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#path lit by lightning
usnatarchives · 1 year
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Native American Heritage Month
We honor Native American Heritage Month by highlighting our vast holdings that document the history and recognize the many achievements and contributions of Native Americans from as early as 1774. These include every treaty signed with Native Americans, available online through the National Archives Catalog, records from the Bureau of Indian Affairs and Indian Schools, and Indian Census Rolls. 
Path Lit by Lightning: The Life of Jim Thorpe Join us in person or online on December 1, 2022, at 7 PM ET. National Archives Museum in Washington, DC. Register online; View on YouTube
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Jim Thorpe, a member of the Sac and Fox Nation, rose to world fame as a mythic talent who excelled at every sport. He won gold medals in the decathlon and pentathlon at the 1912 Stockholm Olympics, was an All American football player at the Carlisle Indian School, the star of the first class of the Pro Football Hall of Fame, and played in the MLB for the New York Giants. David Maraniss’s book, Path Lit by Lightning, tells Thorpe’s story. Anita Thorpe, Jim Thorpe's granddaughter, will attend the program.
Related NARA exhibit: All American: The Power of Sports  National Archives Museum, Washington DC, through January 7, 2024.
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Anita Thorpe, left, granddaughter of 1912 Olympic champion Jim Thorpe, poses with National Archives curator Alice Kamps in front of a display honoring Thorpe’s grandfather in the “All American: The Power of Sports," 9/12/2022. Photo for the National Archives by John Valceanu.
Related Smithsonian exhibit: Why We Serve: Native Americans in the U.S. Armed ForcesThe National Museum of the American Indian through November 30, 2023 Why We Serve honors the generations of Native Americans who have served in the armed forces of the United States—often in extraordinary numbers—since the American Revolution.  Online Resources:
Native American History special topics page of NARA’s related online resources.
Bureau of Indian Affairs Photos (more than 18,000) Now Online.
The Story of the 1950 Census P8 Indian Reservation Schedule - learn about Native Americans in the 1950 Census.
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bbbbbbbbatman · 10 days
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Once Batman has revealed his identity to the JL, after some strong encouragement from Superman and Wonder Woman, Bruce decides to try to start being a bit more "personable" with the rest of league. They've been colleagues for a decade and he trusts them all, and according to Clark and Diana this means there's no need for his whole mysterious "shadow of the night" bit, so he invites the league to dinner at the manor.
It is raining heavily, and even though it's not that late, it's nearly pitch dark but for the frequent lightning strikes. The league arrives together at Wayne Manor and the wrought iron gates stretch upward before them, ending in spikes at the top with ivy overgrown across them. They stand there, uncomfortable, wet, a bit weirded out, wondering how they're supposed to get passed the gates.
"This is creepy, right?" Hal says. "It's not just me?"
A voice. "Hello." As the league turns to the sound, thunder claps loud enough to startle everyone as lightning strikes, illuminating a small child standing on the other side of the gates that was definitely not there a second ago. He stands motionless under an umbrella, seemingly unbothered by the rain, expression vaguely irritated, and his eyes seem to flash green in the light. "I have been instructed to escort you inside."
The child doesn't move in any way but the gates slowly swing open, the creaking sounds sound straight out of a horror movie. Once they are fully opened, the boy turns and starts walking down the path without a word.
The league, some members quite freaked out at this point, follow him after exchanging some looks. They round a bend in the path and the manor comes into view. It is a massive dark structure, rising from the ground. Another lightning strike illuminates pointed spires, jagged edges, and it's gloomy, gothic nature. The sound of bats shrieking can be heard in the distance over the rain.
The league finally arrives at the front door, cold, wet, and thoroughly discomfited. An old man, a butler, looking out of time, opens the door, the child disappears inside. The butler welcomes everyone inside graciously but with a distant politeness. Despite the appearance of the exterior, the inside is well lit with warm light and seems inviting, though ostentatious. The league is relieved.
Until another massive lightning strike and thunder clap cuts the power off and the room is pitch black.
"Oh, you're here," a deep voice says from somewhere up above. No sooner are the words out than another lightning strike illuminates a dark, hulking figure on the staircase that was also definitely not there a second ago. At least two people scream.
