his heartbreak in a maelstrom of destructive rage.

Asmodeus takes another selfie and posts it on Devilgram. He hopes the notification will pop up on your D.D.D. and you'll see him having the time of his life at The Fall. He wants you to see it—he hopes it fills you with regret for arguing with him earlier. He doesn't fight with you often, but your tongues are both sharp and laced with venom when you do face off against each other. He enjoyed the anxious gleam in your eye when he backed you into a wall and leaned down so you were nearly nose-to-nose, the sweet scent of his lip gloss lingering in the gap between you while he cooed about how pathetic you looked. But that was almost an hour ago, and he can only pretend for so long that he doesn't regret leaving you stunned and hurt in the front hall when he waltzed out the door and slammed it behind him. The pounding music can't drown out the wicked things he said to you, and the crowd can't distract him from your absence that weighs heavily in his heart. There are many demons nearby who'd kill for his attention, but he knows deep down that the only hands he wants roaming over his body are yours.

It's not long after that he pushes his way out of the club and into the cool night air, but he still hasn't heard from you. Surely you've seen his Devilgram posts by now? You're smart enough to recognize his desperate ploys for attention. Your attention. Are you ignoring him on purpose? Maybe he deserves it, but he's anxious to talk to you and sends you a message on his walk home anyway. Message could not be delivered. The red text pops up on his screen, and he frowns and tries again. Message could not be delivered. He quickens his pace as he taps your contact name and calls you instead. Is there something wrong with your D.D.D.? "The number you have dialed is not in service."

He breaks into a run until the House of Lamentation peeks into view ahead. He bursts through the door and ignores Lucifer's angry shouts behind him as he rushes down the hall to your room, but all he sees is one of your favourite club outfits laid out on your bed, as if you were getting ready to come see him after all. Where are you? His brothers hover behind him and he borrows one of their phones so he can try calling you again. He tells himself that it must be a problem with his D.D.D. because no other explanation makes sense. "The number you have dialed is—" Asmo whimpers pitifully while he listens to the robotic voice drone on speaker for everyone to hear, and his brothers finally realize that something is wrong and split up to search for you. He chokes out your name and slumps onto your bed, inhaling your familiar scent when he holds your shirt, one that he bought you, to his face and sobs. He can hear his brothers' heavy footfalls throughout the house while they look for you, but deep down, he already knows you're gone.

Beel glances at the stands and wipes sweat and dirt from his brow. He can spot his brothers easily enough—it's hard to miss them, with the way Asmo's waving the glittery handmade sign with his name in bold pink lettering—but he doesn't see you. There's an empty space between Mammon and Levi where you normally sit, and they've kept it free for when—if—you show up. You've never missed one of his games, not ever. Maybe the argument earlier upset you more than he realized. He knows you don't normally eat his food on purpose. He knows you meant it when you sputtered apologies when you realized your mistake. He knows how hurt you were when he shouted at you in a hungry rage. The rest of the game passes by in a blur. He moves on autopilot, his mood growing more and more despondent each time he checks the crowd and realizes you're still not there. He barely recognizes his team's happy cheers when the game ends in victory. He has a quick shower and makes his excuses to his teammates because he already has plans for dinner tonight, with you, hopefully. He stops by Hell's Kitchen and picks up your favourite takeaway order and heads home. It's a peace offering, one of many apologies he owes you.

By the time he knocks on your door, he's eager to see you. Silence. He knocks again and waits, and he hesitantly pushes the door open when his greeting goes unanswered. You're not in your room, and after a quick search of the house, he realizes you're not anywhere. He visits your room over and over again as if you'll finally pop out and tell him you were just teasing him, because you wouldn't ever leave him on purpose, right? His name on a handmade sign on your bed, and one of his old jerseys he gave you, are all that you left behind and he wonders if he would've been able to stop you leaving had he come home to you sooner. (Your takeaway dinner remains uneaten in the fridge in case you come back, and Beel refuses to eat it himself or let anyone else eat it either. One of his brothers has to throw it away when it eventually turns rancid—Beel can't bring himself to do it, because it means admitting you may never come back.)

Belphie doesn't like sleeping alone. Most nights if he sleeps alone, it's by choice—his choice. Tonight should've ended like most nights do: with the both of you sharing the bed in the attic. He sleeps better when you're close. You're a warm weight curled against him, and the smell of your shampoo and your minty breath are small comforts when he has bad dreams. Sometimes he wakes up in a panic, his shirt damp with cold sweat, and he listens for your quiet snores, proof that you're alive, that the nightmare of your windpipe crushed in his deadly grip isn't real. Belphie sleeps in the attic alone tonight because you decided you needed space. It's petty revenge for earlier when he woke up from a nap in a foul mood and snapped at you in his frustration. He fluffs his pillow and his bottom lip juts out in a pout. He can't get comfortable and it's your fault. The house grows quiet as his brothers retire to their rooms and fall asleep, and Belphie senses when you finally drift off to sleep too. If he wakes up before you tomorrow, he'll crawl into your bed and hope that you'll be more receptive to his apology when you wake up.

It takes longer than usual but he finally falls asleep and feels content. Even when he's unconscious, he instinctively reaches for your presence and it calms him. Your dreamscape is like a little pond, and he watches from his own nearby shore as your thoughts pass by in a blur, like slick oil paintings skimming over a watery surface. He doesn't like to intrude on your dreams if he can help it—he only interferes when he senses them slipping into nightmares instead. He tells himself it's not selfish to erase them for you, but the truth is that he's not sure he can stomach seeing his own face reflected in your dreams anymore, not with its wicked sneer and bloodstained teeth. He's not sure he forgives himself for what he did to you, and he wonders if you've truly forgiven him too.

Something odd in your dreamscape shifts suddenly and it catches Belphie's attention. The images in your subconscious grow murky and twisted, like they're being sucked down into some unseen void. Your presence is like sand falling through his fingertips, and it's harder and harder for him to feel you. He reaches out to your mind to wake you up because he doesn't know what's wrong, but something about this scares him. He jolts awake in the attic, chest heaving with the final memory of something snapping in his mind, like the cord that tethered you to him was suddenly cut. Eventually his brothers get up too and he can hear the commotion coming from down the stairs. He makes his way to your room in a trance before they can come find him. He already knows what his brothers are struggling to understand, the truth that no one can explain. You're gone somewhere far away, impossibly out of his reach, and he dreads falling asleep and feeling the void your absence left behind.

Sleep evades him until he forces himself to try and rest, and he finds himself in your bed instead of his own. He curls himself around your pillow underneath your sheets, clinging to the last whiffs of your scent, and he hopes you'll wake him up and tell him this was nothing but a bad dream. (Your scent fades away long before the nightmare ends, and he stops sleeping in your room after that.)

read more: obey me masterlist

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mistydeyes · 9 months

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makeup wipes and cleansing balm - running mascara pt. ii

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summary: After a long argument and scathing words from your significant other, it’s time to face them again. Will they apologize or are you left to clean up your tears and mascara on your own?

read pt.i here!

pairing: Task Force 141 x fem!Reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of depression/mental illness/seperation anxiety

💌 @glitteryeggalmondherring (the og requestor!), @ananas26t, @delilahhhh403, @batmanunicorns523, @zzzennin, @ghostslittlegf, @ihavemanychickens

a/n: you guys went FERAL over this! hope you enjoy part ii! literally just realized how long this was omg

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price

After you stormed out in the middle of the night, you found yourself at the doorstep of your friend’s flat. “God what are you doing here so late?” he said as he rubbed his eyes. It was 3 am after all. However, as he saw your puffy eyes and how you were in your pajamas, he let you in. You sat across the counter, giving him a Sparknotes version of the previous night’s events. “I can’t believe he would say that to you,” he mused as you gingerly sipped on your tea. “I know, it surprised me too,” you uttered, “mind if I use your washroom and splash some cold water out of my face?” He nodded and you found your way to the bathroom. You breathed out as you examined your puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks. You splashed the cold water with your hands and as you turned off the tap, you heard your friend answer the door.

At first, the voices were muffled and you dried your face with the towel. However as they approached the kitchen, you realized you heard the baritones of John as he pleaded with your friend. “John, she doesn’t want to see you,” you could hear your friend say through the closed door. You placed the towel down and held your ear to the wood to get a better sense of the situation. “I know, I know, I ju–“ your friend cut John off. “You know what, John? As I said before, she doesn’t want to see you.” You could hear John sigh before sitting down on the couch. “I know I said some things I shouldn’t have but I just want to apologize,” he said and you could hear the defeat in his tone. The floor creaked slightly as your friend sat down next to him. “Do you know how many nights she sat waiting for you? How many cold dinners that she threw out in the morning when you failed to walk through the door? Of course, you wouldn’t know, you weren’t the one she was calling every fortnight!” your friend exclaimed and you were surprised at his rising tone. There was a pause before he continued. “You have some goddamn nerve coming here after what you said to her. She made that house a home and the first thing you do to thank her is berate her? I couldn’t fucking believe it when she showed up at my doorstep.”

There were more words exchanged as you wondered what to do. You couldn’t stay in this bathroom forever and it was clear John knew you had headed here. You wondered if you could fit through the small window. As you plotted your escape, the bathroom door flung open. You turned around to see John standing there with a surprised look on his face. “I told you to not go in the bathroom,” your friend scowled at John. You stared at him blankly and protectively wrapped your arms around yourself. “Hello, John,” you spoke coldly and tried to move around him but he blocked your path. “Are you gonna let me pass?” you asked as you looked up at him. “Will you come home?” he requested and you held your gaze with tears in your eyes. “Depends.” The tension was clear in the room and before your friend could interrupt, John closed and locked the door behind him. You took a step back in the now enclosed space as you realized your exit was closed. You avoided his gaze as he took a step forward, attempting to hold your cheek.

“You can’t just win me back by trapping me in here,” you responded as you peeled his touch off of you. He looked at you sadly and swallowed, trying to find the words to say. “I know,” he began, “and you can tell me to stop.” You nodded at his contentions and leaned against the wall. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, hell, I wouldn't either," he said with a chuckle and you struggled to suppress a small smile, "but I am so sorry for taking my frustrations out on you." "I understand you were frustrated but it was what came after," you trailed off, "you made me feel so inconsequential, John, and I think that's what hurt the most." You tried to shake the tears that were bubbling to the surface but soon they permeated your face. "Please, don't cry," he consoled and grabbed a few tissues for you. You trembled at his touch as he wiped them away. "I know I ask a lot for you and don't give much back but I always appreciate you," he whispered and you leaned into his chest. He wrapped his arms around you as you continue to sob uncontrollably. "You don't owe me anything but will you please come home?" he begged and you looked up at him. As you wiped furiously at the tears, he kissed your forehead gently. "It isn't the same without you there, love," he whispered, pulling you back into his soaked torso. "I think I would like that," you muttered into his chest. You spent a few moments in each other's embrace before you emerged from the bathroom. "I'll be heading home now," you called to your friend and he waved you off. "Don't make her cry again, John, or you're a deadman," you could hear him whisper as he held John back for a moment. For the first time, you could see the words shutter through him. "I promise."

soap

Your eyes shot open with the radiant morning light and you groaned in response. You felt like absolute shit. What would normally be a gorgeous morning was already draining. You rolled your sore shoulders and tried to run your fingers through your tangled hair. Despite being in bed, you were both physically and emotionally exhausted. The entire night Johnny kept pounding on the door and pleading for you to open it. He had tried every tactic in the book and eventually, you had fallen asleep in exhaustion. As you got up and heard the bed creak, the knocking resumed. Bastard must’ve slept on the floor. “Y/N please just open the door,” he pleaded through the closed door. “Can’t hear you!” you shouted back, “too busy being a fucking buzzkill in here!” “I just want to talk to you.” “And I don’t, so just leave me alone,” you replied angrily and you could hear his footsteps exit the flat.

Minutes later as you were playing on your phone, you screamed as you heard a loud knock on the balcony’s door. “What the fuck!” you shrieked as your head whipped around. Johnny stood there panting as he tried to fix himself. He looked worse off than you and you were baffled that he had climbed up to the second story. “Why are you on my balcony?” you asked as you wrapped yourself in the duvet. “You wouldn’t talk to me out there, so I thought about a change in setting,” he said, almost questioningly. God, why did you have to date a military sergeant? You stood there shocked for a moment before you were able to formulate a sentence. “If I hear you out, will you leave me alone?” He paced around a bit before agreeing to your terms. “Will you let me in?” he asked, pulling at the locked door. “Not a fucking chance, I can hear you perfectly clear in here.”

He took a deep breath before he walked closer to the glass. "I'm so sorry, I took it too far," he said quietly and looked for your response. "Johnny, it's always too far with you," you sighed, "I don't know where you get off with these things?" He nodded as you continued to let out your frustrations. "Every time I think we have talked it out, you go and do something more infuriating!" your tone was beginning to build and you could feel your voice reverberate through the room. He looked like a kicked puppy but you wanted him to hear all of it. "I just don't understand why you feel the need to embarrass me like that, especially in front of people that you talk so highly of," with this last statement you trailed off and the defeat was evident in your voice. "I'm sorry that it had to come to this for me to realize," he replied, a sudden acceptance in his tone, "I know I take jokes too far but I never meant to hurt you." You sat up in bed and faced him, preparing to hear him out. "I should've known better but I hear you now," he said sheepishly and rubbed his neck as he looked at you again. You tried to avoid his gaze but you could feel your anger begin to wear away. "I don't want to argue like that again, Johnny," you said, now sounding more broken and exhausted than before, "I want us to enjoy our time out." "I want that too and I promise there won't be a next time when you're sleeping alone," he comforted and that was all you needed to hear.

You got up from the bed and unlocked the door. He entered cautiously and held his arms out for you. You readily returned his embrace and you swayed slightly as you both said nothing. "I missed you," he whispered and you placed a hand on his cheek. "I missed you too, you bastard." He led you gently back into bed and you got under the soft covers. "How about we spend a night in? Watch a movie with some pints?" he offered and you readily agreed. You laid on his chest and played with his calloused fingers, settling in each other's presence. "Maybe after a shower, you smell a little ripe to me," you joked and you could feel his chest rise in laughter. "Might need to go running with Gaz again," he said through chuckles, "that climb to the balcony was awful."

gaz

After your fight with Kyle, you had been spending a few nights with a close friend. You practically moved into her flat and she had graciously let you have the couch for the past week. You had been comfortable thanks to your “overzealous spending.” It afforded you the luxury of a wardrobe and endless amounts of takeout food. Despite the positives, you could tell your friend was growing tired of your presence. “You need to go back,” she said to you softly as you went to grab another Lo Mein box. You wiped a stray noodle from your face and looked at her. “I know, I just don’t want to talk to him.” “You don’t have to, but you should go home where you aren’t living in Amazon boxes.” In comedic timing, both of you turned to see the pile of boxes and bags with sweatpants and t-shirts. You swallowed down another bottle of cheap beer before you conceded. “I’ll go back tomorrow, I promise.”

As your friend dropped you off at your flat, you could feel your stomach churn. "It'll be alright, call me later," she reassured before you saw her car turn down the street. She had kindly given you a duffle to hold your clothes and you held it in your hand as you keyed in. You took a deep breath before you entered. Part of you secretly hoped that Kyle had left and you would have a moment of peace. However, your optimism was shattered as you saw him sitting on your couch. “Hey,” you responded flatly before making your way to the bedroom. You hoped he would let you go and relish in the silence but you knew your fiancé wasn't such a person. As you entered the cleaned bedroom, you heard the floor creak as he followed behind you wordlessly. “Can we talk?” he said defeated and you turned your back to unpack your things. “I’m listening.”

There was a moment of silence before he spoke again. “God this was so much easier in my head.” You scoffed and Kyle knew he was starting to lose you further. “I’m sorry for what I said before and I'll stand apologizing hundreds of times just to have you forgive me," he said, the words exiting his mouth quickly and having a sense of nervousness in them. You crossed your arms, still looking away from him before you replied. "It's not a matter of apologizing, Kyle," you muttered, "I just don't understand where all that venom and anger came from." You could hear him hold his breath and shuffle slightly. "I didn't think it through," he explained, "I kept saying those things and not realizing how much they hurt you." You shook your head in response and resumed opening the drawers to put your new sweatpants in. You tried to put on an uncaring facade but no matter what Kyle was saying now, couldn't make up for how broken you felt. You let a few silent tears fall before you could feel Kyle put a hand on your shoulder. You turned your head and you could see the immediate shock in his eyes as he tried to brush your soaked cheeks.

