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ceilidho · 4 months

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take me home, country road

prompt: 1800s price/reader…. reader flees to his town where Price is the sheriff after a murder in her previous town only to be mistaken for the mail order bride that Price just sent for ….and he’s not interested in hearing any of her excuses when she tells him that he’s got the wrong girl (part 2) part 1

The solid hand at your back guides you through the dusty streets towards the courthouse in the middle of town. It’s not an easy walk. Your shoes catch on the skirt of your dress a handful of times in Price’s haste, each time almost causing you to tumble forward before you manage to catch yourself.

It’s patently unfair. The strides of his long legs would easily have you losing him in a crowd were it not for the way he refuses to leave you behind; every time you so much as slow down a tad to catch your breath, the firm hand on your low back presses you forward again. You’d be snippier if you weren’t still addled from the events of just five minutes previous.

“I beg you, please—” you plead, heart skittering in your chest when you chance a glance up to find Price’s face set. Everything about him feels purposeful now, driven. “If you just—if you would just let me explain!”

“Nothing more to know, darling,” he says, not bothering to meet your desperate eyes. Clearly not in any mood to continue arguing with you on the status of your identity.

He tugs you along when he takes a right turn down a road leading into the center of town. The belt of bullets around his waist rattles with every step. It’s a constant reminder of who you’re with and why you should not be with him. Every step feels like a step towards your own sentencing, like accompanying your jailer to your cell. It’s perhaps fool’s luck that the sheriff hasn’t inquired further into your identity or your reason for coming into town. Makes you think that perhaps there isn’t yet a warrant out for your arrest. Maybe that’s only to come.

“Sure there’s more!” you insist. “There’s—there’s—” It’s like the words fly right out of your head, bucked off like a bronc rider. Too much has happened in too short a time. “There’s the matter of—oh, would you quit that, I am walking!” The last bit comes out snappish, peeved as Price pulls you towards the stone steps of a red-bricked building.

The words County Court House are inscribed above the second-story door girdled by a wrought iron balcony. It’s a simple building, far from the colonnaded buildings from back home with their cupolas and hand-carved lintels. Even in size it hardly compares, a meager three stories with perhaps a basement. Still, it catches the eye in a town as small as this, by far the most imposing building for miles around.

It’s also the one he pulls you towards, hand moving from the small of your back to take firm hold of your waist. You flinch at the touch and the way his fingers dig in, almost proprietarily. It’s a physical shock to your system. While you’re not unaccustomed to the rougher ways of men, you’ve also been largely shielded from it yourself. By chance or fortune or luck. Men may take an attitude with you, as they’re wont to do, but none have yet manhandled you the way Price feels free to do.

“Take a big step there now, darling,” he says, lifting the front of your dress for you a tad, to your shock. “No accidents before the wedding.”

“The wedding?” you shriek, face heating at the heads that turn to look over at the two of you.

The courthouse is bustling with townsfolk, still not as busy as in the bigger cities back east, but still clearly at the center of all business activities. The few people that pass you by on the way out of or into the courthouse are bold in their perusal, eyebrows lifting when they take notice of Price at your side—and how could they not, with the size of him and the badge pinned to the lapel of his vest that glimmers when it catches the light.

“If you were expecting something grander, you should’ve turned up last month when I sent for you,” Price says, stern again. In the foyer of the courthouse, you can see the way the long hallway cuts through the building, leading into the adjacent rooms until finally culminating with the courtroom at the very back. You watch as a man slowly closes the door to the last door, shutting the occupants in. “Might’ve been more amenable to it then.”

“I’m not asking for a nicer ceremony—”

“Good, then you won’t be disappointed.”

“—but that’s because I’m not the woman that you intended to marry in the first place,” you finish, quieting to a hissed whisper, conscious of those still lingering close enough to eavesdrop. In all likelihood, the other people milling around probably already know that the sheriff has been waiting for his mail order bride to arrive. They wouldn’t be the first people to mistake you for her.

He pulls you into an alcove off the side of the foyer. When Price turns to face you, no longer just the heavy presence at your side, it takes a moment for you to gather your bearings. He seems larger somehow, with his arms crossed over his chest and feet rooted into the floor, drawn up to his full height. The hair on his forearms draws your eyes momentarily before he steps into your space, forcing you to meet his eyes again.

He stares down at you with an intensity that makes you flinch. “Now, far be it for me to say that I know my wife-to-be by her demeanor alone, given that we’ve hardly corresponded beyond our initial agreement. But I find it mighty strange that a single, unaccompanied woman would show up in town with all of her earthly belongings as I’m expecting my own woman to show up any day. Hardly seems coincidental.”

“Don’t you think I would have sought you out if we were intended to wed?” you ask beseechingly. “Or that I would put up such a fuss now? What sort of bride would do that?”

“You want to know what I think, darling?” The timber of his voice deepens as he lowers his head slightly, wrapping the conversation in a layer of intimacy despite its public nature. There’s a darker note to his voice now, a thinly-veiled anger. “I think you’ve been keeping yourself housed and fed off the back of men like me and the money you’ve been sent to compensate for the rough journey. I think your guilty conscience brought you here because you know that the Lord doesn’t look too kindly on swindlers and thieves.”

“I’m not a thief,” you hiss in protest, affronted. Ironic that you’d be insulted by his words when the truth is far worse.

“I’m sure you had your reasons,” Price permits, a reluctant softness in his voice. “But your conscience did you right. Marriage will suit you far better than a life of crime ever could.”

If only he knew. “You’ve still got it all wrong—I’ve never once even glanced at the matrimonial pages or the personals. And I certainly didn’t come to town expecting to be wed.”

You did, however, arrive in town with a guilty conscience. Even you’re wise enough not to mention that, though.

“Then if you're not her, who are you?” he asks.

It’s clear from his tone that Price doesn’t believe you, but the question itself makes you antsier than even the thought of marrying this man. He still stares down at you in challenge, an eyebrow cocked. If you wanted to, you could easily answer his question and even furnish proof—a letter from an aunt or uncle or a telegram from a previous employer.

That last thought makes your throat squeeze tight. You could furnish proof, but at what cost? You’re still unclear on how much information has been disseminated or whether you're a wanted woman. Though only weeks have passed since the event that caused you to flee in a haste, there’s no telling whether a warrant has been put out for your arrest, no telling whether word has reached a town this far west.

“Not that it matters, but I’m from New York,” you say, scrunching up your nose.

The look he gives you is unimpressed. “I’m sure you lost the accent on the train ride.”

Embarrassment makes you dig your heels in deeper. “I didn’t grow up there, it’s just where I’ve lived for the past few years.”

“And what’s your name?”

“…Elizabeth Smith.”

It’s the first name that occurs to you, but the moment the words come out of your mouth, you can’t help feeling like you’ve made a huge mistake. Price must sense it too because he draws back up to his full height, lips twitching into a small smirk.

“You have family or a post back in New York, Miss Smith?” he asks in a patronizing tone.

“Family.”

“Alright, then it shouldn’t be too hard to get confirmation and settle this whole issue.” He points behind you to one of the unoccupied rooms. “Telegraph’s office just behind you. We’ll get in touch with the Census Bureau and ask them to confirm your identity. And, if you are who you say you are, Miss Smith, then we can put this issue to rights.”

Your blood goes cold. “That’ll—that’ll take time though. I can’t marry you today if they only get back to you in a week’s time.”

Price nods, his expression dissatisfied but resolved. “Wouldn’t be proper for you to stay at the house either, but I’ll make sure the inn lets you stay free of charge until this is settled. You’ll be in good hands under the Pattersons’ watch.”

He doesn’t say it outright, but you hear the implication in his words. You’d be essentially under house arrest, perhaps free to move about town, but certainly not free to take the next train out.

Your pulse thumps nervously at the base of your throat. Even swallowing takes effort now. The weight of his stare takes root in you, a living coil in your belly. No getting out of it. There’s no getting out of this. You don’t know why you thought you could, how you tricked yourself into thinking for even a moment that a man as formidable as the one set in front of you would simply give in. Let you go. You’ve hardly even moved the needle.

It’s there still in his eyes. Not even doubt—something quite far past that. Certainty.

“‘Elizabeth Smith of New York’, was it? Come, we’ll have them start the message and you can give me your birthday as well so it’ll be an easy find—” Price says, attempting to slip around you to head to the telegraph’s office.

“No.”

It slips out of you inadvertently, high and panicked. He pauses at the word. More than just your words. When you look down, you notice your fingers clenched in the fabric of his sleeve, bringing him to a halt. It pulls taut against the muscle of his forearm.

Softness bleeds back into him at your touch. You can see it smooth out the lines of his forehead and the jut of his brow. He ignores the onlookers still hovering by the double doors to twist back to you, now obscuring their view of you. The breadth of his shoulders nearly blocks the rest of the foyer from sight when he looms over you like this. Down the hall, you can hear a gavel pound down on wood and a litany of raised voices in unison from behind a shut door.

“You don’t have to make up stories,” Price murmurs, drawing a hand up to cup your cheek, holding it like a precious thing. “I told you before—all’s forgiven.”

His words remind you of being trapped in his office, drawers stripped down your ankles and skirt pulled up to your waist. Your bottom still smarts from the palm of his hand, still hot and sore to the touch. It’s hardly been long since then and yet it feels like an age ago, like trying to find your way in a dust storm.

You open and shut your mouth, lost for a way out. Caught between a rock and a hard place. Marriage or a jail cell. You swallow. Both sound like a sentencing.

But there are the cold, metal bars of a cell, and then there’s John Price. The first man in an age to elicit more than a passing glance from you. Deep blue eyes crinkled with the folds of old laughter, wide shoulders, and barrel chest. In another time, you think you would’ve jumped at the chance to be courted by a man like him. Keeled over at the very thought of being chased the way he hunts you down now.

“Alright,” you say instead, giving in. The hand fisting his sleeve shakes. “Alright.”

It’s not a pleasant giving in. Your permission is handed over with shot nerves. The coil bunched up in your core burns white hot, hissing and spitting like a rattlesnake.

Still, when he drags a thumb over the slope of your cheek, you fight not to let your eyelids flutter shut. “Good girl. We’ll make it work, love. Won’t be easy, but it never is.”

You don’t anticipate that it will be, but your mouth stays shut. Price must think you mollified, soothed rather than resigned to your fate, because he passes his thumb once more over your cheekbone, this time so tenderly that you wait for his lips to descend upon yours again, sure from the heat in his eyes that he won’t be able to keep from stealing another kiss. You lick your lips out of habit—not just to see the way his eyes follow the motion.

Then the door at the back of the building bursts open to a cacophony of shouts and hollering voices. The moment broken, Price drops his hand away from your cheek, only to take your hand in his this time, pulling you down the hall towards the register’s to await the circuit preacher. He makes you walk on the side closest to the wall, shielding you from the men that burst out of the courtroom, surging towards the doors. You think that someone must have been found guilty because the lot of them look joyous, clamoring over each other for attention.