Bruce is wildly confused as to why his guests are screaming, he didn't think any of them were afraid of the dark? The back up generator kicks on and the lights come back on and everybody seems to calm down. The rest of the dinner seems to go well (as well as a dinner can with the justice league and all of Bruce's kids) but strangely, to Bruce's confusion, it somehow only made his "spooky" reputation worse. He's not really sure why the whole league seems to think he lives in a haunted house.
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krkiiz · 3 months
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take a chance with me . luke castellan x reader
you decide to confront luke about your current situationship with him.
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luke castellan x f!reader , reader is the daughter of Athena , crack , misunderstandings , “what are we” , “i thought we’re already dating” , fluff with slight angst , overthinking , kisses , them being sappy , nicknames
note : can’t stop falling in love with this evil betrayer smh. inspired by niki’s song “take a chance with me” ! (IM SORRY IF THIS IS CRINGE this is my first time writing kiss scenes help 😭😭😭😭)
let me know your thoughts ! likes, reblogs, and comments appreciated <3
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“It’s getting dark. Let me walk you back to your cabin, yeah?” The dark haired boy smiled at you.
Gods how you loved that smile of his.
It’s a tradition of yours. Him walking you back to your cabin after your outings. The two of you walk hand in hand as your near the Athena cabin.
You and Luke had been acquainted for quite some time. You both first met when you arrived in camp for the first time.
You were fifteen back then. Time passed by as fast Zeus’ lightning strikes as summers blurred after summers. In a blink of an eye, you guys were both eighteen now. Adults, no longer those carefree teenagers that relied on your counselors.
During those three years of friendship, you and Luke only got closer. It was hard to admit, and after an excruciating time of denial (and constant pestering from your half siblings including Annabeth), you finally surrendered and admitted the growing feelings you harbored for your close friend.
You’re too afraid to confess your feelings as you treasured your friendship with him deeply. You would gush about how sweet he is to Annabeth, rolling yourself on your bed as blood rushed to your cheeks at the thought of him.
Little did you know he was doing the exact same thing. Confiding to Annabeth about your recent encounters, eyes lit up rivaling the shine of Apollo himself as he thinks of you.
Poor girl. Annabeth was sick of it.
But this summer, you felt a shift in your dynamic with the curly haired boy. He would eat lunch with you more often, asking you to go on more hangouts, challenged you on more duels, battles. It felt different, closer.
You were not complaining, matter of fact you were quite glad. Maybe your feelings wasn’t just one sided after all.
But as time move forwards, the closer you two get, more couple-ey interaction commends. He would tuck your hand behind your ear as you both converse, intwining your hands when your in the same path, calling you nicknames.
The more your relationship with him progressed, the more it blurred the line between friends and more. At this point, you knew he had feelings for you as well, and he too was well aware of yours.
A bubble of thought soon started clouding your mind. What were you both now? Friends? Close friends? Lovers? You don’t remember Luke asking you to be his girlfriend.
What was the nature this relationship?
You feel his grip on yours loosening as you stopped near the grey building of Cabin 6. “This is it for you, princess.”
Words rolled of his tongue like honey and you felt like a honeybee, drawn to its sweetness.
Friends don’t call each other nicknames.
Luke placed a gentle hand on your cheek, drawing closer has he placed his lips on your temple, as if he was kissing your thoughts away. “What’s got you thinking so hard since we started walking, hm?”
Your cheeks lit up like campfire at his action, he smiled noticing your flushed state.
Cute
You look up to the curly haired boy, his fingers still pressed on your cheek. What are we, Luke?
What if Luke suddenly doesn’t want you anymore because of that question?
Were you too selfish by wanting more?
Was this not enough for you?
No it wasn’t. You want to draw a clear like between friends and more, and Luke and you were shoveling a deep hole in the middle of said line.
What if he fears commitment and disappears?
“Oh no, it’s nothing Luke.” You shook your head away from his grasp, pushing all your thoughts away. “It’s late, I should probably get in.”
But before you can turn away from him, Luke was quick to grab your hand, not letting you go any further. “No, Yn. Something is clearly bothering you. And I don’t want you to go to bed with an unpleasant feeling.”
He squeezed your held hands. “Please, Yn. Is it something I’ve done?”
You were quick to deny him. “It’s not, Luke. I don’t even know it’s just. I don’t know, confusing? I think complicated is the right word.”
The dark haired boy brought your intertwined hands to his lips, kissing your forearm softly. “It’s okay take your time, darling. I’m listening.”