"Fuck, love, oh my god-" he began to say in a fervor, "I didn't mean to say what I said, and fuck I didn't mean to make you cry." Maybe it was seeing him in front of you but you let your guard down and began to uncontrollably sob. He pulled you into his lap and sat on the duvet as you crumbled. "I-I don't know why I'm like that-" you began to fumble on your words, "I just love shopping and you're not here and I get sad and-" Kyle silenced your tearful rambles. "Love, you aren't to blame here, you don't need to apologize," he reassured and you tried to quell your tears. "I always ask the most from you when I'm deployed and I'm so sorry I made you feel like this," he whispered and you nodded. "Maybe I'm the one with the separation issues," he chuckled, "I just want to know I'm needed in your life even though you're my strong independent woman." You smiled at this and kissed him on the cheek gently. "That'll do for an apology, Sergeant," you mused and you both hugged for a moment. When you separated, he kissed you gently. "Are we okay?" "Of course, we're okay, Kyle, we always figure it out."

ghost

Despite Simon’s harsh words and cold demeanor, you had slept like a baby. Just another benefit of going to therapy and learning how to healthily cope with conflict. You rubbed your slightly puffy eyes before you laid back down in bed. Halfway through the night, you remember hearing the front door close and eventually smelling the pungent odor of cigarette smoke waft into the bedroom window. Simon was presumably out there for a while as you fell asleep before he had come back in. You hoped that he hadn’t returned but nonetheless, you decided to make your way to the kitchen for some breakfast. You had nothing to say to him so why let him interrupt your day?

As you exited the bedroom and went to the kitchen, you could see he was already up and sitting at the kitchen island. He was hunched over a cup of black coffee as you grabbed a cereal bowl. You didn't bother with pleasantries and continued to the pantry. You could feel his gaze follow you as you went through the motions of pouring your favorite cereal and milk. You were just about to walk back to the bedroom when he spoke up. “I just wanted to say before I start, I’m not good at these things,” he said quietly, almost in a whisper. You laughed harshly at his demeanor. “Wow what a fucking way to start an apology,” you replied bitterly, “if you can even call it that.” You brushed past him but he put a hand out, blocking your path. You looked at his eyes, fraught with insomnia, as he spoke. “Please just give me five minutes.”

You stepped back from Simon and leaned against the counter adjacent to him. You could tell his nails were raw from biting them. A bad habit of his. In the tense air, you quietly crunched on your cereal as he tried to find the right words. “I’m sorry for what I said to you, I didn’t mean to generalize therapy like that,” he said and you could tell he was struggling. You put your half-eaten bowl down and took a deep breath. "What you said hurt me, Simon" you began to say and you could feel the tears coat your cheeks. "I know,” he whispered with a sudden gentleness, “that’s why I want you to yell at me, curse at me, tell me how much I messed up!” his tone began to rise. You stood further into the counter as you worried if this would lead to another screaming match. "Simon, please don't yell," you let out quietly and he could see the slight hint of fear in your glossy eyes.

He sipped his coffee and tried to regulate your breathing as you stared at the now soggy cereal. "I'm sorry for raising my voice," he apologized and his tone was much softer than before. You could tell how much this argument affected him and you realized how much you missed him despite his flaws. “Just please don't leave me,” he choked out and tears were fully streaming down your face. You walked over to him and pulled him into a hug. You held him tightly and he returned your embrace by wrapping his arms around your waist. He looked up at you and wiped away your tears. “I’m sorry for taking out my frustrations on you,” he whispered as he looked into your eyes. You blinked a few stray tears away and placed your arms around his neck. “I understand Simon," you said softly, "and I'll always be here for you but I think therapy could be a good thing” he looked away and you placed a hand on his cheek to turn him to you. "I know it's difficult, I've been there but it doesn't hurt to consider some options," you continued and he nodded at the suggestion. "You don’t deserve all the shit life has thrown at you. You never did but let others help you," you concluded and you could see a small smile on his lips from your words of wisdom. "I'll never leave, I promise," you whispered before you kissed him gently and made him feel whole again.

#task force 141 x reader #task force 141 #cod x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod mwii #modern warfare 2 #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty #mw2 imagine #madebyizzie #mw2 #izzie is writing

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cheesewelsom · 2 years

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My lies and regrets will look at my grave with red eyes of anger and contempt, but my false joy with a smile will seize my days with a golden trophy.

#I may have not gotten a 10/10 but a 5/10 is still passing #my moms going to be angry #but still passing! i promised a passing grade and i delivered!#i leave scathed and tattered but I've grown used to crawling these woods of landmines mother!

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ineylesian · 7 months

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THRASH

SIMON “GHOST” RILEY X READER

AO3 | KINKTOBER 2023 MASTERLIST

DEBRIEF | ghost has been avoiding you since your last deployment. you think he’s hiding something.

WARNINGS | smut, handjobs, slight degrading, semi public sex, dom! reader kinda?, smug ghost

WORD COUNT | 1k

THIS WORK IS MEANT TO BE READ IN AN ADULT READER’S POINT OF VIEW. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

Finally.

“Where are you going, Riley?”

Your hand encloses around the base of his arm, twisting cruelly as the other spins him your way. Black polyester shifts at your fingertips, and you feel his muscles twitch under the jacket.

Ghost looks down at you, eyes faintly parted in shock. You nearly recoil at the sight. His features are ridden with fatigue— eyeblack smudged carelessly around his lashes, hollowing out sunken eye bags that make it look like he hasn’t slept for days.

You open your mouth to question him, until your knee knocks against the fly of his jeans. Glancing down, you find yourself pressed against the outline of his cock, strained against denim and nearly searing through it.

“Huh.” You smirk, lips painted coy. “Having a rough week, honey?”

Ghost sinks down partially on the wall you have him pinned against. His hood is far gone by the winds, and you’re surprised the cigarette he dropped hasn’t blown away yet. Smile sticking to your face, one of your feet stomps on it, languidly dragging the remains against concrete.

“Thought you wouldn’t notice I wasn’t around.” His voice is low, gravely and thick with impatience because he knows he’s caught. “Guess I’m not the only bad one here.”

There’s a low ambiance from inside, softly buzzing the wall he’s pushed up against. His gaze drifts to the side, fighting the urge to push you off of him and take to the woods.

The night is young, the sun gone some hours ago when you and the rest of the Task Force arrived. Instead of drowning yourself in liquor from your recent success in Berlin, you took to shadows and scathed trees in search of your Lieutenant. He’s aware that you’ve been worried sick about him since you touched down in Germany, and he’s also aware that you no longer care due to the erection pressing against your leg.

Ghost looks back at you, shallow blues swallowed by a forlorn sky.

“Well, you got me right where you want me.”

It’s been a few days, nearly a week since you’ve seen even a shadow of Ghost around. He’s been avoiding you because of something like this? Trying to flip if on you when he’s cornered? Ridiculous.

“Always trying to soften the blow on yourself.” You scoff, fingers looping around the frame of his belt buckle. “You’re pathetic.”

Your hand pulls on the last of the zipper, pushing his belt loop to the side, and tugging his boxers down. Ghost groans, low and savory, his cock nestled against a faded scar on his abdomen. Your hand moves from the band of his underwear, fingers daintily running along the base of his dick.

Mild hums join in with the music from inside, and you hear boots kicking up dust from the exit around the corner. Ghost reaches for your hand, but you’re quick, moving the other to delve under his mask. His lips quiver under the cold press of your hand, and you smile, pressing him further toward the wall.

“Don’t want other people hearing us, yeah?”

He nods, half heartedly, blonde eyelashes shifting under amber lamplight. You hum, smoothing your pointer finger along the tip of his dick. Pre drips against your skin, warm and sticky. Low vibrations hit the hand that covers his mouth as you lather his length in his own mess.

It’s loud, the squelch that joins squawking crows and chilling drafts. Ghost’s breath is warm against your skin, choppy and dripping with saliva as you work his dick. His face drips with sweat, skin warm to the touch despite the winds that roll over it.

“Needed me this bad, huh?” You simper, teasingly squeezing his balls, hung low and heavy. “I wonder what the others would think, not being able to keep your dick in your pants. What’s gotten into you, Riley?”

Riley. He shudders, hips involuntarily bucking toward your hand. You grin, tongue lining your teeth in satisfaction. He was right, you have him exactly where you want him.

“Well,” you release your hand from his mouth, increasing the pace of your strokes as you do so. “Got anything to say?”

Ghost gasps at the release, pooling fogged breaths to the night air, other hand wiping the spit from his chin.

“A little disciplinary action couldn’t hurt.” He sighs, eyes smug and gratified. “Think I’ve learned my lesson, but you can finish your punishment if you’d like.”

You roll your eyes, watching with exasperation as his lips quirk up. He always does find a way to turn things in his favor.

“Dick.”

He hums, quiet and bobbing softly against his adam’s apple. You feel his dick throb in your hold, hot and slick against your palm. Ghost cocks one of his fingers up, motioning for you to let off. Your hand leaves his chest and his neck cranes forward, arm snaking around your waist to hold you against him.

His lips taste as they always do, remnants of war and gunpowder mixing with ashes from his last cigarette. His canines prod at the flesh of your mouth, loosening only when he feels his release nearing.

Through parted lips he moans, low and satiated. You savor every noise, feeling the last waves of ecstasy wash off as warm liquid leaks over your fingers. You part, sloppily wiping his mess of the black of your pants as he tidies himself.

“Cheers, lovie.” He tilts your chin up, the ghost of a smirk disappearing with the rise of his mask. “Won’t go off your radar like that again, yeah?”

#arqhms #🎃 arqhmskinktober23 #🎃 arqhmsfall23 #arqhmsthirst #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #cod mw22 #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #ghost smut #simon ghost riley smut #cod smut #kinktober

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throneofsapphics · 4 months

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Can i ask for something similar to it only takes three azriel x reader but like where reader struggles with an ed and suicidal thoughts and it gets really bad

If not thats ok I understand that can be triggering i loved how you wrote for it inly takes three it was good I really enjoy your writhing your very talented 🤍

from the shadows

Summary: “It would’ve been nice, you supposed, if he’d cared before you were already balancing on the edge.”

Warnings: toxic parents/friendships, ed, suicidal ideation, drinking, depression

Word Count: ~2.7k

A/N: ahh you’re so kind, thank you for the request!

Did you want someone to notice? Not really. These battles were supposed to be your own to fight. Every time you’d brought it up to your parents, they told you it means you need to be stronger, that your mind is weak.

You stared at the food in front of you, waging a mental war with it. Each time you tried to touch food, words and memories would slide into your mind.

The half-finished plate is pulled away from you. “Don’t eat too much, dear,” your mother tutted.

Closing your eyes, you let out a long breath.

“Are you going to eat that?” Cassian asked.

“All yours,” you pushed it towards him. He shot you a grateful grin, and slid your food onto his plate. You could’ve sworn you saw a muscle in Azriel’s jaw flex, but he didn’t say a word.

You registered everything, but none of it held any meaning. Nothing mattered, you were trapped in this endless void. Haze clouded your world. Muted colors, dimmed voices, even the air surrounding you felt lifeless. Each smile a facade, each action and response carefully measured, everything designed to make it seem fine. To make you seem fine.

There wasn’t any other option. Anything else felt like failure to you. Weak, weak, weak. Each time you’d reached out before - every time to your parents or old friends, your hand was slapped away with a scathing gaze and cutting remark.

‘Just deal with it.’

‘You’re being dramatic.’

‘Stop looking for attention.’

So you did. Everything stayed inside - under firm lock and key. Your conscience argued against itself, you had different friends now. Friends that gave the appearance of caring, that seemed genuine -

“Hey,” a voice called, a hand waving in front of your face. Blinking, you brought your consciousness back into the present. Mor. “Where did you go?”

Was that concern or worry in her tone? Maybe.

“Just a memory,” you forced a smile you hoped was reassuring. She didn’t look convinced. From your peripheral, you spotted narrowed hazel eyes watching you, a shadow swirling around the bearer's ear. “What do you have planned for today?” You deflected.

Mor, face still lined with a tinge of worry, took the bait.

Laying on the bedroom floor, studying the dips and whirls of the ceiling, the hard wood surface dug into your back. Today was the day you’d decided to say something. To build up the courage to ask for help. Azriel, who you’d always gone to. It was getting bad enough you knew something needed to change, and you were the only one who could start it. ‘Asking for help makes me strong,’ you reminded yourself.

The door creaked open, and you knew who it was before he saw you. Maybe you should be embarrassed, getting caught like this. But … you’ve already hit the bottom, and it didn’t matter anymore if others saw it.

A scarred hand loomed in front of you, coming from an amused looking Azriel. You took it, and his fingers closed around you, warm and comforting. He yanked you to your feet - hard enough you stumbled forward a few steps, catching yourself with a hand on his chest.

“You’re lighter than I remember,” he commented, scanning over your body. Your shoulders lifted and fell. Azriel frowned, but dropped your hand - leading you out of the room instead.

“Where are we going?” Your voice was rough. When was the last time you’d spoken to someone? Working in the library, doing research, didn’t require it, and people were rarely around the townhouse.

“Meeting,” he answered - his voice a bit short. Like he was annoyed you had to ask. You dropped his hand.

A meeting nobody had told you about.

“I didn’t know.”

He cast a sidelong glance at you, studying you briefly, deciding if you were lying or not. When had he started questioning that? Throughout all of these years, you’d provided him with nothing but honesty. Azriel, your close friend and on and off lover.

Maybe he read the confusion on your face.

“You’ve been hiding something.”

That made you pause in your tracks. “Excuse me?”

“There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“What do you mean?” Fury rose in you, heart pounding, chest tightening, face blazing.

Azriel stood there, watching you with that cool quiet. Long enough you realized it was a tactic, waiting for you to offer up information. Like you were one of the prisoners he interrogated. Gods, your anger only grew and grew.

“Ask me,” your fists clenched. “Ask me what’s wrong.”

His mouth tightened at the corners, a sign you were testing his patience.

A clock ticked in your head, counting each second, both of you staring at each other - seeing who would speak first. Thirty. That was it for you. You scoffed and rolled your eyes, turning on your heel. If he didn’t have the decency to ask, you wouldn’t tell him a damn thing.

Azriel expected you to offer everything up on a silver platter. To come to him for everything, like you had in the past.

You were about to, and now you felt like a fool for even thinking of it.

For all this time, you thought you’d kept it hidden well enough that nobody noticed. Now it’s clear - he’d seen something, and chosen to ignore it, watching from his shadows and not doing a damn thing. If the person you trusted the most saw you struggling and didn’t bother, what does that mean?

It meant you weren’t going to crawl all the way to someone who wouldn’t move an inch for you.

You prayed you’d somehow find the strength to deal with this on your own.

Feet and instinct guiding, you found yourself down by the Sidra - a secluded area. You fell, gravel digging into your knees and palms, hands pulling at your hair. A shield wrapped around you, cloaking you from sight and sound. Nobody could hear your screams, and right now - that’s the way you wanted it.

Distantly, you heard the rain clattering on your shield, the sound normally would bring comfort - but now it felt like some kind of beating drum, like a haunting melody. Light flashed in your vision, streaking across the sky before striking the ocean. Maybe it would hit you too.

Screaming. It could have been hours or minutes you sat there, tears flooding from your eyes and throat burning. It was supposed to make you feel better, but if anything it got worse. Numbness overtook you, drowning out every other sensation. You could fall off a cliff and feel nothing, maybe until your broken body hit the rocks below.

Weak. Weak. Weak.

Was it that? Or did it make you strong enough to end your own suffering?

Different images flooded your mind. Fighting back a laugh at one of Mor’s presents, offering your thanks instead. Watching live music in the rainbow. Azriel taking you flying for the first time.

Like cold rain, the thought of him pulled you out of your mind. What would he say if he saw you like this? Probably nothing, but he’d think you’re pathetic.

Good thing you didn’t give a damn what he thought anymore. You stood, brushing the gravel from your knees and palms, frowning at the small indents left behind on your palms, and let the shield disappear.

This was where the Sidra tumbled out into the ocean. The rocky cliff, seldom frequented, where you could truly be alone.

You didn’t really want to die … but you took another step towards the edge, peering closer. This way wouldn’t be quick, your body would break but you’d lie on the rocks below for hours, maybe trapped between them - slowly drowning under the waves.

“Y/n,” someone called - and you startled, body starting to launch over -

Shadows curled around you, dragging you back several feet, Azriel’s arms wrapped around your waist - holding you tight. “I’ve been looking for you,” he murmured, still holding tight.

At least your shield had done its job. Still, he was the last person you wanted to see right now. Catching him by surprise, you stomped on his insole and wiggled out of his grip - just like he’d taught you. Taking a few steps, not daring to turn your eyes away from him, you watched something like fear cross over his features.

He held his hands up, palms facing you. “Stop, please.”

Water sprayed against your calves. You’d gotten close to the edge again, without noticing. Looking over your shoulder, it would only take a few more steps.

Do it, the demon in your head screamed at you. He’d be relieved.

