#but Enough Happened that its just... its an ache. looking at where someone used to be. you know? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

squigglewigglewoo · 7 months

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(✧) warnings: sexual content, rough sex, choking, oral (fem receiving), breeding kink(?), jealous sex, biting, marks, hickeys, manhandling, semi public sex, fingering, these men are mean, suicides mentioned once (it's dazai, what did you expect), possible objectification, thigh riding, degradation, dacryphilia, edging, orgasm denial, teasing, name calling, overstimulation, drinking, no dick for y'all today, afab reader, no pronouns used, pretty girl and good girl used like once, entirely not proof read. tell me if I missed anything. MDNI 18+ NSFW bellow the cut!

(✦) summary: what happens when someone gets just a little too touchy feely when they're around? 1283 words~

(✧) (a/n): this is entirely self indulgent, wrote it at midnight within an hour and edited it once I woke up, so I apologize is it didn't make much sense. lost my train of thought when it came tho fyodor so his part might be shorter than the others.

(✦) pairings: chuuya x fem!reader, dazai x fem!reader, fyodor x fem!reader, mentions of nikolai x reader. no uses of pronouns.

(✧) listening to~ fan behavior by Isaac Dunbar

chuuyas hands were on you the moment you two set foot in your shared penthouse, the gingers hands slipping to the back of your thighs as he throwing you into the bed, his coat and hat half hazardly discarded along the way, your heels thrown onto the ground as his hands slide your dresses skirt up. his gloved ginger traces over the crotch of your panties, the cloth already damp with your slick from your arousal, earning a mean chuckle from him as his finger flicked over your clothed clit. you felt almost ashamed to admit you found it attractive, the way he was near silent as he toyed with you, a cross between a smirk and a scowl on his face as he watched you squirm. "oh? so wet already? and yet you were talking to him while I was gone, hmm? what are you, some common street whore looking to be filled?" god, how could you have forgotten the reason you where in this position in the first place? being left alone as chuuya went to get another drink, only for the executive return to find his seat filled by the one and only dazai osamu, the brunette happily chatting away, one of your hands between his bandaged ones as you giggled, laughing at whatever nonsense the suicidal maniac spewed. oh, how you wanted to desperately whine and explain that you didn't even know the man, that he had just sat down and didn't listen when you said you already had someone, that your boyfriend would come back any minute. your desperate, babbled attempts to get out words is cut short as the man moves your lace panties to the side, shoving a finger inside you while his thumb rubbed lose and painfully light circles on your pearl, just enough to make your breath hitch, but not enough to be satisfactory. when had he taken off his glove? your thighs clamp shut around his hand, only earning a tsk from chuuya as his, still gloved, free hand spread your legs apart, so far it was painful, muscles burning and aching to rest. "oh? y'wanna cum? to bad, only good girls get to cum." his skilled fingers curl into you, just grazing over the spot that makes you see stars, making you claw and bed for him to please, pretty please stop being so mean and just fuck you already. he only laughs, his hand tightening its grasp on your thigh tighter as he leans over to ghost kisses along your neck, his voice quiet but rough, another finger slipping into your sopping cunt, curling and earning a breath moan from you. "not yet, doll. I'll fuck you when you remember who this pussy belongs to, yeah? or am I gonna have fuck you pregnant to make you remember? god, you'd look to beautiful like that though, everyone would know who you belong to, then."

dazais slender, bandaged hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you away from the bar where you had sat all pretty, innocently talking to the barkeep, the man flirting with you while you where completely oblivious to it, or plain ignoring it. you let him guide you, a soft "ah-? 'samu? are you alright?" falling from your lips as he pulled you into the bars bathroom, locking the door before picking you up and pushing you onto the sinks counter. the brunette fell to his knees infront of you, uncharacteristically quiet ad he unbuttoned your slacks, eyes wide as he shimmied them to fall to the ground, onto of your shoes, your underwear following lead and hanging from your ankle untill he pulled them off and stuffed them in his coat pocket, hooking your legs over his shoulders as his hands gripped at the juncture between your hips and thighs, squeezing softly as he laps experimentally over your wet folds. he watches you squirm, one hand covering your mouth to muffle the breathy gasp, thighs trembling and threatening to close around his head. "god.. you taste so good, sweetheart, all f'me." his gaze flickers upwards, a teasing smirk overtaking his lips before he pulls away from your pussy, kissing and nipping at your inner thighs, sucking and biting marks into the skin. soft whines and whimpers turn into mewls and quiet moans, sounds growing in volume as you slowly forget that your still in the bar. "shh.. wouldn't want someone to hear you, now would you?" punctuating his sentence with a bite to your inner thigh, his lips move to wrap around your clit, one hand moving from the fat of your thigh to slip into your gummy walls, curling and scissoring almost immediately. the pleasure near overwhelming as your thighs clamp around his head, one of your hands threading into his hair and pulling slightly as loud, muffled moans fall from your lips, your eyes shut as his other hand squeezes your thigh, nails digging into your skin. you tremble as your orgasm washes over you, dazai still eating you out like a starved man, licking up your release untill you weakly pull him away from your cunt by his hair, the man licking his lips as he stands between your legs, hands on your hips as he kisses you. you can taste yourself on his tongue, a soft mewl being pulled from you as he pulls away, burring his face Into you neck as he murmurs. "don't you think you taste good, pretty girl? thats something only I will ever taste, it's all f'me, that pesky barkeep will never even get close to touching you. you're mine, baby, you understand that?"

the cold hands on your hips rock you back and fourth, making you grind against fyodors thin thigh as you whimper and whine out "'m sorry"s for something you dont even know your apologizing for, tears bubbling in your eyes as your hands weakly grab onto his shirt. "oh? you're sorry? you didn't seem sorry when you were dancing with nikolai, now did you, you little tramp? all giggly as his hands roamed your body and spun you around as if you aren't mine to love, to hold, not his." fyodors hands tighten their grasp, near bruising in strength as his lithe fingers dig into the plush flesh on your hips, making the pace quicker and the pressure against your clit harder. the fabric of his pant leg is damp, the color deeper in saturation where your slick drips down, the material brushing against your clit and drawing soft gasps from you. your head falls, resting on his shoulder as you whimper and whine, hips bucking slightly rougher against him untill he holds you completely still, taking away every ounce of pleasure you had once had. "tsk.. I thought you would behave, but it seems not. am I going have to fuck your manners back into you, мплая?¹" his tone is harsh, mocking even, that sly smirk on his face as he tilts your head up to look at him, hand moving from your chin to your throat, squeezing lightly. the action pulls a soft squeak from you, the noise being swallowed as he kisses you, and you can't help but rock your hips against his thigh once more. though this time, he lets you, the hand that was on your hip moving to rub tight, quick circles along your clit. he pulls away from the kiss for a moment, his breath ghosting over your face as your eyes flutter open, looking up at him with a near pleading gaze. "oh? what a needy little thing you are. well go on. get yourself off on my thigh. little sluts like you don't deserve to get fucked."

Masterlist!

¹darling

dividers by @/cafekitsune

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extasiswings · 3 months

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Idk what this is but those new stills hurt all three of my feelings so have some angst.

“I don’t understand what happened to us. I don’t understand what changed,” Buck says, and Eddie freezes.

Because he knows. He knows exactly. Every big moment they’ve shared, the beautiful and the terrible, and all of the little ones in between exist in the back of his mind in one giant tapestry of memory. A pulsing, bleeding heart of a thing that he tries not to look at too closely because the fact that it is always there, so close to the surface, never letting him out of its thrall is sometimes more than he can bear.

It’s been years. Eddie’s gotten very used to being in love with Buck. Quietly, achingly in love with Buck, knowing he can’t have him but not being able to stop. Loving Buck doesn’t feel like a choice, it’s just a fact of his existence, rooted so deep and taking up so much space that Eddie can hardly recall being without it, the person he was before—before Buck, before LA and the 118, before tsunamis and shootings and lightning strikes. There are days when loving Buck overwhelms. When he can hardly breathe for the all-consuming nature of it. When the want is so fierce that he can taste it on his tongue. Most of the time though, it’s manageable. Like a radio on in the background, volume low enough that Eddie can ignore it. He can be almost clinical about it: fact—he is in love with Buck, fact—Buck is never going to love him back. It’s been years, so Eddie knows exactly how to handle these inconvenient truths, knows how to handle himself, has gotten used to them. He never expected anything to change, assumed that nothing could surprise him after so long.

But. Buck stood next to him in a cemetery and started talking about a woman he had only just met—a stranger—seeing him, understanding him like no one else, and Eddie—

Something in him broke. Some fragile bit of hope he hadn’t even realized he was harboring shattered, the shards slicing him to bloody ribbons.

And all he could really think was, Enough. Enough now.

Things changed then. He’s changed. Their relationship has changed. And he’s been telling himself that’s a good thing. It’s good, necessary even.

But Eddie doesn’t know how to deal with this. He doesn’t know what to say when Buck is sitting in front of him asking about it point blank while looking like a kicked puppy.

Part of him is angry. He resents being in this position, resents how long it’s taken Buck to say anything, resents knowing he can’t explain himself without revealing things he never wanted to. Mostly though, he resents the fact that after months of work—drawing a line in the sand and dating someone else, pulling away in an effort to establish real boundaries that might let him move on—he is still as much in love with Buck as ever.

Mostly though, he’s just tired.

“We’re still friends, Buck,” Eddie finally manages to say. “That hasn’t changed.”

“But something is different,” Buck insists. “If—you would tell me if I did something, wouldn’t you?”

Eddie drags a hand over his face, resisting the urge to touch his chest where a dull ache has bloomed behind his sternum.

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” he replies. It’s not an answer, not to the question Buck actually asked, but it’s as much of one as Eddie thinks he can give. And it’s the truth—Buck hasn’t done anything wrong. It’s not a crime not to love someone.

“But—”

“Buck.” Eddie’s tone snaps, raw and sharp and jagged. It sounds foreign to his own ears, an unacceptable loss of control, but he is fraying badly at the seams and needs out of this conversation.

A stricken look crosses Buck’s face, and Eddie forces his voice to gentle as he quietly adds, “Please.”

Please drop it. Please don’t push. Please don’t pull this thread.

Please let me go. Just let me go. Please.

Silence stretches between them for a long moment as Buck’s eyes scan Eddie’s face. But finally, as if he heard all the different things packed into that one syllable, Buck nods once.

“Okay.”

#chapel writes #911 spoilers #buddie

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kingconia · 9 months

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Leona Kingscholar & Malleus Draconia with S/O, who shares their insecurity.

Malleus Draconia. 💚

— He is quite observant, and he had some theories about what exactly makes you feel so familiar and warm before, but it took some events to happen for him to realise what it was;

— He wasn't really happy. He knows how hard it is, always to be left out and forgotten by people you want to call friends. And he hates that you experience that, too;

— Though, he is slightly blessed by possibility to be understood fully;

— Nevertheless, he starts to pay attention more;

— It kills him to watch how you are never invited to important events or celebration, and his heart is aching, when he notices how you are silently following Ace and Deuce, who speak loudly, hardly noticing how far you are behind them;

— He waits, though, for your next personal meeting, to confront you;

— “I am fine with that,” you cut him in the middle of his speech with a smile that doesn't reach your eyes. ”It has its perks, too.”

— He can't deny it, but he hates how accustomed to this thought you are;

— And since you helped him to overcome his loneliness, he is planning to do the same for you! So, buckle up, Malleus-comfort-Draconia is after you;

— He is gentle and he is gallant. He makes you feel special by acts of service, and by the way he treats you. And he treats you so well;

— Malleus remembers everything you talk about, even if you mentioned it for a second or less. He remembers what you eat and what you don't, always proudly ordering or brining you something;

— In days, when he is away, or for some reason can't talk with you, he leaves random notes around your room, or places you definitely will visit, during the day, so you could always feel that you are not forgotten;

— If both of you are not alone, and someone speaks over you, or he simply notices that you too quiet, he always turns to ask you questions, and get you involved again;

— In other words... He returns you your own kindness;

— And you are so grateful.

Leona Kingscholar. 🧡

— He is observant, too, but his emotional intelligence is... Really suffering. And you are putting a really impressive act, so, it takes him a whole breakdown from you to see that;

— It happens after some stupid exam that he—naturally—doesn't care about. But it is important for you, and you kinda rivaling for a best score with Azul, just like he always fights with Malleus, so he gets that;

— You fail, and it takes one phrase from Azul to send you on the edge;

— ”Isn't it time to get used of being always the second one, Y/n?”

— Even Leona flinches, hearing that—too close to home, am I right?—but you ignore Azul, so he thinks you are fine. You are not crying or anything, right?;

— And then, he finds you in the library, where he tries to take a nap, and you are restless;

— Your desk is filled with books, notes written all over, and you look absolutely tired. But in a moment you fail to do something correctly, you just... Scream? You trash all books on the floor, you tear all your writings down. You are so uncharacteristically raged and helpless that Leona doesn't even know what to say;

— He just stares at you, asking you are okay;

— Well, you are not;

— ”Okay?! How the fuck I am supposed to be okay, when no matter how hard I work, I am still not enough, Leona?! I am no one, and I have nothing, and I can't even prove that I am capable of anything! I can't even reach the top ot the class! And—”;

— Angry tears prickling your eyes, and Leona is so panicked, lmao;

— So, he just shoves you to his chest. You hit him, he hisses, but then you finally relax;

— He doesn't say much, because he understands that no good words are able to heal this kind of wound, especially so easily, so he takes in consideration everything he heard;

— Leona is really sad that you struggle with that, but he secretly loves it, too. It means you understand each other;

— He has his own ways to help you out. He tries to help you improve your skills, if he can help, of course;

— (And he beats the shit of Azul, and many others, who managed to say something offensive to you, but that is not the part you should hear about. Ever.)

— He knows how hard you work, so he constantly forces you to nap with him. If you don't want to sleep, that's fine. You are just going to lay down, under him, doing nothing, while he snores, curling around you;

— ...He kinda forces Ruggie to take care of you, too, lmao;

— And he calls you his Queen, so... You know How Much he actually respects you and amazed of what you do;

— Want it or not, Leona is going to make you love yourself. Just love him back. Please?

#twisted wonderland #leona kingscholar #malleus draconia #malleus x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #twst wonderland

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yourejinx · 10 months

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Undeniable Bonds

Azriel x F. Reader

Warnings: angst, as per usual. Violence, mentions of blood, mentions of death, curse words. Not proof read.

word count: 4k+.

Author’s note: I’m sorry I’m so late with this. I don’t even know what to say anymore, thank you for keeping up with me.

CHAPTER FOUR.

“It’s alright, just breathe,”

There’s warmth against my forehead, and the words are a soft breath against my skin. I feel like every bone in my body has locked me into place, a prison, and I can’t move, I can’t breathe.

The dark pit that has opened in my gut threatens to devour me whole and I recognise its numbness. It’s beckoning me to let go, to embrace it. A gentle, soothing touch at my back it’s the only thing that’s keeping me anchored to reality, red and gold it’s all I’ve been staring at for what feels like an eternity.