You think that you might be spared another minute or two, enough time for them to clean up and reset the courtroom, but you’re shocked to find the circuit preacher ready to conduct the ceremony in the cramped register’s office. He and Price shake hands enthusiastically, the preacher turning to you to grasp your hands in welcome before turning back to the sheriff. They have a camaraderie that speaks of old friendship.

The cramped room where you’re married smells of patchouli and moth wings, like holes burrowed into sweaters at the back of a closet. The bookshelves along the walls are stacked with books old enough that you know they’d crinkle deliciously if opened. You try to listen as the preacher begins the introductory prayer. Behind you, another man slips into the room, a witness. He hardly bothers to introduce himself for such a brief affair.

You haven’t been to many weddings, but you always imagined that yours—if you were privileged enough to have one—might have more fanfare. The wedding you actually get is a brusque affair, a brief recital of vows that ends only when the preacher enjoins Price to kiss his wife.

His wife.

Your eyes go wide when a hand flattens along your spine and pulls you into a hard chest, John dipping his head down to kiss your mouth again. His kiss is less chaste this time, not restricted by convention as earlier. This time, his tongue licks hot into your mouth, like no kiss you’ve ever had before, beard scratching your face. His mouth tastes like something you’ve never had before, like heatburst. Hot and wet. Soft and suckling. Any kiss you’ve had before pales in comparison—juvenile fumbling, all dry and half-humiliated, unsure of yourself. Nothing like being kissed by your husband.

Your husband.

He only pulls away when the preacher finally clears his throat, a tad embarrassed. You’re too dazed to feel the same, fingers still sunk into the lapels of Price’s vest, clutched there. It takes a moment for your brain to catch up and your hands to unclench. You feel Price tug your hands away and slip something onto your finger.

The few documents needing to be signed hardly takes any longer. You finally notice the man that had slipped in behind the two of you, a masked man even larger than Price, who nods at him before glancing at you only long enough for you to notice that his eyes seem curiously blank.

“Thanks, Simon,” Price says as the man—Simon—signs under your names, but he only grunts. The ink is still wet when he leaves.

“How was it so fast?” you ask absently, staring at the papers as the ink sits drying and the preacher takes his own copy before handing John his.

“Everything’s practical out here, darling.” His hand holds you by the waist again, relaxed this time. Not worried about whether you might run. “Even the weddings.”

“You don’t…you don’t even serve dinner? Invite guests over? No gifts?” The questions are irrelevant, but you ask them anyway because it’s a way to focus on anything other than the preacher handing you the final copy of the papers and Price leading you back down the hall and out the doors.

There’s a ring on my finger, you think, looking down. It sparkles when you twist your hand from side to side. Topaz, instead of diamond.

“Maybe if you’d showed up on time,” Price reminds you. He no longer sounds upset about it, but it still seems to come out as an admonishment.

You don’t respond to that. Perhaps you’re still shell-shocked, looking at the world through new eyes. It feels unreal that in the span of less than a day, you’ve been plucked up and married off, to the sheriff no less. The one man you would’ve tried your hardest to avoid crossing paths with.

No chance of that now.

“Where are we going?” you ask, still in a daze. The sun makes you squint when you leave the courthouse, making you miss the hat back in your room at the inn. Maybe you can convince Price to let you go back to collect your things.

“I think we’re due for a honeymoon, don’t you, darling?”

You go doe-eyed at that. When you look up, your husband is already smiling down at you, crow’s feet wrinkling at the sides of his eyes.

“Let’s go home.”

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #john price #captain john price #price x reader #john price x reader #captain price #cod price #price/reader #price x you

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lovebugism · 4 months

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Smut request idea: Eddie worshipping reader's tits, who is insecure about their small size (lol totally not projecting 😅)

ty for requesting :D — eddie 'heart eyes' munson sees your boobs for the first time (cw for nudity, but no real smut, 18+ mdni, 1.1k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

On a rainy, post-show night, in the back of Eddie Munson’s van, you decide to be brave.

Buzzing with alcohol, adrenaline, and adoration — a wild concoction rushing like fire through your veins — you take your shirt off for the very first time in front of him. Mostly because your sweater was getting itchy, so you’re not entirely sure how brave that makes you. But your skin burns still, empty like a blank sky, yearning for a warmer touch to fall over you like stars.

In the simplest, most human way, you need Eddie to touch you like you need to breathe air.

So, when you tugged the fuzzy sweater up and over your head, you hadn’t thought much about doing it. You were too full of need, too unthinking. Head clouded with longing until you developed something short of tunnel vision for the boy underneath you.

It wasn’t that big a deal, right? Isn’t this what girlfriends do with boyfriends?

Eddie’s silence is not reassuring. It feels more like a knife lodged in the very center of your sternum.

You lay the sweater beside you and cross your arms slowly over yourself. Equal parts to hide what you’d just revealed to him and to shield your bleeding, stinging heart.

Eddie’s face twists, pained features swirling like a hurt puppy. “Wait— What are you doing?” he asks in an unabashed whine. His less-than-subtle pout deepens as his chocolate-button eyes flit up to yours.

You keep curling in on yourself, but from where you straddle his thighs, he’s impossible to run away from. “Why aren’t you saying anything?” you wonder in a tiny voice, distantly fearful of the answer.

You don’t have the kind of chest people put on magazines. Maybe you should’ve just kept the shirt on.

Eddie’s ringed fingers smooth around your bare waist. He realizes he’s holding you there for the very first time without any fabric covering you. His chest starts to sparkle. His thumbs rub gently at your ribcage, just below the arms still concealing yourself.

“‘Cause I’m too busy enjoying the view, honey,” he answers with a plush pink and crooked smile. His words are slightly slurred, weighed down by fatigue and desire. “How am I supposed to think when I’m looking at you, huh?”

You make a faint, grumbly noise, features scrunching in disdain at his compliment.

He smiles wider and curls his fingers around the wrists you hold over yourself. There is little force behind his touch, no eagerness to tug your hands away. Instead he just holds you, in a distinctly quiet embrace, telling you silently that you can let your guard down whenever you’re ready.

“So you don’t think they’re weird?”

He answers with an immediate scoff. “No, I don’t think they’re weird— I think they’re beautiful! I think every part of you is beautiful.”

You grow less and less tense in his hold. Your hands start to slip. You let them.

Bare again in front of him, the boyish glimmer in Eddie’s dark eyes returns.

The wild cadence of rain on the rusted tin roof resembles the rapid patter of his pounding heart as he ogles at you. And, with his back propped against the driver’s seat, he has the most perfect view of you.

The pale hands along your ribcage slowly start to rise. His warm touch leaves sparkling goosebumps in its wake. He doesn’t stop until his thumbs are settled neatly beneath your breasts.

“I mean— I always knew they’d be pretty, you know?” he mumbles, getting lost in you all over again. You don’t know if he’s talking to you, or if he even knows he’s rambling. “‘Cause when you’d let me feel you up, you know, over the shirt— I always imagined what you’d look like under it…”

He trails off then, forgets how to make words when his thumb rubs over your soft nipple. The gentle stimulation makes it stiffen beneath his touch. Eddie smiles to himself, all boyishly giddy.

“…But I couldn’t’ve, in my wildest imagination, expected this.”

Your chest warms with his affection. You scoff about it, anyway. “You’re such a boy,” you laugh.

“It’s not my fault you’re so pretty…”

Still cupping your chest, Eddie leans down to kiss you there. A chaste, open-mouthed peck to your pebbled nipple. His heart swells when he hears you moan above him — your nose buried in the strands of his wild hair, fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck.

Eddie licks his rosy lips when he pulls back from you.

“See? You’re gonna kill me one day, doll— I swear,” he teases in a joking tone, but means every bit of it. He loves you so much it makes his chest ache. You’ll give him a goddamn heart attack one day if he’s not careful. “Can’t believe you’ve been hiding from me this whole time…”

You’re not sure either, now.

“I was just scared that… I don’t know,” you stammer, clammy hands fidgetting with his intentionally tattered Corroded Coffin t-shirt. You’d helped him cut rips into the white fabric before the show. You distract yourself with the pink lipstick smudge you’d pressed along the neck of it, rubbing hopelessly at a stain that’ll never come off.

“I was scared that you’d think I was less pretty or something. I don’t know.”

“No,” Eddie recoils immediately, face twisting in abhorrence of the thought. He shakes his wild head at you. “No way. That’s not possible. I think you’re fucking— perfect. And I think that…”

His eyes fall to your chest again. He loses the rest of his words.

A smile blossoms on your face. You don’t think you’ve ever felt prettier than you do right now.

“You think that what?” you tease, hands rising again to twist in his deep brown curls.

Eddie’s button eyes flit back up to you. His ringed hands lift to cup your breasts in his wide palms. They fit just perfect in his hands — like he was made to hold you there. The width of his beam rivals your own.

“That I just found Corroded Coffin’s next album cover,” he answers.

The sound of your laughter fills the van. Sunshine compared to the rolling rain outside.

“No. No way. That’s not happening,” you refuse, still smiling, as Eddie leans into you again.

You wrap your arms around his neck when he puts his mouth on you. He buries his own laughter against the plush of your breast — along with so many little kisses.

He doesn’t mind your light-hearted rejection. The only thing Eddie likes more than showing you off is keeping you totally to himself.

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #event: bug turns one

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miirohs · 24 days

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moon, 12:04 am [l.m.h]

pairing: Husband!Lee Minho x Fem!Reader wc: 0.7k cw: n/a an: yall am i famous yet. also stream offonoff!!! cause their music is such a vibe!! i should not be awake at 2 in the morning!!!

“Min…?” You whined, rubbing your face into the crook of your arms as you heard quiet creaks across the floorboards.

It was dead silent, aside from the occasional rustling, a warm hand reaching out to run itself through your hair. His fingers scratched your scalp, and you sighed. You could hear Pickles meowing, and you could imagine him pawing at Minho right now, begging for some of his attention as well.

“What are you doing on the floor baby?”

You curled up, bringing your arms up to shield your face as you felt him lean over you, tie dangling over your cheek. Pickles was now poking you, trying to dig into your sides.

“Aww, you’re awfully tired, did all that overthinking finally tire you out?” He huffed, crouching right next to you as you watched him through glossy eyes, hands leaving your head.

“What time is it?”

“It’s four minutes after twelve, I think.”

You jolted up, adrenaline suddenly running through your body, head colliding with his outreached hand. Forcing your head to turn to the clock that hung on the wall, you blearily looked for the confirmation of what he had said. Pickles looked at the both of you, slipping onto your lap in an attempt for some form of cuddles..

You suddenly felt cold on the floor as you read the numbers the hands pointed to, pushing yourself up into a sitting position. Guilt washed over you, the realization of unfinished chores waiting to be finished hitting you.

“Oh god, Minho- I’m so sorry, i must have lost track time playing with Pickles, and you know how its been with the whole apartment as of late-”

“You’re doing it again.”

You stopped speeding through your thoughts, stomach dropping as you looked at him.