Turning your gaze back to him, worry shone there. It would’ve been nice, you supposed, if he’d cared before you were already balancing on the edge. There was no doubt his shadows would interfere if you got any closer, but for now he was giving you a choice. Letting you choose to walk away from the edge. Slowly, ever so slowly, his hand turned - reaching out to you instead. Teeth tugging into your bottom lip, you realized there was a decision to make.

It really wasn’t much of a decision at all, you ignored his hand, and brushed past him - making for the Townhouse.

Like an annoying guard dog, Azriel trailed you the rest of the way home. You didn’t see him, but you could feel his presence - moving through the shadows. You’d walked away, hadn’t you? He could leave you the fuck alone now.

Stopping for a bottle of wine, you made your way back to your bedroom. Meeting forgotten. Leaning your back against the door, a bit of magic popped the cork out. Funny, wine was one of the few things you could tolerate now. Maybe because of the release it brought.

You scented him, then heard a knock. You ignored it.

A sigh, and the sound of someone sliding against wood.

Azriel wouldn’t leave you, not like this. His shadows peered inside to tell him what you were doing. Sitting against the door, drinking right from the bottle. He could feel your warmth through the wood, a barrier separating the two of you. He mirrored your position.

If you didn’t want him inside, that was fair enough, he still wouldn’t leave. Not when you were just standing on the edge of a fucking cliff. Two hours spent searching for you when he noticed a small disturbance in the rain - droplets displaced before they struck the ground, and decided to wait a few minutes. Just in time for you to appear.

You’d always come to him in the past, and it was wrong for him to expect you to again. He’d already cast a thought out to Rhys and told him to clear everything for the next week.

Azriel had just nodded off, when he heard movement. He barely had time to stand before the door swung open, spotting you - half empty bottle of wine on the floor, bracing your hand on the wall next to the door.

“You can leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

The door slammed shut again. Fine, he could wait.

“Talk to me,” Azriel pleaded and grabbed both of your hands, squeezing, his thumbs running over your knuckles. You ripped them away from him, shooting him a scathing look and storming past into the dining room. Inviting him in had been a mistake. The intent was to prove you were fine, and tell him he could stop hovering on your doorstep, but if anything he seemed more worried at the end.

You couldn’t hear anyone else in the house. Good. You didn’t want to deal with anyone. Sitting at the dining table, a plate appeared in front of you - a single muffin. One of your favorites. Swallowing harshly, you reached one shaking hand out for it.

Inches away, your hand fell to the table. Fuck.

Just one bite, you told yourself.

Steeling yourself, you reached again. Trembling fingers peeled back the paper, and you brought it to your lips. The scent of blueberries filled you, and the feeling of crusted sugar brushed against your lips.

One bite.

“Hey,” you heard Mor. The spell broke, and you dropped the muffin back on the plate. “Don’t let me stop you,” she winked, pulling out the seat across from you. Her own muffin appeared, and she took a bite herself - moaning at the taste.

Somehow, that helped, and you took one of your own.

You hadn’t noticed him, thankfully, but Azriel watched from the shadows and felt like an idiot. Somehow, Mor’s presence for a few minutes brought more light to your eyes than he’d seen in months. Or maybe it was that you managed to eat some of that muffin.

Those hours he sat outside of your door … had they been worthless?

Maybe, maybe not, but at least he’d proven he was there for you - even if it was a bit too late.

If you didn’t want him physically in your proximity, he could wait in the shadows.

Waiting didn’t help before.

He’d read the expression on your face - on that cliff, and understood your anger.

Azriel was waiting for you to come to him, when he should’ve been the one reaching out.

Walking out of hearing range, his palm slammed against the wall, forehead resting on the cool wood. If he couldn’t do this one damned thing right, what did that say about him?

For a while, Azriel really did think you were getting better. You smiled more, ate more, and had a spark of life in you. But, as the weeks went on, he saw you draw further into yourself. Plate half full, eyes dull. This time, he’d actually do something about it - even if you shoved the door in his face.

Your door was already open, so he pushed a bit further, knocking.

Bleary eyed, you lifted your head from your desk and sighed, but jerked your head. He surveyed your room, taking in the books piled everywhere, empty bottles, clothes strewn over chairs haphazardly. A mess.

“What do you want?” The words weren’t sharp or cutting - although he’d prefer that to the emptiness in your voice. The bleakness of your expression, even though he could only see your profile - eyes unfocused on the book in front of you.

“You’re struggling. Again.” Not the most eloquent, but he got right to the point.

“What’s it to you?” Narrowed eyes finally looked up at him. Cautious. Wary. Even months ago, you’d never looked at him like that before.

“I care about you.” Maybe he expected your eyes to soften - to show some kind of understanding, but if anything they only hardened further. You didn’t believe him. He tried a different tactic. “Is it that hard to admit you need help?”

“Yes,” your voice rose, but he didn’t take a step back or flinch. He could deal with your anger, anything’s better than the distance, and that veritable wall you put up between them.

“Why?”

“It means i’m weak,” the first tears lined your eyes as you shifted in your chair to face him. He could see all of the sharp angles of your face, even more defined now - and not in a good way. There was no shine to your hair or eyes, none of that normal glow to your skin.

“You don’t believe that.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know you.”

A sigh, and your hand ran down your face. “Why are you here, Az?”

“I don’t like seeing you … hurting.”

“You didn’t bother before,” you countered.

“And I regret that,” cautiously, he reached out and grabbed your hand. You didn’t protest or fight him, and he took that as a good sign, letting his other hand brush away one of your tears, the droplet catching on his thumb. Even with the tear gone, he brushed his thumb across your cheek again, savoring the smooth feeling of your skin. Ever so slightly, you leaned into him. Catching yourself, you jerked back, but didn’t let go of his hand - if anything you seemed to grip onto him tighter. As if he might disappear and leave you by yourself again. That wouldn’t happen.

“I don’t know how you can help.”

His thumb brushed back and forth over your knuckles. “We can figure that out.”

The slightest smile appeared on your face, and lingered.

azriel taglist: @acourtofinkandpapyrus if anyone wants to be added please let me know!

#azriel x y/n #azriel x reader #acotar drabble #acotar x reader

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janaispunk · 1 month

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inspired by @the-blind-assassin-12 i joined her march fic madness 2024 challenge, with the goal to read and reblog 63 fics in 31 days.

i’ve read waaaayyyy more than that, but i’ll keep going until march is over and add every new fic to this list later :) i’m also thinking about starting a weekly rec list of fics that i’ve read, i’ll obviously still reblog them individually but i think it would be nice to have them in one place, since things can easily get lost on the dash.

in an attempt to keep this somewhat organized, i’ll sort this list by character. i love every fic on here, but i do read some dark shit, so please pay attention to the tags/warnings and decide for yourself if something might not be for you <3

part 1 because this is how i found out that you can’t tag more than 50 people lol • find part 2 here!

joel miller

when i move you move & company assets by @ghotifishreads

dancing with a ghost & texas reznikoff by @huntingingoodwill

daddy next door by @cavillscurls

seasons don’t, no quiet on this earth, no loyalty in the apocalypse, save your tears & better run by @corazondebeskar-reads

homemade by @gutsby

a day beyond this night by @quinnnfabrgay-writes

between two lungs & knuckles deep by @ozarkthedog

woman by @dancingtotuyo

him. he. joel. by @undercoverpena

late bloomer by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

smother by @beardedjoel

declined by @alltheirdamn

nylon lust by @decembermidnight

for you, for me by @swiftispunk

creature comforts & kiss it better by @galactic-basic

amateur by @ezrasbirdie

into the woods by @sugarcoated-lame

new perspective by @thetriumphantpanda

garnish by @penvisions

hanging on the telephone by @macfrog

some nights by @pedroacrossthestreet

helen by @kiwisbell

the duke’s illicit affair by @hellishjoel

javier peña

scathed by @dancingtotuyo

the hounds of hell by @aurorawritestoescape & @milla-frenchy

tres besos by @mrsmando

bend over by @endlessthxxghts

dave york

extra credit by @mothandpidgeon

din djarin

live to rise, nobody is coming to save you by @corazondebeskar-reads

dieter bravo

personal shopping by @huntingingoodwill

uninhibited by @ozarkthedog

frankie morales

do me yourself, midnight strikes, where is my prince? & a debt to pay by @undercoverpena

home by @dancingtotuyo

object of my affection & sweet treat by @mrsmando

life is but a… by @wordywarriorwrites

acts of service by @swiftispunk

marcus pike

headshots by @secretelephanttattoo

jack daniels

sundress season by @kewwrites

marcus moreno

if it wasn’t for the nights by @simpingcowboy

the secret by @frannyzooey

tim rockford

moss by @5oh5

lucien flores

hungry eyes by @missredherring

two-pack habit & a motel tan by @trulybetty

like a moth to a flame by @ozarkthedog

precious by @jksprincess10

the party by @aurorawritestoescape

moaning, panting by @iamasaddie

boba fett (i don’t know how that happened, blame ang lol)

toys don’t talk by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

if you read any of these, please remember to show the writers some love! <3

#marchficmadness24 #janas recs #fic recs #joel miller #javier peña #dave york #din djarin #frankie morales #dieter bravo #marcus pike #marcus moreno #jack daniels #tim rockford #lucien flores #boba fett

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 6 months

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Murder Daddy Kinktober 2023 Day 28 You trying to get me fired?

NSFW 18+ minors DNI. Warnings: Office AU/Lawyer AU, Office romance/sex, co-workers, sexual tension, voyeurism, fingering, dirty talk, the whole office definitely heard, unprotected PiV (wrap it up folks). Let me know if I missed anything!

Unproofed, yolo I needed to get it posted.

Word count: 1578

Please consider checking out my ko-fi or patreon if you want to support me!

Read on AO3

You saunter into Miguel’s office, blouse undone just enough to show off your cleavage and a whisper of your pale blue lace bra. Your tight pencil skirt hugs your hips as you drop the take-away box of empanadas on the desk.

“Layla said you haven’t moved from your desk since seven this morning, thought I’d make sure you aren’t going to keel over at the three o’clock.”

Miguel doesn’t look up from his computer screens, lost in the legal brief you know is up on both his monitors. His one hand is scribbling away on one of those artists tablets that allow you to draw digitally. But instead of creating art, he’s annotating evidence and marking pages to go back to with you after the meeting.

“You’re welcome, hijo de puta.”

You grumble under your breath as you turn to walk out, your hand is on the doorknob as you hear the growl from behind you.

“You tryin’ to get me fired muñeca?”

There it is.

You hear the hungry rasp in his voice accented by the sound of his desk chair being rolled back; it hits the wall with a crack, and you smile to yourself. Is today the day you finally get Miguel to snap? To take what you both know is his, and only his?

You twist the doorknob, pulling the door open only for it to be slammed shut. A broad palm slaps against the wood as you feel him crowd you from behind.

“Couldn’t have just asked me to fuck you like a good girl, could you?” Miguel’s lips ghost along your exposed neck, his breath fanning across your skin in short, hot bursts.

“You know I’m not one to beg, Miggy.”

“God, you’re fucking annoying.”

Miguel says, almost softly, as he slides his free hand down your thigh, dragging it back up slowly before slipping his thick fingers under the hem of your skirt. You struggle to stay still, heart pounding in your chest as your cunt throbs in anticipation.

“Careful, we’ve got that meeting later.”

You purr as you feel the fabric strain as he yanks it up. You moan softly as he licks a stripe up the column of your neck, and you feel his lips pull up into a smirk against your skin. The sound of your skirt tearing makes you hiss, and you try to push back against Miguel.

“Don’t be a brat, I know you have another outfit in your office down the hall.”

He pushes you flat against the door now, your cheek pressed against the hard surface as he pins you with his large form. You can feel the press of his cock against the seam of your ass, and you whimper as he rips the rest of the fabric away.

“Look at that.” Miguel purrs as he pulls your lacy panties down just enough to expose your dripping core to the air-conditioned chill of the office. You cry out as he runs his knuckles through your wet folds, gathering your slick over his fingers.

“You finally gonna give in and fuck me, Miguel? Taken you long enough.”

“Mierda, can’t keep your mouth shut, can you?” He grunts as he pushes two thick fingers inside you, giving you no time to adjust. The burn is sinful, and you can’t help but whimper at the stretch. You grind back against his hand instinctively as he fucks you with his fingers. curling them up to press into your g-spot.

“Miggy, fuck, better than I could have imagined.”

“Oh?” He presses you up against the door with his whole body as he picks up the pace, the breath is forced out of your lungs as he smothers you with his body, “You been thinking about how I’d fuck you muñeca? How often, tell me.”

“Fuck.” You groan as he grinds his palm against your aching clit. You’re pinned under him, completely at his mercy as he unravels you with his thick fingers and scathing tone.

“Answer me.”

His hand stills inside you and you whine at the lack of friction. You try and move against him, but you’re pinned too tightly against the door. Your walls flutter around his fingers buried inside you and he hums in approval as he licks a flat, broad stripe against your skin, driving you closer to the edge.

“All the fucking time.” You wheeze through clenched teeth and that only makes him laugh, a low, barking sound.

“Fucking slut, you touch yourself when you think about me?”

“You fucking know I do Miggy, been trying to get you to do this for months.”

You’re rewarded for your sass with a sharp, loud crack, as Miguel spanks you hard with his free hand, the pain sending ripples of pleasure straight to your core.

“I’m a firm believer in consent baby, can’t give you what you want if you don’t use your words to ask for it like a good girl.”

“You’re such an asshole.” You grumble as your fingers scrape on the lacquered wood of the door.

“Well?”

“Miguel, please, put your cock in me.” You bite through your pride as you beg. You’re so close, and all you want is for him to finally give in to you. Fuck you like you deserve, pressed against his office door like a whore.

His fingers leave you and you groan in protest at the way your pussy clenches around nothing, the emptiness maddening as you try and squirm against him. Relief washes over you as you hear the clink of his belt mere seconds before he nudges his head against your entrance from behind.

“Was that so hard?” He scoffs as he asks with all the smugness you deserve as he notches himself at your needy core, holding himself there for a few agonising seconds before he eases into you.

“Fu-uck.” Is all you can muster as he drives his thick length inside. You pant and moan at the burning stretch of his thick cock. He takes his time, filling you up, pausing, letting you adjust, before pressing into your once more.

“Such a tight little cunt, been holding out on me.” Miguel growls as he finally fills you to the hilt, both of you panting and gasping as he sits heavily inside you.

“Please, Miguel, fuck me.”

“There it is.”

Miguel’s fingers press firm marks into your hips as he pulls almost all the way out and you whimper at the way his cock rakes through your slick walls. You let your hand fall to your clit, not caring if Miguel’s ego would be bruised or not, you’re beyond letting men, even men like Miguel, from dictating your pleasure.

“Fucking dirty girl, I love it,” He growls as he notices what you’re doing, “Was going to take it slow, touch you myself, but I love that you just take what you fuckin’ want.”

Miguel starts to thrust into you harder, pulling almost all the way out, before snapping his hips forward to fill you to the brim. You cry out as pleasure arcs through you like tongues of flame, a desperate push and pull as you let him use you.

“Where do you want me?”

He pants against the column of your neck as his pace quickens, his thrusts getting sloppy as he kneads the swell of your ass, no doubt leaving bruises where his fingertips press into your flesh.

“Inside, I’ve got an implant, come inside me, please.” You whine as your fingers press just right on your clit as you rub frantically against the swollen bundle of nerves.

Miguel groans low in your ear as he fucks you so hard the door rattles violently beneath you. But you don’t care about who hears, you’re sure half the office are rolling their eyes as they hear the evidence of your months-long sexual tension finally coming to fruition.

“Fuck going to come, fill this sweet little-!” Miguel’s sentence is cut off by the guttural snarl that rips from his lips as he buries himself deep inside you as he comes. You cry out as the blinding rush of your orgasm rips through you, your cunt clenching around Miguel’s cock as you milk him dry. You pant heavily into the air as Miguel presses soft, tender kisses to your shoulder as you both come down from your high.

Eventually Miguel breaks the silence.

“So, you still keep that pant suit in the second desk drawer?”

“Of course you fucking know where it is.” You huff out a laugh as he eases out of you, his spend already trickling down your leg.

“When are you going to learn muñeca? You can’t hide a thing from me.”

“Asshole.” You groan as you use your torn skirt to clean up the worse of the mess before sliding your panties back into place.

“Got that right, now stay put.” He smirks at you as he eases the door open to slip through, giving you the dignity of not being laid bare to the office floor.

“Not like I can go anywhere!” You shout after him and you shake your head as the door clicks shut behind him. You shuffle over to his desk and perch on the edge, looking over at the screens to see a hand written message on a blank document.

Stop being so stubborn, and we can do this again sometime.

“Asshole.” You say to yourself, already formulating a plan to get back at him.

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stray-kaz · 4 months

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The Perfect Excuse : a Roronoa Zoro x f!reader Christmas drabble

Summary: You take hanging mistletoe as the perfect excuse to give Zoro a Christmas kiss.