“Easy, dove.”

Cassian. Cassian is here. He’s enveloped me with his wings into a cocoon, a shelter against the world, his forehead is pressed against mine and he keeps rubbing circles between my shoulderblades. Some distant sense of self is returning to me, barely enough for me to turn my head and look at him. Dark hazel eyes stare back at me and the similarity to that other pair of eyes makes it almost unbearable to keep looking at them, my chest aches and I want to pull away. But Cass holds firm, strong hands holding my arms as he inhales deeply, motioning me to follow.

I took one pathetic shuddering breath, two. My racing heart started to slow down and cool air flowed to my lungs.

“There you go…” He hummed.

Once I’m settled back into myself and my limbs don’t feel nearly as stiff as before, he slowly pulls away, allowing me to take in my surroundings. We’ve moved to the balcony outside one of the guest rooms, somehow. When did he even show up?

“Rhys called me, and told me what happened. How are you feeling?” His voice was so full of concern.

I shook my head, how could I put it into words? Was this what he felt every time Nesta slept with someone else? Was this what Rhys felt while Feyre was still with Tamlin? I knew Azriel fancied Elain, and I knew it was reciprocated. So why did it hurt so much to see it now?

“Cass, he’s my—”

Mate. The word burned on my tongue. I couldn’t pronounce it.

With each time I thought about it, the word lost a bit more of its meaning. I damned the Cauldron and the Mother for mating us; it was supposed to be something special, something that didn’t happen to most Fae, and if it did you were one lucky bastard. Or at least that’s what I’ve heard. But for me? It meant nothing. The bond only brought me pain and unrequited feelings, unwanted feelings.

“I know, Rhys knows too,” he whispered.

“How?” I asked, blinking away the dampness in my eyes.

“It doesn’t matter now, dove, I need to know if you’re going to be ok” His eyes

were so gentle, so understanding.

I swallowed dry and nodded slowly. I remembered then that Lucien was looking for me and guilt tripped up my spine. How was I supposed to tell him what I saw?

“Cass, where is Lucien?”

“I told him you weren’t feeling right and sent him home. He left something for you.” Cassian handed me a carefully wrapped package. For the looks of it, it was either a box or a book.

“I have to talk to him.”

I tore open the envelope, it was an old beautiful book, brown and gold and red. “Myths of the world” read the title, the author unknown. I hadn’t seen anything like this before. It didn’t belong to Prythian, this book came from the mortal lands.

Lucien saw this book during one of his journeys, and thought of me. My heart felt heavy in my chest just thinking about the hurt I was going to cause him by speaking the truth about tonight.

“You can’t tell him anything, Y/N;” Cassian’s tone was considerate yet firm. I frowned.

“If it was the other way around he would tell me, Cass. He’s my friend…”

“I’m your friend too, and I understand, but I’m asking you to wait. Please, let Rhys handle this or it can get really messy.”

“Things are already too messy.”

With trembling fingers I dive between the first pages, it was a little worn around the edges but well kept, surely a loved book. One particularly page caught my attention, it had dedicatory written in very polished handletter:

“I don’t know if there’s proof of other worlds coexisting out there, but I hope you may find exciting ones within these stories.”

More often than not, Lucien caught me late at night curled around the fireplace, a blanket thrown lazily over my legs and nose buried deep in some book about portals to other worlds, myths and legends, the old history and so and so. That sort of thing that has always called to me since I was a kid, more than curiosity I felt a pull towards it, as if I could feel the history of the universe in my veins. I never told anyone about it before, it seemed silly, I didn’t have proof of anything, it was more like a sense of the otherworldly. I felt ancient and new, vast and empty, all at the same time. The last time I experienced something like that Feyre had still been pregnant with Nyx, I remember feeling like my mind had been split for a moment, allowing me to experience reality both through my own person and through someone or something else’s eyes. I ended up throwing up that night, and Azriel had found me passed out on the floor of the living room. No one asked any questions, but Lucien had noticed.

I sighed and closed the book, returning my attention to the worried-looking Illyrian in front of me. “He’ll hate me if he finds out and I knew all along. I can’t have him hate me, Cass.”

I can’t have him hate me too.

“He won’t hate you dove, that’s just impossible”.

I shook my head, “Can you just take me home please?”

“Of course,” He didn’t hesitate to scoop me up in his arms and take to the skies.

The wind whipped through the night sky as Cassian soared gracefully, his wings beating rhythmically against the air currents. Beside him, I clung tightly to his muscular frame, my grip tightened unconsciously with each passing moment. The journey back to the House of Wind was filled with a heavy silence, as I wrestled with the weight of my thoughts and emotions.

Finally, the grand structure came into view, perched majestically atop the cliffs. Cassian gently landed, his powerful wings folding behind him as he turned to face me. His cobalt eyes searched mine, brimming with concern and curiosity. He paused, probably sensing the turmoil underneath, and waited patiently for me to find the courage to speak.

With a heavy sigh, I took a step back and looked up at the towering residence. "Cassian," I started, voice tinged with a mix of determination and sadness, "I’m leaving the court. I've made a decision... I'm going to accept Helion's offer."

Cassian's brow furrowed, a mixture of surprise and worry crossing his features. He reached out, his hand finding mine in a reassuring grip. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice laced with genuine concern. "You know the risks involved, the dangers that lie beyond our borders. The Night Court is your home, with friends who care for you."

My gaze followed the distant horizon, already feeling that curl of longing and uncertainty in my gut. "I understand the risks, Cass," I replied softly. "But I can't ignore the chance to make a difference, to find my own path and discover who I truly am, what I could do. I've always felt like I'm in the shadow of others, and maybe... maybe this is my opportunity to shine."

Cassian's grip on my hand tightened, his voice filled with earnestness. "You don't need to leave to find your purpose. You have friends here who believe in you, who will stand by your side no matter what. We can face the challenges together, as a family."

Tears welled in my eyes as conflicting emotions tugged at my heart. I wanted to believe in the strength of these bonds, in the safety and comfort of the Night Court. But a flicker of determination remained, whispering promises of self-discovery and growth. I looked back at Cassian, voice trembling but resolute. "I love you Cass, and I’m deeply grateful for everything the Night Court and all of you have given me, but I have to do this. Please understand."

Cassian's gaze softened, his thumb gently brushing away a tear that escaped my eye. He took a deep breath, his voice filled with unwavering support. "If this is truly what you want, then I won't stand in your way. But remember, you will always have a home in the Night Court, we will be here for you whenever you need us. And I can still kick Azriel’s ass for you."

He joked and a small smile broke through my lips despite the anguish. “I don’t want him to know, let’s just keep this between us for now, alright? I’ll tell Rhys tomorrow.”

“Alright.” He whispered and brushed a kiss to my temple.

We just stood there for a moment, embraced by the cool night breeze, letting all the events of the night sink in.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A week later.

The frozen landscape stretched endlessly before our eyes, a harsh and unforgiving terrain that mirrored the tensions between me and the Shadow Singer. The mission to track down the slavers had brought us to this desolate place, where the biting cold seemed to seep into our very souls. Yet, it was the icy atmosphere between us that threatened to shatter the fragile alliance.

We hadn’t spoken a word since last Solstice’s party, and I hadn’t seen him around either. I still couldn’t shake the weight of that awful look he gave me that night, it didn’t help that he looked on the verge of ripping my head off. I just didn’t understand, we were sort of alright at some point and then he just went back to hating me, as if some switch had gone off inside of him.

As we trudged through the snow, our breath crystallizing in the frigid air, the silence grew heavy with unspoken accusations. I just couldn't bear the weight of Azriel's distrust any longer, it was making me anxious and angry. Whatever it was that got him so mad at me I didn’t deserve it, and we couldn’t keep working like that.

With each step, the tension escalated, until it reached a breaking point. Finally, unable to contain my frustration, I turned to face him, my voice came out laced with a mix of fury and hurt that I didn’t intend. "If you have something to say, just say it already and be done with this stupid silent treatment."

Azriel's expression hardened, his hazel eyes flashing with a mix of regret and stubbornness. "Why? so you can run and snitch to Rhys about it?"

My hands balled into fists, body trembling with indignation. "What the hell does that mean?” I hissed.

“You know what it means. I seriously thought about giving you a chance, that I may have judged you wrong. Then I turn around and you pull the bullshit you did on Solstice. I didn’t think you could stood so low as to drag Elain into this mess.”

“What bullshit? What are you even on about?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, you called Rhys on us. Are you going to tell me that it was all a coincidence? That you just happened to walk right into the room I was in with Elain, and Rhysand followed you? I see the way you look at her, are you really that envious?”

A humorless laugh escaped my lips, anger boiling in my veins. “Is this what got you so pissed? You are a bigger asshole than I thought. I didn’t even know you were in there, even less that you were with her. Do you think I give a fuck about who you’re fucking?You're always so quick to judge, to assume the worst of me. You know what? I'm done. Fuck you, Azriel!"

“You’re a cunning bitch, ever so observant, ready to pry into other people’s business; lying is like breathing for you, so why should I believe you? Why else would you happen to be there? Every time something goes wrong you’re in the middle of it!”

“Oh don’t try to blame me for your fuck ups, you dug that hole yourself. We were there because we were looking for you, because I wanted to give you this.” I shoved the little black box against his chest, hard. I had been carrying it with me since that night, its weight had been unbearable. “Happy Solstice, Azriel.” I spat with irony.

He just stood there, shoulders shaking with the effort of keeping his anger at bay, eyes glued to the object now lying in his hands.

Silence engulfed us once again as the bitter wind whistled through the barren landscape. Our breaths mingled with the frosty air, hanging between us like an unbridgeable chasm.

“What is this?” he finally dared to ask, his voice cold and calm, distant but not nearly as angry as before.

I cursed the slight tremor of vulnerability and turned away, already feeling a headache forming. "You can throw it away if you want, I don’t care. I’m going to scout the land, don’t follow me. And keep your shadows to yourself." My own voice came out barely above a whisper.

With that, I stormed off, leaving Azriel standing alone amidst the frozen wasteland. The ache of the fractured connection between us weighed heavily on my heart, mingling with the anguish of this mission and the bitter chill of the land. There was really no hope for us, to believe we could be friends again…that had been a foolish mistake.

For a long while I walked and walked and walked, there had been no sign of any other living creature in hours. The night was starting to grow heavy and the cold unforgiving, I could barely see anything beyond the frozen forest, the small faelight I brought with me doing little to light up the path but I couldn’t risk giving away my position. It felt like I had been walking around in circles, never finding the exit to the forest. I could’ve sworn I passed the same twisted tree four times now, it looked like a giant claw tearing open the ground. Maybe I shouldn’t have left on my own. I had a bad feeling about this, it was all strangely silent.

Just as I spotted a clearing, a familiar scent caught my attention. I haven’t felt that in nearly two centuries, but I remembered it like it was yesterday, sweet and strong and dangerous. My heart dropped to my stomach, and dread spread along my spine. It couldn’t be. He was dead. I had killed him.

All my alarms went off almost immediately, I turned the faelight off and walked as slowly, as silent as a wrath towards the clearing. I had to squint my eyes to adjust to night vision, avoiding the branches and bigger patches of snow. A dim light appeared on the other side of the woods, floating beside a big shadow. As I came closer I could make the shape of wings, huge membranous wings. I wouldn’t mistake those wings in a thousand years.

“Azriel?” I asked, low. Not entirely giving away my location still inside the forest’s safety.

His back was turned to me, and he was standing predatorily still. A glimpse of metal flashed in the dim moonlight, Truth Teller was clutched tightly in his right hand, something dark and sticky dropping to the snow. Blood. The copper tang of it hit my nose a second later. It smelled like him. Was he hurt?

I scanned the land beyond him, searching for the threat. If I had scented it earlier, probably he did too and found them sooner than I did.

“Azriel was going on?” I tried again, walking closer.

Past the shadows that engulfed him a figure lay on the ground, they were kneeling. There was so much more blood around them it was hard to tell if they were still alive. Whoever that was.

I stepped beside him, my own blade in hand, ready to strike if needed be. But what struck me was the sight in front of me, Azriel was kneeling on the frozen ground, wings dropped and bloodied, a gag was pulled tight against his mouth and his eyes were wide, desperate. He grew wild when he saw me, thrashing against an invisible barrier. I turned around, confused and alarmed. The Shadow Singer stared back at me, a sinister smile tugging at his mouth and he launched forward, shoving the blade between my ribs.

The Azriel on the ground tried to scream against the gag, eyes glazed over with rage. I wanted to reach him, free him from his restraints, but I couldn’t move. The male in front of me twisted the knife still inside my flesh and I let out a cry of pain. It burned like hell and I felt myself starting to get dizzy. Faebane, for sure.

Hazel eyes turned darker than the night itself, and that pretty face morphed into something half beautiful, half monstrous. Brutal and scarred. I watched in horror as the male of my nightmares appeared in front of me. Demian, Kier’s first born son, alive and here.

“Did you miss me, wife?” He purred into my ear.

“RHYS! RHYS!” I tried to desperately call for the High Lord, but the mental channels between us felt distant, my voice sounded like an echo traveling through a never ending tunnel.

I tried to take a step back but the world started to blur into darkness quickly. The last thing I saw was Demian’s monstrous face smiling down at me.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Azriel.

The cavern was shrouded in darkness, its oppressive air thick with a sense of impending doom. The flickering light cast eerie shadows across the cold stone walls, as his eyes darted around, desperately searching for any means of escape. Azriel had been awake for a while now, heart pounding wildly against his ribcage at the scene in front of him; Y/N struggled against the coarse chains that bound her wrists, barely conscious due to the bloodlost.

He had never felt more helpless and stupid. He should have said something, apologize, go after her, make her stay. Azriel still couldn’t believe he fell into this motherfucker’s illusion, he should have known better. But it had been so real…the look of despair in her face, begging him to save her, as if Demian had known what she looked like, as if he had seen her like that before. Rage boiled in his veins. Oh, once he got free of this invisible prison he was going to kill him, and he was going to take his sweet time doing so.

"Azriel..." she whispered his name, her voice barely audible in the silence. The sound carried a mix of longing and worry, it made something crack inside his chest.

The heavy stone doors groaned open, revealing two figures emerging from the depths of darkness. Demian, a malevolent presence wrapped in darkness, stepped forward with an insidious smile, his eyes glittering with a sinister delight.

Azriel’s shadows were frantic, desperately trying to leak beyond the barrier holding him and reach Y/N, but it was no use. Even his siphons couldn’t break the spell containing him, the strange marks painted on the ground around him seemed to absorb every futile attempt of his power to set him free.

"Ah, Y/N, lovely to see you again", his voice dripping with malice. "We still have some unfinished business, darling."

Y/N narrowed her gaze, refusing to show her fear and spat on his face. “I don’t know how you’re still alive, but you’re as delusional as I remember.”

Demian's laughter echoed through the cavern, chilling her to the bone. In his hand, he brandished a wickedly sharp blade, the metal gleaming with malicious intent.