You sighed seeing him caress your hand gently as he brushed his lips on the skin. “It’s about us, Luke.”
Dark hues make contact with your own. “What about us?”
“What are we Luke? I don’t even know anymore.” You retracted your hand from his grasp, frustration getting a hold on you. “Friends don’t hold hands while they walk, friends don’t kiss each other’s foreheads, or hands, or even call each other nicknames.”
You look up to see the confusion written clearly on his face. “What are we, Luke Castellan?” You asked once more.
There was a moment of silent and you dreaded it. Each passing second you can hear the rustling wind, chirps of birds, and the sound of your heart falling into your stomach.
Before he finally broke it. A wholehearted chuckle graced his lips, creasing his eyes.
You scrunched your eyebrows at his reaction. Clearly displeased. Were you some joke to him?
“Luke, this is serious, why are you laughing right now?”
He quickly straightened his composure after hearing your tone. “Ehem, wait sorry. You’re serious? Is this what you’ve been worrying about?”
“Well yeah. What’s so funny about it? Am I just some joke to you?”
“No no! Yn, wait.” He placed both of his hand above your shoulders. Eyes peered at yours before genuinely asking. “Haven’t we been dating for like two months now?”
What? Confusion warps your face.
“Yn, remember? Two months ago when I took you on a picnic by the lake? I asked if you wanted to be together and you agreed to it, remember?” He tried to recall your memory.
Then it snapped.
“Oh, that was a confession? I thought you meant it in a friendly way.” Luke mentally face palmed himself and you sheepishly giggled.
“Okay maybe I was too vague with my words so let’s redo it right now yeah?” You tilted your head at him.
The dark haired boy took both of your hands from your sides, lacing them into his. “Yn L/n, daughter of Athena, one of the best warriors I’ve ever seen, wisest and the most just ever, will you take the pleasure of being my girlfriend?”
You unwind your laced fingers, your hands moving, circling themselves around the nape of his neck as his hands are now placed on the sides your waist, drawing you closer. “Hm will I?” You teased him lightly.
“Please?”
“I guess you got yourself a girlfriend, Castellan.”
You laughed against his chest. And you can feel his ribcage expanding was he laughed along with you.
You tilt your head above, standing on the tips of your toes, as you pulled him even closer than before. Your noses touch at the proximity and you could feel his breath on yours. “Is this why you’ve never kissed me before?” you hear him whisper.
“Well I am doing it right now.” You pull him in, his lips crashing with your own. His grip on your waist tightened as your hands made its way to the softness of his curls. Eyes tightly shut as you both bask in the bliss of ecstasy before pulling apart.
He leaned his forehead against yours. Giving your lip a small peck as he craves for more of you. “I don’t know if this is not obvious yet but I like you, so so much, my Yn.”
You softly giggled. “I like you just as much, my prince.”
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©️ sirena | krkiiz 2023
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cyberslvts · 6 months
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DEPRIVED || w. maximoff
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Summary: Following the events in Westview, wanda, obsessed and unhinged, becomes determined to get you back.
Warnings: 18+ MDNI smut, oral ( r recieving), enchanted strap (r recieving), blood, consumption of blood, pain kink, slight breeding kink, choking, marking, brief restraints, reader has lowkey lost it,
Pairing: Wanda maximoff x witch!reader
wc: 4.5k
note: Was in the halloween mood and had a craving to write witch reader. Also I apologize for being MIA for a hot minute school has been kicking my ass
In the dimly lit and clandestine lair, you stood amidst a chaotic array of potion bottles, spell books, and mystical artifacts. The air was thick with the scent of arcane ingredients, and the room was bathed in an eerie, pulsating glow emanating from enchanted crystals scattered about. Rows of tall, ancient shelves were lined with tomes containing secrets of the mystical arts.
Your eyes fixated on the ominous pages of the Darkhold stood at the center of the lair, your brows furrowed in concentration. The book seemed to emit an unsettling energy, its dark runes shifting and writhing like a sentient being. Your hands cradled glowing orbs of blue magic, feeling a tingling sensation of power coursing through them.
Your mind crackled with a frenzied electric charge. The relentless grip of sleep deprivation fuels your obsession. The effects of prolonged wakefulness gnawed at your sanity, leaving your thoughts frayed and disjointed. Muscles twitch uncontrollably as if charged by lightning flashing within your wide, bloodshot eyes. Your voice, barely a murmur, subconsciously reciting spells and rituals from the book's ancient pages, the words stumbling from your lips in a fevered trance.