He was just as beautiful, if not a little disheveled. His coat had been long abandoned, now wearing a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up. His hair stuck out in all sorts of directions, but the little glimmer in his eyes hadn’t been lost to the tiring office environment of his life.

“I’m doing what?”

“Rambling.”

The heat rose in your cheeks, and you looked down at the wooden floors, mapping out where you had previously been a couple moments.

“Y/n. Baby?”

You finally looked up, scooting closer into his vicinity.

“It’s cute when you do it,” He yawned, kneeling next to you, “act all worried. You don’t need to be apologizing because you didn't do anything wrong.” He pursed his lips, offering a hand to gently pull you closer to him.

“What do you wanna ask me baby? I can tell you have something to say,” He teased. You cleared your throat. “Why were you so late? I thought you’d be coming home early today.’

“I would’ve come home sooner, but Chan-hyung wanted me to stay back for something, then the bus got late so I had to take a taxi home.” He sighed and frowned, running his hand up and down your back as he held you close to him. Pickles climbed into his lap, purring as Minho finally pet him.

“Sounds like you had quite the day.” You whispered, muffled as you were pressed up against him, hand on his chest, “more so than me.”

"Yeah, it was a bit hectic," He admitted with a small chuckle,"but it was all worth it to come back home to you, and you too, Pickles." Pickles meowed, as if acknowledging that he had been recognized by Minho.

You leaned into his embrace, his lips pressing against your forehead as he kissed you tenderly. The familiar warmth of his lips sent shivers down your spine, bringing your arms up to wrap around his neck.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice soft as he pressed his face against the crown of your head.

“I love you more,” You whispered as he slipped his hands around you, surprising you as he lifted you off the floor. He carried you with ease, retracing old steps as he made his way down the hall, towards your bedroom.

As he push you down on the bed, he leaned down to press another kiss to your lips.

“I'll be right back in bed once I finish changing.”

“Don’t take too long,” You stared, watching him linger in the light of your bathroom door.

“Night baby,” He said softly, grinning as Pickles jumped up, curling up right next to you, “sleep well."

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abigailmoment · 5 months

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It wasn't just bad luck that Staeve was targeted. It was a calculated attack. Halsin knew well enough how a caster could examine their enemies for tells. Halsin did it himself. Considered an opponent's tactics, and guessed at the places their mind would be most vulnerable.

You didn't have to be a gifted empath to watch how Staeve hurled himself into the thick of combat, right at the biggest bandit wielding the two-handed great sword, and think that the man might be vulnerable to a spell that exploited wisdom.

The fact that it took down Astarion too, well, perhaps that one was just bad luck.

It happened like this:

This is written about @velnna's Tav, Staeve. I was delighted to discover that they don't mind fan fiction being written about him.

I'm always cautious about writing for other people's OCs--getting voices right is so important to me. I have elegantly avoided that issue here.

Full text below.

Full Text On AO3

The fight was an incidental bit of banditry. Dangerous banditry, certainly. Bandits with great swords, supported by wizards. Halsin hung back with Gale while the two rogues dashed forward to give truth to the old adage that the best defense was killing the other fellow extremely quickly.

They cut down the man with the great sword and the woman with the mace and shield. Reinforcements were coming from around a rocky overhang. Halsin coaxed the earth to throw up entangling vines to slow them down. Gale drenched them with glimmering light that illuminated all their vulnerable points for Astarion and Staeve to shoot at.

Only the half-orc made it through the vines and the light. He was bloodied and wrathful. He was huge, but it was two against one, and the two were flanking with each other. It would have been an easy end to the combat, except that apparently there was a bandit wizard hidden somewhere in the trees who chose this moment to cast a spell.

One second Staeve was a blood spattered half-drow sprinting full-tilt, sword out, towards a fighter twice his size. And then he was gone.

Some sort of teleportation? Banishment? Gale was saying something about trajectory and scanning the treeline. Halsin was yelling, he wasn't sure what, the concern was more important than the words. He started running forward. Because two rogues against a barbarian was fine, but one rogue against a barbarian was an extremely fast way for that rogue to die.

And Astarion knew that so he should be running away. But he wasn't running away. He was darting forward and ducking low and almost getting hit by a greataxe as he snatched something off of the ground.

Then he was running, thank the Gods. There was something cradled in his arms, which meant he didn't have his rapier out as he scrambled back.

It was a cat. Halsin saw. They were ten feet away from each other when Halsin realized that Astarion was carrying a large, extremely upset tabby cat with grey-green fur.

That was when Astarion vanished. No. Not vanished. As the tabby tumbled to the ground, something small and white was already there, darting for cover.

Then the half-orc arrived. Bellowing and huge, at least when compared to cats. Not quite as huge when compared to Halsin.

Halsin decided to turn into a bear. It was amazing how many problems you could solve by turning into a bear.

"I am feeling my oversight in not preparing dispel magic today," said Gale. "Or counterspell."

"This is not a situation we could have anticipated," Halsin said.

Staeve contributed to the conversation, but because of present circumstances, it came out as a meow.

He was large for a cat. His fur was pale brown, tabby-striped with green. His stripes crisscrossed in a way that reminded Halsin of his tattoos. His scar was a fur-less groove in his face. He had the same pale green eyes as always. That color was quite appropriate in a cat.

He meowed again, more insistently this time.

"We will," Halsin assured him.

"You're speaking with him?" Gale asked.

"Not magically," Halsin said. It had been a long day and he had barely anything left to cast with. "But I think I understand him."

"Do you?"

"Think a moment and I am confident that you too will guess what he wants from us."

It did only take a moment. Gale was an intelligent man, when prompted. And they'd all seen the small white cat vanish into the woods during the bear-orc fight.

"Ah. Of course." Gale addressed the cat, voice reassuring. "Astarion should be relatively safe though. Polymorph is temporary and even if something did happen to him in the interim, he would just revert to his natural form."

Staeve's whiskers went back and his ears went flat in a thoroughly unimpressed way.

"I think it would be best to find him and make sure nothing happens," Halsin said with mellow diplomacy.

"Of course." Gale paused, then said delicately: "Given my skill in woodland matters, or lack thereof, I may best serve this cause by getting out of the way."

Halsin smiled. "It is a wise man who knows his limitations."

"I'll meet you all back at camp then?" said Gale.

"Take a potion of invisibility for the trip," Halsin suggested. "There might still be bandits about."

Staeve had gotten impatient with them, and was padding off into the forest. Halsin handed Gale the potion and hastened to follow.

Staeve scampered about the forest like he was looting the place. No hole, hollow log, wasp nest, or brown recluse spider-web was left uninvestigated. The loss of seventy five percent of his gray matter had done the man's already flagging survival instincts no favors. Halsin spent half of his attention looking for signs of a small white cat, and half of his time making sure Staeve's efforts at tracking didn't get him killed.

After being only a hairsbreadth quick enough to pull Staeve away from the entrance to a dire-badger-burrow Halsin decided that his partner was now going to be carried. Staeve made a meowling, writhing objection. He was terribly invested in the search. A compromise was reached when he was offered a perch high on Halsin's broad shoulders. Staeve proceeded to clamber from shoulder to shoulder as Halsin walked, ears always forward and alert, eyes bright, head turning this way and that as he scanned the woods.

Small cats with stealth training were not easy things to track through dense forest. Halsin did end up using his last spell slot to cast speak with animals. The local mice and voles always noticed when predators passed, even small ones. Halsin spoke to them while keeping one hand on Staeve, who watched the tiny creatures with bright, newly interested eyes.

Halsin of course spoke with Staeve as well, but it wasn't quite the same. Talking to a person who had been transformed into an animal was not the same as talking to that person. Shape changed you. How you saw things. How you thought. The mind of a cat was a fraction of the size of that of an elf or half-elf. Thinking with it was different. The change was easiest for druids. It was hardest for the cursed, who did not choose the new shape. Who were surprised by it.

He spoke to Staeve and learned things he had already known from observation. He reassured Staeve that the mice had given useful guidance.

That guidance led them north, then west, and then to a long hollow log, moss covered and broken in two places. A good hiding spot, and the sort of shelter that had a lot of escape routes. Staeve jumped off of Halsin's shoulder as the druid knelt down and they both peered inside.

In the darkness, Halsin could just make out a pair of ruby-bright eyes staring warily back at him.

Beside him, Halsin watched Staeve relax for the first time since becoming a cat. He wasn't actually as large as Halsin had first thought--it was just that his hackles had been up and his tail puffed out for the duration of the transformation.

It could be a painful thing indeed, to have one's heart so completely entwined with another's safety. A deeply worthwhile thing, but a painful thing, sometimes.

Halsin made a deferring motion to Staeve, who nodded in a rather un-catlike like way. Halsin stepped back from the log, moving slowly so as not to startle anything. He shifted a few feet away and sat close enough to watch, but far away enough that his looming size wasn't an ominous thing.

Staeve didn't go inside the hollow log. He sat at the entrance. Lay down at the entrance, body long and casual, head up on the lip of the log so he could keep looking inside. Modeling relaxation.

He started to purr. Halsin could hear him purring even from a few feet away. A loud, constant, soothing rumble. It somehow did not surprise Halsin that Staeve had a loud purr.

And then Staeve waited. Patient as anything. Waiting and watching and purring in a low buzz, as steadily as a beehive.

Halsin could not see inside the log, but he could guess at when Astarion moved because Staeve's ears would flick. Staeve had a fine poker face, but everyone had tells.

Something happened, or occurred to him, that made Staeve raise his head and sit up slightly from his sprawl on the ground. Then he stood up entirely. He gave Halsin a significant look, and trotted off into the underbrush.

Conscious that he had just been assigned new responsibility, Halsin shifted so that he had a good view of the log's entrances and everything around it. There wasn't much danger, Halsin’s presence in general kept most predators away from this space. But still.

During his vigil, Halsin saw the glimmer of red cat-eyes once. And only briefly.

Staeve came back soon. He had a dead vole in his mouth and he looked exceptionally pleased with himself. He dropped the vole at the mouth of the log, took a few pawpads back and watched expectantly.

It took another long minute, but after that minute a small white cat crept out of the darkness.

This should surprise no one, but Astarion was a beautiful cat. Slender and graceful with large eyes. His fur was pure, silvery white and just long enough to curl slightly. He moved with a cautious precision that Halsin recognized as his habit, and that deeply suited his new form.

He sniffed at the vole. He shot Staeve a judgmental look, because Gods forbid the man accept any kindness without prevaricating about it in some way. He glanced at Halsin. And then he leaned down to slide exceptionally long canines into the corpse's chest.

Staeve flopped down about a foot away and watched him with an expression of pleased devotion that would honestly be a bit more appropriate on a dog.

Astarion ate fastidiously, and without getting even a blot of blood on his snow-white fur. When he finished he licked his teeth.

When Staeve was quite sure Astarion was done eating, he sidled up slantwise, sauntering around the vole corpse as if he just casually happened to be taking a stroll in this part of the forest for no particular reason. He stopped just short of Astarion. His ears were forward. His tail flicked lightly from side to side.