"Perhaps," he sneered, his voice laced with contempt. "But this time I’ll succeed, you’ll pay for what you’ve done, you and your stupid High Lord. There’s no escaping your fate this time."

A weak groan managed to escape Azriel’s bloody lips, and Y/N's eyes filled with dread as she spotted him, chained to a wall, his body battered and bloodied.

"Azriel!" she cried out, straining against her restraints. "Leave him alone!"

Demian's twisted grin widened, feeding off her anguish and desperation. "Oh, my dear," he taunted, his voice dripping with sadistic pleasure. "I plan to make him suffer just enough to ensure your compliance."

Tears welled up in her obsidian eyes as she watched Demian approach him, heart breaking at the sight of her mate's pain. Their connection, their bond, was just a whisper of strength and vulnerability.

"Do not yield, Y/N," Azriel's voice reached her, laced with pain but filled with unwavering resolve. "Don't let him break you."

“Enough!” The other presence in the room raised his voice as he approached the light. It was a dark haired male, tall and slim, a bit ungainly. His skin was a sickly grey-ish pale. Y/N’s eyes widened and tears started to flow freely down her cheeks at the sight of him. “Hello, sister. Long time no see.” He smiled wickedly at her as he anxiously played with the blade in his hands.

Azriel could recognise its signature darkness capable of absorbing even the light of the sun anywhere. Truth Teller. The bastard was holding his blade.

“Ajax…” she whispered, almost pleading.

“We thought you had killed yourself. Imagine my surprise when I saw you at war with Hybern,” Ajax let out a humorless chuckle. “tch, father is so disappointed in you, you made mama cry and all for this?” He pointed at Azriel, still fighting to get free. There was something animalistic and ferocious in his eyes as he watched Damien twist the blade into the membrane of his wings.

“Stop! Let him go. This is between me and you, he doesn’t have to be here.”

“Let him go? So you can pull the bullshit you did on your wedding night? I don’t think so. But you wouldn’t dare to do so now, no, you wouldn’t risk hurting your precious Shadow Singer.” He smiled mockingly and slid the sharp edge of Truth Teller along her jaw. “Pitty. You would’ve made such a pretty bride… isn’t that right Demian?”

Demian’s deformed mouth twisted upwards as he looked her up and down, something dangerous darkening his features. He grabbed her face, forcing her to look at him and ran a thumb over her lips. “You could have been my queen.”

She spat on his face again. “Go to hell.”

Ajax slapped her face. “You’ve always been an ungrateful bitch.”

Wiping his atrocious face clean, Demian stepped forward grabbing Truth Teller from Ajax hands. There was such hatred in their eyes. “Let’s get this over with.” He threw Azriel a wicked grin and slid the sharp edge across Y/N’s wrist.

The Shadow Singer watched with a mix of fury and desperation as the blade cut into her flesh, eliciting a tortured cry from her lips. He felt it too, the pain, as if it was his own flesh being torn open.

“I’LL KILL YOU!” Azriel’s threat echoed through the walls of the frozen cave.

They both laughed as they carved similar markings to the ones holding him prisoner into her skin. In her arms, her chest, her legs. She was just a playtoy for them to feed their morbidity.

There was so much blood everywhere. Demian’s filthy mouth closed around one of the wounds, drinking from her. Her blood, her power, her very essence, while Ajax recited something in a tongue Azriel couldn’t understand.

The Shadow Singer saw red. Something primal took over his senses, the urge to protect Y/N was stronger than anything, determination surged through his weakened body, and with every ounce of remaining energy, Azriel fought against his restraints. He summoned whatever hidden reserves of strength he possessed, his determination overriding the debilitating effects of the faebane. Sparks of raw power crackled around him as his unyielding rage fueled his desperate struggle for freedom.

Ajax's full black eyes fell on him, sensing the upcoming battle that was about to be unleashed upon them and slit open Y/N’s other wrist.

“Let’s go, we got what we need” He urged the blonde male beside him.

They retreated, disappearing into the shadows, leaving Y/N and Azriel gasping for breath, their bodies battered and broken.

As Azriel's body trembled with exertion, his relentless efforts finally bore fruit. With a surge of sheer willpower, the invisible barrier shattered like fragile glass, freeing him from its confinements. Gasping for breath, his eyes blazed with a mix of determination and wrath as he surveyed the now empty space where the two males had stood. He would hunt them down, to the ends of the earth if needed, to make them pay for what they’ve done; but first he had to take Y/N to safety.

He turned to face her; the anguish in her eyes mirrored his own, but their connection remained unbroken, he could still feel the sliver of hope amidst the darkness thrumming through that golden thread between their souls.

She held tight onto that bit of sanity left and muttered the words “I’m sorry” over and over again as her body started to give out.

Azriel’s whole body started shaking “No, no, no. Stay with me, I’ll get us out. I swear.”

He rushed to her side, untying her arms and cradling her face. He didn’t know what to do, he couldn’t winnow and his wings were too damaged to fly. At this point they needed a miracle, he wasn’t a devoted believer in the gods but he would pray to all of them to save her.

They lied there, in the ground, her face was drained of color and the unforgiving cold was not helping.

As if in answer to his silent prayers, the stone doors burst open, revealing the High Lord and the General of the Night Court in a state of utter distress. Azriel didn’t know when he had started crying but he let himself hold onto the tiny bit of hope that they might make it alive.

"Where are they?" Rhysand's voice boomed with unwavering authority, his power shimmering around him.

The shadow singer shook his head, Y/N was slipping away as they talked. “Please save her”

Rhysand rushed to their side, cradling her in his arms. Her heartbeat was too weak, her breathing labored. Azriel’s own consciousness was starting to flicker and he could feel the bond beginning to dim. Panic took over his senses, he started fighting against Cassian’s hold just to get to her.

“Az, it 's ok. We’ll meet them back at the House, she’s going to be fine.” Cassian assured him as he took to the skies.

And he would have believed him if it wasn’t for the exchange of worried looks that transpired between his brothers.

taglist:

@cmay25 @brekkershadowsinger @cosmic-whispers @h0peless-r0m4ntic888 @esposadomd @hannzoaks @tysynn @i-am-infinite @sevendeadlyshins-blog @angelshadowsinger @buckysimp101 @baebeepeach @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @leeknows-wife @k07-1313 @valeridarkness @fall-myriad @goradgirl @feiwelinchen @katherine-2007 @colorfulwinnerneva-blog @lillithathecat @j-pendragonx @ummmmmwat @eviepeo @thelov3lybookworm @emturtles @chillicrackers @bubybubsters @perseflowers @goldenmagnolias @littleshopofwhoress @galla-lotus @weirdo-fun @moonlwghts @t0uch-starved-h0e @wannabewolf @awkwardturtle365 @notbellasstuff @nastynesta

@nohxmanity @yasminsznn @thesnugglingduck @anniebannanie0315 @elsie-bells @highlady-ofillyria @kodokunarisu-blog @starksweasleymain

If I forgot about someone please let me know :) It won’t let me tag some of you I don’t know why :(

#azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #Azriel #acotar fanfic #acotar fanart #acowar #acotar #rhys acotar #cassian acotar

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luveline · 2 years

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thinking about shy!reader joining hellfire for the first time and being really nervous and intimidated by eddie so he tries to make her feel better ❤️

i didn't know if it was supposed to be bf!eddie or not so i made it ambiguous like maybe you're in that limbo stage before ♡ shy!fem!reader | 0.7k words

You get there earlier than you should. The only person in the club room is Eddie, perched on the arm of his throne with a mass market paperback bent into a shape in one hand.

You knock awkwardly.

Eddie doesn't flinch. He drops the book and pulls his shirt away from his chest, a smile overtaking his pretty features as you walk into the middle of the room.

"I'm sorry I'm early," you say, eyes on his hand. His rings brush the wood of the long table as he meets you.

"Don't be, I was just perusing this lil' thing for campaign ideas to steal. Are you ready?"

You'd talked to him a couple times now about coming. This was the first you'd actually managed to bring yourself here, and only because Eddie had been so kind about it.

You look at the table and feel especially daunted. "Where… where does everybody sit? I don't want to take someone's seat," you say, your voice a weak whisper by the time you've finished.

Eddie clasps his own shoulder with one hand, the other at his elbow. "You can sit at the top by me."

Your eyes go wide. "Everyone will look at me."

"Everybody's too busy arguing about rolls and looking for their pencils or an eraser to bother, trust me." He takes a step toward you. "If you sit by me, I can keep an eye on you, yeah? Whisper hints at you."

"I don't wanna cheat."

"That's the spirit."

Eddie sits down heavily, slouches and stretches his legs out to one side. He's smiling that shark-tooth smile that intimidates and endears you with his hands flat to his abdomen, the tiniest sliver of midriff on display. You're so distracted by him that you almost forget your nerves. Almost.

"What are you so scared of?" he asks.

He nudges the chair closest to his with the bottom of a thick soled converse and you sit down gingerly, his foot between yours.

"Embarrassing myself," you admit.

"Like, not knowing what something means?"

"Yeah, but… I don't know. What if I make a bad decision? A stupid one."

"I make 'em all the time." You stare at him. "I'm not kidding around. I won't think far enough ahead, or I spend hours designing a room and somebody uses a conjuration spell for a rope and just - climbs right out." He shrugs. "Shit happens."

You try not to sulk too obviously. You want to believe him and adopt his nonchalance. "You know what you need?" he asks suddenly.

It feels like a trick question. "What?"

He pulls a black pen from between the pages of his dark bound notebook and gestures to your hand. You offer it, feel a shattering of pin pricks under the skin at his light touch, ink spreading with a ticklish coolness.

He draws a symbol you've never seen before, thumb pulling your skin taut. Your heart feels like a hummingbird fighting its way out of your chest unsuccessfully as you try not to think about how close he is or how he can probably smell your perfume. You can smell his cologne. Something sweet like bourbon vanilla hiding under a headier woody scent, maybe cedar of sandal.

"There," he mutters, setting the pen down with an even bigger smile than before. "Abracadabra, babe."

"What is it?" you ask.

Eddie looks you straight in the eye and leans back into the throne.

"A spell for courage," he says, chin lifted high, lips forming each word with flare.

The first lot of club members arrive.

By the time the sessions ended your cheeks ache from smiling. There's a lightness you hadn't expected to feel, though whether it's from the game or Eddie's little reassurances, his murmured check-ins or the toe of his shoe rubbing your ankle under the table, you don't know.

#eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things #x reader #eddie munson fic

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hitlikehammers · 2 months

Text

whole wide world

rating: t ♥️ cw: criminal-levels of softness, rockstar!Eddie, teacher! Steve, gooey-clingy-heart-eyes Eddie needs his Stevie ♥️ tags: established relationship, rockstar!eddie, teacher!steve, rockstar husbands, amateur musicals, steve needs to stop using a ladder unsupervised because nothing bad happened this time but eddie is concerned that is the love of his life, soul-deep love, slice of life, softness

for @steddielovemonth day thirteen: Love is showing up when someone doesn’t ask ❤️ (@steddieas-shegoes)

look who's back, just like every other day, it's the rockstar husbands from je ne regrette rien being their codependent, desperately-in-love selves again! ♥️

“Goddamnit,” Steve curses the staple gun, the dry-rotted wood he’s trying to use it on, the acrylic-covered tarp masquerading as a backdrop leaving little crackle-dust everywhere every single time it fucking falls because the wood’s shit, the staples are shit, his co-advisor’s kid’s sick with the flu, the kids are in the band room rehearsing the opening number and Steve really cannot fucking believe he got roped into this to begin with, actually, like, how the fuck did the middle school guidance-counselor-slash-study-hall-monitor get conned into helping with the high school drama club, just because one of his JV soccer players landed the lead and bemoaned loudly enough during laps how they didn’t know if they’d be able to make the performance even work, because the choir teacher’s on maternity leave and the band director’s kind of a dick, and the needed more help—

Steve only is even in the high school for the goddamn athletics office. For, y’know, the equipments for the athletes.

Yet: here he is. Standing on a rusty fucking ladder that probably needs a spotter, to be honest, and if Steve’s admitting that then yeah, it definitely needs someone holding the goddamn thing, but here he is, already two hours after the final bell, trying to stick a painting of mattressesin a stack that only vaguely looks like mattresses so thank god that’s in the show title—

The ladder wobbles a little when he tries to catch the tarp-thing again but he can’t reach far enough without risking a long way down to a very hard stage floor, so the backdrop’s sacrificed back to the ground—a-fucking-gain—as he shifts his weight to steady the steps and it’s a close thing, he’s about ninety-seven percent sure he’s aimed the teetering feet of it back to solid ground okay but he glances around quick just in case, tries to figure if there’s anything he can grab for and let the ladder go on its own if need-be, and—

“That’s fucking dangerous, big boy,” a deep, and deeply unexpected, voice trails up from the floor, clipped with stress, with fear because Steve fucking knows that voice, and the ladder’s suddenly fully steady so he can turn and look and—

“Gonna give me a goddamn stroke or something, finding you up on one of these all by your lonesome,” Eddie’s staring up at him, and the words could be teasing, and Steve thinks maybe they intend to be, but: those eyes are too big. There’s a pulse Steve can count in that throat, even from seven-feet-up.

So he does what any man in love with his husband would do in the face of said-husband in fear, and for him: Steve climbs down careful, but quick, with Eddie’s hands scrambling to make sure of the ‘careful’ part as soon as he can reach, and then he turns, and then he lands on solid ground again to pull Eddie in and thank every colleague of his he’d been cursing in his mind for leaving him alone to do all this shit, because alone is the reason he gets to kiss his lover hard, and full; wrap around him and let him squeeze Steve to the point where it aches, where it creaks in his bones, like proof.

Lets Eddie attach his lips to suck a bruise, possessive and needy and protective all at once along his throat, and yeah:

Exactly like proof.

“What are you doing here?” Steve asks when they pull apart just the slightest bit, because he wasn’t expecting Eddie to be home until probably close-on to midnight, let alone at the school well before five.

“Thought you could maybe use an extra set of hands,” Eddie shrugs like it’s a casual thing, showing up just to help out when he’s on a press cycle, and it’s evident even in his attire that that’s the case, if you know what to look for: more chains from his jeans, thicker soles on his boots just flirting with being platforms, at least two rings on every finger—save just one.

One has a ring, and a carefully-preserved and repeatedly-reinforced bread-bag tie: both serving the same purpose in very different points in their lives.

Point being: Eddie was wading through photoshoots and magazine spreads and radio spots and every fucking thing, and no matter how high he’s raising his eyebrow in a clear calling out of how he found Steve atop a shaky ladder as being obvious evidence of having use of an extra set of hands, the fact remains:

“But you’ve got the interview—“ the big ass interview with that shock-jock guy Steve kinda hates, but that’s a big fucking deal, and was the precise reason Steve wasn’t lamenting giving up his afternoon and evening to the at-least-halfway-to-lost-cause of the not-even-an-actual-full-fledged-theatre department: he wasn’t going to have Eddie home before bed anyway.