It was all Nami's fault. She had hung mistletoe in all the doorways of the Going Merry and now you couldn't stop staring at the little sprigs, hope and sheer panic blooming in your chest alongside your heart.

You sat on the floor, gazing up at the mistletoe dripping above Zoro's bedroom door when Nami found you. You barely glanced at her as she bumped your shoulder with hers. You rubbed it absently.

"Thinkin' about lover boy?" she mused, offering a teasing smile.

"He's hardly that" you muttered, grudging.

"But you'd like him to be!" she continued in a singsong. "Why do you think I hung this stuff up everywhere? It's in every doorway so that you have every opportunity to jump him."

You rolled your eyes.

"Jump him?" you repeated, perhaps a little too scathing. "Not gonna happen, Nami."

You shoved to your feet and walked away. You were forced to shrink back against the ship railing when Zoro himself marched towards you, his boots thudding along the wood. He nodded to you and murmured your name in that low, throaty voice of his that always made your skin tingle and your pulse race.

"Moss" you mumbled back, pressing your whole body flat so he can get past without touching you.

Zoro cast you an odd glance, his eyebrows raised just slightly.

"You okay?" he asked uncertainly, reaching out with the back of his hand as if to touch your forehead, check for fever. "You sick?"

You ducked away and nodded, backstepping out of his reach. As you hurried away, you wondered why he had been about to volunteer to touch you, when he hardly ever willingly touched anybody.

Dusk had dropped over the sea like a curtain and the lamps had been lit. Zoro sat near one, his eyes gold in its light. He tipped a bottle up to his lips, his gaze lazily roving across the deck to where you stood by the rail, as far from him as you could get without diving into the water below.

"Merry freaking Christmas" he muttered to himself, before downing the last of the beer and pushing to his feet.

You caught his movement as he shambled in the direction of his quarters, his steps more tired and slow than usual. You didn't notice the others' shared glances as you followed him, your feet seemingly moving on their own.

"Moss."

He turned in his doorway, just on the verge of closing the door and locking himself in for the night. He arched an eyebrow at you, waiting. He dragged his gaze over you again, from the toes of your dusty boots to your rapidly dilating pupils. That surprised him.

You muttered something to yourself and he cocked his head to one side. It sounded like a pep talk.

"Hey..."

He started to say your name, but it faded on the tip of his tongue when you suddenly surged upward and grabbed the front of his shirt in your hands, dragging him down until his mouth hit yours. The mistletoe over your heads swayed slightly with the ship's roll, but you didn't see as your fingers twisted permanent creases in Zoro's shirt and his lips pushed back insistently on yours.

When he drew away to gasp in salty air, his nose ghosted across your cheek and he pressed a sweet, short kiss to the corner of your mouth. Your lips parted to follow him and he smiled at your still closed eyes.

"Merry Christmas, pretty girl."

Merry Christmas: @writingmysanity @elizabeth-karenina

#roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #zoro x female reader #opla #one piece #opla fanfiction #one piece fanfiction #Christmas drabbles #liss writes

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tadpolesonalgae · 11 months

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The Pleasure Hall[*]

Au from the His (Mine.) universe but more along the lines of Filthy Mongrel

Summary: Reader sneaks away from Azriel and winds up in a sex club. Azriel gets pissed that reader escaped after he implicitly told her not to so decides to partake while simultaneously dolling out your punishment.

A/N: we love a little emotional vulnerability between enemies <3

Warnings: reader being a bit cruel to Azzie, basically a sex club, orgies, face sitting, pussy eating, exhibitionism, voyeurism, threesome fmf, femdom in parts, miscommunication which leads to slight dubcon but gets sorted out, some queer vibes (it’s June, what do you expect from me?), angst, 7.2k words

“Fuck off, Shadowsinger,” you snarl up at him as he bars the doorway. “I know how to handle myself.”

He doesn’t budge.

“Gods, why do you have to be such a dick? This is why the rest of the camp despises your filthy blood,” you growl, crossing your arms indignantly across your chest, wings twitching at your back. “What’s even the point of staying in a town like this if I’m not able to go out?” His brow narrows, “I’ll let you off your leash when you prove to be trustworthy.”

You snarl at the metaphor, hands balling into fists at your side. “So, what? I’m just expected to sit here while you go out and do whatever questionable things you came here to do?” You snap, brows narrowing in a scathing scowl. “That’s it,” he replies. Despite his unreadable expression, his voice is dripping with condescension. The kind he uses whenever it’s just the two of you and your twin’s out of the picture. “Now are you going to follow my instructions without hassle, or am I going to have to leave my shadows at the door?”

He’s such a dick. A piece of shit scum-bag.

“I don’t think you’re giving me a choice here,” you scowl, anger bubbling away beneath your skin. A glint of smug arrogance crosses his neutral gaze, “you didn’t bring a book to pass the time?” He delights in the furious flush that heats your cheeks. And after you’d assumed you’d both be tiptoeing around the events of your last trip.

Your gaze skips away from his, too embarrassed to focus on hurling abuse his way. “I’m not making the same mistake twice,” you manage, refolding your arms over your chest. He hums, the sound rough and sonorous. And so, definitely, self-satisfied. “Then I suggest you keep from making another mistake, and stay put.” You can hear the conceited drawl to his voice clear as day. How long is he going to hold that over you? Probably as long as he can, you think, miserably. You would were your positions switched.

Seething, you spin on your feet, stalking over to one of the beds before you take a seat atop it, legs crisscrossing as you keep your back to him. He lets you hear as he turns, about to leave, but not before you throw him a taunting look over your shoulder, “not going to take your things with you?”

Azriel stops in the doorway, brow narrowing as he looks over at you. Watch it. The gaze says. He doesn’t have to speak the words for you to read the message loud and clear. You hold his eyes, challenge glittering in their depths, and you can sense he’s just as eager as you for a spark to catch, a reason to unleash his silver-tipped tongue. Maybe more.

But he knows his responsibilities, so leaves it at that. The door shuts behind him, shadows dancing beneath the wood long after he’s left, suggesting he’s left them on guard. It doesn’t occur to you it might be for your own safety, rather than as a preventative for your escape. It doesn’t occur to you that scaling down the tavern’s wall well past sundown will invite nothing but trouble.

————

You’re sure you’ve been wandering the streets for hours, feet getting a little sore from refusing to take the bastard’s advice to bring proper walking boots - out of pure spite. But the town’s pretty, fae lights decorating every street with a pleasantly warm glow you’re unaccustomed to. It’s a jarring change compared to the sharp ice of Windhaven.

A group of females stumbles past you, loud, warm laughter drawing your attention as they tipsily sway their way along the street. You’re stunned at their skimpy clothes, small strips of fabric lacing over their pristine bodies, wearing shoes that are accented with sharp points on the heel. So promiscuous.

You turn, following after the group, smoothly blending into their small party as they move toward a cleaner looking establishment to the one you’d escaped from. Among the bright, sparkling colours and slips of fabric, you stick out like a sore thumb, yet the group seems a little too far gone to notice their additional member as they enter the luxurious looking building.

The inside is scented with a smokey but floral flavour, something resembling morning fog rolling thick across the floor. It worries you at first, but the group of females seem unperturbed, so you take it to be fine. Then they’re pushing through two large doors, framed with elegant - and shockingly lewd - carvings.

What on this realm have you found?

The entrance reveals an astonishingly large room that seems to ooze obscenity: beautiful paintings decorate the walls depicting various erotic acts, stunning marble figures set throughout the hall, Fae engaging in pornographic activities together. Naturally, you’ve read about these immoral rooms, yet to be confronted with the reality of one is a whole new flavour of debauchery.

You’ve hardly stepped foot in the feasting hall, dripping with satyric opportunity, when a large hand is biting into your shoulder. You tear your eyes from the licentious display, only to be met with icy hazel. You freeze when you recognise the Shadowsinger’s cold demeanour, displeasure subtly lining his expression as he drags you from the hall, back to the streets.

“Get off me you brute!” You snarl, jerking your wrist from him once the night air smacks some sense into you. It takes a little while longer to rid your mind of the heady scent of arousal that had been coating the air, turning it thick until you could taste it on your tongue. He turns, and you know he’s furious with you. He’s just perfect at concealing his rage.

“I gave you one simple instruction,” he growls.

Almost perfect.

You scowl, “I believe that’s your fault for having lax security measures. How are you going to monitor the door, but not the window, you dumb mutt?” Your mind is still a little hazy from the smoke, but you attempt to lock your eyes on his.

It’s then he looks at you properly. His brow narrows as he moves closer, and you instinctively take a step back but those damned shadows are bracing your hips, keeping you still as he prowls forward. He moves like he’s about to touch you, hands moving for your jaw when he jerks back, nostrils flaring, nose wrinkling. Your brow furrows, “what?”

His expression neutralises but you can make out the slight grimace. You’re confused, until you lift the fabric of your top to your nose, inhaling. A cough bursts from your throat at the harshness of the scent, sharp and arousing. “Mother above,” you curse. Azriel smacks your hand away, making the material drop back against your skin, “stop inhaling more of it.”

Under any other circumstances, you would curse at him, spit out something obscene, but you’re too foggy at the moment, “what is it? It’s so…”

“Sharp? Tangy?” He suggests, practically glaring at you with distain.

“…messy.” The male’s brow narrows, seemingly muttering something to himself before he’s turning, moving down the streets. “You stumbled straight into a pleasure hall, what did you expect?” You flush at the crude words coming from his irritably eloquent mouth. “I did not stumble,” you insist, moving after him when his shadows push you into motion. “You most certainly did. There was hardly an ounce of awareness in you mind at what you were doing. You never think,” he growls.

“That’s rich coming from you,” you snarl, catching up with him, scampering to get slightly ahead of his hard pace. He spares you a heated glare from the edge of his cool hazel eyes but continues on his path. You grit your teeth as he ignores you, speeding your pace until you’re set in front of him, “you know, since you’re the one who lost his cool last time,” you snap, jabbing your finger out.

His shadows curl around your waist, tugging you out of his way as he refuses to slow, completely set on his path, eyes straight ahead.

Your jaw drops open as he tosses you aside, disregarding you entirely. Fury surges in your gut as you steady yourself after being so unceremoniously tossed away. You steel your spine as you spin on your feet, turning to storm back into the streets, away from him.

No sooner do you take a determined step away from him, his shadows snag around your waist, harshly tugging you to follow him. You gasp as they squeeze a little too tightly, a little too suddenly, shoving the air from your lungs. Desperately, you scrabble for escape, fingers trying to wriggle beneath the darkness but they just faze through.

“Shadowsinger,” you snarl, attempting to dig your heels into the ground but he drags you forward mercilessly. You push forward, storming to catch the back of his ankle, aiming for the seem of his boot but he side-steps, moving and capturing your wrist. He tugs you against him harshly, glaring down at you beneath a narrowed brow.

“You’re being an asshole,” you snarl, now that he’s finally giving you attention. “Considering the moment you sneak out you’re looking to fuck the night away, I think I was right to have you stay in,” he growls back at you, hand tightening painfully around your wrist. “I was just looking around! You’re making it out to be something it’s not,” you snap, continuing to try to pull out of his dominating grip. “Please,” he drawls, as he jerks you closer, your body pressing firmly against his own, “you looked like you were ready to jump into the lap of the first male you saw.”

Your eyes widen, “I did not!” Heat flushes your cheeks and you want to shrink away from him but he holds fast. Your lip curls back from your teeth, pushing back against him, refusing to be overpowered, until you’re practically sharing breath. “You’re just like all the other Illyrians,” you growl, tipping your chin so you’re glaring him in the eyes, “you can’t bare the idea of a female with agency. Having a will of her own.”

His eyes darken into frozen blades of ice, “I have no problem with females having autonomy. It’s you that’s the issue.”

“Like I’ll believe a single word that comes out of your stupid mouth,” you scoff, feeling that familiar heat of aggression rising for him. His fist tightens, forcing a wince out of you but you refuse to step back.

Azriel’s words are lethally soft as he gazes down at you, “you’re saying, had I not intervened, you would have turned from the pleasure hall?” He expects you to deny the accusation for the sake of the argument, to at least flush at the reminder. But instead you shove yourself against him, so he can feel the soft push of your breasts against his chest as you snarl, “I would do no such thing.”

You tilt your chin, staring him down menacingly, “I would have spent the night enjoying myself, rather than being cooped up in that dull room with only you for pitiful company.” Tension winds and coils around his bones, tightening like rope suspending a counterweight. “I do not believe you were calling my company pitiful when you had your legs spread for me like a desperate whore.” You push up onto your tiptoes, breasts dragging deliciously over his chest until your mouth is brushing his, “you pounced the first chance you got, Shadowsinger, so who’s the real whore between us?”

The fight you put up is mouth-watering. It’s a rare delight he gets to partake in. Seldom does he allow himself this loose, but your aggression is so appetising, the mere suggestion of confrontation a luxury he normally refuses to indulge in. But it’s so irresistibly decadent, the fire you bring to him to feed off, how is he expected to endure you?

He doesn’t.

His hand snakes round your waist, pulling your hips tight against his own, “do you wish to put that to the test?” He can practically feel the thrum of your heartbeat at the sinister suggestion. He knows you’re going to stumble straight into his trap, unable to resist his temptation. It’s much more enjoyable if he can manipulate you into giving into him, convincing yourself that it’s of your own volition you’re crawling to his will.

“What do you have in mind?”

————

You hadn’t expected him to lead you back to the pleasure hall, hand circled tight around your wrist, shadows twining up your forearm. You hadn’t expected him to drag you into the midst of hedonism, nor for him to be the one to push away your clothes. And most of all, you hadn’t expected him to back away once you were left in your underclothes, a charmingly wicked grin dancing over his mouth. “Let’s see how quickly you lose yourself, shall we?” And then he had blended away into the synchronised thrum of beautifully carved fae bodies, swept away in the rhythmic flow of seducing depravity.

Now you’re left, seemingly entirely alone, caught between the frames of revelling creatures, enjoying themselves in ways you haven’t had the chance to even think up. Before you know it, you’re being swept away, hands landing on the sweep of your hips as a body presses against your back, between your wings. A hot mouth is opening over your throat, kissing up the side of your neck, stopping beneath your jaw to nose at your scent.

The heady arousal that’s fogging the air whisks away your defences, even your instincts are crumbling beneath the sinful beat of movement. The lessons you’ve been taught since birth - wings like yours are sacred, gifted only to the Illyrians, nothing is to touch them. Burn to ash. Because it feels good.

A male body is pressing against your front, large hands folding around your waist, pulling your clothes hips against his bare ones, something hard poking against your middle. A slight wave of horror laps at the back of your mind but is easily overpowered by the obscenity that’s taking over you. His mouth is opening over yours, the body at your back moving so your breasts are pressed flush against the male’s chest. He groans, and the sound pleases you.

… your legs spread…

…like a desperate whore…

Shit.

You’re not supposed to be getting so swept up in the intimate touches. You’re supposed to be proving to him that you can keep your head. Even when confronted with such mouth-watering amorousness.

Slowly, you bring your hands to trail up his vaguely muscled arms, slopping over his shoulders as he releases yet another sinful sound over your lips. Your fingers slide up the back of his neck, slinking their way through his intriguingly light-coloured hair. Fascinating. But you can admire later, instead, you grip the gilded locks, nails scraping against his skin. The male hisses, nipping your lips, so you loosen your hold ever so slightly. His tongue flicks out, lapping over your mouth pleasurably. There we go.

The fae at your back has stopped, their hands sloping down your waist to the fabric clinging to your hips, their fingers tracing soft patterns over your delicate skin. They’re watching.

You pull the male’s mouth from your own, tipping his head back until you have unobstructed access to his throat. It surprises you, how easily this male is willing to submit, given a few sharp tugs to his golden hair. It’s intriguing. Certainly no male you’re aware of would ever dream of following the movements of a female. The power is addicting.

Revelling in your new found supremacy, you attach your mouth to the column of his neck, mouth opening over a pulse point as you nip and suck over the unmarked skin. The male moans, his hands pulling you tighter against him, hips bucking against yours. You pull at his hair, giving him a warning to keep still and you’re rewarded with a delicious whimper, teeth scraping across his delicate, creamy skin.

A second sharp tug has him collapsing to his knees before you, and you nearly preen at his obedience. Is this what he felt when you were played before him? A shiver of startling pleasure zaps across your skin at the idea of Azriel kneeling for you. Your breaths become shallow at the prospect of having him on his knees.

The male’s hands stroke over another’s, the fae at your back dipping their fingers beneath the fabric concealing you from them. Then they’re both utilising their hands to push away the material until it’s discarded on the floor. The male moans, hands sliding up the backs of your thighs as he tries to pull you closer to him.