Astarion regarded him levelly with his 'I know what you're doing and I know you think you're being clever about it but you're not' expression. Then, as if granting a boon, he deigned to rub his forehead gently against the underside of Staeve's chin.

Staeve took this as the invitation that it was and pressed back, much more enthusiastic and honest in his delight at the contact. Which in turn gave Astarion an excuse and space to do what he wanted and enjoy it.

They were always very dear to watch together. Whatever form they took. In about a minute they were curled over each other on the ground and Staeve was industriously grooming Astarion's head.

Halsin let this go on for as long as he could. But the shadows were lengthening, and they were very close to the Shadowlands, and he was out of spell slots, and the rogues were currently housecats.

"It is getting late, dear ones," he said softly.

Astarion twitched at the interruption, and Staeve licked him three times along the neck and chest in a soothing way. Then they disentangled from each other and padded over to Halsin.

Halsin picked up Staeve, but he knelt down and laid his arm on the ground so that Astarion could climb up and find what perch he wanted by himself. They did both end up in his arms. Staeve was tired and quite ready to be carried, and Astarion didn't want to be out of contact with him.

As Halsin walked through the woods with an armfull of cat, Staeve started to purr again. It was really the most marvelous sound. A soothing distillation of satisfaction and care. Almost enough to tempt one away from being a bear.

Astarion did not purr. Some cats didn't. Or purred only very rarely. But Astarion did, at one point, look up at Halsin and blink his bright red eyes very slowly.

And that was a precious thing.

****

Other stories like this.

****

#staeve #astarion #bg3 #Transformation #Fluff #Hurt/Comfort #Cuddling #A Great Deal Of Cuddling #Implied Trauma #Very Brief Peril #taking care of astarion as a group project

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konigsblog · 23 days

Note

You just know ghost is a cold hearted bastard.

Mf doesn’t take his clothes off during sex just pulls out his dick through the zipper and expects you to ride him and bounce your tits💀

simon riley adores clothed sex, or at least, him being clothed and you being completely bare beneath him.

he likes how vulnerable you are when you have absolutely nothing to shield and cover your beautiful body, naked and spread open in front of him, presenting your swollen pussy to him while he begins to undo his military-issued belt for a quickie with you. your soft thighs are coated in a glimmer of your sweet arousal and sweat, and your cunny drools with excitement and anticipation as he begins to release his hard dick from his tight boxers, slapping it against your sensitive clit teasingly before pushing against your tight, slick hole.

your eyes glisten, in dire need to be filled and stretched out by simon. you listen to the sounds of his huffing and puffing, his balaclava pulled over his lips, and his office table creaking as he quickens his already rough pace. simon's grip is firm, leaving indents on your waist from his tight grasp, your flesh spilling from his fingers.

simon cups your tight rear with his calloused and large hands, massaging the soft, supple fat between his fingers as he works himself into your slick cunt. the sight of your wet heat coated in his creaminess leaves simon feral and debauched, ignoring and brushing off your pleas for him to pull out as he gets rougher, signifying he's getting closer to his orgasm. he feels his muscular and trained core tighten and ache, releasing milky fluids of his thick and potent semen. it's selfish and entitled, but it feels so much better and leaves simon much more fulfilled and satisfied to finish the job inside of your warm, wet pussy, preventing a creamy, hot mess.

he admires the sight of your nakedness, how exposed you are, how you're under his perverted gaze. :(

#orla speaks #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost simon riley #simon riley fluff #call of duty ghost #mw2 ghost #cod ghost #ghost call of duty #ghost imagine #ghost headcanon #ghost mwii

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anartificialsatellite · 2 months

Text

The eagerness with which people demonize and dehumanize Israelis is fucking exhausting and alarming. There is what seems to be an almost pathological need to portray them all as simple-minded dogs drooling for blood, collectively responsible for uniquely villainous crimes at the same time as they cower behind a shield of imagined victimization.

Even when one deigns to acknowledge a hint of progress or improvement has been made, it's with the implication (if not the explicit statement) that it is worthless and entirely self-serving, or that it is the first and only time any such thing has happened, or that it is only through the guidance of enlightened westerners that this nation of bloodthirsty cowards and idiots have managed to show a (temporary, anomalous) glimmer of human-like behavior -- usually all three.

It is repulsive, it is shameful, and people never seem to know how to call it out.

Like, yes, it is unproductive. Yes, it provides fuel to the Israeli far-right. Yes, it is a bad look. But none of that is truly where the problem lies.

It is hateful and it is dehumanizing, and the fact that you don't see it is proof positive that it's working on you already.

You are not saving anyone by doing this. You are not championing any righteous cause. You are allowing a rot which we all carry to find a new source of fuel and spread within you. You are participating in a narcissistic tradition of reducing the imagined "other" into a grotesque beast for you to performatively slay, proving to yourself and others that you are Righteous and Good, absolving you of any need for self-reflection.

After all, they deserve it.

This has to stop.

#i/p stuff

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anantaru · 7 months

Text

DAY 10 — EXHIBITIONISM

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

kink. exhibitionism — having a strong desire to be observed by other people during a sexual activity

𖧡 — including — itto, childe, xiao, dainsleif

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, exhibitionism, public setting & outdoors, yes! we're touching grass, fingering, oral (fem! receiving), praises, needy boys & touch starved! genshin men

𖧡 — ITTO

itto holds you by his arms as you're being surrounded by a string of hurried gasps, and it's decidedly comfortable and personal whilst having them tightly compressed around your quivering shape— at the same time, you slowly notice the built up in his lust racing over the radiance in his eyes.

or his feet shuffling in their place when he lastly kisses you, firmly pressing you against the cold wall, your lips glossed due to his wet smooches, his tongue breaching and searching for entrance, reaching inside, his hands squeezing your ass, everything happens so quick and oh, there it was, the scene gets paired with melting kisses as itto laps at the warmth of your mouth.

in a hurried embrace, he courses one calloused hand down to your lower stomach before tugging at the hem of your pants, his eyes imbedded with a glimmer of needfulness, playful and as if he was about to beg— you figure, perhaps you have been apart for too long, after all, the last time you had seen each other had certainly been ages ago.

you should have expected this, because you dealt with it the same way, agonizingly counting each second before you would stumble home after your date to rip the clothes off your bodies, when in reality, now neither of you thought it was even necessary to return into the safe confines of your bedroom to be all over each other— and the thought of someone walking by only made it a whole lot more thrilling.

bare in mind— and this was crucial but there was nothing shielding you from curious eyes, besides an impending shadow casted down on you rubbing against each othet. for what mattered, the wall you're being pressed on was bitterly cold and chilly as well, even with your garments separating you, you can still feel it on your warm skin— when it effortlessly coaxes out the goosebumps on your spine.

"baby.. you smell so sweet," itto whines at you, a sharp, nipping groan spewing from his mouth, "—really really cannot wait anymore." how convenient for him, well, his senses were probably being much more dignified than your own so itto must've felt everything happening to an intenser level.

however, it's passionate when he first slides his warm digits past the waistband of your trousers to sneakily welcome the hotness of your cunt, clumsily ghosting his middle finger around your soaked folds before lastly finding your slit— his sloppy dick twitching against his rough pants, but itto didn't worry too much about it, his time will come soon enough.

"i missed you so much, baby." you retort back to him with a hitch of a sudden, rough fingertip circling your slit, idly kissing up his sharp jawline before whining at the finger prodding at your velvety hole— so, to keep yourself steady you wrap both arms around his neck and hide yourself behind his large frame pressing you against the wall whilst roaming your palms over his muscular back before ripping through the covered skin with your nails, "please..."

and one thing about itto, he fucks you like he hates you, and hearing you beg for him just like that pushes him on the verge of exploding and losing his mind, perhaps even fantasizing about swarming your pretty cunt with his dripping cock hidden under his pants— but he cannot wait for that, call him lazy but taking off his clothes will cost him additional minutes and he just had to be inside you, whilst not with his dick, instead with two long, thick fingers curling up inside.

feeling him again after such a long time apart makes you cry out, fuck, you missed him so dearly your heart was beginning to ache under your ribcage, your cunt welcoming him immediately, clawing down on his digits rubbing sturdily at your walls. a satisfied groan holds the foundation of his soothing noises like a warm breeze enveloping your body, his fingers continuing to pump into you at a rapid pace, painting you with the packing trace of his digits that clung to your swollen walls like instant glue, vibrations emitting through your wet sex whilst taking in his sloppy shoves.

"never.." he drawls possessively against your parted lips, huffing out warm pants before adding on to his words, "never ever wanting to be apart from you again." and your heart flutters open wide, his words touching that it almost brings you to tears— if only itto could see through your current thoughts right now, he'd see his handsome face immediately.

𖧡 — CHILDE

a suffocating euphony of passionate, drilling blows of raw skin on skin strike the darkness of the night as childe swiftly plants his hand on top of your mouth before leisurely continuing to roll his hips into your cunt without a single care in this world— being utterly aware that it wouldn't make a damn difference, even better if someone unintentionally picks up on the "unusual" noise.

his lips twitch up in a cocky smile when his hard, pulsing erection slips through your quivering pussy, pistoling over the aching pulse on your walls before easing his lips almost on top of yours, with nothing more but the back of his hand keeping you apart— you simply cannot believe this man and his tormenting ability to bring you to the sharp edge of things, even turning you this longing and ready to take his thick cock outside, yes, outside with the small particles of erupting sweat and wet moans sticking close on your skin.

to note that you were barely camouflaged was almost embarrassing in its entirety, besides that tree doing absolutely nothing to conceal anything at all whilst you're certain that someone had to hear at least something. regardless, you decide to secretly thank your boyfriend for holding your leg up with his other hand— you yourself being too weak to do so yourself, not when he made you receive him in such feral capacity, making an absolute mess of you, your arousal dribbling down your pussy at each thrust, the juices sticking on your thighs as he carries on with his strength induced pace.

however, for some fucked-up reason, it's turning you on by a tenfold— it's visibly notable on your shaking body and how your hips thrust up into his ruts while you're biting back pitchy whimpers, especially when childe drags his fat cockhead over that particular spot that made you lose control of your vision, the already limited breathing room evolving to an even more constricted version when ajax not once, changes the tempo on your hips.

"fuck— you know you'll be too fucking loud, baby." he laughs through a feigned sense of innocence, as if he hadn't planned this entire thing beforehand, you're sure of it— while it's utterly hilarious, even more hypocritical of him to have his hand planted all over your mouth when it was certainly him, instead, making most of the noise.

all you can say back was, well, nothing, besides a couple angry grunts into his palm and in any other instance you'd consider being mad at him, despite his perfectly shaped dick wrecking havoc on your silken walls forming around the size of him— yet tonight, you cannot be mad, not when he was utterly devouring your pleasure.