Everything around you seemed louder and more intense than usual as if your senses were on overdrive. It was like your body was a sponge soaking up all the noise and energy in the room.
As you delved deeper into the forbidden knowledge within the Darkhold, a sudden disturbance rippled through the room. The sound of crackling energy filled the air, and a portal of swirling scarlet light materialized before You, Startled, you turned to face the unexpected intrusion.
Emerging from the portal, with a sultry and determined expression, was Wanda Maximoff. Her dark eyes locked onto yours, and she stepped forward with an air of confidence. Despite the anger that still simmered within you, Wanda's presence sent a shiver down their spine.
It felt like seeing a ghost
In the not-so-distant past, you and Wanda Maximoff had been deeply entwined in a passionate and tumultuous love affair Your connection was built on an understanding of each other's innermost desires.
You, a gifted witch in your own right, had always admired Wanda's incredible power. Your initial meeting had been marked by sparks, both figurative and literal, as you recognized kindred spirits in each other. You spent countless nights together, honing your magical skills, exploring the boundaries of your abilities, and indulging in the fiery lust filled passions that burned between you.
But as your love deepened, so did the complexity of your relationship.Wanda's insatiable thirst for power often put her on a dangerous path, seeking forbidden knowledge that few could comprehend. It was during one of her quests for dark magic that everything changed.In a moment of desperation, Wanda cast a spell that trapped you in a false reality—a twisted version of suburban life in Westview. In this artificial world, you lived a mundane existence, blissfully unaware of the magic and powers you once wielded. Your memories were altered, your true identity erased, and Wanda had complete control over your life
For you, it was a nightmare and a dream come true. You oscillated between feelings of betrayal and intense longing. The life she had created for you two was everything you could have ever dreamed of, filled with the perfect haven of your loving family
When the Westview Hex was eventually broken, and you regained your true identity and memories, the rush of emotions was overwhelming. You confronted Wanda, your anger, burned but the love you once shared still lingered beneath the surface. It was a complex and conflicted love, one that was impossible erase
Wanda, haunted by her actions and desperate to atone for her mistakes, fled to find the Darkhold—a powerful and dangerous book of magic that held the key to her quest for the power she would need to reclaim the life that was harshly taken from her.
In an attempt to divert Wanda until they built up the necessary forces to defeat her, Doctor Strange, aware of the dangers that the Darkhold posed, entrusted it to you for safekeeping, knowing that you were one of the few who could resist its seductive pull
At the sight of her, you immediately conjured the dark hold shut, the glowing hues of blue dimmed around you as you lowered yourself to the ground, standing before her.
"Y/n," Wanda purred, stepping out of the portal her voice husky and laced with desire.
Before she could get too close, you crossed your arms in front of your body and threw them outwards. A tendril of blue magic wrapped around her arms and legs, effectively freezing her movements. "What the hell do you think you're doing here?" you demanded, your tone filled with anger.
Wanda smirked, Seemingly amused by your reaction. She could have easily overpowered you, but she wanted you to have your fun. She didn't want to scare you. Not yet, at least.
"Oh, Y/n," she grinned, her eyes never leaving yours. "How I've missed your fiery spirit.”
“You shouldn't be here.”
Wanda's expression grew more serious as she struggled against your magical bonds. "I need the Darkhold, Y/n. It's the only way to undo the chaos I've caused."
Your grip on the magical restraints tightened,and you shot back, "Save your breath, Wanda. Me and you both know you have no intentions of doing that”
Wanda's eyes flashed with a hint of frustration “You’re always so stubborn”
The room crackled with tension as the truth hung in the air. Both of you were harboring secrets, aware of each other's desires and motives
You stepped closer to her your fingers twisting in the air to hold the restraint “I won't ask again, why are you here.”
“I needed to see you” she confessed, her voice husky, her gaze never wavering from yours.
You broke out into a sarcastic smile, your tongue pressing against the inside of your cheek as you shook your head in disbelief. The madness that swirled between you and Wanda had reached a fever pitch, and it was clear that this reunion would only further entangle you both in the web of chaos that defined your complex relationship.