The second set of hands glide over your stomach, running upward until they come to cup your breasts. It’s then you bother to look at their hands: they’re soft, and dark. You’ve never seen skin so black before, yet it’s coating the fingers of the fae behind you, and suddenly you’re yearning to see them.

You attempt to turn your head to peak at them, the male at your feet pressing adoring kisses to your thighs, littering you with soft nips and licks. They push more against your back and you freeze as you feel the recognisable push of a full chest. Female. You release the male’s hair in favour of snaking back, finding the harsh line of her jaw, sloping around the back of her neck as she lets you look.

She’s beautiful. Sharp dark eyes watching you intently as you drink her in. Her hair is a glorious mess of curls, so thick you wish to tangle your fingers in it; pull her closer. Set your mouth over her full ones.

You blink.

She’s female. You’re female. It’s not right. That’s not how it works.

Your brow dips, studying her sharp features. It’s not how it works, but she’s touching you as a lover would. She’s beautiful and she’s setting her pretty hands on you. And it feels good. Your gaze drops to her mouth again, this time looking with analytical curiosity. You’re taking too long.

Her hand curves around you from the other side, tilting your jaw as her mouth opens over your own, lapping and devouring hungrily. A whimper claws from your throat in surprise at the softness of her, from her lips to her hands to her breasts pushing against your lowered wings. Her fingers flick over your nipples and you keen, submitting to her when her tongue runs across the seam of your lips. There’s no way for you to deny her.

You want more.

She pulls away, eyes locking on yours. “Lie down.” She’s staring you down but her words are directed at the male, who pulls away, dropping further to the floor until he’s laying, vulnerable, on his back. You wonder if it’s comfortable.

“Why don’t you put him out of his misery?” The words brush softly over your lips, her breath catching with your own, heady arousal slinking around and filling your senses. She pushes you forward gently, and you follow. You sink down atop the male, shifting so he can loop his arms beneath your thighs as you suspend yourself above his mouth. He whines, nipping your skin again.

You’re too busy watching the female as she prowls around you. Your wings are raised, wary as she positions herself atop a table, spreading her legs. Your thoughts eddy to a stop as your eyes latch onto her sex, slick with wetness, dark curls decorating her skin. Her scent hits you full force, your eyes rolling.

“Come here,” she orders, softly, hand reaching for you. And you lean into her, allowing her fingers to tangle in your hair as she pulls you closer to her heat, your eyes widening marginally as you’re confronted with the reality of your situation. You’re seated atop a male - a willing one - both of you following the instructions of a female.

It’s all backwards.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen.

The male’s supposed to be in charge. Not the one at the bottom of the food chain.

“Don’t stop until I tell you,” the female breathes softly, fingers tightening in your hair. “Now settle down.” You sink down onto the males mouth the same time she wraps her legs over your shoulders, pulling you into her wet heat.

————

Azriel’s been enjoying himself, indulging in the abundance of sexuality that’s flooding the pleasure hall, leaving you to your own devices. He’s sure you’ll leave should it become too much. Besides, your confidence could use being knocked down a peg or two so he doesn’t have to put up with your bratty attitude.

A tendril of pleasure curls at the base of his spine at the thought of finding you, sucked dry from the night. He’s certain this’ll shut you up.

He scans the writhing bodies for your form, hinting for a pair of wings. His brow dips when he fails to locate you. Sighing to himself he raises from the chaise longue, the female that had attended to him already slinking off to find another source of pleasure. The heavy fog of arousal in the air hinders his concentration as he scans again.

The hall is too packed for him to resort to his shadows, not wishing to cause a panic. He’ll just have to use his more traditional methods.

His eyes catch on a loose circle forming in the centre of the room, Fae crowding around as touching becomes more frenetic, cartloads by something. He decides you can wait, curiosity drawing him in as he approaches the circle. Azriel stops short when his eyes land on a familiar set of wings, momentarily shocked by the sight.

You’re seated atop a male’s mouth, one of his arms wrapped snuggly over your hips, keeping you pressed against him while his free hand pleasures himself. You’re winding your hips languidly over him, clearly enjoying the pleasure of his tongue as it laps at your entrance. A dark-skinned female is sat atop a large, ornate table, lewd carvings etched up it’s legs, her hand threaded firmly in your hair as she keeps you tight to her cunt.

Inexplicable arousal sparks in his abdomen, his cock twitching at the sight. The way you’re kneeling, thighs spread, wings relaxed in obvious submission as your tongue laps fervently between the female’s legs, burying your face into her desperately.

The female’s hand tightens, your back curving, drawing attention to your ass as appreciative moans ring throughout the hall in response. The impact is incredible, his cock already hard as he thinks about what you would do if he interrupted you, let you know what he’s seen. Would you flush? Would you beg him not to tell anyone? Would you get down on your knees as you plead for him not to take advantage of you?

He can’t tear his eyes away as the female drags one of her feet over your back, dangerously close to your wings. So close that Azriel’s automatically fold inward, as if she’s a threat to his own sensitive skin. He watches, fascinated, as you don’t pull away. You don’t even flinch, too submersed in her heat to care.

Your wings twitch as she makes contact, brushing over the bone. He can tell she’s enjoying herself, having most likely never had an Illyrian before. She’s close, and bringing to the peak with her, uncaring for the male you’re seated on. His breath catches as she repeats the action, wings shuddering as your shoulders go taut before losing their tension, suddenly pressing deeper into her heat as she moans. Her own breathing stutters at the action, back arching as her thighs spread wider before tightening, pulling you closer as she bucks her pretty hips against you.

Azriel watches, fixated, as you’re allowed to pull away from her, the female’s elegant hand snaking beneath your jaw as she urges you upward. You follow, managing to stand as she hails your mouth to hers. And the flame is relit. Your mouth is sloping over hers as your hands roam her body, going from her waist to snake behind her back, to brushing over the plump curve of her ass.

Arousal spikes in his blood as your hands cup her ass, squeezing as you press yourself between her thighs. Her own hands are pulling you closer, allowing you to push her down onto the table as your mouth dances over her own. Your arms brace either side of her as your tongue laps over her own, dropping down to open over her neck, sucking and biting at the dark skin until it bruises.

The circle has dispersed a little now that the climax has been reached, a few bystanders still watching hungrily, but their eyes are glazed with lust, so he doubts they’ll be too alarmed at his shadows. They writhe forward through the fog, curling up your thigh as the tighten. He’s pleased when your instinctive reaction to the silky darkness is to buck your hips against hers, as if you’re desperate to be inside of her.

Your head rises, her own arms locked around your neck, as you look around, focusing in on the cool brush of his darkness. He feels your breath catch as you locate him, marking how your wings flare ever so slightly, curling your body over the female’s. It’s a subtle gesture or possessiveness, claiming her as your own, despite it being juxtaposed by the hedonistic surroundings.

He cocks a brow mockingly, beckoning you away, the signal it’s time to leave; that the challenge’s over. Your eyes clear slightly, but the female’s legs tighten around your waist, vying for attention. Her eyes lock on his, flicking between the two. She seems to recognise the acknowledging glance you give him, her legs loosening from your body, knowing it’s your time to leave. Your gaze flicks to hers as she releases you, arms moving to brace herself on the table instead.

She knows which fights to pick.

————

“What the hel was that for?” You snap as you follow after him, reluctant leaving your female. His gaze skims to yours, “it’s late.”

“You’re hard.” A shadows wraps over your hips, licking between your thighs. He doesn’t miss a beat. “You’re wet.” You flush, glaring at him, “I just had a male between my thighs. What’s your excuse, Shadowsinger?” You’re fully aware as his icy gaze slides to you, hairs standing on end as his eyes narrow. “I just watched you go down on a female like it’s the best damned thing that’s happened to you.” Your brow narrows at his words, the blatant insinuation he’d dropped without so much as blinking.

“Yeah,” you mutter, heat rising to your cheeks, “she was.”

You hope he’ll leave it at that.

Of course he doesn’t.

“Looks like between the two of us, you’re definitely more of the whore.” You scowl, fire seating in your stomach. “That’s not fair. I didn’t see what you were doing. You could have been panting and pleading for someone.” You nearly added an unnecessary and exposing, too, on the end. He laughs, oblivious to your private confession. “That would be something.”

Your eyes flick to his, looking him over through your peripherals.

“Would you ever do that for me?”

“You’d have to work very hard to get me on my knees.” He responds easily, male arrogance dripping from him. “So it’s not out of the question.” You push, attempting to gauge his reaction. You’re stunned when he rolls his eyes. It’s something you’ve seen Ed do a thousand times, and it’s shockingly normal. Familiar.

“It’s as likely to happen as if the tables were reversed,” he replies instead, eyes sliding to yours, catching you watching. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You snap, irritably. It’s so late. The edges of his mouth kick up into a devious smirk, “would you ever willingly lower yourself for me?” He’s delighted when your lip curls, relieved by the familiarity that you’re falling back into. “Fuck no.”

He grins, “then there’s your answer.”

He doesn’t know that at the beginning of the night, you would have given the same answer had you been asked whether you would ever fuck a female, yet here you are, wanting a second taste.

No, you keep that to yourself.

————

Your thoughts have been swirling for the past few hours, and you sweat the room’s getting lighter already.

‘Lie down.’

She’s ringing through you your ears, your mind replaying her over and over.

‘Why don’t you put him out of his misery?’

The soft push of her breasts against your wings. Gods, she had touched your wings. And you’d let her. Enjoyed it.

‘Come here.’

You shove your face further into the pillow.

Shit.

There’s no way for you to get yourself out of this one.

You lift your head, glancing across the room to where the Shadowsinger lies. His shadows stand out even in the near pitch darkness, softly lapping in gently undulating sways. His eyes are closed, breaths deceptively even. You wonder if he’s actually asleep or not. Whether, were you going to stab him, should he wake easily.

“Something on your mind, whore?”

Despite the softness of the drawl, you startle, muscles tensing as his sharp eyes slide open. Wide awake in an instant. Your brow narrows at him in a hateful glare, “don’t call me that.” You can practically hear the taunting grin that slides up the edges of his mouth, “isn’t that what you are? A whorish exhibitionist? A rakish harlot who derives pleasure from having her mouth between the legs of a fe—”

“Don’t.” He stops, watching you. Your head is raised from the pillow, all your attention set on him. He heard the slight tremor in your vocal chords. The waver. He delights in it.

“What would your father think?” He drinks in your reaction: the absolute stillness of your wings, the tension in your shoulders, the stiff set of your jaw. All of you freezes.

It’s not enough. He wants to see your head bow in shame. “What would Edvard think?” Your hands ball into fists, eyelids trembling as you struggle against his piercing gaze. “Leave him out of this,” you manage, but the words are strained. Azriel raised an eyebrow, making to settle down into his pillow, “who knows, maybe he has similar tastes.”

He’s rewarded by the sound of your feet on the wooden floor, stalking over to his bed. “You say what you like about me, Shadowsinger. But keep his name out of your filthy mouth.”

He doesn’t bother to open his eyes, his shadows doing the job perfectly for him. “Shadowsinger,” you hiss, stepping closer to his bed, so you’re standing over him. “I’m fucking talking to you,” you growl, quiet fury coating your words. This time, his eyes open, sliding awake with awareness, piercing up at you. You still.

The male moves with languid lethality as he raises from the bed, settling his feet securely on the floor as he unfolds to his full height. It’s only now you’re aware of his shadows that have crept up from the ground, locking you in place. “An awful lot of fire coming from someone so weak,” he murmurs, the words slicing through the air like blades of ice. A dark energy thrums throughout the room, skittering silently across the floorboards. “You were out of line,” you growl, keeping your ground.

He laughs, the sound lacking amusement. “I was out of line?” You don’t deign him with a reply. His lips settle into a bland line, practiced neutrality rolling across his features, “and what can you do about that? Really?” You open your mouth but he leans down, his shadows constricting around your torso, “aside from clumsily hurling your blunt words around like a child with a wooden blade.” Your lips part in surprise.

What can you do?

You’d never really considered he would ever attempt to do anything.

“You’ll get in trouble if you hurt me,” you warn, pressing against his shadows as his wings slowly slide open, branching out from his powerful form. There’s no amusement in his eyes as he speaks, “do you honestly believe you’re the first to treat me as a stain of dirt?” You try to hold your ground but he’s shifted, cold hazel sharp in the night air.

His brow narrows. Answer me. The gesture says. “No.” The word escapes your mouth before you have a chance to resist, following his order instinctively. Azriel leans closer, invading your space as his shadows coil tighter, squeezing you for breath. “How do you think they ended?” He asks softly, steel slicing down your spine.

“What?” You breathe, voice lilting with fear.

“I’m asking how you think I killed them,” he murmurs, eyes slicing you open, carving you out. “You—…” Words don’t come to you. His shadows constrict, another silent demand. Answer me. “I don’t know,” you stammer, tongue heavy in your mouth, bloated.

He leans closer, mouth so close to your own. You try to shrink away. His shadows twine higher, slowly snaking over your collar bones, hugging to your neck. “Would you like to?” You feel the words brush over your lips, but ashy hazel is encompassing your vision. A blade catches the silver glint of moonlight over his back.

“Azr—” you gasp, hands lifting to your throat, “I can’t—” His shadows curl tighter, squeezing. “Breathe—” your eyes are wide, nails scraping over the soft flesh of your neck as they faze through the darkness.

Then they’re gone. You gulp down lungfuls of cool, burning air. You stumble backward, legs giving out as you crash to the floor, hand still cupping your throat as you scramble away from him. “You bastard,” you rasp, scuttling away until your wings are pressed to the wood of your bed. “Filthy, vile, beast.”

You panic when he steps forward, completely silent, eyes trained on you as you scrabble up onto your bed, shuffling until you’re against the wall. “Stay there,” you rasp, pushing backward, shrinking into the darkness as he prowls closer. “Stay there, shadowsinger,” you hiss, curling into yourself as memories flood over you. Running from a towering figure through the darkened streets, breath tearing raggedly from your lungs as your hunter pursues you with large, striding steps. How they gained on you, closer and closer, tighter and tighter.

A shadow snakes around your ankle and you jerk, racing back down into your body. You’re met with hazel, staring down at you.

You’re half lying down, braced on your elbows, knees bent and parted. Azriel arms are either side of you, caging you beneath him on the bed, resting above you, barely a breaths width between your mouths. His brow is almost imperceptibly dipped, mouth set in that same bland line as before.

Nerves fire all at once as instincts slam into you, curling up as you shove your foot just inside the bone of his hip, kicking back at him with all your force. His hands tighten in the bed, keeping him where he is, completely immovable despite how hard you’re pushing. “Get off me you brute,” you snarl up at him, and you’re certain he can feel each word.

His upper lip twitches in a suppressed curl, the first sign he’s given you that he’s actually in there. Darkness twines up your leg, squeezing viciously. If he reaches your throat, you’re gone. How the hel are you supposed to guard against them? They were straight out of a nightmare, no way to fight except to match him or run.

You remember when you were younger, you used to have nightmares a lot. All revolving around running tirelessly, running from something looming at your back, stalking close behind as it swept closer. Ed used to tell you to try to stop running, to turn around and look at what was chasing you. He used to say if you were ever scared of a monster, turn around and blow it a big kiss.

If he was going to use his shadows, you were going to weaponise yourself.

His darkness winds over your hips, covering you in a lethal blanket of night.

You sharply pull your foot away from his hip, the sudden lack of force providing a fraction of a second for you to snake your arms around his shoulders, crushing your mouth against his. The muscles in his arms turn to stone as your legs spread, wrapping around his hips, pulling him flush against you.

His lip curls, mouth opening to snarl down at you, but your hands thread through his silky hair, fisting as you pull him down. You arch your back, thighs squeezing him closer as your breasts press flush against him, tongue shoving into him as you switch the playing fields.

You’re startled when his hips roll against yours, pushing you into the bed as his mouth shoves back against your own, tongue lapping out over your lips as his teeth nip and bite. You swallow down a moan as his hips force your legs apart, pinning you to the bed as he sweeps in, hand looping beneath your head to tangle in your hair.

The two of you pull back for breath, and you’re panting, startled by the abrupt turn from nightmare to fever dream.

His eyes flash as he pulls further away, standing at the edge of your bed, hands dropping to the ties in his leathers. You hiss when his shadows tangle in your hair, mimicking the feeling of his fist, jerking your head back as you’re forced upright. You hate it when he uses the tendrils of darkness to malehandle you into whatever suits his tastes. It’s degrading.

“Stop squeezing so tight,” you snap. His lips curl as they tighten, making you wince, before they loosen again. His hand replaces them, tugging you uncomfortably. “Come on, whore,” he drawls softly, eyes sharp and menacing, “put that mouth to good use.”

Humiliating heat flushes your cheeks as your eyes drop to his crotch. He’s set the ties loose, but left it for you to actually pull him out. To put your hands on him. You swallow, shame crawling beneath your skin but he keeps your head so he can see your expressions. He revels in your degradation, heat seating inside as he watches your shaky hands raise to the ties.