𖧡 — XIAO

you're being forced to stay quiet by none other than xiao himself— compelled to swallow down each pining ache in your throat— which, now come to think of it, might've been the most arousing out of the entire situation taking form, obviously not counting in the pleasure he induced on you.

the need to remain quiet though, it's what made the real difference in how your body had been reacting to his shape on you, "there's people down there, stay quiet." and he tells you, again, whispers it into your ear because xiao needs to be sure you understand the situation you're in as he kisses your forehead, his mannerism fusing into a soft, understanding lover before moving his hips again, thrusting his inches into you rougher, better, his pants soiled with his pre and sweat.

he grunts of both excitement and a dab of annoyance taking your loud, muffled whines into consideration. regardless of such, the man wouldn't want to experience it in an alternative way, always beyond flustered when you bite into his shoulder to quieten down, so you wouldn't pull on his nerves and make him punish you for disobeying to his orders.

wait, hold on for a second, this didn't sound so bad after all, or does it?

on top of that, the wangshu inn was absurdly crowded tonight, whilst xiao and you were preoccupied, sparse silhouettes tenderly touching each other just on top of the building— and for whatever reason, none of you proposed the idea of actually going inside and finishing what you had started. it would've been a far better idea, baring in mind that the certain place you were currently laying on, with xiao towering on top, was barely hidden behind anything— genuinely, if you'd lean your head just a little bit to the left, you could easily see a couple people chit chatting away, not knowing a damn thing on what was going on upstairs.

"hey!" xiao suddenly snaps at you, bending his head into your neck to bite at the sweat stricken skin, although faintly, it was strong enough to have you squeal out in mild pain, forcing your body to let go of a rushing shiver as a strong heatwave surges right under the surface of your cheeks the moment he props himself by his elbows to gaze down on you through pretty lashes— obviously without pulling his cock out, not when it felt so deliciously good being milked by you, yet do not get excited to soon because xiao wouldn't move either, without a care in this world leaving you to dangle around on a thread, his increasingly wet shaft bristling within the tightness of your walls.

"what did i say?" xiao's breath was hot and guttural against your parted lips, your legs trembling at his dripping dick not moving besides continuing to bulk up in your core as your translucent juices began to seep on his shaft and his trousers, slicking him up with your own, personal way of claiming the handsome yaksha. and instead of responding to his question, you resume back to nibbling on his defined jawline before deciding to voice out a whispery, little sorry to your boyfriend, knowing full on well that he will accept your half assed apology no matter the circumstances.

because in truth, xiao hasn't even started fucking you properly yet— until now, at least, because the second you're back to having your arms around his neck, he drags his entire cock out of you before shimming his inches all the way inside, greedily touching your insides and pumping his hard erection into the warmness of your sex— whilst baring his teeth together to stop himself from becoming overly noisy himself, the embarrassment that would occur from that looked like a death sentence to xiao, aside from standing there like a total hypocrite when it was him the entire night scolding you to stay quiet.

𖧡 — DAINSLEIF

"don't be too loud, okay?"

dainsleif sinfully bucks his tongue into your cunt before he places a single digit on your clit, thrusting against the bristling bundles of nerves as the softness of his wet muscle inside your slit made you whine out his name between wet hiccups— to top it all of, giving your breast a firm squeeze with his other hand.

you're done for, always will be whenever it was dainsleif who was in control of when your body was allowed to indulge in pleasure— despite that, you never would've imagined to be laid down on top of a cold, wooden table while you're surrounded by loud, noisy chit chatters from next doors, only realizing now that the door to your room, was partly open.

before you could voice out your growing worry, you're being forced to buck up your hips into his hungry mouth lapping at your puffiness, your pussy charging up on vibrations as your body moves far beyond your own control of it, a soreness on your legs increasing the strong built up on your tightened core as dainsleif stuffs you full with nothing but his tongue reaching your warmest, most desired places.

"seems like you noticed, hm?" he suddenly pulls his hot mouth away from you, smirking ever so slightly when you whine at the loss of it, but don't you worry now— because he keeps his fingers on top of your clit to twist the trembling flesh and trap it in between his digits— fuck, you're so desperate for this he could practically taste it on your entire body erupting of pervaded pleasure. in reality, the thought of people hearing you both wasn't something dainsleif actually minded that much, it preciously served as a way of making everyone aware of your current relationship status.

"what if they hear us?" you wince, feigning being worried were it not to the fact that there was nothing you craved more than having his skilled tongue pistoling inside your slit again, your pupils blown wide when dainsleif at last frees his cock from the confines of his pants, the penetrative noise of his belt hitting the ground echoing off the room, hand in hand with laughter from people residing just next to you.

it's him, him, him, you want him. and when dainsleif finally sinks the full length of his cock into you, he takes your body and claims it, squeezes his hips in between your legs so he could reach inside really deep, fucking you with his bottomless endurance, so precise and skilled that you shake under him, the wooden table scratching the ground as you nearly lose yourself, begging him to lean his chest down on you so you could easily hide and moan against the nook of his neck, whilst feeling how your hearts beat in sync.

of course, despite his nature of appearing cold and a little aloof, he answers your silent pleas and wraps his muscled arms around your body whilst keeping one large palm on top of your head so you wouldn't unnecessarily bump against something and actually hurt yourself, never once letting go of you— and you're squealing with delight, the tempo of his hips hoping to claim you and going so hard that this sort of pace would appear to be slightly punishing, but it feels so nice— relishing in the feeling of his thudding cock pounding into you with everything he's got when, all of a sudden;

"hey guys? do you also hear those weird noises coming from next doors?"

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #childe x reader #childe smut #itto x reader #itto smut #xiao x reader #xiao smut #dainsleif x reader #dainsleif smut #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin drabbles #kinktober #genshin impact drabbles #xiao x you #tartaglia x reader

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arien-rey · 8 months

Text

desires

cw: creampie, slight dumbification, slight impact play(choking), nipple play, dry humping

summary: miguel and you are lab partners and accidentally create a dangerous concoction <3

an: inspired by a certain professor cal audio🤭 iykyk also i didnt proofread so im sorry for any typos (i got a little lazy towards the end😭)

wc: 1.7k

in the heart of a bustling laboratory where the air was thick with the scent of chemicals and the sound of clinking glassware, you found yourself immersed in a groundbreaking project. Alongside your lab partner Miguel, a very meticulous scientist, you both delved in the world of scientific studies—motivated to revolutionize the world of focus and concentration, something people have been lacking in 2099.

within the laboratory walls, you felt anticipation and excitement in the air as you both pushed the boundaries of possibility, propelling the project forward with relentless determination.

As days turn to weeks, your passion for the project never faded. Countless sleepless nights, cups of coffee, and trials and errors ensued, but with every setback you came back even stronger than before and you believed you were finally reaching the finish line.

In just a few weeks, you've grown very close to your partner Miguel as well. You find yourselves sharing lunches and engaging in conversations about exciting discoveries. It doesn't hurt that he is both handsome and charming. To your surprise, you discover that he is single after discreetly asking your other lab friends. Fueled by the possibility you might have a chance, you start to dress a little differently. Gone are the days of "comfort-first" outfits; instead, you opt for shorter (riskier) skirts and cute blouses that accentuate your style. Maybe, just maybe, once this project wraps up, you'll gather the courage to take your shot.

That brings us to tonight. the quiet air filled with the soft hum of machinery and bubbling liquids. The lab was completely empty except for the two of you as usual, with dim steril white lights engulfing the room. Besides you, Miguel carefully measures the ingredients to be added into a bubbling beaker while you prepare the compounds. He looks especially attractive right now, with his hair messy and the button-up under his lab coat unbuttoned lower than usual. You both frustratedly hit a wall, and it seemed no matter what you added to your formula, you weren't getting the necessary results. You chewed on your lip, hoping for the best this time around when suddenly the silence was broken by Miguel’s sleepy baritone voice.

“What if we added a touch of this?” he suggests, his large hands reaching for a vial labeled “Enhancement Catalyst.”

Unbeknownst to the both of you, the label was partially torn and now difficult to read.

You paused for a moment, considering Miguel’s suggestion. His voice, warm and soothing, made you feel at ease even in the face of frustration. His idea seemed like it had potential, an unexplored avenue worth exploring. You studied the compound in his hand, noticing how his fingers delicately held the vial, the reflection of the lab lights dancing across its surface.

“where’d you get that?”

“It was next to some of the older blends we used for testing by the cabinets. I think we should give it a chance.”

“Maybe it could work,” you replied, a glimmer of hope in your voice. “Let’s give it a try.”

As you gingerly added a few drops of the liquid, the concoction seamlessly mixed and enveloped the air with a distinct aroma. Without warning, the mixture began to intensify, rapidly bubbling and sizzling, releasing mesmerizing sparks of vibrant colors. Both you and Miguel exchanged anxious looks, acutely aware that something had gone awry and instinctively take a few steps back.

“Be careful.” He murmurs, shielding you with his forearm as you both watch what unfolds in front of you.

anticipation filled the air once again as minutes stretch to feel like an eternity. you cock your head to the side curiously, watching the concoction turn into a glowing, luminescent liquid.

You sigh in relief.

“whew. good thing nothing bad happened!”

you mutter shyly, but as you inhale deeply, a rush of sweet fumes fills your throat. You sneeze a couple of times from the overpowering scent, only to realize that it has spread throughout the entire room.

“I'll turn on the vents.”

Miguel says, clearly inhaling the strong aroma too and walks towards the exit where a few controllers for the AC and such are.

You nod at him, suddenly taking a sharp breath as your heart begins to race. You try to shake it off as an adrenaline rush from the experiment, but instead of it going away, your cheeks heat up and you feel a strange tingling sensation in your lower stomach. you lean over your desk and blink, your mind spinning.

Your vision is hazy, and you glance to the side to see Miguel run his hand through his hair, a distressed look on his now flushed face.

“s-shit i think something went wrong. what is this?”

“I don’t know , but we need to find a way to..”

you trail off, feeling in a daze as you watch Miguel take a step towards your direction, his crimson eyes locked on you intensely. you took a shaky breath, your thighs unconsciously squeezing together. “.. reverse it.”

You turn and slam open a cabinet, ripping out your journal to find some sort of way—any way to reverse the effect of this sort of aphrodisiac, and Miguel did the same at his desk. seconds turned to minutes, and minutes turned to hours as your efforts turned fruitless. Unfortunately for you, the effects only worsen and your desire for him only electrifies more.

“fuck, fuck..”

Miguel groans, and you turn your gaze to see the tall man manspreading on his chair, his head thrown back, and brows furrowed as sweat trailed down his forehead. your gaze travels down his body and- oh. there you saw, in all its glory a huge tent in his pants, his hand resting by his thigh—twitching as he resisted with all his will-power not to touch himself. You bite your lip and squeeze your legs together, the unbearable heat in your core making you whimper quietly.

Miguel catches you looking and clenches his jaw.

“We can't.. let this consume us,” He strains through gritted teeth. “We need to quarantine .”

“Good idea. You stay here, I’ll leave the room.”

You replied breathlessly, using the last bit of your rationale. this was wrong, so so wrong… but your legs wouldn't move.