And yet: here stands the man.

“The boys have got it,” Eddie shrugs, like he actually doesn’t give a shit, and that’s…he does give a shit, he had sounded excited about it last night when they’d talked about their plans for the week over dinner, when Steve had bemoaned the travesty of this fucking production of Once Upon A Boxspring or whatever, and Eddie’d told him he was pretty sure he was going to be able to say fuck on the show even if they’d edit it, like he wouldn’t get in trouble, and he’d looked like a kid in a goddamn candy shop about it so yeah: Steve thinks he kinda did give a shit.

But he’s…not there.

“Gareth’s been itching to take the reins after he won out the final track list,” Eddie offers as explanation; “cocky bastard.”

And they collaborate on all the writing, music and lyrics, they’re not even the slightest bit competitive about it which would be hard to believe if all you saw of the members of Corroded Coffin were their goddamn shenanigans during a campaign; but the one think in their music that they docompete over?

Whose title-idea gets the opener on a given album. And Gareth did end up scooping them all when the execs came back with a shuffle. Steve had watched it unfold in real time; he doesn’t think he’s ever heard a grown man crow like Gareth had, and he is married to Edward fucking Munson.

So that’s saying something.

“Eds,” Steve tries to prod a little at the point of it all though, because Eddie’s got press, and this is a high school, and probably Eddie could get to the studio in time to catch the end of whatever, it’s prerecorded, he knows that much, they could squeeze a live interview in so they could probably do Eddie at the end and just shuffle it around, right, it’s easy, and that’s so much more important than this because this:

“Eds, it’s just a—“

“It’s the spring musical, baby,” Eddie says like he’s announcing the arrival of the president, of the Queen of England, then his eyes soften a little as he flicks at one of the real mattresses that will, presumably, be props for the actors if the show’s title isn’t a fucking lie: “you know that’s where my DM throne had its humble origins, before I elevated it to greatness?”

Steve did know that, not least because they’d smuggled Eddie in to DM a few special sessions before the gremlins graduated, and he’d taken his seat with regal aplomb every time, and Steve had learned that yeah, they used the random storage room that was mostly drama shit for Hellfire.

And the way he’d learned that was by sucking Eddie off hidden by some very ratty but very conveniently poofy ballgowns from a production of Cinderella.

“I missed you.”

Steve turns to him and blinks; Eddie’s eyes are on the mattress, his stance almost a little shy.

“You saw me this morning,” Steve doesn’t ask, exactly, but he…he’s not sure he’s following, is the thing.

“I was,” Eddie sighs, and flops to sit down on the mattress which, thankfully, is a mattress and gives a little, bounces under him.

“I was just feeling, I dunno,” he gives a shrug that fades into something like a shiver, and then Eddie’s arms come around too hug around his middle as he ducks his chin and, oh no.

None of that.

“I thought about you being, you know, you,” and Eddie gets to gesture at the mess of the stage only halfway before Steve’s catching his hand, lacing their fingers and pulling Eddie back up to standing, then back into Steve’s arms here he leans heavy, sighs deeper this time; relief instead of something shallow.

“Just you doing all this when you don’t even have a horse in the race, y’know?” Eddie muffles into the side of Steve’s neck, burrowed in tight. “And I was supposed to be in the zone about press and shit, and it just,” he shakes his head, which is more like the brush of his lips back and forth against Steve’s skin; “it wasn’t clicking at all, like I posed and did the looks and whatever,” and oh, Steve knows the looks, Steve has about half those looks printed out and framed in various parts of their home or tucked safe inside his wallet, whereas the other half he takes great joy in recreating at random to the chagrin of his darling husband, love of his whole goddamn life.

“Then Jeff asked if I wanted to duck out,” and Eddie smiles up at him, a little sheepish; they both know the boys can see right through Eddie feeling needy, or lovelorn; Steve’s grateful as shit for Eddie’s bandmates, their friends, for knowing when Eddie just needs Steve.

“I didn’t even think twice, just,” Eddie swallows hard, a little, peeking up through lashes and bangs as he exhales:

“Just wanted to see you before the middle of the fucking night.”

And what can Steve do in the face of that, really? He can’t argue it. Wouldn’t ever fucking want to.

“I love you,” he frames Eddie’s face and kiss the bridge of his nose, then soft between his brows as he breathes out with his whole heart: “so goddamn much.”

“Can you promise me you won’t do the,” Eddie tips his head behind them; “the ladder thing, at least not by yourself?” And Eddie’s eyes are so, so big again. “Like, pretty please, don’t do that again?”

“I won’t,” Steve swears it, and kisses him firm to seal the promise: “thanks for coming to the rescue.” Because there was a three percent chance Steve was going to wipe the fuck out from very very high, and he’s have survived it, but he’s not twenty anymore, and it would have fucking sucked, probably for a while.

“Always, baby,” Eddie murmurs, still tight against Steve lips before he straightens a little, and this time he’s framing Steve’s face, but more holding him still in place, emphatic:

“Actually, amendment,” he says seriously, eyes darting between Steve’s a tiny-touch frantic: “next time you need to be on a ladder, you call me first,” he damn-well declares it, rather than asks; “so I can hold it steady.”

“My hero,” Steve breathes against him with a smile, and there’s not even a hint of teasing in it.

“I don’t trust any other hands to catch you, baby,” Eddie tells him, a little too raw; full sincerity bleeding from him all the sudden as he caresses down the cheeks he’s still cupping: “no one else in the whole wide world appreciates what you’re worth.”

“And what’s that, exactly,” Steve scoffs a little, playful where he’s held in Eddie’s arms but Eddie: Eddie’s holding him tight, now, and his heartbeat’s heavy where he’s moving to crush Steve to his chest, and there’s a little wavering pitch of something in his voice when he whispers:

“The whole wide world,” and oh.

That’s the answer.

It’s Steve’s answer, too, to the same exact question, but hearing it said so plain never stops feeling like the ending and remaking of the whole wide world, every time.

So yeah, Steve has to take a minute to swallow through the tightness in his throat, and maybe he does that with his forehead bowed against his husbands so they breathe each other in as a rule just in the course of living in the moment, together—and when the straighten up Steve steals a kiss first, quick but hard, with feeling, before he cracks his neck and sighs, taking in the scene that’s settled around them.

“Help me try and figure this out to hang?” Steve kicks at the tarp-tapestry, and Eddie walks its perimeter critically before frowning up at Steve.

“Think it needs some touch ups,” he pronounces solemnly, and fuck, yeah, all the color-dust from the useless staple-holes and the falling. But his husband’s actually really good with details, and matching colors, and using a brush, and fantasy settings—

“Paint’s in the back,” he says with a lilt of suggestion and Eddie lights up and grabs Steve’s hand to drag him toward the promise of painting, like maybe all he needed really was just…this.

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson

♥️

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jupitercomet · 11 months

Text

Caught in a Riptide: Part Two

summary - For the entirety of his life, Jake has heard stories of the Galveston mermaids. And, for the entirety of his life, Jake has never once believed them. He knows the ocean well enough to know that there isn't anything beneath the waves than the underwater world he's come to love. But when a bad wipeout sends him tumbling in the water's depths, Jake is forced to confront the idea that the legends he's heard all his life might not just be stories.

warnings - fluff, surfer au, mermaid au, language, surfing inaccuracies probably, mentions of drowning, mentions of blood/injury, brief mentions of missing parents, no use of y/n, Jake is 6'7" because I said so

this blog is 18+, minors please do not interact

word count - 3.2k

caught in a riptide masterlist

A dull ache rumbles through Jake’s skull as he wakes up to the feeling of steady drips of water on his cheek. Blinking, Jake sniffs with a groan, rolling onto his back as he takes in what appears to be the stalactited ceiling of a cave. There’s a small puddle of water right next to him that Jake imagines came from whatever water he coughed up. Somewhere farther up ahead there’s a light source that’s filling the cavern with a gentle glow as Jake collects his bearings.

He’s still trying to piece together what happened, unsure how his plunge into the ocean somehow washed him up here. He isn’t even sure where he is anymore, this cave entirely unrecognizable—not that Jake’s sure he even could recognize the inside of a cave with this soft amount of light.

The shuffling of his legs to get up causes his head to throb again and Jake lifts his hand to the injury to soothe it. “What the fuck?” He pulls his fingers away quickly, bringing them to his eye line when he feels something slimy on his temple. His fingertips are coated in a gel-like consistency, clear but almost green against his skin.

Jake brings his hand back up to his temple, feeling around gently. The action only gives him more questions than answers though when he realizes that the wound on his head is being covered by some kind of ocean plant. And it feels purposeful too, like someone had been treating him with it as opposed to it latching onto him when he was thrown about the ocean.

Jake whips his head around the cave, eyes squinting as he adjusts to the dim light. There’s a small, underground lake a few feet away from him that appears to be where he must have come from to end up in this cave. Taking a couple steps towards it, Jake only just makes out its entrance that leads back out to the ocean. What’s more apparent though is how deep the lake is. Jake tries to tell himself that it’s entirely possible that he somehow rolled onto shore all by himself, but it’s hard to ignore how much more likely it is that someone pulled him out of the water.

Jake wets his lips nervously, slowly scanning every rock and crevice in hopes of getting some answers. How did he get here?

There’s a sudden movement in the water and Jake’s neck snaps back towards the lake. He takes a cautious step closer to the water’s edge. Even in the dim light, the lake looks almost black, deep and murky as Jake drops to his knees to get a closer look. At his movement, there’s another noise and this time Jake is close enough to catch a glimpse of something iridescent racing through the water. Jake stumbles back slightly. Something was coming into the lake.

There’s something sinking in his stomach as he sits by the side of the lake and Jake doesn’t think it has anything to do with his head injury. Suddenly, he doesn’t want to know how he got here. The thought overwhelms him causing bile to rise in the back of his throat. Jake squeezes his eyes shut to shake off the feeling. Logically, if whatever it is wanted to hurt him, it would have just left him to drown.

Maybe a dolphin was smart enough to bring him here… and also somehow smart enough to patch up his head. The theory was flimsy, but Jake didn’t have much time to think of an alternative one because the sound of water gurgling beneath him catches his attention. That iridescent, purpley white he caught a glimpse of is getting closer and closer to the water’s surface, as is a looming shadow. Jake scrambles back when something breaks through the water and his wide eyes are met with a pair of even wider ones.

You are definitely not a dolphin.

Upon spotting Jake, you freeze, lips parted slightly as you appear too startled to even blink. Jake is also frozen, his brain going a mile a minute as he takes in your features. By the looks of it, you’re a person, a fact that’s surprising to Jake because he doesn’t know of many people that have the lung capacity to stay underwater long enough to swim from this cave into the ocean and back. Your hair is weighed down against your head, wet from the salt water, but no water droplets appear to be clinging to your skin. Not that he can see much of your skin, the tips of your shoulders are barely visible above the water.

Hesitantly, Jake takes a step forward.

“Hello?” He watches your eyes widen as you swim farther away from him, a terrified look on your face. Jake stops trying to move close to the lake. “Hey, it’s okay.” He holds his hands out to show he means no harm, his voice gentle as he crouches down. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Jake watches your chest rise and fall in shallow breaths, your eyes darting between him and the direction that you could swim out of the cave’s exit. In his head, Jake’s trying to figure out who you are. You were looking at him with a kind of curiosity he’d never seen before and you seem genuinely frightened of him, like he’s something you don’t entirely recognize.

“You helped me, right?” Jake tries again, moving to sit slowly as he fills the silence with soft words. “You brought me here and,” he gestures to his temple slowly, “fixed my head.”

You’re still staring at him like a deer in the headlights, barely even blinking. Jake’s mildly impressed that you’re able to tread water for this long, but maybe he shouldn’t be surprised if you were able to pull him out of an active storm. Just who are you?

“I’m Jake.” At the realization that he doesn’t know who you are, Jake decides to introduce himself.

Your lips part and your head cocks slowly. “Ja-Jake...” You seem to be testing the word out on your tongue, nose wrinkling as if it tastes unusual.

Jake lights up. “Yeah, Jake! What’s your name?”

You blink. “Jake,” you say again, slowly starting to swim closer. You only travel a foot before stopping again.

Jake furrows his brows. “No… My name is Jake. What’s— Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Almost undetectably, you shake your head, still staring up at Jake with a wonderment that’s becoming less and less fearful, but Jake can hardly focus on that because suddenly he can see a lot more clearly what that iridescent shimmer is that he noticed before.

Now that you’re closer—and the water isn’t disrupted from your breach of the surface—Jake can see that, swishing back and forth beneath you, is a long, scaled tail. And it’s right where your legs should be.

“Oh my god,” Jake swallows thickly, trying not to freak out because if he freaks out then you’ll freak out and the last thing he needs is you to see him as a threat because who knows what you’ll do then, he certainly doesn’t want to find out and is he actually glossing over the fact that you’re a mermaid?!

“Okay, um, okay,” Jake presses his palms against his eye sockets, taking quick, deep breaths as he attempts to calm down. When he opens his eyes and all it does is confirm that you still have a fish tail, he nods rapidly. “Right, yeah, no, this is fine. I’m fine.”

Your head cocks slowly and you seem to be watching him like he’s an animal at the zoo. Which Jake actually thinks is fair, given that he’s currently trying to deny his way out of a panic attack. Maybe he hit his head too hard and this is all an insane, oxygen deprived dream. Because the alternative is that mermaids are real and that he owes Lacy Lancaster a long overdue apology.

“You are strange.”

Your voice snaps Jake out of his thoughts and he looks at you in shock. “You can talk?”

You nod your head.

Jake lets out a breath. Right now it feels like his whole world has been shattered and he has no idea how to process it. He just can’t believe those stupid monster hunters were right. But freaking out about it might get him in a worse situation, and that’s the last thing he wants. Besides, right now, you actually seem to want to help him and he would really like to keep it that way.

“Where are we?” He settles on finally.

You light up excitedly at his words. “Oh, I will tell the story!” You start to swim closer, your initial reluctance seemingly no longer present. You pause a little ways away from him, looking up as you try and think how to start your story. “Boat men say that Storm is the most dangerous time in the ocean. And they are right because it was Storm when I found you.”

“...Boat men?” Jake interrupts hesitantly.

“They look like you…” You wrinkle your nose. “Only sort of. But they come in big boats and sit on the ocean,” you explain and Jake understands now that you’re talking about sailors and fishermen, and probably monster hunters too. “I like to hear them when they come. It is how I learned your language.”

Jake thinks back to all mermaid catchers he’s seen who arm their boats like they’re hunting white whales with a furrowed brow. “You talk to the mon— the boat men?”

“Oh, no. Boat men are even more dangerous than Storm so I run away from them. I see them, but they do not see me.” Jake wants to ask more, but you change the subject quickly. “But that is how I saw you. You would not wake up and I thought it was because of Storm, but then I saw that something was trying to eat you around the— around the… foot. Like this.” You drop into the water and do, what Jake imagines is, your best impression of him drowning. “So I saved you. Like this.” You jump up from the water to begin acting out how you rescued him.