Your digits fumble at first, trembling too much as they attempt to pull the strings loose. He observes intently as your slim fingers work work the bonds free, slowly. Reluctantly. It’s only when you’ve finished with the strings that your gaze raises to his, hands trembling as they settle on his leathers. His brow narrows.

“If I do this…” your words are muted, hushed. He stills. “…you won’t tell anyone. What I did, I mean.” His gaze hardens, staring down at you with an indecipherable look. You swallow, humiliating heat rushing to your cheeks, “if I—,” you swallow again, lower lip trembling. “If I let you use my mouth,” you stammer, quietly, “you won’t tell anyone, that I let a…female…use it.”

Your scent hits him then, horror kicking him in the gut as the sharp tang of fear shoves it’s way up his nostrils. His hand releases your hair as if he’s been burnt. He steps back, faltering. Your eyes flick to his, scared at his movements. Nausea roils in his gut. He almost—

He doesn’t think about it.

Your hands are frozen, suspended from where they had been placed, before dropping to your lap as you attempt to hide the tremors. Somehow he manages to steel his voice, “if you do not want to do something,” he starts, not a hitch to be found, “you tell me so.” You blink your eyes, fingers wringing together in your lap.

Now he’s aware of it, it’s obvious. Your blown out pupils, the shakiness to your lower lip, your fumbling hands. Dear Gods.

“Huh?” You peer up at him, wings tucking tight behind you, shuddering for an entirely different set of reasons than when they had been in the pleasure hall. The sound is small to his ears, soft and scared. How much damage had he just inflicted upon you from not being aware. From getting caught up in his anger for your kind.

You trace the roll of his throat, the air having shifted. “I was not planning on reporting back to your father,” he speaks, the words dull against your ears. “I would not force you to—,” your breath catches, fingers tensing, “…do that.”

A muscle feathers in your jaw, eyes darting away from his, head bowing in shame. It doesn’t illicit a pleasured response as he had thought. “Why not?” Disgust crawls in his stomach at the question, noting how your finger are tracing your throat. “You made it clear you have no qualms involving yourself in immoral acts.” The soft rasp of your voice grates against his senses. He did that.

“Crossing lines does not mean you forget them.”

“You seemed pretty content to do just that when you tried to strangle me.”

His expression hardens. He refuses to apologise for that. “So you’re going to tell me it wasn’t deserved?” You freeze, then resume breathing. “What do you expect, Shadowsinger? You’re the scum of the war camp. A bastard and a torturer.”

Your eyes lift to his and he’s taken aback by their depth, the superficial hatred you wield against him having collapsed into a broken spiral of conflict and repression. “You think I would be treated favourably if I sided with you?” He takes in your admission, trying to decipher your tangle of words, attempting to reconcile them against your past actions. “You’re a brute, but I don’t believe you to be stupid.”

Possibly the most free-spoken you’ve been around him.

“Your brother doesn’t have a problem with us.” Bastards.

“He is male. He is allowed to make those mistakes,” you reply, pinning him beneath your loathing gaze. “I am not afforded that luxury.” He can see fatigue swirling in the darkness of your eyes. How many times have you had those words repeated back to you? How many arguments had been sparked within your own family and how many of those battles had you lost simply because you don’t know any different.

Your gaze slips away from his, sensing he’s seen something he’s not supposed to. “I will not begrudge him of the opportunities he’s extended solely for being born into the stronger sex. But I cannot act upon them myself.”

That familiar rage burns inside of him as he witnesses already how deep the roots run. How the Illyrian ideologies have already been enforced firmly, carved into your mind from an early age. The icy flame sears, scorches as he takes you in: a near perfect archetype of everything he hates about Illyria.

“Even so,” Azriel speaks, his words firm, “I will not turn a blind eye to your cruel nature. No matter what reasons your actions are born from.” He expects a rebuke, to have you attempt to slice him apart with your bladed lexicon.

“That’s fine.” He finds your eyes latching onto his, a thread of recognition connecting you for the span of a second.

“Just don’t try to murder me for keeping myself safe.”

Maybe there’s more to your surface level bitterness than he thought.

Taglist: @myheartfollower

#Azriel #His (Mine.)#Azriel smut #Azriel angst #Azriel x reader #Azriel x bratty!reader #acotar #Shadowsinger #Filthy Mongrel #[*]#Azriel[*]

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hometoursandotherstuff · 3 months

Text

This 1912 home in Lake Bluff, Illinois didn't look that bad, but someone, (known only as MKE), didn't have the money to buy it, and hated what the current owners did, so he made a scathing webpage to plea for someone to make it right. He called the page "Rescue Me. Sincerely, David Adler" on behalf of the late architect who designed it. Here are the before & after pics of the 7bd, 5.5ba home. It's on the market again for $6.995M. But, does MKE approve?

I expected the entrance hall to look terrible, but it looked pristine. The top pic shows how perfect it looked. The bottom is how it is decorated today.

MKE wrote: The trouble begins after the dreamlike entry. Let’s wander into the music room. It is, well, green. However, the essential French details remain, just waiting to be uncovered. -It isn't easy being green.

The music room is now the dining room.

MKE wrote: The next room, likely the main salon, is decidedly pink. Pouf window treatments obscure perfectly proportioned French doors. Adler surely paces through here in the darkest hours, spectral paintbrush in hand. -Oh please, rethink the pink!

The salon, now. Does it look more French? I think it does.

MKE approved of the library. He says: The library is pretty darned close to being perfect. Nothing a little floor refinishing and wood oil can’t restore. -With a bit of restoration, the library will be a best seller.

The library is looking fine.

MKE wrote: Imagine taking breakfast in the solarium, and watching the seasons change. There is some weather-related damage, but it is certainly repairable.

Well, it's not really a breakfast room or solarium anymore. And, it looks like some of the doors were also eliminated.

MKE liked the fountain. He wrote: A wall-mounted fountain adds whimsy to the solarium.

Well, have no fear, the fountain's here.

MKE wrote of the dining room: Uh-oh, it’s time to tour the dining room. What happened here? A ruin. A magnificent one, but very much a ruin. The room is reminiscent of the dining room in the home Adler designed for the Ryerson family on Chicago’s Astor Street. The amazing Louis V influence, the symmetry. Under all that green, the impeccable bones are still intact.

It is no longer a dining room.

MKE wrote: The poor kitchen. Adler must shed ghostly tears when he wafts through here. Yet the possibilities are endless. Nothing that a gut job and some Peacock or Smallbone cabinetry won’t fix.

Well, they certainly did gut it. No doubt about that.

That concluded MKE's critique. Let's go on with our tour. This is the spacious primary bedroom.

A lovely bath. I always like a striped wallpaper, it just looks classy.

This secondary bedroom is a pretty plum.

And, here's another stunning bath.

The beautiful guest house.

Very nice.

Large patio along the pool.

The lot is 8.26 acres.

https://www.redfin.com/IL/Lake-Bluff/1010-Green-Bay-Rd-60044/home/17669471?

#before & after homes #mansions #houses #house tours #home tour

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sapphos-ode · 9 months

Text

Little Cat

Part 13

Larissa Weems part 12 | part 14 | ao3

Massive thank you to @h-doodles for letting me hurl ideas at her and helping me actually figure out what to write for this part!

Again apologies for the gap between updates. I hope you enjoy this one x (9.2k words)

CW - alcohol consumption is mentioned, and it gets a bit suggestive near the end I think that’s all I need to say?

A sharp prickly sensation comes over you and your body feels as if it’s been filled with lead. Your limbs are like dead weight and you’re thankful for being seated. Otherwise you’re sure you’d have fallen to your knees. You create space between your bodies and look into Larissa’s eyes with a thousand yard stare, as your brain replays her answer.

You feel an onslaught of despair in your chest, you feel like a fool. For reading the signs wrong, for thinking she’d ever be interested in you. For falling for her. And you’re terrified for what that means for your friendship, had you ruined it or could you salvage it? You desperately hoped you could. You know, deep down inside, that you couldn’t cope not having Larissa in your life. You weren't a greedy soul, if you couldn’t have her as a partner - to call yours and yours only, then as a friend, hell even as an acquaintance would do.

A third emotion wriggles itself into your body, guilt. But it’s not yours for your heart to bear.

“I shouldn’t have allowed this to go so far,” her tone is clipped as she holds her head high.

Nausea overcomes you and the world seems hazy.

“It’s highly inappropriate,” Larissa begins talking again with a dismissive wave of her hand, twisting the knife in the wound, “you best not let your feelings affect our working relationship,” she’s inwardly taken aback at how impartial she sounds. You begin to piece together the source of her guilty conscience.

You let out a harsh laugh. It’s short and more of a strong exhale from your nose than it is a laugh. “You can’t really mean that, my feelings are a game for you-?”

“Don’t put words into my mouth Miss. Karnstein,” there’s a bite behind it. Laced with warning

“It’s hardly putting words in your mouth when it’s what you’ve just insinuated!” You don’t mean to shout at her.

“Watch your tone,” her voice is a controlled hushed whisper, and you wished she was yelling at you instead.

You have a scathing remark ready on the tip of your tongue but you value your job so you keep your mouth shut. Instead you draw into yourself and hug your knees to your chest, casting your gaze out onto the landscape before you. The strained silence between you lasts a while and neither of you make to move or speak.

After what could’ve been minutes or hours, it doesn’t matter much to you right now, you speak with a broken voice. It’s a shadow of a breath but Larissa heard every word you say, “I think you should head back.”

“It is getting horribly cold…”

Larissa stands and in your peripheral you can see her offer a hand to you. The nerve of that woman.

“I’m going to stay out for a bit longer.”

“It’s getting dark,”

Larissa really didn’t want you to be navigating the woods during nightfall on your own. Especially on your own. She’d be much happier if you came back to Nevermore with her - that way she’d know you were safe and sound. Right now it was dusk and only just light enough to see.

“I know,” you keep your response short.

“Atikah…” the woman presses with an urgency.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. You sit still, begging her to just leave you alone. She eyes you warily, committing to memory the way your jaw tightens and the muscles in your neck quiver and flex as you fight the frown that desperately wants to twist your lips. Even with anger bubbling under your surface, she still finds you enchanting, wanting to trail her fingers along your jawline and hold you to her chest. To take back her words and admit that she longs for you in every waking moment and in every moment she sleeps too, that she needs your soul intertwined with her own, every second she goes without it ails her.

The blonde takes a sudden breath in, your head turns just a fraction and she sees the waning flicker of hope in the corner of your eye. But her voice withers away in her throat when she tries to tell you that you weren't a mere pastime for her. Your eyes narrow at her and you look back out to the sea of treetops. Your hair falling over your face banishing the woman from your sight.

Larissa’s hand falls back to her side and she turns heel, leaving silently, save for the sound of leaves crunching under her feet

The moon sits proud in the sky, the brilliant white of its surface glowing against the deep velvet ultramarine of the night. Clusters of stars littered the canvas of the sky and they remind you of a moment in time, not too long ago, when you saw them in the eyes of another. You perish the thought quickly when you feel tears build up again.

The tracks of tears cried earlier have long since dried upon your face, leaving an uncomfy tautness. The cold air stings and the tips of your fingers are numb.

The vibrations of your phone breaks the morose trance you had fallen into as you stew in your mind. You don’t remove it from your pocket, yet. Instead you choose to stand slowly, your knees clicking and your muscles crying out from their stiffness. The air is cold and it nips at any exposed skin.

The caller ID reads ‘Alice’, your eyes flit up to the top corner to read the time. Hours have passed and you resign yourself to the fact that you need to return to Nevermore. You decline the call and turn on the phone torch, it’s bleach white light illuminating the forest floor.

The second the Principal reached her office, the warmth of the school a welcome change from the chilled air, she had sat down at her desk and immediately buried herself with email after email, accepting meeting requests left right and centre. She wanted to open a bottle of wine and down it in one fell swoop but it wouldn’t keep her mind busy and off of you.

The whole time a grotesque lump formed in her throat, and a malevolent pit grew in her stomach. Had she just messed up one of the best things to ever happen to her? Probably. But it just went to show that love was not made for her. And the universe, ever cruel, had given her someone she couldn’t have. Someone who’s hand fits so perfectly in her own. Someone who gave her their full attention, and never made her feel like a second choice. Someone who had chosen her. All she wanted was to be wanted. And she had said no.

Larissa isn’t sure when her hands left her keyboard and held her head as she sobbed without abandon. The kind of sobs that shake your whole body, where you can’t support yourself and you struggle to draw air because you just keep crying out. The kind where slowly your head falls from your hands, and rests on the desk because you’re so spent it’s impossible to keep your head up.

Larissa Weems sits at her desk. Heartbroken over a woman she could have had. If only she wasn’t so scared.

Thursday is a bleak day. Well, it’s not. But you don’t feel present in your own body, you go through the motions. Your enthusiasm as you teach classes empty - your break is spent in your classroom. And so is your lunch. About halfway through Alice pokes her head in.

“Hey?”

You startle, clumsily wiping your eyes with your sleeve and sniffling. You muster up a smile.

“What’s up?” You sound too cheerful.

“Nothin’, just it’s not like you to not come to the lounge for lunch. What’s wrong?”

Alice knows already, she can just tell. If last night had gone well she’d have known all about it by now. She’d be sick of it from how much you would have talked and gushed over Principal Weems. Your silence worries her.

You take a steadying breath before slumping in your seat. Absentmindedly fidgeting with a pen on your desk.

“I… told her, that I like her and- ” you swallow thickly, “Alice she saw it as a game,” your voice breaks and cracks.

You look up at Alice and she’s at your side in an instant holding you. You bury your face into her shoulder and cry for the umpteenth time that day. All the while Alice runs a hand over your back and holds you close.

“It’s- it’s so s-stupid!” Your voice is dampened as you talk into Alice, it’s also riddled with high pitched hiccups, “I’m- I didn’t date her! And I’m crying as- as if we broke up!”

“You guys looked like you had something going on, it’s not stupid,” Alice defends your own feelings for you.

“I thought so too! But we were just friends, and- like I’ve been rejected before. But this- this really fucking hurts!”

“Rejection always hurts,”

“No! I- you don’t get it, I didn’t feel this bad when I ended things with my ex! We were together for three years!” You sit back to look at Alice, holding her shoulders, “Alice! Three years and I was less sad than I am now! It doesn’t make sense- I’m being dramatic!”

“Whoa, you’re not dramatic! You just felt a really strong connection. Right?”

“Yeah…” you pout not unlike a small child.

“And she… you know, didn’t take it seriously… it hurts, so just let yourself feel,” Alice continues to placate you, “take your own damn advice,”

“If she just said she didn’t return the feelings… that would’ve been fine. I’d have accepted that and respected her space. But what she said made me feel like a fool…”

Alice debates if she should ask what Larissa’s answer was but you offer that information up freely.

“Oh…”

“I hate feelings,” you mutter.

“They suck, yeah…” Alice strokes your hair in a bid to comfort you, “You know what?”

“What?”

“We should hit Burlington on Saturday. Have a girl’s night out, just us.”

You ponder the idea, you have no plans for the weekend and another’s warmth would probably help soothe the wound, “Sounds good to me…”

The rest of lunch is spent with Alice squished next to you on your chair in silence as you calm yourself enough for your next class.

Marilyn wanders the halls of Nevermore, they’re quiet given the school day has ended. Normally she’d feel bad about approaching someone after work but she was off to see Larissa, who without a doubt would still be working dutifully.

She knocks on the heavy oak door and waits to be called in. But she receives no answer. Any other teacher would leave and come back another time, but this was Marilyn. She also happened to be somewhat friends with Larissa. So she knocks once more, again unanswered. She still opens the door and pops her head in to find Larissa sitting in her desk chair at the window. Something outside has her attention, so much so that the blonde doesn’t register the soft hello.

Marilyn enters the room and closes the door quietly before padding over. Not wanting to startle the Principal. However her attempt was in vain because when she stopped next to Larissa, just at her shoulder the woman practically threw herself out her chair with a scream.

“Marilyn!?”

“I’m sorry!” The redhead was in turn scared by Larissa’s outcry. Her hand shooting to her chest as she bent over and began to laugh.

Overcoming her initial shock Larissa shares a light chuckle, bowing her head as she calms her breathing.

“I didn’t hear you come in, sorry,” as she speaks she looks back out to the window subconsciously.

Marilyn takes a few steps forward, curious as to what has the Principal so interested. Her honeyed brown eyes fall on you, crouched down on your balcony tending to your plants. She gives a knowing look to Larissa and nudges her with her shoulder.

“She’s a real catch, you know,” accompanied with a smirk.

“She is…” Larissa says with a sigh.

“You complement each other well,”

This does the trick in stealing Larissa’s attention. She looks at Marilyn wide eyed but is quick to school her features and offers a strained smile, sidestepping the comment, “How can I help?”