Suddenly it's quiet again, the silence only broken by both your heavy breathing. You lock eyes with Miguel, both your and his eyes half-lidded and the electric tension instantly snaps, and Miguel bolts up.

no words are said as he leans forwards and captures your lips in a hot kiss.

his large hands almost encompass you as he holds your hips, pushing you back against your desk. you moan into the kiss, tugging on his hair and he effortlessly lifts you onto the edge. after a few more seconds of passionate, sloppy kissing, you both pull away panting.

“Take this off, now.”

Miguel growls, eagerly assisting you and breathlessly helping you remove your lab coat, blouse, and skirt. With a gentle touch, you place your hand on his jaw, drawing him in for another passionate kiss. In the midst of the embrace, he skillfully slides the bra straps off your shoulders and unclasps it.

You gasp, feeling the cold lab air make contact with your sensitive skin, hardening your nipples. He reaches up and rolls the buds in between his calloused fingers and you moan, arching into his touch. Your body seems even more sensitive because of the aphrodisiac and his touches leave fire in its wake.

You gasp as he pulls you closer to him, rubbing his huge erection against your clothed core, the wetness seeping through the fabric and the sloppy sounds of your slick against him making you both moan.

“Miguel, please!”

you whine, leaning back and throwing your head back as you desperately trying to meet his grinds ,his hands holding your hips with bruising strength.

“I know, I know.. Don't worry baby, let me take care of you.”

He sighs, and finally after what felt like centuries he unbuckles his belt with one hand, the clicking sound of metal and leather making you shudder. He hastily shrugs his lab coat off, rolls his sleeves up, and unbuttons his pants and pulls it down along with his boxers, just enough to let his whole cock spring out .

You bite your lip at his impressive length, the tip an angry red with prominent veins running under the shaft.

“I’m sorry—I can’t stop.”

He stammers, right before he tears your panties off and plunges the tip inside you with no warning. You arch your back, digging your nails into his wrist as he plunges his cock inside you without giving you much time to adjust to the huge girth. You throw your head back and close your eyes, trying to breathe through the intense stretch. Thankfully you were so wet it slid in with relative ease.

“youre so fucking tight.. shit.”

he hisses, bottoming out completely before sliding it out almost all the way and slamming it back in. You moan, his praise making your stomach flutter. He pulls your legs over his shoulders and you gasp at how deep he is and full you feel in a mating press.

“shitt, miguel.. it hurtss” you slur, already cockdrunk as he begins to move in and out at a brutal pace, his thrusts heavy and mean. tears welled in your eyes and as they fall he uses a thumb to wipe them away.

“I know, I know.. its ok baby.. you’re taking my cock so fucking well..”

He groans, trailing his hands down to play with your clit. He spits a thick wad of spit where you both connect and rubs his fingertips against the sensitive bud in rapid, sloppy circles, making you sob. the pain from before melted into hot blissful pleasure in seconds, your mouth hanging open in an ‘o’ shape.

“yeahh mhm.. you like that? huh?”

he chuckles dryly, feeling how you clenched around him, desperately sucking him in. He moves his other hand to wrap it around your throat, squeezing his palm around your small neck.

“M-Miggy, ‘m gonna cum!”

you sob, your mind and vision going foggy from a mix of the aphrodisiac, the overstimulating pleasure, as well as the slight asphyxiation. Miguel leans forward, his lips almost touching your ear as he whispers:

“You don't know how long I've wanted this. I see you wearing your short little pencil skirts to work and how you wanna get my attention… and it takes everything in me to not pounce on you.”

he confesses, his hot breath fanning your ear, sending chills up your spine.

“Miguel…”

“Now cum on my cock, baby. show me how good I make you feel.”

he growls, speeding up his thrusting and the pace of his fingers on your clit until it all becomes too much and you let out a silent scream, too overwhelmed to make any noise. your nails dig into his wrist leaving crest indents on his skin as your white hot orgasm crashes over you intensely. Miguel groans and curses, trying to hold you down as you squirm and buck under his overstimulation touches, his thick fingers never slowing down on your sopping clit. After a few more heavy pounds Miguel follows; his cum gushing beautifully out of the sides of your pussy and dripping down his cock.

He doesn't stop for a minute, flipping you over and tugging on your hair, forcing you into an arch.

“Don’t think we’re done yet.”

the aphrodisiac’s effect is not gonna go away any time soon..

#miguel x you #miguel smut #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel x reader #miguel x oc #miguel ohara x oc #miguel x y/n #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x you #atsv miguel #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel ohara smut #miguel o’hara #atsv x reader #rey💋#2099<3

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 6 months

Text

Practice On Me — Part Eleven — Azriel x Reader

Summary: Reader receives a much-needed pep talk in Velaris and gets thinking. Azriel receives a lecture in Windhaven by a frustrated Rhysand. Reader is surprised by an unexpected visitor to the City of Starlight.

Word count:

Warnings: A little bit of smut, 18+, minors dni.

Velaris feels like an entire world away from Windhaven.

You’ve been here only once before, when, as mischievous fourteen-year-olds, Rhysand had brought you. The High Lord had been in another court on business, which had seemed like the perfect time for Rhys to show you his other home. Only, his father had returned early, and had thundered — hard enough to shake the mountains — about strangers entering the shielded city without formal invitation. Not you, nor Cassian, nor Azriel, had been back since.

And that lingering encounter was why, when Roza brought you here three days earlier, you’d been nervous about coming face-to-face with the High Lord yet again.

But the handsome, roguish male had merely given you a long, slow perusal, and then smiled a charming smile — about the only thing Rhys seems to have inherited from him — and welcomed you to his home for as long as you do so please.

It’s tranquil, there’s no doubt about that. Light and airy and so beautiful that you can forget, for a time, that there’s a world outside the City of Starlight. You’ve spent the last three days at Roza’s side, exploring the city and helping her run light errands, and attending to her at the end of the day when the pregnancy tires her out.

The High Lord — Finadar, or Fin, as you’ve learned most people call him — does no such thing. He does not visit his pregnant mate after long, tiring days. Does not summon her.

Despite the growing new arrival in her belly, there’s a distinct lack of love between the two of them that surprises you, perhaps more than anything else.

But tonight, with Roza joining him for a public appearance, you’re left alone with your thoughts for the first time in three days. And you’re desperate to do anything to fight them off.

You wander the long, spacious halls of the High Lord’s opulent home, warm, despite the brutal mountain range that stands guard around it. This is a level of luxury you were never built for, and don’t quite know what to do with. You read from Roza’s broad selection of literature, and gorge on sweets in the kitchen, and slide along the polished floors on your socks, because why the fuck not.

It’s better than thinking. Anything is better than thinking.

But as the night wears on and the silence gets too loud, it’s hard to keep deeper thoughts at bay. Your heart aches relentlessly over the broken shards of your loving friendship group that you don’t know how to glue back together. Your mind swoons longingly over old memories, old smiles. You’re a hollow vessel of complications, and regrets, and excruciating love—

“I heard you were here.” A trilling voice echoes from the far end of the hall you’re traversing.

You turn, and you think you might choke out a strangled noise of relief at the sight of shimmering, golden curls and warm, brown eyes, huge like a doe’s.

Mor looks far better than the last time you saw her, that’s for sure. She’s always radiant, no matter what she has going on, but the sun-kissed glimmer has returned to her skin, and the gaunt fragility from her hardships has been snuffed out by delicious, enviable curves.

You’re in front of her in what feels like a few great strides, and she’s cupping your face in her hands and kissing both of your cheeks.

“I’ve missed you.” You breathe, realising, in that moment, just how much you have. She doesn’t spend as much time in Windhaven as she used to, and gods, the absence of a sincere female friend is a weighty one.

“I’ve missed you, too.” Concern fills her eyes as she studies you.

“Rhys, Az and Cass aren’t here. It’s just me—”

“I know.” She links her arm through yours. “And let’s be glad of it. I’ve had enough of males to last me a damn eternity.” She’s barely taken a few steps forward before she’s stopping and studying you again. “Roza tells me you’re having a hard time.”

Just like that, you feel yourself begin to crumble. There’s something about the concern of others that utterly obliterates the walls you try to craft around yourself.

And at the first glimpse of tears filling your eyes, Mor is tugging you along again.

“Come.” She says. “I know where the High Lord keeps his stash of booze.”

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“You don’t ever come to Windhaven anymore. Why is that?”

There’s the slightest tensing in the set of Mor’s shoulders as she returns the stopper to a decanter containing dark amber liquid. She turns, handing you a glass.

“I figured you knew.” She says. “My father is being strict about me not spending time there.”

On some level, you think you did know. It’s not hard to figure it out.

For a time, Mor was a pretty frequent member of your friendship group, visiting as often as she could — until a few years ago, when a fight broke out between Cassian and Rhys, and then Mor just stopped coming around. The matter was swept under the rug and not mentioned again. But with her father being so strict—

“Ah.” You murmur, the pieces clicking into place. “Cass, huh?”

Mor snorts softly. “Yes. Cass.” She shakes her head fondly. “Before you ask, no, I don’t have feelings for him. Not like that. It was just…a choice I made for myself. And I’ve never regretted it, even if my father is determined to make my life hell because of it. But I didn’t come here to talk about me.” Her eyes rake over you. “Tell me everything.”

So, you do. The words come spilling out of you in a flurry of shame and heartache. You tell her every damn detail and spare none. And when you’re finally done, you take a breath and wonder — not for the first time — how the fuck you’ve managed to create this situation for yourself.

Mor frowns at you. “I—” She seems genuinely speechless. “Cauldron, I thought my situation was complicated.”

You shake your head. “I’ve made such a mess of things, Mor.”

“Why haven’t you told Azriel how you feel?”

“I wanted to. Gods, I planned to. But I supposed walking in on him and Kaeda made me realise that there’s no point.”

“First of all, that’s bullshit.” She takes a seat opposite you. “Love is one of very few things that there is always a point to. Your self-loathing my try to convince you otherwise, but it’s always better to be honest and face whatever outcome than suffer in silence and wonder what would have been.”

You open your mouth, but she’s holding up a hand.

“Secondly, I don’t like the sound of this Kaeda one bit. I know almost nothing about Fenlaros, but what I do know is that she must have some sort of backing — not just that of her Camp Lord father — that gives her the ability to flounce in and out of a rival camp at her leisure without a single consequence. And that tells me she’s up to something. And that makes me nervous that it’s Azriel, of all people, that she’s attached herself to. Not that Az isn’t a total catch — of course, he is. But he’s also a very, very rare gift who always has sights set on him. I’d wager that that plays into Kaeda’s interest somewhere.”

You fall still in your seat, staring back at her.

You feel damn stupid for not seeing what she’s laid out before you with such clarity.

“You…don’t believe Kaeda’s interest in Az is genuine?” You ask. “I wondered why she was hanging around Windhaven, but I didn’t think…”

“I think she has ulterior motives.” Mor shrugs. “And if Az is in a blinding haze of lust — or even love — it’s not something he’s going to see for himself. He’ll need proof.”