Jake can’t help but smile at the clear excitement written all over your features as you try to make your story entertaining for him.

After a little more splashing in the water, your expression falters a bit. “But you were hurt and bleeding, and that is not good. So...” Now not quite as hyper, you end your story with a gentle smile. “I took you here to make you better.”

It’s quiet for a moment while Jake thinks and you entertain yourself with the water around you as he lets his head fully wrap around what just happened. He had been rescued by a mermaid. A very real, very alive mermaid. He really did owe Lacy Lancaster an apology.

“Jake?” Your voice echoes around the small cavern suddenly. “Can I ask a question?”

“What’s your question?” Jake decides it’s better to focus on the present, moving to get comfortable on the cave floor now that he doesn’t have to worry about scaring you with sudden movements.

“What is a name?”

Jake stutters for a moment, thrown by the question, before clearing his throat. “A name is, um… A name is what people call you so you know they’re talking to you. Like how you called me ‘Jake’. I would call you your name.”

“Oh.” You look like you’re thinking very hard, eyes darting back and forth as you process Jake’s answer. “Then… I think I do not have a name.”

Jake’s brows raise in surprise. “What do you mean? No one calls you anything?” You’re practically at the bank now, close enough that Jake could touch you, as he looks down at you.

“Not like ‘Jake’.” You shake your head. “It is different where I am from. We do not live together all the time, only sometimes. So I do not get called a name.”

Jake frowns slightly at your response. “What about your parents? Didn’t they call you anything when you were little?”

“I do not know. Maybe I do not remember it? I did not seen them since I was… you call it ‘little’?” The shimmer in your skin dulls and it’s then that Jake realizes that you actually shimmer, a thought that’s quickly brushed aside when he processes your words.

“Oh no,” he murmurs to himself, guilt tugging at his heart strings at even having the thought that he was planning on leaving you alone. He obviously imagined the two of you would part ways—and preferably today—there’s no way he could hide a mermaid from anyone, let alone Javy. But now that he knows he’s leaving you on your own? Jake lets out a quiet groan.“You’re Nemo. I found Nemo.”

His words cause you to perk up suddenly, the shimmer to your skin returning, and you let out a quiet gasp. “I am Nemo?” You press off the bank excitedly. “Yes, I am Nemo!”

“Oh, no, that’s not what I—” Jake starts to correct you quickly but you’re too busy doing overjoyed flips in the water.

“Oh, thank you, Jake, thank you, thank you! You did not forget even though I did forget. I am Nemo!”

And obviously Jake doesn’t have the heart to tell you that he’s just compared your tragic life event to a PIXAR movie about animated clown fish—not when you’re this excited to finally have a name. Why didn’t he just say Ariel?

“Ne-mo,” you say to yourself, before stilling in the water and pointing at Jake. “You are Jake.” You point to yourself in delight. “And I am Nemo!”

Jake lets out a quiet sigh, deciding that your genuine excitement outweighs any positive outcomes that could possibly come from trying to convince you to choose a different name. “You sure are, Nemo.”

You smile brightly, taking in Jake’s features suddenly, now that you’re much closer to him. You look like you’re thinking for several moments and Jake waits politely. “Can I touch Jake?”

“What?” Jake thinks he’s misheard, leaning closer to you.

Suddenly you surge out of the water, your wet fingers grabbing onto his face as you poke and prod the skin. Jake almost falls back from your weight but you shift to support yourself on the bank. From behind you, Jake can see the tips of your fin peeking out of the water. He can’t really think about it for long though, not when something far more pressing is made apparent to him.

“Oh! You are… not wearing a shirt,” Jake closes his eyes hastily when your bare breasts press closer to his chest, his cheeks beet red.

His scarlet blush seems to fascinate you, because you move to pinch his cheeks between your fingers letting out breaths of curiosity. Your hands feel soft against his face and Jake isn’t as frightened at the feeling of the webbing between your fingers as he thought he would be, even finding it in himself to somewhat relax. The pads of your fingers dance curiously across his skin, tracing his hairline and eyebrows. Jake keeps his eyes closed firmly, trying to ignore the feeling of your naked skin against his.

Your interest moves to Jake’s bare chest, tracing over the divots and planes of his muscled abdomen. Jake sucks in a breath when you trace a sensitive patch of skin under his rib cage, unsure if he should stop you before he accidently reveals how much he likes it. When you swipe over the skin again, he clears his throat.

“Okay,” Jake quickly grabs both your wrists in one of his large hands, finally opening his eyes and keeping them trained on your face. “I think that’s, um, I think that’s good.”

It’s then that he realizes the position you both are in. He’s holding you up by your wrists, your lashes batting at him curiously and your lips parted. Your chest is hardly a centimeter from Jake’s and with your hands pinned together it’s pushing up your— Nope, Jake was not going to think about that!

Despite Jake’s fluster, you only nod innocently. He releases your wrists gently and you sink back into the lake. Jake lets out a breath of relief when the water reaches your shoulders.

Now that your modesty is preserved—and your name established—Jake realizes there’s a much more pressing matter at hand. He has to get out of here. Natasha and Bradley were probably worried about him. Javy was definitely already rounding up a search party with every second Jake’s still down in this cave.

“Hey, Nemo?” You look up excitedly at his words and Jake swallows a bit guilty. “I have to get home now. Do—”

“I can show you home!” You interrupt excitedly already rising in energy and that’s exactly what Jake was afraid of.

He grimaces. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Nemo. There’s not a lot of water where I live… besides the ocean, I guess.”

To Jake’s surprise, you giggle and shake your head. “I have legs, Jake. I do not need the ocean.” With a bright smile, you move to push off the bank. “Here. I will show them to you.”

And Jake is genuinely curious to see how the logistics of your fin-to-leg transformation work, but then he realizes you’ll probably be entirely naked and the only clothes he has on him are his swim trunks—which he needs for obvious reasons. He shakes his head hastily.

“No, that’s okay! I believe you.” To his relief, you listen and sink back into the water. Jake rolls his lip through his teeth in thought. “Are you sure you know how to get me home?��

You nod vigorously. “I know, Jake. But…” You look down, suddenly bashful. “Please promise you will visit me. It doesn’t have to be all the time! Only sometimes.” You look up at him hopefully.

Jake pauses. “You didn’t plan on staying?”

You only look up at him.

Jake knows that this makes everything exponentially easier. He’s probably the last person that should be trusted with the secret of mermaids, let alone have one with him. And here you were giving him a very easy out, you’d help him get home and in return all he had to do is say that he might see you sometimes. It’s not like he’d have to keep that promise. You’d both certainly be safer that way.

“And you really don’t have anyone?” Jake checks again. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting—you didn’t even have a name.

“No, I have many fish friends,” you correct him and Jake’s shoulders sag in relief, but then you continue, “They do not talk to me. And they run away from me sometimes. But I think that they like me.”

That’s what Jake was afraid of.

He bites his lip, running a hand through his hair. He doesn’t need to do this. Honestly, he could probably just explain to you how dangerous it is for you to try to see him again and then you could go your separate ways. You’d understand, right?

All it takes is one look in your wide, wishful eyes.

“Why don’t… Why don’t you stay with me?”

I don’t have a taglist but feel free to follow my library @jupitercometgold if you want to be notified when I post

#jake seresin imagine #jake seresin imagines #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin au #hangman imagine #hangman imagines #hangman x reader #hangman fluff #hangman au #top gun maverick imagines #x reader #caught in a riptide #buggy’s got a pen

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inklore · 1 year

Note

there are nawt enough stories and imagines reflecting how much I would let tenoch destroy my throat. just a ridiculously beautiful and charming man, but crumbs on here. crumbs!!!!! I hope for the second week of bp:wk out there are more

shameless

pairing: namor x (f)reader

word count: 548

warnings: eighteen+ content, m receiving oral, mentions and implications of past sexual encounters, deep throating on the beach basically, poetic af, no spoilers but let’s pretend that certain things didn’t happen and this makes sense, a bit of dirty talk, a touch of forbidden relationship, reader is from wakanda.

note: here’s a crumb from a whore who is also scouring every part of the internet for more content of this man!!!

The beach is quiet at night. The calm movements of the waves mingling with the hum of insects in the trees make for a peaceful symphony, that even the most lonesome hearted could feel serenity from.

It’s why you found yourself down here when you couldn’t sleep. Sand between your toes, your weight sinking into it like a welcome abyss. The sounds of the ocean, of nature, bringing a peace of mind to your ever racing thoughts on most nights.

You liked the alone time.

Liked to be left with only you and the water. As if it washed away every mental ailment that stung you that day, that week—month. A refreshing breath of air.

A ritual that morphed itself into something forbidden when he began showing up.

Your alone time turning into something shared with someone you should have turned your back to. Should have made your way back up the sand the first night he appeared out of the water.

Anger. Fear. Anything other than acceptance should have soiled your once peaceful time. Should have kept you from returning every night.

Not being the reason why you kept returning.

That anger and fear never showing up, when he always did.

You wondered if he waited for you. Every night. To see your silhouette darken the shore as he waited just below the surface.

Like a predator waiting for its prey.

You should hate him.

Hating him was easier than whatever these meetings turned into.

Going from something innocent, a way to not be alone, water and oil meeting and trying to learn to be one; to something you should feel ashamed over.

The quiet of the beach now tainted, soiled, with sounds of mouths pressed together, moans, skin on skin.

Just as the anger and fear never showed neither did the shame. You knew if you dug deep enough there might be hatred and guilt aimed at yourself—where it should be aimed at him.

Both unfair when you really thought about it. Unfair for you to feel hatred when its route cause felt so good.

Unfair for you to aim hatred at him when there had been no forcing, no convincing, no manipulation to get you like this. To start this. To continue it.

You had other things to hate him for. But this was not one of them.

Even after that first night when he had left your bottom covered in sand, thighs soaked from your arousal and his mouth; guilt and hatred were washed away with his tongue, like the waves he disappeared in.

That’s why it’s no surprise the only thing you feel right now as tiny stones in the sand dig into your knees, throat feeling raw, jaw aching, deep groans sounding from above you—is pleasure.

The peace of the night ruined by wet sputters.

“What would your queen say if she saw you like this?” Namor’s tone is rough and lust riddled. Hips snapping forward as his fingers dig into the back of your skull, as he keeps your mouth attached to his cock, as he uses your mouth, your tongue—your throat—as nothing more than something to conquer, claim. There’s a smirk on his lips when you look up at him, as drool runs down your chin. “Shameless. Perfect,” he grunts.

#namor smut #namor x reader #namor x you #namor one shot #namor x f!reader #namor x y/n #namor x black reader #namor imagine #namor fanfic #black panther imagine #namor fanfiction #black panther smut #namor x fem!reader #namor x female reader #namor fic #namor fics #black panther fic

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portaltothevoid · 6 months

Text

Between Breaths (An XXX Perspective) - Terzo x Reader

Summary: You're the Head Witch at the Ministry. Arguably at times you hold more power than the current Papa, Papa Emeritus III. You've always hated him and you assumed the feeling was mutual. But what happens when he calls you out on it?

song: between breaths (an xx perspective) by blaqk audio

A/N: had an idea that was encouraged by @copias-juicebox, @fishwithtitz, and @da-rulah. you can thank them or blame them for this. idk i guess i have terzo brainrot. enjoy the absolute filth that is this one shot. (pictures for the mood board all found on pinterest)

word count: 6.5k

warnings: MDNI. enemies to lovers, angst, female reader, hate sex, semi-public sex, library sex, oral m-receiving & f-receiving, face fucking, deepthroating, dom!terzo, brat!reader, edging, fingering, squirting, p in v, face slapping, unprotected sex, cream pie, using a belt as a makeshift whip, choking, lots of bickering banter before the smut, not really proofread, self-translated italian

Being the Head Witch of the Satanic Church definitely had its perks. For example, you could go in and out of the restricted section of the library as you pleased without having to provide any explanation as to why you needed a certain book, your living quarters rivaled that of the highest clergy members, and you were the one calling the shots with anything related to magic, be it a conjuring or a protection spell, a cord cutting. Sometimes your power within the Ministry rivaled that of Papa, the Anti-Pope, much to his chagrin, of course.

Brothers and Sisters of Sin alike flocked to you, not only for your expertise, but because you were drop dead gorgeous, charismatic, feisty, and because you had power. With your office being directly across from Papa’s, you would often catch him glaring at you from his desk as the door to your office might have been a revolving one with how many people were in and out of it. And especially during major holidays, did the Children of the Ministry come knocking at your door. It sometimes seemed like they had forgotten about their darling Papa Emeritus III. They only had eyes for you. That drove him crazy and thus, your rivalry was born.

Despite seeming to have it all, it grew tiring to be constantly surrounded by so many people. Having company at night was great and all, but the connections were vapid. You had no choice but to keep any and all suitors at arm’s length; it was safer that way, both for you and for them. Your work was demanding and that would always come first. There was an aching loneliness that gnawed at you, but you refused to acknowledge it. Relationships, true connection, only got in the way. You weren’t the youngest Head Witch the church had ever seen, barely even in your thirties, because you spent time curating intimate and genuine relationships in the hopes of one day starting a family. You had ambitions, goals, and nothing would get in the way of that.

This led to quite the paradox: you were surrounded by people, loved and excelled at your job, and even craved solitude, but the loneliness that clawed at your heart could be suffocating.

Tonight was one of those paradoxical nights where you wanted nothing more than to be alone, but you wished there was someone you could be alone with – no expectations, no ulterior motives, just the mere act of coexisting with someone who had chosen you and you had chosen them. Often, you would find yourself in the library on nights like this. People would be too engrossed in their own studies to pay you any mind. Or you would just stay in the restricted section, knowing very few people had access to it.

It was quiet enough that you found yourself just outside the off-limits occult books. You weren’t looking for anything in particular, perhaps you’d know when you found it.

Too lost in your own thoughts, you didn’t notice the last person you wanted to see walking towards you until it was too late to make a swift getaway. “Buona sera, cara mia (my dear),” greeted the illustrious Papa as he leaned his back against the bookshelf, an arrogant smirk on his face.

You set your book on the shelf in front of you as your head tilted back with an exasperated sigh escaping you. “What do you want, Terzo? I’m not in the mood for your bullshit tonight.”

He put a gloved hand to his chest and gasped dramatically. “I am offended.”

“Clearly not enough to leave me alone.”

“Ah, you see, that I cannot do, because I’m looking for something, a book actually, and I just so happened to see you, and perhaps you could find it in your cold, black heart to help me.”

It was your turn to gasp dramatically as you slowly turned to face him. “You can read?!”

Terzo rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Will you help me or not?” he asked curtly.

“Sure! The children’s section is downstairs, to the left, all the way to the back. You can’t miss it.”

“I didn’t rise to Papa with the reading level of a toddler,” he retorted with an edge to his voice.

“You’re right, my mistake. It must have been the nepotism.”