“Oh, just some Rave’N planning- why are you wearing a scarf?”

Larissa’s hand comes up to her neck, resting on the soft fabric of your scarf. She’s too embarrassed to admit that she liked wearing it. It was a little piece of you, and probably the only part of you she’d have from now on. She had zero intentions of returning it.

“I’m cold?” She answers dumbly.

“But you have the fire going? And it’s roasting in here?”

“I… just need the extra warmth,”

“Okay.” Marilyn’s not convinced, but doesn’t press any further, “Anyways, a few weeks back I was spitballing theme ideas, and I suggested a masquerade?”

Larissa nodded along.

“Well, a masquerade ball theme on its own is rather boring, especially with how creative last year’s one was, if I do say so myself,” Marilyn puffs her chest out. She was really proud of the Climate Crisis Meets Extinction Effect theme. “I want to add a twist though, but I keep drawing blanks. Alice- sorry. Miss. Hansen hasn’t been much help. I was hoping to pick your brain!”

The blonde raises a perfect brow at the botanist’s slip up, since when did they get close?

“Larissa?”

She must have lost herself in thought.

The blonde’s eyes refocus and she apologises before trying to think of ideas. Instead she ends up wondering if you’d be attending, she had yet to pin the sign up sheet for chaperoning to the notice board in the lounge. As if you were a magnet, Larissa’s head turns back to the window where you still prune your plants. She swallows and presses her lips into a pained frown.

“Larissa?” Marilyn’s tone is soft as she leans to the side to get a better look of Larissa’s face. She takes note of how the woman’s eyes take on a watery sheen. “Did something happen between you two? Now that I think about it Alice did mention Atikah has dropped off the radar a little since last night… Wait, didn’t you guys go on a date to see the sunset?”

The Principal clams up at her friend’s words. She’d forgotten that Marilyn had thought the pair of you were seeing each other. Her instinct is to divert the conversation topic but she knew despite Marilyn’s airhead tendencies, she was very perceptive to others’ feelings. If she didn’t know Marilyn was a normie she’d have believed she was an empath.

“Yes…” Larissa answers weakly to both questions, unable to meet Marilyn’s gaze.

She looks at a point high up on the wall just behind Marilyn, her neck strains as she holds her head high and fights off the tears welling in her eyes. It’s one thing to open up to her friend, another to cry in front of her. Larissa was too prideful for that. Or maybe she thought she wasn’t allowed to show weakness in front of someone else. After all she ran the school, she was the one who had to keep it together so that everything ran smoothly. Right?

“Do you… do you want to talk about it?”

The blonde nods slowly, silently building the strength to outwardly voice her feelings. In doing so a few tears trickle down her cheeks, following the contours of her face and falling into the corner of her mouth. She can taste the salt.

“Oh Larissa,” Marilyn places a hand on her shoulder and is met with no resistance when she guides Larissa to the couch in front of the fire.

The botany teacher angles her body to face Larissa, who has more tears streaming down her face whilst she maintains a stoic expression, but her lip quivers despite her efforts.

“What happened?”

“I… rejected her.” Larissa furiously wiped her tears away and by sheer will power stops any more from falling.

“What? You guys broke up?”

Larissa falls against the backrest of the settee, losing all proprietary as she lets herself slide down, “We- I guess it was a date last night, oh I don’t know! But she confessed.” Larissa makes meaningless gestures with her hands as she figures out her next words. Staring up at the ceiling.

Marilyn remains quiet, letting Larissa have space to collect her thoughts. She’s quick to join the dots and realised that you guys weren’t an item as she had believed.

“She likes- liked me back, and I told her no. Gods Marilyn, I wanted to say yes!”

“Why didn’t you?” The woman speaks tentatively.

“I can’t be with her… it isn’t fair on her,” Larissa shoots back, as if it was common sense to reject your crush’s confession.

“But how so?”

“How so? I’m what? Twenty plus years older than her, I’m her boss,” Larissa shrugs mostly to herself, “I have too much baggage, and I’m insecure.”

“You? Insecure?” Marilyn exclaims incredulously, “You’re a force to be reckoned with, and a very self-assured woman!”

“Yes, as Principal Weems, not as Larissa,” she groans in frustration.

“Got you, sorry.” Marilyn twiddles her thumbs in her lap. “Did you give her a choice?”

Larissa lifts her head, looking bewildered at Marilyn.

“Like, did you tell her what you just told me?”

“No…” Larissa speaks carefully. Unsure of what Marilyn was meaning.

“She’s young, yeah, but surely she deserves to be given a choice, you know. I mean, Alice and I have started dating but she’s still discovering her sexuality,” At this Larissa sat up, hooked on every syllable falling from Marilyn’s mouth, “she’s not sure if she’s just experimenting and all that. But she did tell me so I could choose if I wanted to be with her, even if she later finds out that she doesn’t like women after all… I guess that’s similar to your situation,”

The blonde slumps her shoulders and holds her face in her hands, elbows resting on her knees. “I’ve fucked this, haven’t I?” Her voice is muffled.

“Yeah, you kinda have,” Marilyn says it as it is, whilst rubbing Larissa’s back in an attempt to sooth her.

A new wave of tears fall from Larissa’s eyes, wetting her palms as she lets her body rock with each sob.

“Oh Larissa,” Marilyn shuffles closer and pulls the woman into a hug. In the back of Larissa’s mind she tries to think of when she was last held by a friend, excluding you. You were the exception in her life.

“You can always talk to her, it’s not like her feelings suddenly vanished when you rejected her,” Marilyn maintains a hopeful note to her voice. She thought you two were adorable together and she really wanted the both of you to be happy.

You managed your Friday classes better than yesterday but you opted to eat lunch in your classroom again, a few students wanting a quiet space to get some extra studying done kept you company. You saved your self wallowing for later and offered help whenever they asked.

Your evening is spent with a carton of ice cream and a binge watch of Brooklyn 99, it was the perfect series - light hearted but with its meaningful moments, and didn’t require your full attention.

The finished ice cream sat on your bedside table, your laptop still sat open on your covers with Netflix asking if you were still watching. You were not. You had fallen asleep to the soothing sound of Captain Holt furiously yelling ‘bone’.

As you embark on a fitful slumber, Bärchen slips into your room, thinking you were still up given your lamp was turned on. Basking the room in a warm light.

She takes a second to survey the scene before her, taking a risk she shifts back into Larissa. Carefully she leans over you and closes your laptop, depositing it on your nightstand, it was less cluttered than usual. Your notebook hangs off the edge, with a pen laid across the open page. There’s more entries since she last saw it. Her name makes two new appearances, one from the Harvest Festival, ‘love and fondness’ penned next to it, the second is dated from the night she watched the sunset with you, all you’ve written is ‘guilt’. Questions burn in her brain and she wishes she could ask you what it meant, with a cautious glance to your sleeping from she flicks back a page to the one where she first saw her name alongside a handful of students’ names as well.

‘Larissa - nerves, anxiety, love?’

The question mark had been penned over and turned into a thick exclamation mark, she can tell you had pressed hard with the pen as the strokes left an indent on the paper, the word ‘love’ was now underlined. She recalls that day, when you had almost kissed her… until Enid had interrupted.

You toss in your sleep, breaking Larissa’s pondering. She stays stock still, heart racing. Praying you don’t wake up. Alas you just turn over, now facing her still fast alseep. She catches you shivering and instinctively pulls your covers up, tucking you in. She moves back but the sight of your troubled face tugs at her heartstrings. The blonde leans down and presses a featherlight kiss to your forehead, and brushes her thumb over your cheek a few times with airy strokes. Your face relaxes and your body releases the tension it held.

“I’m so sorry,” her whisper is shaky and hangs heavily in the air.

Larissa allows herself a few more seconds to admire you before she turns your lamp off and takes on the form of Bärchen. Leaving silently through the window.

Alice sits perched on a stool as she watches Marilyn flutter around her myriad of plants in the greenhouse, the wolfsbane had been moved and locked into the other room, safely away from the lycan.

The history teacher had discarded her jacket on a desk, even in Autumn the greenhouse was humid and warm. A Ricky Montgomery song plays quietly in the background, and Marilyn hums along to it, engrossed with her plant babies. Alice can’t help but dote on the redhead, she looked so cute in her blue jumpsuit.

“I can feel your staring pet,” Marilyn teases as she looks over her shoulder at Alice who sports a lovesick expression.

“Can’t help it,” she shrugs with a lopsided grin.

Marilyn places the watering can down and skips over to the lycan, her arms wrapping around the younger woman. “What are your plans for tonight?”

“Today’s Saturday, right?” Alice asks, as she leans into the embrace, Marilyn nods, “Hitting a bar with Atikah, in Burlington,”

“Better send me a fit check, is that what you call it these days?”

Alice snorts much to her mortification, a hand slapping over her face as it turns red, “Y-yes, that is what it’s called. And I will, or- ” she drags out the last word.

“Or…?” Marilyn mirrors her tone. Raising a brow that disappears behind her thick fringe.

“Or you can join us, that way you can have a ‘fit check’ in real life,”

“Oh I couldn’t, I wouldn’t want to gatecrash- ”

“Nonsense! Atikah would love it if you came!” The werewolf cuts her off.

Alice had told you about the latest development between herself and Marilyn. And you had been ecstatic about it, momentarily forgetting your own miserable love life.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive, I promise- Oh! I told her about us by the way, is that alright?” Alice holds her breath.

“She’s your closest friend, I’d be worried if you hadn’t told her,” Marilyn shakes her head in mirth before stealing a peck on the lips.

“Okay cool! Also, I haven’t told her yet but I’m gonna wingman for her, try get her a hot girly!”

“Oh? Is that so?” Marilyn has a wary look on her face. This wasn’t good news to hear.

“Yeah… why would it not be?” Alice pouts her lips as her brows draw together, “You know something, don’t you?”

“No!”

“You do so! Spill!” Alice presses.

“I told you, I don’t know anything about anything!” Marilyn throws her hands up in a sign of peace.

“Hmm, whatever you say but Atikah needs it…” Alice shrugs, “Also. You are such a bad liar!” She lunges for Marilyn’s waist with wiggling fingers. Procuring peals of giggles as the woman fruitlessly attempts to wriggle out her grasp. The redhead regrets ever having told Alice she was ticklish.

Alice sits in her classroom, catching up on some marking. She had handed out a surprise pop quiz on Friday much to the chagrin of her students. And stupidly had promised it would be graded and turned back to them for Monday.

Reading similar answers over and over was doing her head in. She was almost finished banging her head against the desk in misery when she remembered she had meant to send you a message earlier. She grabs her phone and opens up her chat with you.

Alice: i invited marilyn out tonight is that okay

She sends the text off and then pockets her phone, knowing you would see the notification right away but still take at least an hour to reply. To her surprise you text back right away.

She watches the little speech bubble in suspense.

Atikah: Yuh ofccc, why wouldn’t it be? x

Thank goodness you weren’t annoyed!

Alice: yh but it was gonna b a just us thing tho didn’t think when i asked her

You tut to yourself at her poor grammar when it came to texting.

Atikah: The more the merrier gal, dw about it.

Atikah: Besides I still gotta give her the whole best friend talk

Alice: swear to god if u do ill have ur head on a stick

Atikah: I’ll*

Alice: stfu

Atikah: Love you too bitch xxx

You had spent the day catching up with yourself, cleaning your quarters and a quick trip into Jericho to restock your fridge and most importantly your small booze collection.

When you had awoken in the morning you hadn’t thought anything strange about your laptop being moved or your lamp turned off. You deduced that you must have been so exhausted you couldn’t recall doing any of that. Larissa’s kiss had left a faint dash of her lipstick on your face but in your sleep it had rubbed off. Her little token of affection lost, never to be recognised by you.

You’re in the middle of rummaging through your wardrobe when Alice lets herself in. Only announcing her presence with the racket she makes in your kitchenette - slamming cupboard doors. You really should get into the habit of locking your door.

“Let’s get tonight started!” The lycan pushes your bedroom door open with her foot, her hands full with two glasses.

You don’t need to ask because you know that she’s already poured generous amounts of alcohol into them. She forgets her lycanthropy gives her a higher tolerance to the substance than the average person.

“It can start after you help me pick out what to wear,” you talk into your closet not looking away from your clothes.

“Move! I already have your outfit chosen,” Alice pushes you away and thrusts a glass into your hand before rifling through your wardrobe.

You busy yourself with setting up your speaker and finding a playlist that's suitable for pre drinks. You take a long swig from your glass, wincing at the strength of it but enjoying the warm sensation it leaves as it travels down your throat. Alice had given you some vodka mixer concoction and it brings memories from your student days to the forefront of your mind. You can’t comprehend how vodka used to be your choice of drink back then.

“Here!” Alice looks triumphant as she lays out the clothes she’s selected onto the bed before turning to you, “it’s perfect! It’ll show just enough skin to entice someone but not enough to satisfy them- ”

“What are you on about?”

“I’m gonna help you get with someone, anyways as I was saying- ”

“Whoa, hold it! I know I’m feeling marginally better but it’s been like three days since??? Getting to know someone who isn’t Larissa isn't really what I want- ”

“You’re not gonna get to know them silly, it’ll be to rebound, put a spring back into your step, y’know? To remind you you’re still a hot bitch even if Weems doesn’t see that. Anyways, enough about that, let’s talk clothes,” Alice points to the outfit she laid out for you, “with those dangly silver earrings you have- Oh! And with your necklace, with the- the uhhh, the thing!” Alice scrambles for the word she’s looking for.

“The thing? Right… yeah, I know exactly what you mean,” you lay the sarcasm on thick.

“Shut up, but you know the one that sits low on your chest! That one! Wear it,”

“Yes ma’am,” you mutter good naturedly.

There’s a knock at the door and Alice says she’ll get it. As she leaves, another person enters your room in the form of a white cat. Larissa had told herself these visits would stop but after two days not seeing you, she couldn’t cope. And had given in. Reasoning that she may not get to be close to you as Larissa, but as Bärchen she could at least bask in your presence and watch you without worry.

“Hello!” Marilyn calls through your quarters, and you greet her back.

You poke your head out your bedroom door to let them know you’re just changing before closing it. Larissa has no time to react before you’ve whisked off your day clothes and stand in the middle of your room clad in just your underwear. She freezes, half her body inside your room, the other outside on the balcony. Her eyes are trained on your body and she starts to purr involuntarily. The sound snags your attention and you offer her a reserved smile.

“And I was beginning to think you’d abandoned me,” you chuckle, it had been almost a week since you’d last seen your little feline friend.

You lean down to pick her up, in doing so giving Larissa a front row seat of your cleavage. She prayed to every higher being for strength as she felt your hands wrap around her lithe body. Bärchen’s fur was soft and plush against your skin, you cradle her in your arms and press little kisses to her forehead. With each smooch her purring somehow gets louder.

“You changed!?” Alice’s words are muffled through the wooden door.

“No!”

“Hurry up!”

You shake your head and plop Bärchen onto your bed before changing into a lingerie set from your fancy underwear collection, as you like to call it. Otherwise you chose comfort over sex appeal when it comes to pants.

Larissa only watches your body as if she’s entranced. She wants to look away, this wasn’t right, especially after turning you down. But you were so perfect in her eyes and she wanted to commit every stretch mark, every fold, every curve of your body to her memory. Because she knew she’d never see you like that otherwise.

You shove on the outfit Alice had curated for you and checked yourself out in the mirror, you had to admit you did look hot. And you felt good in the clothes. After a little more scrutinising you decide you’re happy with how the clothes sit. Laughter from the next room draws your gaze to your door, with a deep breath you down the rest of your drink and then all of Alice’s. Her fault for leaving it in here and not taking it with her.

“Guys you better not be shagging on my couch!” You holler as you open your door. Letting the two women spill into your room.

Marilyn enters first and her eyes zero in immediately onto Bärchen. Bypassing you entirely to fuss over the cat who was hesitant to her touch.

“You have a pet?!”

You open your mouth but Alice shouts over you, telling the redhead to not ask questions. But she has another one to ask and disregards the lycan’s warning.

“Does Larissa know?”

“Nope,” you pop the ‘p’.

“Hey? Where’d my drink go?”

You shrug.

The next half hour is spent with Marilyn on your balcony, cat in her arms (who is desperately trying to escape) as she gives an in-depth lecture on each of your plants, whilst Alice does your make up and hair inside.

A good few drinks later and you’re sufficiently tipsy with a cab enroute. You chuck what you need into a small bag before heading over to your bed - Bärchen had rushed over and buried herself on your duvet the second Marilyn had released her.

“I’ll see you later,” you press a kiss to her furry forehead, leaving a lipstick stain before tucking her small form into the bed. She blinks at you, slowly.

“Ooh! I wanna say goodbye to the cat too!” You hear marilyn exclaim from your living room.