“How could I possibly give him proof of something I’m not even certain about myself?”

“Perhaps you should play Kaeda at her own game. Do some sniffing around her and see what you find out. You’d only be looking out for Az, after all.”

Would you, though? You can’t deny that your feelings, your jealousy, would play a part. You should want, for Azriel’s sake, Kaeda to be genuine, whether your heart would get broken or not. But what you truly want is to show Az that—

That you’re better for him than she ever would be.

You want nothing more from or for him, than to make him happy.

You drag your lower lip between your teeth in thought. “What if it blew up in my face, though? I could just…end up making Az even more mad at me than he already is.”

“Which brings me to my third point. Why are you allowing Az to act like you’ve done anything wrong?”

“I slept with Cassian…”

“Welcome to the club. Tell me, Y/N. are you tied down to anyone?”

“Well, no—”

“Did you and Az agree to only have sexual relations with each other?”

“No—”

“Have you ever sworn off exploring such things with your other friends?”

“No, Mor.”

“Then Azriel has no right to be freezing you out the way he is. Is it messy? Yes. Have you created some tricky drama for yourself? Also yes. But he’s a damn hypocrite if he’s chastising you in one breath and jumping into bed with Kaeda in another.”

“That’s the thing, though.” Your gaze lowers to the table. “He says he hasn’t done anything with Kaeda, and I don’t think he would lie about that. I think…had I slept with anyone outside of our circle, perhaps he wouldn’t have cared. But it being Cassian is just…a bit too close to home for him. Especially given that Az and I were doing things, too.”

The gorgeous blonde rolls her eyes. “So, it’s an ego thing. Give me a break. If he didn’t want you to sleep with anybody else, he should have communicated that. You both should have communicated better.” A soft sigh leaves her. “Listen…Az will sulk for a little while, because that’s just what males do. He clearly has things he needs to work through, and when he has, you should talk. But in the meantime, perhaps you should try to find some more out about Kaeda and her intentions — for no other reason than that Azriel is your closest friend and you’re looking out for him. Perhaps being in Velaris is a blessing in disguise — I’m sure the High Lord could tell you a thing or two about the Fenlaros lot, if you ask nicely.”

So wise, so brilliant, is Mor. A female with such a good head on her shoulders, despite an environment that tries to wreck her.

She just…rationalises things, in a way that you’re not able to. And you hadn’t even considered talking to the High Lord.

You take a slow, pensive draw from your glass as you think on it. And then you’re deciding, “Perhaps I will speak with the High Lord. There’s nothing wrong with showing an interest in a rival camp, after all.”

“No.” Mor flashes a feral grin. “There is not.”

Perhaps it’s selfish, something felt at Azriel’s expense — but setting yourself a little task like this is precisely what you need.

You’ve wondered for a while what the hell Kaeda is doing in Windhaven. You’re determined to find out, one way or another.

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Rhysand is balls deep and utterly lost in the male beneath him.

The noises that fill the room are sinful.

Midnight-kissed moans and panting as breathy and ethereal as a winter-chilled breeze.

This has been a long time coming, and Rhys is just so glad, in that moment, that he finally gets to be inside Zakai, that he thrusts deep and captures him in a full kiss. Zakai growls and grabs his ass, encouraging those thrusts.

Honestly? Rhys fucking needs this pleasure. Never did he think he’d actually be glad to get away to his room at the dormitories, but he needs a godsdamned break. Cassian’s sulking at the cottage has become unbearable since Roza swept Y/N off to Velaris.

If Cass and Az don’t sort their shit out soon, Rhys might just launch them off the peak of the nearest mountain.

Of course, they’d probably fight each other suspended in thin air, instead.

But he banishes those thoughts and gives himself entirely to Zakai, reaching down to fist at the pretty male’s cock. Neither of them will last long. This sex has been too highly anticipated, and it feels too good, and—

And the door is practically kicked in behind them. Azriel strides in as if it’s his fucking room.

“Get out, Az.” Rhys snarls, not faltering.

Az does not, in fact, get out. “Is it true Roza has taken Y/N to Ve—”

“For fuck’s sake.” He pulls out of Zakai with complete reluctance, grabbing clothes to cover them both. Zakai exhales a long sigh and tips his head back.

“Well?” Az demands. “Is it true?”

Rhys yanks some undershorts on. “Three days ago. You’d have found out sooner if you’d just quit your sulking and talk to us.”

“Why has she gone there?”

Zakai clears his throat, awkwardly shucking his clothes on. “Perhaps I should go…”

“No.” Rhys says.

But Az counters it with a dismissive, “Yes.”

The poor male stares between the two of them, and while he may have just been lying beneath the future High Lord, he doesn’t feel like getting in the way of a temperamental shadowsinger.

Rhys releases a yielding breath and grits his teeth. “Fine. I’ll catch up with you later, Zak.”

That’s all it takes for his pretty lover to leave, sex now a distant memory. Azriel shuts the door behind him.

“So?” He rounds on Rhys. “Why is Y/N in Velaris?”

Rhys rolls his eyes at his tone. It’s not exactly any use for Az to be frantic now. Bit too late for that, he thinks.

“Because she needed a break from this place. From you and Cass and Kaeda.”

“I told Y/N that Kaeda and I have not done anything.”

“And maybe you haven’t, Azriel. That’s your business entirely.” He throws himself onto the bed. “But have you stopped for five fucking seconds, amidst your brooding and self-pitying, to consider how it might have made Y/N feel to be the practice run?”

Azriel goes preternaturally still. Doesn’t know what to say.

And that’s fine, Rhys reckons, because he’s nowhere near fucking finished.

“You explored that intimacy with her under the pretence that you were merely refining those skills for another female’s benefit.” He continues. “Whether it was initially Y/N’s idea or not, you should have recognised right away that she deserves better than that. And then you had the absolute fucking audacity to get mad at her for sleeping with Cassian, at the same time she would naturally assume you were sleeping with Kaeda, when you actually have no right to be angry. So what if she slept with Cass? So what, Azriel, that she fell into the arms of somebody who actually made her feel chosen, and not like she was just a stepping stone to a greater pleasure?”

Silence.

Stunned, heavy silence.

This room is far too small for such strong, impassioned words. They hang threateningly in the air, and Azriel feels like he’s watching them fly towards him in slow motion like poison arrows closing in on their target.

And then the shadowsinger croaks, finally, “It’s not—like that. I never wanted it to be like that.”

Rhys shrugs. “I’m not sure you even know what you intended, Az. The whole thing is one big mess. I mean…why haven’t you had sex with Kaeda, if that’s what you were practicing for? Do you even like her?”

Az says nothing.

The lack of an answer is precisely what Rhys is expecting. Even makes his lips kick up into a smile.

He thinks he’s pretty damn wise, does Rhysand.

“I’ll wager,” he goes on, eyeing Az knowingly, “that the practice wasn’t about Kaeda at all. Perhaps it was, the very first time Y/N offered.” He rests his hands behind his head. “But then something happened between the two of you — perhaps a kiss, maybe even some touching, and you were struck down by a realisation that the rest of us saw coming years ago. That what exists between you and Y/N goes beyond friendship. What you have is something special. And getting a little taster of that under the ruse of practice sent you on a downward spiral. So many emotions. So much angst. Suddenly, you were acting irrationally, getting into fights. Not over Kaeda, no, but over Y/N. Seeing her with other males makes you feel sick to your stomach. And that is why you’re so angry with Cassian. Because he had sex with Y/N, and you want her, not Kaeda. You love her.”

Well.

Azriel may as well be standing there stark naked, for all Rhys has stripped him bare.

He feels like his skin has been peeled from his bones and a patchwork of ugly truths lies in its place. He wouldn’t be overly surprised to glance down and see writing covering every inch of his body in bold, alarming ink that reads: I AM IN LOVE WITH Y/N. I AM JEALOUS AND ARROGANT AND SELFISH. I AM SCARED.

He tries to swallow down the lump in his throat. It doesn’t budge. “I never meant to make her feel like that.” He damn near wheezes, the words punching their way out of his lungs.

Rhys softens a little. “We know that, Az. But as long as you try to run from your feelings, you’ll be kicking dirt up at the people behind you.”

“I don’t…don’t know what to do — about anything.”

“You just need to stop trying to fool yourself. You need to make use of your space from Y/N and figure out what, exactly, it is you want, and what, exactly, you’re going to do about it. You need to accept that mistakes have been made all round, but not one of them is unable to be fixed. And you should start by mending things with Cassian.”

On instinct, Az scowls. He may know Rhys is right — and damn him for it, too — but he still can’t help being angry at Cass. The thought of his hands on Y/N—

“Wipe that look off your face, Azriel.” Rhys says drily. “You both know you miss each other, and you’re just as miserable as one another because of it. I’m not saying you should fix it today or even tomorrow — take your time to brood, if you like — but something has to give eventually. And if you won’t fix things for your sakes, do it for mine. Perhaps then I’ll be able to fuck Zakai and actually finish.”

This — these glimmers of wisdom and authority and reason — are like a little window into what Rhysand will one day be like as High Lord of the Night Court.

Azriel is glad of his friendship, his counsel. Even if he’s not quite ready to act on the advice yet.

“It’ll all be alright, Az.” Rhys says, studying him. The shadowsinger looks…lost. “But you should take the time to work things out before Y/N returns to Windhaven. She doesn’t need any more drama, and neither do you.”

Right again, of course.

Az can only manage to clear his throat and nod, before rasping out a quiet, “I will. Thank you.”

Rhys dips his chin. “I do love you, you know. I wouldn’t put sex aside for a conversation with just anyone.”

His answering smile is unconvincing. “I love you, too.”

“And you love Cass. So don’t wait too long to talk to him.”

Azriel inclines his chin. “Sorry for interrupting.”

“I’ll forgive you this time.”

The shadowsinger shoots him one last look that says far more than he can articulate in that moment. And then he’s slipping out of the room.

And as he walks away, he can’t stop his thoughts from venturing to Fenlaros.

To how lost he would be without Rhys — and Cass, too — if he really did leave them behind.

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Roza is so godsdamned beautiful.

You can’t help feeling a little awestruck as you stand behind her, gently combing a brush through her night-black hair.

She stares into the mirror of her dressing table, her face a sheet of serene beauty. Through her nightgown, the swell of her bump shows proudly.

She seems pensive tonight, quieter than usual. Every few seconds, your gaze creeps to her reflection. Curiosity gets the better of you.

“Can I ask you something?” You part the strands of her hair, beginning to tie them into a braid.

Roza’s eyes lift to yours. “Of course, my love.”

It takes you a long moment to work out how, exactly, to diplomatically word what you’re thinking. You imagine it might be a touchy subject.

“…You and the High Lord….” You chew the inside of your cheek. “You’re not…not quite what I expected — together, I mean.”