He let out a frustrated puff as he pushed himself away from the bookshelf and started to walk away. Your quiet chuckle was loud enough so that he turned on his heel and walked right back up to you. “I don’t understand why you hate me so much.”

“Because you’re a pompous figurehead with a constant need for attention who’s had nearly everything handed to him and the fact your dick sees more traffic than the 405 on a Friday night during rush hour.” You spoke with an air of nonchalance like you were just spouting off a common factoid as you turned to face him, crossing your arms. The bookshelves now against your back.

His eyes turned to slits. “Who am I to turn down those that hand themselves to me willingly? And don’t act like your body count isn’t as high as mine. If anything, I’d bet it’s higher judging from how many people I see – and hear – coming and going from your office,” he spat.

“Well, at least the lives of the people I fuck actually improve afterwards when the spells come to fruition. They aren’t just fucking me for clout and just to say they did only to find out you’ve already moved on to your next conquest.” Your upper lip started to curl upwards into a sneer, but you did your best to control it. The last thing you wanted to do was give him the satisfaction of getting a rise out of you.

“Oh, spare me the righteous act, dolcezza.”

“It’s not a ‘righteous act’ to make my intentions clear to my partners. Maybe you should try that out sometime. Sure would save me a lot of work.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, glaring at you as he took a step towards you.

“It means that your escapades upset enough people that they come to me to seek retribution. Against you. You have no idea how much thankless damage control I have to do for your pathetic ass.”

Clearly, that jab had the opposite effect you intended. A mischievous glint appeared in his eyes as he took another half step closer to you. “Are you implying you… protect me?” he asked slyly.

“Don’t fucking flatter yourself. I’m implying that I’m doing what I have to to keep Sister Imperator off my back.”

“But that is still protecting me from hexes and curses cast by the ones who let their feelings cloud the reality of the situation. And for the record, cara…” With another step forward he placed his hand on the shelf next to your shoulder, leaning in, his voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “I make my intentions very clear.” You refused to acknowledge the way that made your stomach flip and your heart rate picked up speed.

You tried to take a step away from him, but were only met with shelves digging into your back. The crease in your forehead deepened as you clenched your jaw. It wasn’t until you saw his eyes dart between your eyes and your lips did your arms uncross from your chest as you pushed him to the side. “You’re an insufferable rompicoglioni (pain in the ass), you know that?” After turning your back on him, you only managed to get a few steps away before his next question stopped you in your tracks.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it…”

You tilted your head to the ceiling, your eyes shut, as you let out a deep breath. “Thought about what?” you asked through your still gritted teeth. He stayed silent. You shook your head and turned around to face him again. “Thought. About. What?” you practically growled your repeated question.

He stood there, leaning against the bookshelves, with his bottom lip seductively in between his teeth as he raised his eyebrows at you. “Do I really need to answer that question?” he chuckled.

“I can’t fucking stand you,” you said as you turned to leave his stupid, smirking face behind you. Again, you didn’t get very far when you felt a gloved hand grab your wrist, his grip just tight enough to halt you and turn you to face him.

“Have you ever thought why that is, streghetta mia (my little witch)?” he cooed, bringing his other hand to gently caress your cheek.

“I am not your little—” you began defiantly until he interrupted you. His words suddenly became harsher, much more serious.

“Rispondimi (answer me),” he demanded, his grip tightening on your wrist. His hand on your cheek went from a feather light touch, to forcefully grabbing the side of your neck, aiding in the way he pulled you to him so that almost no space remained between you.

“I already told you why,” you said through your teeth. Your whole body tensed being this close to him. If it was a losing battle, you desperately tried to fight the lost cause of keeping your composure. His deliciously delicate Italian cologne didn’t affect you. The heat from his body didn’t affect you. How roughly he handled you definitely didn’t affect you.

“No. I don’t think you did, because I don’t think you can admit the truth.” The intensity of his stare burned into you (but it absolutely did not affect you). He pulled you into the crook of his neck. Biting the inside of your cheek was the only way you could ground yourself, focus on the task at hand — not letting him win. He was so close to you that you could feel his lips moving against your ear as he murmured, “Everything you hate about me… is what you hate about yourself, amore.”

You lost sight of him; all you could see was red. Twisting your wrist, you broke free from his grasp. Your hands flew up to his chest as you shoved him back. He stumbled slightly, bracing himself on the bookshelves. The amused half-smile on his face told you everything you needed to know: he was loving every second of this. “Seems I’ve struck a nerve, hm?”

“You fucking asshole! I am nothing like you.” The venom clinged to your words.

“You’re not? You don’t enjoy the company of others under the guise of tending to the flock when all you crave is real connection? You don’t flaunt your ‘power’ to make up for every inadequacy you feel about yourself?” He sauntered up to you, placing his hands on your shoulders as if the slightest movement would shatter you.

“You don’t know the first thing about me,” you mumbled through barely parted lips.

“How long are you going to keep telling yourself that, hm?” he purred, hooking his finger under your chin, which you pushed away. You tried to back away from him, but yet again, you were stopped by the bookshelf.

“If you’re so self aware, then why do you still act like a piece of shit?”

He leaned forward, putting a hand on either side of you, caging you in. “Because, streghetta, the only connection worth pursuing thinks I’m a pompous pain in the ass fucking asshole piece of shit figurehead with the reading ability of a four year old. Did I remember everything?” he smirked.

His mismatched eyes burned into yours. His white iris seemed to be almost glowing in the dim library light. The heat that was starting to burn in your center made you stay put. Your only movement came from your head quickly turning to the side as you heaved an insolent breath. Breaking eye contact was the only thing you could think of doing right now, but even that was short lived. He emphatically grabbed your face, silently ordering you to look at him, your cheeks smushing together between his thumb and index fingers. “I asked you a question. Stop being a brat and rispondimi,” he hissed.

“Kinda hard with my jaw in your hand,” you managed to mutter.

“I understood you just fine.” He pressed harder into your face. The longer you were silent, the more pressure he added.

“F-fine! Yes! That’s what I think of you, stronzo,” you spat.

“Brava ragazza. That wasn’t so difficult, was it?” he praised softly. The back of his fingers returned to graze your cheek.

You couldn’t help but press your lips into a thin line as you mulled over when he said “...the only connection worth pursuing…”

“Thinking about what I said?” His hand slid down your neck to your collarbone.

“No,” you replied immediately. Your eyes quickly flitted up to the ceiling at how easily you gave yourself away, which earned you a light, airy laugh. “Wait. Yeah. If this is the ‘only connection worth pursuing’ then what’s taken you so long? Did you have to test out all the others to make sure it was the right choice?”

“You’re too busy scowling at me to notice me noticing you.”

“No, not quite. Try again.”

“This is one of the very few times I’ve been able to catch you alone.”

“Oh, please. Your office is directly across from mine. And I have seen you on multiple occasions staring at me when your door is open,” you scoffed.

“And every time, before I can even think about getting up from my chair, you slam the door shut,” he countered, twirling a lock of your hair between his fingers.

Swatting his hand away, you said, “Still not the real answer.”

“Then what is?” He let his hand fall to your shoulder and slowly began to cascade down your arm.

“You don’t think you’re good enough for someone like me.” With a challenging tilt of your head and raise of your eyebrows, you watched as astounded annoyance clouded his eyes. “Yeah, two can play this game.” You straightened out the collar to his shirt and trailed your fingers down to adjust the top buttons with your eyes focused on your small task. They only looked back into his eyes when you mockingly added, “Caro.”

Finally, you struck a nerve. He took both your wrists and pinned them down beside you. “Before tonight’s over, I’ll show you I’m more than good enough for you.”

You tossed your head back as you laughed, craning your neck to watch his reaction. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. I’ve seen the way your conquests look when they leave your office. It doesn’t take a genius to know you’re a good fuck. It does, however, take a certain kind of person to notice how you never seem completely satisfied… like something’s missing…”

Pressing his body flush against yours, he leaned down and whispered, “Like I said earlier, amore, it’s the craving for real connection, which of course, you of all people would notice something like that.” You could feel the warmth of his breath dancing over a sensitive spot on your neck. “Because… you’re just… like… me…” he added breathlessly as he dragged his lips along your neck before he pulled himself away to stare into your eyes.

The desire pooling between your legs was inescapable. Your eyes darted from his to his lips before returning to the mismatched eyes that watched your every subtle movement. That was all the invitation he needed before he released your wrists to take your face in his hands as your lips crashed together. Just because you lost the battle didn’t mean you couldn’t win the war.

Your hand flew to the nape of his neck where you threaded your fingers in his hair. He moaned into your mouth when you started pulling. Your other hand balled the fabric of his shirt at his hip into your fist.

He broke the kiss only to leave a sloppy trail of kisses down our neck where he began to suck and nip at it. You let your head fall back and your grip in his hair tighten. He maneuvered himself so he was pressing his thigh between your legs and without a second thought, as a breathless moan escaped your lips, you began to rut against him. “I still… fucking hate you…” you panted.

Before he could make his clever retort, your heads turned towards the sound of the door opening. You could hear the light sound click-clacking of heels on the floor below. Terzo couldn’t even get his suggestion out before you pushed him off you, taking his hands in yours and leading him deeper into the library. He eyed you curiously, an impish grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.

When the sounds of the other patrons faded, you slammed back against a random stack and pulled him against you, assuming your previous formation. “Are you sure you want to do this here?” he asked in between open mouthed kisses on your neck.

“I wouldn’t have dragged you over here if I wasn’t.”

His gaze lingered over you as if to double check you were telling the truth. He nodded once. “Bene. Safe word?”

“Rigatoni.” He tilted his head at you, a quizzical look on his face. “What? Do you prefer ziti?”

“No, just an… interesting choice.”

“Non verbal is two taps and a pinch, but first,” you said as you held his wrist one hand and started taking off one of his gloves in the other, “the Mickey Mouse gloves are coming off.” His eyes narrowed into slits as he let you remove his gloves, placing them in his back pocket. You gave his ass a hard slap when you were done, leaning back on the stack behind you, with an exaggerated and triumphant smile on your face.

Taking your face in his now bare hand, he held it like he did just moments ago. He put his other hand beside your head, pressing his body into your and leaning forward, “I’m not going to hold back, streghetta.” He lowered his voice, making it sound husky and gravelly. He let go of you, roughly pushing your head to the side as he did so.

“Good. Don’t want you to,” you paused before you giggled, doing your best Mickey Mouse impersonation.

That earned you a smack across the face. It wouldn’t leave a mark, but you felt the sting go straight down to your core. You looked up at him with a daring smirk.

You could see the anger ice over his eyes. His features darkened. “Be careful what you wish for.”

You yanked him toward you, your fists grabbing his shirt as leverage as you purred in his ear, “Do your worst, papino.”

His hand wrapped around your bicep so tightly, you knew there would be a bruise there tomorrow. He dragged you through the aisles of books to the study area. He let go of you only for a moment to turn you away from him as he pushed you down onto the table in front of you. Biting your lip, you pressed your thighs together, needing some semblance of relief.

Mismatched eyes watching you like a hawk, of course he noticed. “Ah, ah, ah,” he tutted. You heard the faint clinking of a belt buckle and the slide of leather. Using his knee, he nudged your legs away from each other. “Brats like you don’t get anything until they’ve been properly punished.” You chewed on your lip as he folded his belt, allowing for him to have more control.

The brisk air hit the back of your legs as he lifted your maxi skirt up, exposing yourself to him. He put the belt in his mouth, freeing his hands, so he could yank your panties off you. Your ankle lifted off the ground, causing you to throw one of your hands to the edge of the table to save your balance. The belt went into his left hand, he placed it beside you as he leaned over you, pressing his still clothed erection into your bare ass. “Mmm, you say you hate me so much and yet here you are, already so fucking wet for me.” Not giving you any chance to make a smart ass comment, he shoved your underwear into your mouth.

Pushing off of you, he caressed your ass like he was mapping out where the belt would strike you. He went from the left corner down to the right, being mindful enough not to even graze your cunt, giving no reprieve whatsoever. Then he repeated the motion going from the right corner down to the left.

Thwack!

Without warning, the belt made contact with your skin. Tears instantly sprang in your eyes, having been taken by surprise. The force of the blow made you cry out, but the sound was muffled; it just sounded like a poor excuse of a whimper.

“Still think you can handle this, streghetta mia?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed as you nodded – your tone still defiant.

Thwack!

You were actually thankful for the makeshift gag in your mouth, which gave you something to bite down on as you took the pain.

“If I had known–” thwack! “ –That this is what it took–” thwack! “ –to get you to shut your goddamn smart ass mouth up–” thwack! “ –I would have done this so much sooner.” Thwack!

He leaned over you again, this time pressing a kiss to your shoulder before asking if you were okay. Blinking tears away, you nodded. You were more than okay. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this alive.

“Hmm, I’m not sure I’m completely convinced…” he mused as he stood up. Just as you went to loosen the white knuckle grip you had on the table’s edge, you felt his thumb trail down from your taint, through your folds, and onto your clit, which he circled twice. You moaned loudly. “Mmm,” you could hear him sucking your arousal off his finger, “yes, you are doing quite alright.”

You practically squealed when suddenly one of his fingers slid right inside you. He wasted no time finding the spot that could make you scream. You whined when he removed himself from you, but it was only to flip you over onto your back. Without thinking, your leg hooked around his waist, anchoring him to you. He looked down at you, smirking, before he plunged his middle and ring fingers inside of you. Your eyes rolled back with your head that rested on the table. Your back arched.

And then he began the assault of pressure; his fingers curled up, furiously tapping on your sweet spot. You swear you had never been this wet for anyone before. The noises coming from your cunt only made you clench harder around his fingers. His movements were so hard and so fast, you were almost being lifted off of the table. You were so close, so close. Despite the makeshift gag, you were screaming. Just as the coil in your core was about to snap, he was gone. Your eyes snapped open, wide with rage. Instantly you sat up. If looks could kill, he would have been dead at your feet.

“Stand up. Get on your knees.” For the first time tonight, you followed his instruction, but that was where your obedience ended.

“Figlio di puttana del cazzo (you fucking son of a bitch!)!” you snarled, looking up at him, after throwing the gag to the side.

Shaking his head, he gathered your hair into a ponytail, tugging your head back. You earned your second slap of the night. He undid and took off his pants, tossing them haphazardly to the side. You watched as his leaking cock sprung out. At the sight of it, your mouth immediately began to water. “If you can stop being a fucking brat and actually put your mouth to good use, then maybe you’ll get a reward,” he seethed. He shoved two of his fingers into the corners of your mouth. “Open.”

There was no getting used to him. In what felt like mere milliseconds, his length was down your throat. The only thing you could think of, for just a fraction of relief, was to open your jaw as wide as you possibly could, but even that wasn’t enough. He held your hair like he was holding on for dear life, deep growls rumbled from his chest. With every thrust you could feel whatever leftover animosity he had towards you pouring into you.