She runs into your bedroom and peppers little pecks over Bärchen’s head before she could escape under your covers. You hear a low growl and shake your head.

“She’s a fussy princess,” you joke before dragging the botanist out of your room.

The trio of you waltz into the bar, Alice and yourself giggling whilst Marilyn grumbles to herself. The bouncer had let Marilyn in first then asked for Alice’s ID and yours.

“I’m not old!”

“You- you’re not, you’re just mature- hey!” Alice recieves a quick slap on the arm.

“Think you’re in the doghouse tonight,” you quip before beelining to the bar.

The establishment was dimly lit, it was the kind of place that couldn’t decide if it was a nightclub or a bar. So it ended up this weird amalgamation, with seating and an open space for dancing, a humble dj booth pressed against the far wall. The music was loud, too quiet to call it a club but too loud to be heard at a normal talking level.

“Hey, uh could I get a double vodka coke… a single rum with coke as well, and a…” you try to think what Marilyn drank.

“Sambuca and orange juice,” Alice appears at your side, and fills in the blank your mind was having. “Oh and three tequila shots. Lime and salt please!”

The bartender smiles and gets to work. You glare at Alice, “Tequila? Are you trying to kill me?”

“Can’t handle your liquor?” Marilyn chimes in, with a teasing smile.

“I could outdrink you easily,” you shoot back with a defiant look.

As the night progresses the three of you abandon the table you had sat at in favour of the dance floor. A crowd had formed since you had entered, the place was busier - almost packed full. You enjoy how the bass vibrates through your body and the music blares. You know half the lyrics but still sing along. The alcohol removes the weight you feel on your shoulders. The smile on your face is genuine and reaches your eyes.

Marilyn had disappeared off to the bathroom and Alice had decided it was time for another drink. You declined her offer to join her at the bar, too content to stop your dancing. Just as she slipped through the sea of people, a body presses up against you from behind. Hands rest on your waist, itching to go lower.

You are fully ready to turn round and square up but a raspy voice stops you. Whoever it is has leaned down close to your ear in order to be heard over the music.

“Blow jobs or sex on the beach?”

‘What the fuck?’ You’re too stunned at the blaise of this person. Just as you’re about to tell them to go do one they buy themselves a second chance.

“I’m talking about drinks, of course, but we can talk about the actual acts if you’d prefer!”

You look over your shoulder to be met with a taller woman around your age, her thick dark curls tickle your cheek whilst her earthy green eyes, speckled with dashes of brown, fight to stay on your face and not stray any further down. She had a strong jaw and heavy set brows, she reminded you of some kind of Amazonian warrior.

You reach up and hook your arm around her neck, pulling her down to your level before responding to her. “I think that’s the worst pick up line I’ve ever heard. Do you want to try again?” You fight to keep the laughter out of your voice.

She smiles, giving a toothy grin. Delighted you’ve taken the bait. She sucks in air between her teeth and winces theatrically, “Ow- tough crowd. Okay okay.” She taps her chin in deep thought, “How about… I’m not drunk. Just intoxicated by you.”

“Better,” you feel your mouth stretch in a smile as your eyes fall to Maven’s lips. She’s sporting a deep plum coloured lipstick. “But you just got that from some trashy click bait website, didn’t you?”

Maven feigns offence, her mouth falling open and her bushy brows shooting up to her hairline. She spins you around to face her, holding you at arms length by your waist. You take this opportunity to look her up and down, taking your sweet time with no attempt to hide it.

“Do I look like that kind of person? You think that lowly of me?” Maven apparently missed the feeling of your body, she pulls you back to her before whispering in your ear, “you’ve wounded me and I think only a kiss can fix me,”

“A kiss?” You take on the same tone you would if you were playing along with a small child’s story.

Maven nods. Eyes lighting up with hope.

You kiss her cheek, “here? Or…” you place another on the corner of her jaw, “here?” Your lips find the swell of her throat, “what about here?” You look up at her through your mascara coated lashes. “Or…” you place a kiss on her chest.

“Fuck…” she bites her lip, a hunger festering in her eyes, “how about lower?”

“Lower?” You raise a brow and humour her, trailing your mouth down to the end of her dress’s plunging neckline at her solar plexus.

She lets out a deep throaty indulgent moan.

You stand up straight and wrap your arms around her neck, pulling her just millimetres from your face. Your eyes give her a challenging look and she’s quick to take the invitation to your lips. It’s sloppy and uncoordinated - but the feeling of a warm body against yours, plush lips bruising your own, and a demanding tongue exploring your mouth is enjoyable.

“I’m Maven, yours?” She gasps out pulling away for air, before rushing back in for more.

You move your head back, giving you enough time to mutter your own name before letting her kiss you again.

When drunk, there’s very little getting to know each other before you have your tongues down each other’s throat. And Maven was no exception. You were accustomed to it, having had your fair share of tipsy make out sessions with strangers, with the only thing you know about them being their name. And that’s all you wanted to know.

“Can I take you home?” Maven speaks very closely to your ear, her voice is raspy and tinged with a little too much eagerness. But not enough to give you the ick.

You give her a quick once over and say yes .

Maven takes your hand and leads you to the door, outside to one of the numerous taxis waiting for customers. In no time at all you’ve found yourself sitting in the back of a cab. As Maven gives her address you check your phone. A couple texts from Alice sat in your notifications from about twenty or so minutes ago.

Alice: u still on the dance floor? found Marilyn btw

Alice: girl hello?

It seems she must have lost the spot you were at when she had left to get another drink.

Atikah: No just left sorry! I’m going back to someone’s tho ;) hope you and Marilyn have a nice night x

Atikah: Thanks for tonight, I’ll send you the address later. And text when I leave for Nevermore x

Alice replies immediately.

Alice: gotcha i expect a full debrief tomo mari and me are gonna go back

‘Mari and I,’ is all you think to yourself.

Larissa had left your quarters not too long after you had. She was feeling shit. There were no better words to describe how she felt. She just felt. Shit.

Shit because she was feeling fomo, at the big old age of forty six, shit because she felt immature for the fomo, shit because Marilyn was able to start seeing a younger woman, shit because she wanted to have that too, shit because she wasn’t with you right now to shower you in compliments, shit because she wasn’t there to lay her claim on you if someone bought you a drink at the bar. Shit because she… because she missed you.

The blonde felt like she was losing her mind in her quarters - she kept finding herself looking out the window, hoping to see if your light turned on. So she climbed herself up onto the roof and settled in a spot where she could see the world but not be seen herself. She had spent many nights in that exact spot as a student enjoying the tranquility. The blonde shivered in the cold air, having not thought of wearing a jacket. What she did have was the next best thing - your scarf, which she draped over her shoulders like a shawl.

From her vantage point she can see the headlights of a lone car as it travels down the road towards Nevermore’s circular drive. It stopped at the gates and let out its passengers. Two figures. They waste no time hurrying down the gravel path and as they get closer to the school building Larissa can just make out that it’s Miss. Hansen and Marilyn. She casts her gaze back to the car which is in the process of a three point turn.

A deep frown settles on her lips. You should be with them. Why were you not? She’s about to jump to conclusions in her head but stops herself, you’d probably arrive soon in another taxi… most likely you had bumped into an old friend and said you’d stay and catch up with them, that you’d head home later.

You’re barely through the threshold before Maven has you pinned against the door. Her lips back on yours as she hungrily laps her tongue around yours. Her moans getting lost in your mouth.

Her thigh forces its way between yours, not that you put up much resistance in parting them. Her hands - her big hands - travel down from your shoulders over your breasts, kneading them and teasing out soft whimpers from you. Your hips jerk at the sensation but it doesn’t last long, Maven’s hands go straight for your hips. Pulling you down onto her leg and guiding your hips in a rolling motion.

You can feel yourself grow wet. You tangle your hands in her wild curls as her lips move down onto your neck. Where she sucks and licks. Leaving deep red marks. Your mind is too cloudy with carnal thoughts to stop her. All you can focus on is how good her thigh feels against your core which now throbs.

No words are exchanged, only grunts and desperate whines ring out through the empty apartment. You're vaguely aware of how Maven has started working on your chest, marking the skin with her mouth. Creating more red welts you’d have to deal with in the morning.

Her hand slips past your clothing, deft fingers stroking you through your dampened underwear. Maven can feel the thin lace fabric on her fingertips. You let out a sinful moan and close your eyes, leaning your head back. A hungry smirk plays on her face.

She drops to her knees, pulling the fabric of your pants aside. Her tongue, firm and warm, and wet runs along your folds. Sending a piercing wave of pleasure through you.

Larissa waited on the rooftop but no car came down that. Her mind ran amok with all the worst things that could be happening to you. And so she ended up back in her office. Employee files strewn across her desk as she fumbles to find yours.

“Karnstein… Karnstein, oh come on!” She burst out in exasperation as she pulls out a file for a Meinwald Karnstine.

Meinwald had retired several years ago, and Larissa had no idea why his file was still there. It was promptly chucked over her shoulder in the general direction of her waste paper basket. Her search continues.

Eventually she finds your file. It had somehow ended up in a different area. Usually Larissa was very particular and kept everything in alphabetical order when she could. She must have misplaced it when you had handed back the forms before you started officially working at Nevermore.

No matter, she’s found it. And most importantly, found your phone number.

“God! Lar- ” you open your eyes to look down but you aren’t met with blue eyes that reflect the softness of the summer sky and the complexity of the sea. Instead eyes of green like the moss that covers old stone ruins in forests gaze back. “Shit…” your chest rises and falls as you slow your breathing.

You push Maven’s head back and slide down the door so you're kneeling in front of her. Your shoulders slump as you run a hand through your hair.

“Wh-what’s wrong?” Maven sounds genuinely worried which makes you feel even worse. “Did I do something-?”

“No!” You screw your eyes shut, “No,” you speak more gently this time, “you haven’t, I’m just… I’m a bit of a mess,”

“We just started,” Maven chuckles lightly, she’d happily take you to her bedroom and dim as the lights if you were worried about how you looked.

“No- I mean like, as a person. Right now,” you elaborate, “I don’t think this hook up… it’s not fair on you. I’m… I’m kinda hung up on someone,”

“Oh… right, okay.” Maven sits back on her legs and tries to find something else to say.

“Can I use your bathroom?” You don’t have the strength to meet her eyes.

She points you in the direction of her toilet, you lock the door behind you. You grab some toilet roll and clean yourself up. There wasn’t much to clean, like Maven said. You guys had really only just started. You flush the paper down the toilet and check yourself in the mirror. Deep purple lipstick is smeared across your neck and chest, you’d prefer if it was red. With a sigh you grab more toilet paper and wet it in the sink before wiping your skin clean.

Maven was kind enough to call you a taxi. And had accepted your apologies with grace. Softly saying she would be happy to bump into you in the future. Your strained smile and silence told her all she needed to know.

The taxi door shuts and after giving the address to Nevermore with a trembling voice, the tears start trickling down your face. You wipe them away with your arm. Trying to keep your sobs quiet.

The driver looks at you worriedly through the rear view mirror a few times but stays silent. You’re glad, because you don’t want to have to talk.

By the time you reach the school you’ve stopped crying - Maven lived quite a bit away, giving you ample time to get ahold of yourself . You pay the man before hopping out and rush to get back to your bed.

It’s almost two in the morning and the halls of Nevermore are silent save for the sound of rushed footfalls. Larissa’s loafers hit the ground with muffled thumps as she pulls on her coat over her night slip. She presses the call button on her phone and brings it to her ear, the dial tone ringing out. In her other hand she fiddles with her car keys. Larissa is so focused on listening for a change of tone that she doesn’t hear a second set of footsteps ring out.

She whips round a corner and comes to a shuddering halt. Because lo and behold, there stands you. Looking down at your phone. Brows drawn together as you read the unknown number. Feeling a pair of eyes burning into you, you look up. Your mildly perplexed expression falling into surprise. The first thing you notice is that Larissa’s hair is down. Her silken locks cascading over her shoulders.

You hadn’t seen Larissa since she disregarded your feelings. You missed her dearly but bumping into her on her way to meet with her fuck buddy - you presumed because where else would she be going at two am and who else would she be calling? Wasn’t how you planned on ending the night. Was it too late to go back to Maven’s?

“Hi,” you mutter weakly whilst declining the call.

You don’t wait for Larissa to reply, walking past her as she just stares at you mutely, apparently too shocked by the state of you to say anything. You make sure to leave a distance between yourselves as you step around her.

Unable to bear another second near Larissa, you pick up the pace and disappear round the bend and down the hallway.

“Atikah!”

You stop suddenly. You want to keep going, to ignore her. For the sake of your broken heart, but there’s something in her voice that makes you willing to suffer more pain if it means you can have one more interaction with her. Even if she’s going to reprimand you for coming back drunk. Or drunk-ish. You had pretty much sobered up on the way back to Nevermore’s.

You stand still, waiting for her to come to you. Of course, with her long legs it only takes her a few strides. You feel her presence behind you and turn to her.

“Atikah I- ” Larissa cuts herself off, her resolve wavering but then she notices the hickeys that adorn your skin, and something clicks in her head.

Seeing love bites on your neck left by someone who wasn’t her woke some possessive beast inside her that had been lying dormant. It wasn’t her place to feel that though, you weren’t hers. But she’d be damned if she didn’t lay out her case before letting someone else have you.

“We need to talk,”

“I’m tired Ms. Weems,” there’s no hidden edge to your voice, you just sound… tired. Like you had said.

“We need to talk, Atikah.” Larissa speaks as if it was life or death. And maybe it is.

“I just want to sleep, please,” you plead. You’re beginning to see double but you’re not sure if it’s the tears welling up in your eyes or from exhaustion. “Please. Just let me go to sleep,”

“How much did you drink?” Her voice drops to a murmur.

“Too much, I want to go to bed.”

Okay, maybe you hadn’t really sobered up in the taxi. That or the alcohol had caught up to you. There’s a haze that clouds your mind.

Larissa chews her lip as she watches you slowly wilt in front of her, looking up at her like a kicked puppy.

“Can you get to bed yourself?”

“I- I don’t wanna be alone,” you have no clue why you said that. It was true but Larissa wasn’t the right person to say that to. You knew her feelings and you truly believed you couldn’t change them.

“Come on,” she sighs, not out of ire.

The blonde guides you through the halls, you don’t pay much attention to where. Something in your brain tells you to ask questions when you walk through Larissa’s office, and also when you go through another door into her private quarters, but the words die in your throat. They don’t even make it to your tongue.

Larissa sits you on her bed before fetching a tshirt for you. You watch her every move, desperately trying to connect to a more cognitive part of your brain but it takes too much strength, strength you don’t have.

“Here, put this on,” she hands the T-shirt to you before leaving once again to grab makeup wipes from her vanity.

When she approaches the bed again you’re standing there with your shoes kicked off and your clothes bundled on the floor. You look adorable clad in her shirt. It reaches your knees and the sleeves drown your arms.

Larissa stretches over you to pull back the duvet and you’re quick to scramble under them. Savouring the smoothness of the crisp cotton against your skin.

“One more thing Atikah,” Larissa cups your face, gently wiping the mess of your makeup off of your face.

Your eyes are shut as you lean into her touch. The blonde’s heart soars and she realises she was absolutely insane for having denied herself this.

She lays you down and pulls the sheets over your body before climbing into bed herself. Sticking to her side. You roll over to face her, but you can’t see much in the darkness.

“Are you… are you staying?” You mumble. Sleep has you in its clutches but you make a valiant effort in fending it off.

“I’m just over here… if you need me,”

“I do! I’m sorry!” You suddenly realise how burdensome this must be for Larissa and you're overcome with guilt. “I know you don’t like me, you don’t need to I can go- ”

“Shhh, I do like you- ”

“But the other day you said you didn’t,” little cries punctuate your words as you begin to ramble. What you say makes sense in your head but as you speak you don’t say half the words. Leaving Larissa with broken sentences.

“I do like you…” Larissa’s steady voice brings an end to your nonsensical rant, “but you need to sleep,” she coos, shimmying over to you and pulling you into her arms.

You melt into her instantly. Your arms finding their way around her and roping her into a vice-like hold. Burrowing your head into the crook of her neck.

“Then why did you say you didn’t?”

“I’ll tell you in the morning,”

Larissa can feel your tears wet her neck as you cry, she holds you closer as you sob silently. She hates to realise the pain she caused you, and in that moment she knew she couldn’t say or do anything to stop your tears. All she could do was hold you and let you cry until you fell asleep.

“My sweet girl, I am so sorry…” she utters into the night before letting herself fall asleep.

Tomorrow she would fix this. She vowed to you and herself.

AN - hope you guys liked it <3

Taglist - @weemssapphic @h-doodles @blessmysouljessisonaroll @eveymay @lvinhs @enchantressb @a-queen-and-her-throne @vmpnano @opheliauniverse

#larissa weems #larissa weems x reader

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