You’ve never seen a mating bond up close, but you’ve read about them enough to know that they should be intense, passionate, a love that is so altering that it’s almost gut-wrenching. You expected to catch a glimpse of that with Roza and Finadar, to see a bond that you may never have the honour of experiencing yourself, for how rare it supposedly is.

What you didn’t expect was the huge distance that exists between them. Not a single person could miss it.

There’s no desperation to see each other, be in one another’s company. They sleep in their own quarters of the house and only seem to come together for public appearances. The whole thing is…bizarre.

Roza smiles wryly at you in the mirror. “You mean, you didn’t expect the High Lord and I to be as separated as we are?”

“I just figured…with a mating bond…”

“A lot of weight is placed on a mating bond, little dove.” She swivels on the stool to face you properly. “I had the same thought as you, when I was younger. Fin and I tried to love one another, but…the fact of the matter is that mating bonds aren’t always right. He and I are so different, and sometimes that can be a beautiful thing. But in our case, it certainly is not.”

Your eyes fall down to her bump. “But the babe…”

“This babe was conceived on a heat-of-the-moment, impulsive whim that shouldn’t have happened. Not that I regret it.” Her hand strokes over her bump. “But sex and love are two very different things. Fin and I do not love each other. I’m only in Velaris because he only trusts his healer to see me through this pregnancy. We are mates in the loosest definition, but we are not committed to each other. And he has no problem reminding me of that, with all the females he invites to his bed as though I’m not in the same damn house as him. He’s an arrogant, salacious lech — but he’s also the father of my children, and my High Lord, too. So I choose not to confront it, because I don’t care enough to. The babe and I will be back in Windhaven soon enough.”

It makes your heart ache, makes you feel sick, to think that Roza is on the receiving end of such treatment. She deserves better. Deserves the world. Someone who will worship her like the goddess she damn well is.

It terrifies you to think that…that you could just as easily find yourself trapped in such a dire situation.

“What worries you?” Her violet eyes are soft, warm, as she reaches up and presses a hand to your cheek.

You place the hairbrush down, leaning against the dressing table. Your hand finds hers with a sad desperation. “Is love doomed, Roza? Is it real? If a mating bond can’t hold up, what hope do I have—”

“You have all the hope, dove. And as you should. You will love, and you will be loved. You just need to have the courage to face it and all that it comes with. Fin and I are a bad match. But there’s no reason to believe you’ll see the same fate. So just…don’t give up. Be brave and love.”

Tears blur your eyes as you stare down at her. You can’t stop yourself from moving your joined hands, both yours and hers, to rest on her bump. “This babe is the luckiest child in the entire world to have you for their mother.” You whisper. “And I will be honoured, Roza, to help you in any way I can when they’re born.”

She lifts your hand to her lips and presses a kiss to the back of your palm. “And I will be honoured to have you by my side.” She cracks a smile. “Perhaps you can start with making me some ginger tea before bed.”

A soft, breathy laugh leaves you. “Of course.”

Her beautiful smile follows you out of the room and into the dark, empty hallways. You feel strangely at peace tonight, more so than you have for a long while. Most likely thanks to Mor’s pep talk.

But after you’re done in the kitchen, a steaming cup of ginger tea clutched in your hands, a pair of booming male voices reach you from the antechamber. It piques your interest at once.

One voice is certainly that of the High Lord, but the other sounds somewhat familiar, too — like it’s one you’ve heard before, but not enough to place who it belongs to. It’s a dangerous, gruff baritone of a voice that seems almost impossibly deep.

You should mind your business, walk away…but it seems strange for the High Lord to receive a guest so late at night. Seems…clandestine, in nature.

And so you stay light on your feet, inching towards the door and peering through to the giant, opulent antechamber.

And that’s when you see the High Lord leading Tathaln Baralas, Kaeda’s father, in the direction of his study.

az tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-agirlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd @coralseacourt @towhateverend87 @sspookz @bird-on-the-wire33 @morrie-rose @megwan @catscanteleport @sevikas-whore @thickthighs-sadeyes

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dragon-ascent · 19 days

Text

It's been so long since Zhongli got to take you on a date, and like hell he'd let anything stop him today.

It's finally time for a date; you two have cleared schedules after so long! You're to meet Zhongli directly after work atop a nice scenic hill for an evening picnic. Your husband is to head up there first to set everything up and make sure the picnic spread is as perfect as can be. So there goes Zhongli, basket in hand filled with all sorts of treats, trudging up the hill with a smile on his face.

Zhongli's smile quickly fades as he looks up, brow furrowing at the darkening skies. Must it look like rain, today of all days?

Not to worry. He can will the clouds to part whenever he summons his meteor - so he does just that, his tianxing hurtling through the clouds that come apart like wads of cotton, creating a hole directly above the hill. The rest of the sky remains intact. Then, before his heavenly meteor can collide with the earth, he commands it to burst into a million specks of stardust. They stay suspended in the air, shimmering. Much better.

He continues his journey up the hill, when in his periphery he spots a gleaming knife whizzing through the air. He dodges it effortlessly, throwing up his shield - his lip curls in displeasure when a gang of Treasure Hoarders make themselves known, precious little in their eyes beyond greed.

"Forgive me, but I do not have the time to spare for your antics." Zhongli worries that the basket might be smooshed if he gets into a scuffle, so he continues on; the thieves don't care, they charge at him, possibly hoping to nab the basket or even something off his clothes - Zhongli is dressed nicely for this date, after all.

Sighing, the god gingerly cradles the basket and delivers a swift kick square in the first fellow's crotch, sending him flying. He strikes his shoe against the ground, sending a crackling wave of spiky cor lapis racing along the earth and knocking another three of the men back.

Zhongli is then locked in an eccentric dance as he uses his legs to deflect the others' weapons, willing his composition to become stone. A flurry of crescent kicks, jumping roundhouse kicks, tornado kicks, and Geo summons later, the god calmly makes his way to the top of the hill, the miscreants all groaning and stuffed away in the bushes so as not to ruin the scenery. Most importantly, the basket is unharmed!

There's tremors while Zhongli sets the picnic spread out. Zhongli recognises this as the lingering anger of a god he had sealed beneath the hill centuries ago; glowering, Zhongli commands, "Not now."

The tremors stop. He finishes setting the picnic up happily. When you arrive, you marvel at the glimmering cor lapis and stardust engulfing the area.

Smiling, Zhongli lets the date start in full swing, pouring you some lemonade and watching you fondly as you close your eyes in bliss at the taste of the fluffy strawberry pastries he'd packed. This is perfect.

"Wow, look at that my love! It's raining all around us, except for this hill! It's a miracle!"

"A miracle indeed, my darling."

#sini writes #zhongli #genshin impact #zhongli x reader #fluff

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another-lost-mc · 7 months

Note

Got any thots/ideas in wing kink for Luci, Simeon, or anyone with wings?

a/n: there's a few different types of wings among the cast, but I think they're all unique and worth talking about!

wing headcanons

featuring: lucifer, mammon, asmodeus, beelzebub, diavolo, simeon, raphael (+ michael and karasu)

0.7k words | nsfw | suggestive

cw: wing kink implied. sexual situations and predator/prey kink mentioned. the predator/prey kink section is after the divider if you prefer not to read that part.

One of the first signs of trust is the casual affection he shows you when his wings are revealed. He might not always reach for your hand in public, especially if he's a bit more reserved by nature. However, what you do feel is the soft sensation of his wing brushing against your side when you walk beside him. He doesn't even mean to do it at first. It's like his wing naturally extends itself to curl around your back or glide against your arm. It's an unconscious gesture motivated by his feelings for you.

He might ask you to help with his wing care next. If he has wings made of feathers, he sits patiently while you preen them. You're especially careful when you straighten the feathers that look stuck out of place. Your hands are coated with a special oil that keeps his wings soft and protected from harsh wind and cool rain. It's a ritual for both of you now, one that often leads to grateful kisses and quickly descends into passionate lovemaking. Preening his wings was something he didn't enjoy doing by himself, or he reluctantly asked others to help him. Now that he has you, he craves the intimacy of it.

Leathery wings don't require the same level of care, but your lover is still grateful when you try to make him feel pampered and cared for. Sometimes stroking the edge of his wings feels ticklish. Sometimes it sends little bolts of desire shooting through his body straight to his cock. You never know whether he's going to laugh and squirm away from your hands, or if he's going to spin around and pin you underneath him.

Beelzebub's wings are thin and extremely sensitive, and he doesn't like it when they're touched. You are a rare exception. He trusts that you won't hurt the delicate wings that sit against his back. It feels nice when you gently run your fingers along the very edges. He rewards your gentleness and understanding with hungry kisses and greedy hands that rid you of all your annoying clothes.

As the crown prince, Diavolo's wings are particularly impressive and adorned with precious gold ornaments. He secretly likes it when you tease him about keeping the gilded gold pieces clean while you polish them to a glimmering shine. For special occasions, he'll even change them to a different metal that suits your preferences better—he wants to look his best for you. Don't be surprised when he offers you gifts of jewelry made with the same precious metals and jewels that match his own. He would love to see you wear them—and only them—the next time he invites you to spend the night.

Most of the time, fucking someone in his true form can be clumsy or awkward. He doesn't just let anyone touch their wings so intimately either. When you're intimate, he might purposefully reveal his wings. His wings wrap around your body and draw you close while he shields you from the world, protecting you when you're naked and vulnerable. (It also hides you from unworthy eyes that don't deserve to see you that way.) Sometimes his wings randomly appear in the height of passion, unfurling at his back when pleasure drives away all thought and reason except the singular desire to touch you. When his mind isn't clouded with lust, he looks a bit bashful that he lost control like that to begin with—it only happens when he's with you.

Another possibility is a little bit of predator/prey roleplay. Have you ever wondered what it would feel like to be hunted? Your winged lover is more than happy to indulge in this kink should you ask. The forests of the Devildom (or the human world) are perfect for this. He leads you there and urges you towards the tree line in front of you. He'll even give you a head start.

(You're going to need it.)

It begins when you finally run into the darkened woods with only glimpses of moonlight to illuminate your path. The smallest sounds are impossibly loud, echoing off the trees around you: a snapping twig, the crunch of fallen leaves under your feet, your own ragged, panted breaths. Sometimes you see movement from the corner of your eye and when you turn around, there's nothing there. What you do notice is the tree branch high above you shaking slightly, as if someone was just there and then launched himself back into the sky.

(He's toying with you.)

Adrenaline gives you one last burst of energy that propels your feet forward, and you keep running despite the burning in your lungs. The blood in your veins is laced with lust and fear in equal measure. It's not long before you finally hear it: the sound of wings slicing through the air and growing louder as he draws near. Do you hear the soft swish of feathers? The taut snap of leathery wings billowing against the wind? Or perhaps it's the bzzzt of wings fluttering rapidly at his back that quickens your pulse? Suddenly, his familiar silhouette looms above you and blocks the moon from view. You're pinned against his chest before you realize what's happening, and his arms (and sometimes wings) curl around your body. Greedy hands start to pull at your clothes as he crushes his lips against yours. The game is over, and you're finally his to claim.