A near constant stream of tears cascaded down your face. You could barely see his smirk as you gagged around him. Abruptly, he stopped, pulling himself away from your mouth. Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath. “Get up,” he commanded as he pulled you up by your hair. He only let go when you were standing. “Back on the table. On your back.” You relished the break, taking your time to do as you were told. He stayed looking down at you, a lust-crazed look on his face. Expectantly, you looked back up at him, waiting for whatever he had planned next. Grabbing you by the shoulders, he slid you to him so your head was hanging off the table. “Apri (open),” he breathed.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you braced yourself for the second onslaught that never came. He slowly slid himself into your mouth, down your throat. You let the spit you saved from before getting on the table bubble up around him. This angle was a bit easier for you to take him. He used your ribs as leverage to thrust in and out of your mouth. A moan floated from his lips as his eyes closed, letting himself get lost in his own pleasure. You placed your hands on the back of his thighs. His lips curled over his teeth as he moaned again when you dug your nails into him. “Satanas, sei bella (you’re beautiful),” he murmured. Dragging his hands up, he wrapped them around your neck as he kept thrusting down into your mouth.

“Cazzo,” he groaned as he could feel himself in your throat. By this point, you said to hell with your gag reflex. It was easy to ignore while he incessantly fucked your face. He was slightly less aggressive with your neck bent over the edge of the table, his pace slower. As if savoring every inch of the feel of you, he pushed himself into you until your lips curled around his base. You couldn’t help, but moan. “Lucifer, fucking hell,” he growled. He repeated this a few more times before he backed away from you again, his breathing growing labored. You never took your eyes away from his as you spun around and got off the table.

Kneeling in front of him again, you looked up at him with your tear-stained face and doe eyes sparkling. You started stroking his length before you took him in your mouth, tongue swirling around his swollen tip. Then you licked down his shaft until you took his balls in your mouth, gently sucking on them. He groaned as his head fell back. After you licked back up his length, teasingly slow, and took him back in your mouth did you begin bobbing your head up and down. When you moaned again, his hands tangled in your hair again. This time it wasn’t to cause you pain, but to find purchase and ground himself. “Fuck,” he hissed. He was close. You could see it. You could feel it. So you took his hips in your hands, digging your nails into his flesh. Looking up at him, you subtly nodded to him. His fingers curled and pulled at your hair. He sloppily thrusted into your face again and soon you felt his hot seed spilling down the back of your throat as he cried out.

He slumped forward somewhat as his high waned. You stood up, making sure to catch his dichromatic gaze as you did. You wiped the corner of your mouth and swallowed every drop he had given you. He cupped your face in his hands and kissed you feverishly. As you gripped his wrists, he pulled you to him, pushing you back toward the stacks of books behind you until they met your back. You eyed him hungrily as your hands reached for his shirt, your nimble fingers sliding down as you unbuttoned it. Not even bothering to shove it all the way off him, you let your hands explore his chest. The only thing you heard was each other's heaving panting. He was on your lips again the second you made eye contact with each other, his tongue diving down your throat, doing an exploration of its own.

You moaned as you hooked your leg up on his hip, pulling him even closer to you. Resting his forehead on yours, he held your face in his hands, thumbs caressing your cheeks. “Time for a reward, sì? La mia brava ragazza (my good girl),” he cooed softly as he sank down on his knees.

Your breath got caught in your throat as he lifted up your skirt to dive under it. “Oh fuck,” you breathed as he dragged his nails up your thighs. Throwing your leg over his shoulder, he dove right in, his tongue lapping up your wetness seeping from your slit. You moaned again as his nose nudged your clit and his tongue dipped inside you. Your right hand grabbed at his hair under your skirt while your left was sliding up and around on the shelves behind you as you tried to find the best angle to help keep yourself propped up.

Taking his tongue out of you, he dragged it up to your bundle of nerves that were desperate for attention and started to suck on it as his tongue swirled around it. “Shit, s-shit!” you cried out. “Right… th-there. F-fuck. Fuck, Terzo. Don’t you fucking dare stop.”

His ministrations stopped, but only to shove two of fingers inside you. You mewled loudly; it didn’t matter if anyone was nearby or not. They could enjoy the free show at this point. Just as he had before, he was hitting your g-spot as if this was the thousandth time. You were seeing stars, but what you wanted to see… was him. “W-wait, wait, stop!” you panted. You were so close, you couldn’t finish just yet. You tapped him twice and he stopped before you could pinch him. He rushed out from your skirt, a confused look on his face that glistened from your arousal.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you said as you discarded your skirt. “I want to watch. I want to watch you make me cum,” you said lustfully as you perched your leg back onto his shoulder. Your hand threaded into his hair, holding on tightly as he resumed where he had left off. This time, his pace returned to that of the first time he had you like this. You bucked into his face, adding even more friction. “Holy fuck, yes. Terzo, please, don’t stop. P-please. Fuck! There! Yes! I’m cumming! I’m–”

Removing his fingers from you, he aggressively rubbed your clit. You opened your eyes just in time to see him get showered with your juices as they streamed out of you. And that man lapped it up like it was his first drink of water after a hike in the desert. You sunk back into the stack behind you as he looked up at you through wet lashes. He looked like he got caught in the beginning of a downpour – and it was probably the hottest thing you’d ever seen. Maybe you should fuck the people you hate more often if this was the result, because… this was still hatred you felt burning inside you. It had to be…

Afraid your shaky legs would give out on you if you tried to move, you stayed frozen in place. At some point your hand attached to Terzo was helping keep you upright on the shelving behind you. He stood up in front of you, his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close to him. When you were secure in his hold, his finger hooked under your chin, directing your hazy eyes to him. “Can you give me one more, amore?” he softly asked you. Eagerly, you nodded. He tilted his head, giving you a warning look. “Is la streghetta at a loss for words?”

“Yes,” you said, still nodding. “One more.”

“Va bene (okay), hard or easy?”

Your eyes darkened as more lust flared up in them again. “Don’t take it easy on me.” His lips curved up into a half smile that turned into a menacing smirk.

A sharp gasp fell from your lips as he spun you around so you were facing the books in front of you. One hand reached in front of you, circling the sensitive bud between your legs. Your head fell back onto his shoulder, while his other hand encapsulated your throat. “Do you still hate me?” he questioned through his teeth as his hips bucked up into you, using your ass to provide himself with the friction he needed.

“Yes,” you moaned wantonly.

You felt his breathy laugh on your ear as his grip tightened around your neck. The blood supply being cut off shot pangs of heat right down to your center just as he removed his hand from there. The whine you were about to make died in your throat as you felt him dragging his cock through your still sopping folds. With a squeeze to your throat, and a bite to your shoulder, he pushed himself inside you. You wanted to be so irritated at how perfectly he filled you up, how your walls stretched to accommodate him, but you couldn’t, at least not right now. Not when it felt so good. Most of all, there was no hiding it from him. Not when the pornographic sounds were spilling out of you. The war was lost way before it even began.

At first, his thrusts were slow. It was like he was committing how you felt around him to memory. You mewled when he hit that perfect sweet spot. And then came the attack.

With steady rhythm, he mercilessly pounded into you. Sounds of skin slapping skin, your unrelenting moans, the heaviness of both your breathing, filled the room. There was nothing else going on in the world, not in that moment. In that moment, there was just you. And there was just him. Coupled with the feeling of ecstasy. All you could do was claw at the shelves in front of you.

You felt the coil tightening again. With your head still back on his shoulder, you could feel your legs growing weak. His arm enclosed around you. His forearm pressing against your lower abdomen introduced a new sensation of pleasure that turned your vision white. Or maybe that just from the way his hand was still constricting around your throat. Probably both, but whatever the cause was, you didn’t care.

“A-aga– I– I’m–” was all you managed to say as you felt even more of your juices gush from between your legs. He bit down onto your shoulder again as he moaned wantonly with it. You could feel he was about to pull out of you, probably to release his spend on your face, but you managed to wrap your arm around his back, letting him know to stay in place.

With his erratic thrusts your arm fell. The overstimulation made it so the only words you could get out were “Inside. Cum inside.” As if on command, you could feel him emptying himself into you, filling you with his seed. After his hips stopped, you both stayed as you were. The hand on your throat slid down and across your waist as he held you there. He supported you as you put your weight back on him and your hands covered his.

Time stood still as you both caught your breath. Once your breathing returned to semi-normal, did he finally pull out of you. You sighed at the feeling of emptiness.

Hesitantly, you stepped forward. You felt shaky (in the best possible way), but you weren’t going to fall over. “Hold on, amore.” You heard him whisper as you folded your arms on the shelf in front of you and rested your head on them. You hummed in response, staying where you were. You closed your eyes, basking in the blissful peace that was settling over you.

Behind you, you could hear the rustling of his clothes and his footsteps as he walked back over to you. In your near boneless state, you didn’t even register the absolute mess that was dripping from you until you felt soft fabric between your legs. You looked down to see Terzo cleaning you up with one of his gloves.

“See? These Mickey Mouse gloves are good for something,” he teased.

You let out a genuine laugh. “Grazie,” you said tenderly.

“That’s as good as we can get for now,” he said once he finished, punctuating his sentence with a couple light pats on your ass.

Playfully, you rolled your eyes and shook your head as you turned to go put your skirt back on. He followed suit. As you were smoothing out your outfit, he was doing the last few buttons on his shirt. You surveyed the scene around you. “I kinda feel bad for the Ghoul that has to clean this up,” you giggled.

Terzo just smirked at you as he put his arm around your shoulders, guiding you both out of the library at a very leisurely pace. Wrapping your arm around his waist you said, “For the record, I still hate you.”

He rolled his eyes at you. “Has anyone ever told you that you are very stubborn, principessa (princess)?”

“Nope, never,” you said with an exaggerated smile.

His light laughter was cut short when you both noticed someone grumbling with their head down as they headed towards you. "Buonasera, fratello. Little late for a library visit, no?”

Secondo looked up at the sound of his brother’s voice. You could see his eyes scanning over the two of you, taking in the disheveled sight. The annoyed look permanently etched on his face deepened. “I could say the same to the both of you.”

“I was minding my own business before this stronzo bothered me,” you said.

“Bothered is a funny way to put it, principessa,” Terzo grinned.

“Why are you here this late, Secondo?” you quickly asked in hopes of preventing Terzo from saying an offhand comment. The way one of Secondo’s eyebrows raised in suspicion wasn’t lost on you.

“An uncrossing spell. One of the Ghouls fucked up. Again,” he glowered. “And it’s falling to me to fix, since someone was unreachable.”

You tugged at Terzo to start walking again, too tired to deal with Secondo’s disgruntledness. “Of course, they did. Well, just, um, don’t go too far past the restricted section.” You and Terzo exchanged a look before picking up your pace. “Buonasera!” you added without looking behind you.

Secondo saw both yours and Terzo’s shoulders shaking with laughter. He just shocked his head as he continued getting the book he needed. “About fucking time…” he grumbled.

#the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #terzo #papa terzo #terzo emeritus #papa emeritus iii #terzo x reader #terzo x female reader #papa emeritus iii x female reader #papa emeritus iii x reader #terzo angst #terzo smut

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whoreforhorror · 1 year

Text

So, I literally have no motivation and am just not in a great place right now. I can barely get out of bed for work and showers are exhausting.

Have a repost from my AO3

Movie Intervention (Billy Loomis x Reader x Stu Macher)

Summary: You’ve been working yourself too hard at school and haven’t given the boys the attention they need, so they take things into their own hands.

It was a bad habit to fall into, you knew that. Still, there wasn’t much you could do about it. Between actually having to go to school, the homework you got after, and work, your day was jam-packed. There weren’t enough hours in the day, so you had to free your hours at night. This means that you were here again, gearing up for another late late-night study session. Physics specifically had been kicking your ass and you had to ace this next test or you were certain you’d be doomed to repeat the class. For the sake of your long-term sanity, you couldn’t let that happen.

Several times now, you’d had to cancel on your friends. You still saw them at school, and Randy at work as well, but it wasn’t the same as actually hanging out or partying. You’d had to turn down numerous invitations to sleep over at Tatum’s with Sydney and gossip. You’d had to miss Stu’s parties and miss movie nights with him and Billy. You couldn’t really indulge Randy in his usual rants at work, as well. You missed them all, especially Billy and Stu.

You cared deeply about the both of them, more so than the others in your group. You weren’t sure if they noticed or returned the sentiment, and you weren’t really sure what to call it. Maybe a crush, but it felt more comfortable than that. It would definitely be too early to call it love, too. Every time you had to turn them down, to hear the disappointment over the phone or see the looks of yet another letdown in person, it felt like someone stacked another ten-pound plate on your chest. Sooner or later, if this continued, you just might crack under the pressure.

It was nearly eleven at night now, not too late yet but you could be assured that most of Woodsboro was fast asleep by now. Knowing that was, perhaps, even more isolating than your room which you’d spent the better part of two weeks in. The desk in your room had felt more like a prison as you studied. To avoid distractions, you turned off the lights in your room and used solely the little desk lamp in the corner as you worked. It was less burning the midnight oil and more someone set the entire pot of oil on fire and poked a hole in it so that it was both burning too fast and spilling out the bottom. You were, in this moment and for the past two weeks, a fiery ball of leaking oil.

Time stretched on and your back ached. Your wrist, fingers, neck, and shoulders ached with it. Your… well your everything seemed to hurt. “It’s not even that late…” talking out loud to yourself was the only way your thoughts could be coherent at all. “I’ve stayed up way later than this. I can do this.” You could repeat a similar sentiment to yourself all you wanted, scream it at the top of your lungs and say it with all the passion your heart could hold but it wouldn’t stop the words on the pages from blurring and doubling. Nothing you looked at could stay still and you took another gulp of your half-filled energy drink (the fourth of the night and sixth of the day) which only served to prove just as unhelpful. You could feel your mind start to spiral into nonsensical half-thoughts and abstract concepts you didn’t have the energy to define.

A knock at your front door pulled your brain from its spiral and shot adrenaline through your body, enough to be able to pull yourself from your chair and drag yourself to the door. You opened it to be greeted by Stu, with his fist in the space where the door had just been, and Billy who had popcorn and a tape in hand. They seemed, at first, surprised that you answered at all, then taken aback at your disheveled, sleep-deprived appearance.

“Hey, buddy!” Stu was the first to speak up. “We missed ya’ so we thought we’d drop by. If you can’t come to movie night, we’ll bring it to you!” You weren’t quite sure what to say for a few very long seconds.

“Oh… I’m sorry guys. I can’t- I mean, I’d love to and I wish we could but I’ve got to study. Maybe some other time?” You could hear the exhaustion in your voice, much to your displeasure. You sounded worse than you thought. It hurt to have to turn them away, especially when they had gone out of their way to come to you with everything needed, but you couldn’t. You just couldn’t.

“We’re not taking no for an answer,” Billy spoke up.

“Yeah, no can do, man! I mean, we’re already here and your down here as well! It’d be more work to go allllll the way back upstairs.” He chimed in and pushed past you as he spoke. Billy followed suit.