“You didn't seem so eager to see me when you left me in Westview” Your voice came out sharper then you intended. obviously still hurt from her actions. The way she had left you was awful. Alone, surrounded by ring of flashing red and blue lights that demanded answers to questions you couldnt even comprehend
Wanda let out an exasperated sigh a sense of guilt building up inside her “I had no other choice y/n. Strange was after me and You would have never gone with me”
The soft flicker of candlelight casted an eerie, shadow on Wanda's face, accentuating the mysterious allure that always seemed to surround her. Her eyes, partially obscured by the dim light, bore into you with a mix of longing and lust. You couldn't help but notice how her figure looked in the low light – the subtle rise and fall of her chest, the seductive curve of her lips as they formed that infuriating smirk. The undeniable attraction that pulsed between you two was like a magnetic force, drawing you together. It was a desire that both thrilled and repulsed you.
“Because you trapped me, you stole my life!” you echoed with a sardonic laugh, your voice tinged with a hint of hysteria. the memories of your past experiences with Wanda had driven you into a state of rage and paranoia, endless days and night spent waiting for her return
“It was the only way to protect you,” she argued back, her conviction unwavering, convinced that she had done what was necessary to shield you from the dangers of the outside world.
Your eye twitched with rage as you denied her allegations vehemently. "You're delusional Wanda, You just wanted to control me.”
Her head dropped to the floor, and her shoulders shook as she let out a menacing chuckle. When her eyes returned to you, they were three times darker, and the room itself seemed to respond to her shifting presence as if the shadows deepened around her
"When will you understand," she whispered, her voice now dripping with an eerie, otherworldly resonance that sent shivers down your spine. It was as if she had tapped into something primal and ancient, a power beyond comprehension.
"I would kill for you, Y/n," her words took on an ominous weight, the air growing heavy with her declaration. "I would rip myself to pieces if it meant keeping you safe," she continued, her breathing growing heavier, each word laced with an intensity that seemed to vibrate through the very walls of the room
Her grin widened, taking on an unsettling edge as if she could see right through you, right into the depths of your soul. The intensity of her gaze was suffocating, and it terrified you to your core.
"And you fucking love that," she hissed, her eyes glinting with a manic fervor that sent a shiver down your spine. “It excites you.”
"Shut up!" You couldn't contain your frustration any longer. With a surge of power, a flash of brilliant blue lit up the room as the magical restraints around Wanda tightened. She gritted her teeth, and a prominent vein bulged on her neck, her struggle against the sudden and intense pressure evident in her clenched jaw and furrowed brow.
"Well, someone has certainly been doing their homework," a deranged expression of pain and excitement glowed on her face. "I wasn't sure how far along you had gotten in the Darkhold, but my god..."
"Oh, for the love of God," you muttered through clenched teeth, your jaw tightening in frustration. as you struggled to maintain your composure in the face of her unsettling revelations. "What kind of deluded fantasies have you come up with now?"
The room seemed to hum with tension, The past and the present collided, and the lines between reality and the pull of the Darkhold blurred your thoughts into a red haze.
"I can feel it. The darkness you've been studying. It's consuming you, just like it did me." The switch in her tone made your blood run cold. Her eyes locked onto yours, searching for a reaction "I've been watching you, Y/n."
For months, Wanda had been studying you, watching you from the shadows, watching your obsession grow with every passing day. She had guided you, manipulated events, all with the intent of drawing you into the same darkness that had overtaken her. But she had to be patient, allowing you to come to it on your own, letting the seductive pull of corruption work its magic until you were entangled in its irresistible web.
“You weren't supposed to read the darkhold, you were only supposed to watch over it” Her voice dripped with a sultry and unhinged desire as she taunted you. “You’re no better than me.”
The consuming darkness of the situation weighed heavily on your shoulders, as you recalled the ghastly events of the past few months. At first, you only started studying the Darkhold for research purposes, perhaps trying to understand Wanda, to fathom why she did the things she did. And yet, in the depths of your mind, the Darkhold's whispers grew louder, its promises of untold power and the allure of the forbidden knowledge beginning to take hold. The more you studied it, the more it consumed your thoughts, leaving you with an insatiable hunger for its secrets.
While you were lost in the sea of memories, a beam of red magic shot past the corner of your eye, and before you knew it, you were sent tumbling back to your feet.