“Guys…” you sighed out.

“Shut it.” Billy cut you off before you could finish your thought. He grabbed hold of your arm, pulling you fast enough that you could just barely shut the front door before you were much too far away. You were too tired to physically resist.

The two made their way to your living room, dragging you along with them. Billy was first to set on the couch, pulling you to sit in the middle so he was on your left. He opened the pre-made popcorn he had with him and offered you some. You were too tired to chew, if that even made sense. Either way, you shook your head. You were quickly losing any energy you had left and verbally responding to anything took far too much effort that you didn’t have.

Stu grabbed a large, fuzzy blanket from somewhere in your living room, spreading it out to cover both you and Billy, with enough extra to cover himself when he sat down as well. Billy tossed him the tape to get the movie started. You knew from the music as the movie began that they had chosen Halloween. It was a movie you had watched a thousand times, hundreds of those times being with Billy and Stu. You knew the movie like the back of your hand by now, and you were sure they knew that. They’d purposely chosen a movie you’d seen before so you could sleep without worrying about missing anything.

It dawned on you as Stu sat down on the couch right next to you on your right, covering himself with the blanket and putting his arm around your shoulder, that the boys, perhaps, felt the same closeness to you as you did to them. Certainly, they hadn’t done this for anyone else in the group. Not Randy, not Sydney, and not Tatum, even though the girls were dating Billy and Stu, respectively. It was enough to pull a smile on your lips; the first in weeks. You felt Billy put his arm around your waist and rest his hand on your thigh, pulling you into him just slightly but allowing you to stay in Stu’s arm as well. The two passed the popcorn back and forth between each other as they, or really Stu for the most part, rambled on about different cinematic techniques the movie used and the landmarks the movie had made, all while you put your head on Stu’s shoulder. Your eyelids grew heavy and each time you blinked, you found yourself wanting to open them less and less.

You fell asleep like that, with your head on Stu’s shoulder as he rambled on about the movie, in the hold of your two favorite people in Woodsboro. And, as you drifted off, you decided there was nowhere else you’d rather be. Your hearing was the last to go as you faded out.

“Stu, shut the fuck up. You’re going to wake them up.”

“Am not!”

“Stu.”

“Fine, whatever man.” A pause. “G’night sweets.”

“Yeah, sleep well, babe.”

…And you were out.

#poly ghostface x reader #poly ghostface #ghostface x reader #ghostface #scream franchise #scream #scream 1996 #billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #hurt/comfort #i guess?#not really sure how to tag this

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abiiors · 10 months

Text

haunt // bed - pt. 1

a/n: a while ago, i wrote do me a favour after which i said, i would write a matty hate sex fic. well this is it (and perhaps a bit more than anyone asked for), read dmaf again if you want to refresh your memory, or don't. there are 3 parts to this + an epilogue. i also know very little about western weddings, so ignore the inconsistencies lol.

a note about the banner: the photo in it is only meant to describe the dress, not the race, body type, hair colour, etc of the reader <3

minors dni! part 2, part 3

wc: 2.7k

see u in an hour xx

charli’s text flashes on your screen, illuminating a small corner of the dimly lit room. it’s not that late in the day, in fact, it’s quite early—only about 10 am. you’re supposed to be hurrying around the room, checking for any last minutes things you might have forgotten. you won’t be back home until tomorrow after all. yet here you are, surrounded by the things that should have been packed in your bag last night.

the dress, laid out on your bed, feels like a weapon; red silk slippery enough to slide between your fingers effortlessly. “a wily vixen”, that’s what charli had called you when she'd seen you in it for the first. the thought of that day—bridesmaids dress shopping with four other excited girls—brings a small smile to your face.

everything laid out here is a weapon really; your four-inch, sharp heels, the delicate and dainty diamond jewellery, the makeup you plan on wearing—blood red lipstick, a perfect shade match for the dress. an expensive crystal bottle of the same perfume you have used for the past six years.

familiarity breeds contempt. familiarity is also an excellent knife to twist in someone’s gut. because everything here, today, is meant to maul and wound him.

see you in an hour babe, love you. you write back and chuck your phone onto the pillow where it bounces a little before nestling between its creases. you stare at it, maybe your body still yearns for a call that will never come? no more can’t wait to see you up there. no more cheeky selfies in a state of half-undress. just a smooth, black screen.

right then…time to get going.

charli has been flittering around the room for the last twenty minutes. her white dress fits her like a dream, her makeup is a work of art and her excitement about marrying george is so palpable in the room that at least one person squeals or sighs every five minutes.

most importantly, the smile on her face is a permanent fixture. and every time you look at it, a warmth spreads through your body. she deserves this—the happiness, the celebration. the happily ever after. no matter how your marriage ended, you won’t stop believing in it for her.

“so!” charli walks over to you and takes your hand, “how do i look?” she twirls and the dress swirls around her, the tiny crystals catching light and making her shimmer like starlight.

you laugh in response, “like george is about to go into cardiac arrest the minute he sees you!”

the pair of you giggles like teenagers. you can so clearly picture it before it has even happened. the joy and love that will shine on george’s face; his excitement, quiet yet infectious and for a brief moment you’re transported back to your own walk down the aisle.

small, unsure steps, worried about falling flat on your face in those tall heels, but all of that had evaporated the second you had seen his tear-stained face. and the bright smile that had bloomed a split second later.

but that’s how long the ache lasts; a brief moment. it’s bad enough that you’re going to have to be civil to him, there’s no need to make it worse with unnecessary nostalgia.

besides, there’s her to think about.

she in question is a beautiful, leggy blonde who is at least seven years younger than him. not that you’ve seen either of them today…yet. it’s only because you and charli got drunk one night, four weeks before the wedding, and she felt bad about keeping it from you that matty had a plus one. and that’s how you fell into the rabbit hole of scrolling through this girl’s Instagram profile at two in the morning.

if you thought you knew his type, you would be dead wrong. physically speaking, she is the exact opposite of you—someone who looks like they belong on a giant billboard in times square, perfect and stunning. then there’s the more questionable aspects of her feed. the flat tummy tea adverts and the paid partnerships with various brands that are always under fire for being unethical.

but that’s the ugly green monster rearing its head. it’s not like you aren’t known for indulging in vanity every once in a while.

she will be here today, no doubt, clinging onto his arm like a decorative little thing—woah, where did that snide thought come from?! you shake your head to yourself, at least a little embarrassed. he’s not even here yet and he’s already screwing with your head; pushing you back into old jealous and insecure habits. someone clears their throat.

nora, one of charli’s longtime friends, has her champagne glass raised. a toast. she takes a deep, shaky breath and smiles tearily at the room, about to give her sentimental speech when a resounding knock echoes and cuts her off before she has even begun.

five heads turn to the locked door and you happen to be standing closest to it.

‘i’ll get it,’ you tell no one in particular, hand already on the doorknob. the possibility of it hits you way too late.

it hits you right as his clean-shaven face comes into view.

it has been ten months. ten months since you gave up the last name healy and changed it back to your maiden name on all your official documents. it had felt like a form of catharsis, getting it done with such urgency back then. but you also remember the days when you would be asked to state your full name and stagger a little at how odd it sounded to no longer have healy in it. to not have a ring around your finger to fidget with. no one to hold you at night.

but back to now. back to here.

it’s not hard to see that he has changed a lot in the last ten months. he looks serious; not necessarily sombre—it’s his best friend’s wedding, after all—but mature, more grown up. the grey in his hair, in his beautiful curls, is now much more prominent. the crow's feet around his eyes are more or less the same (and it sends a small pang through you; has he not laughed recently?). his mouth holds—held—a faint smile that’s already slipping, already morphing into a thin line. the exact same face that you woke up to for years now turning into a mask of carefully arranged neutrality.

“charli,” he whispers roughly and then clears his throat, “here to check on charli.” and just like that, he steps past you and into the room where he’s engulfed into a hug by the bride (and slapped on the bum by another bridesmaid but you ignore that for now).

pointedly, you also ignore the sting that comes with being sidestepped so easily.

you stand by the door, back still to the room, for a second longer than necessary. it doesn’t even register that you’re letting the warm spring air in. is this really how little seeing you impacts him? it must have. because if he’s here then she is also here.

“tell him i’m fine!” charli’s voice brings you out of your thoughts, making you shut the door softly. “and tell him not to meddle, i’ve got my girls.” she looks at you over his shoulder and throws a wink. your gut tells you it’s nothing but a charity gesture, just trying to gauge the tension between you two. guilt gnaws at you—she shouldn’t have to play peacemaker, she shouldn’t have to worry about two adults behaving themselves.

“only doing my duty here,” matty raises his hands defensively, “keeping the groom happy.”

the rest of them tease and taunt him playfully while you take the time to admire—no, simply look at—his suit. it’s nowhere near as nice as the one he wore at your wedding, of course not. but it’s beautifully made, tailored to fit and accentuate his muscles. and there are a lot of those now, that much is evident from the way his sleeves stretch over his biceps. he fills it out nicely, not that he didn’t before, but something about the fabric straining across his arms does funny things to your stomach. funny, you thought that feeling was a thing of the past. then there’s the navy trousers that compliment his backside rather nicely.

there’s a part of you that is appalled at all these observations you have been making but there’s another part—bored and much more matter-of-fact—that reminds you that there’s nothing under those clothes that you haven’t seen, touched, licked or sucked before. there’s nothing new. he is still the same as he was before, just now with a few extra muscles.

“go away,” charli’s nudges him gently toward the door. “we’ll be out in fifteen.”

he hugs her just before he leaves, dropping a friendly kiss on her head. after everything you’re glad no one had to pick sides in the divorce. you’ve at least managed to hold the friend group together, even though the same can’t be said about your marriage.

matty leaves just like he came in, sidestepping you and making sure he’s looking straight ahead. there’s a brief second however—a fraction of one really—when he slows down and breathes in. his adam’s apple bobs roughly and his face struggles to hold the blank expression.

but it must have just been you projecting right? no one can go through that much in half a second.

“there you are, darling,” denise walks in on you mid-smoke. “i was looking for you.”

she’s in a beautiful pink dress that brushes her knees and makes her look ten years younger than she is. you blush slightly at having been caught smoking; it’s a recent habit, not one she would be aware of, and you don’t want her to judge you for it.

“denise,” you try to hide the half-smoked cigarette, “you look beautiful.”

she pointedly looks at your hand and laughs. “my son does enough of that.” then she straightens up, as if bringing matty so casually into this conversation was a mistake. you suppose it was—it does make your heart skip a beat.

“i just wanted to say hi, darling,” she adds hastily, “and look at you…” her eyes scan you from head to toe, linger on your face for just a second before she smiles again. “simply stunning.”

“thank you.” your voice comes out in a whisper, fighting to get past the lump in your throat. you didn’t think there would ever come a day when she would have to so formally stop by to ‘say hi’. yet here you are, almost a pair of estranged mother and daughter.

“i don’t…” she starts but shakes her head minutely, “i don’t want to condescend you. but are you okay? with matty bringing that girl, i mean.”

that piques your interest. “that girl?” you stifle a little giggle. “sounds like you don’t like her…”

denise shrugs, leaning against the wall and looking at the bushes in front of her. “she’s okay, i guess.” then she takes a bit to smooth out her dress. “but she’s not you.”

“dearly beloved…” the officiant, charli’s godfather, begins, which you tune out instantly. weddings are lovely and romantic, wedding speeches are dull and boring. besides, like it or not, something else has captured your attention.

you stand behind the bride, holding the ring she’s supposed to put on george later. and right in front of you stands matty, holding the matching platinum band in his hands. adam and ross stand behind him, smiling and occasionally laughing along with the rest of the guests. you tried it at first too, to only keep your attention on george—who looks very handsome and beams wide the whole time—but it’s impossible when you feel your ex’s piercing stare right on you.

you would have thought he would stick to the little ignoring act from before. instead, his eyes have lingered on you from the second you walked down the aisle as a part of the processional. tracking your every move, every small step. frankly, it’s insulting. does he think you would ruin the wedding as some sort of diabolical revenge against him? you scoff internally; of course, he would think such self-centred thoughts, it’s just all about him, after all.

you raise an eyebrow at him. what’s your fucking problem?

he smiles back; an arrogant curl of his mouth that turns his face from sweet to insufferable within a matter of seconds. you, his eyes seem to say, you’re my problem.

well too fucking bad then…

you huff and look away to the side at the guests. it’s only about fifty people from both sides. just family and friends—a lovely kind of intimacy the couple had asked for. you smile at george’s parents who sit in the first row. his mum dabs at her eyes, clearly overwhelmed with emotion. and behind them sit denise and tim. right next to her.

she’s exactly what she looks like on her instagram page. dainty and beautiful, picture-perfect elegant. her whole face looks like it could be hand-crafted by the gods (or very expensive surgeons according to the snide little voice in your brain) but her eyes are bone dry.

that’s because she doesn’t belong here, your brain chimes in. not among your friends and your family.

well, ex-family…

her name doesn’t immediately come to the forefront of your mind. all you know from that drunken night is how charli made you block all her socials at the end of it. as if you were going to go back to them again and again. as if you have no purpose in life other than obsessing over your ex’s new girl.

she sighs, then looks out the window with a bored expression on her face and you have to focus your attention back to the bride and groom before you do something drastic. not before you catch matty looking at you from the corner of your eye, however.

not just at you…he’s staring at the plunging neckline of your dress that shows off your cleavage wonderfully. with the big window to your side, it’s so clear to see every little detail of his face—his teeth gnawing on his bottom lip (he’s unaware that he’s doing it. you know that for a fact). his pupils that are blown out wide, making almost the entirety of his eyes look black; dark and hungry.

your mouth curls into a smirk, arrogant enough to mirror his own. well, this is interesting.

matty’s mouth presses into a thin line. even now, after you caught him so red-handed, he’s trying to deny it. but you don’t miss his ears turning the telltale shade of pink.

“...and i promise to love you for the rest of my life.” george’s voice breaks on the last word, the tears flowing freely but he smiles through all of it. in front of you, charli’s shoulders shake. they haven’t even put the rings on each other yet and they’re already emotional. it makes you laugh, and surprising, you feel the tears escaping your eyes.

i promise to love you for the rest of my life. that’s what matty had said too. i promise to dance in the kitchen with you and do all my silly little romantic gestures. i promise to never let you fall. i promise, i promise, i promise…

so many of them unkept, so many of them just pretty words spoken on a perfect day in front of a tearful audience.

“i do!” charli squeals before the question is even finished, making everyone laugh. a wet chuckle escapes you at her infectious joy.

“do you, george, take charli to be your lawfully wedded wife?” the officiant asks.

“i do,” he says patiently and charli sticks her tongue out at him.

you sincerely hope they stay like this for the rest of their lives—polar opposites who complete each other. not people who are so similar, they don’t know how to exist in the same space anymore.

matty smiles, first at the couple and then, shockingly, at you. husband and wife he mouths.

jarringly still, you smile back.

i would love to hear what you think 🤭

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