You stumbled backward, Adrenaline beginning to course through your veins. Wanda advanced on you with an unsettling mixture of hunger and madness. She threw her head back, and a loud cackle echoed in the room. "Isn't it exhilarating! The power, the temptation. It's irresistible!"
As Wanda closed in on you, you couldn't deny the odd thrill that surged through you. Her presence was overwhelming and a part of you couldn't help but be endlessley drawn to her.
“You're sick.” you spat out, backing away until your back hit your desk. “You’re fucking sick!”
“Sick with love,” she returned with a hint of seductive playfulness
You turned away from her, your hands anchored to the edge of your desk, your shoulders rising to your ears as you tried to fathom how you ended up here, in this twisted dance with the woman who was once the center of your world. The woman who you spent months missing, nights filled with aching longing and days spent wondering where she was, if she was dead or alive.
“Dont you remember our life together” Her tone was soft and convincing “How nice it was”
She came up behind you, her arms wrapping around you, and she smiled when she didn't feel you push them away.
Painful flashes of your memories in Westview flooded into your mind. You remembered your two boys, whom you were equally bonded to. You remembered the endless movie nights and family dinners, waking up and falling asleep next to Wanda every day had become a feeling you grew accustomed to. Those memories were a bittersweet reminder of the life you had shared before everything went awry, and they added to the torment of your current situation.
You remembered how safe and loved you had felt. But it wasn't real. None of it was real. You had told yourself that countless times—nights when everything was too quiet, and the familiar suffocating feeling of loneliness threatened to consume you. You ached to be back in Westview, with your family. But most of all, you yearned to be with Wanda. the memories of what you had shared weighed heavily on your heart.
“I know who you are Y/N,” You could feel her breath against your neck as her hands rubbed mindless patterns down your stomach. “I know what you crave”
A surge of anger suddenly lit up inside you, furious about how she made you feel. Angry that you had spent months alone, going insane with paranoia and the uncertainty of where she was in the world, Angry that she imprisoned you, controlled you, manipulated you. And you liked it. You loved the fire between you, the intense and deranged connection that bound you together. After all of that, she remained the one person who understood you best, the one who endlessly craved and longed for you.
You suddenly spun around and gripped onto the leather edge of her suit dragging her down until her lips roughly met yours.
Wanda's response was immediate, her hunger for you matching your own. Her arms enveloped you, pulling you up until your legs wrapped around her. Her strides were long across the room trying to find the closest surface to hold you up against.
She pressed you against the oak of your bookcase, and you let out a whimper against her lips when you felt the painful bite of your spell book spines digging into your back.
Wanda took attention to this and used her magic to smoothly fuse through the bookcase and into the privacy of your bedroom. Her determination to be with you becoming increasingly evident. She tossed you onto the bed and crawled over you, reconnecting your lips into a searing kiss.
Her tongue wrestled with yours untill you were moaning into each other's mouths. With one hand holding herself up the other slid up and down your thigh, Warm and possessive. With an expert touch, Her lips moved down to your neck, where she immediately began nipping at that spot she knew you loved so much.
Your breaths were starting to become uneven and you through an arm over her neck, Wanting to be closer to her. You felt Wanda smile into your skin, reveling in your neediness
She conjured away the rest of your clothes, leaving you fully exposed infront of her longing gaze. Your body shivered when the textured leather of Wandas suit rubbed up against you, sending a jolt of electricity through you.
Lowering herself down, she pressed her lips to one of your erect nipples, envelopong it in a sensual kiss. Her mouth then tenderly sucked on the sensitive bud while her fingers skillfuklly squeezed and pinched the other. She glanced up at you, her eyes filled with satisfaction as she took in the sight of your blissful expression, eyes squeezed shut and your mouth slightly parted, completely lost in the pleasure she was giving you.
“I want to taste you” she mumbled against your skin, Descending down the mattress, leaving a trail of kisses and bites down your stomach. She kneeled in front of the bed and roughly pulled your legs until they were hanging off.
You could feel her breath on your pussy as she kissed everywhere, purposefully missing the one place you needed it the most.
She gently slide a finger into your hole and let out a low groan when she felt your wet walls immediately suck her in further.
“Still so responsive... you really are mine, aren’t you baby?” she mumbled in between kisses to your thighs, when you didn't respond she nipped at your skin.
“I will never be yours again” your breathed out, your chest rising and falling with every breath you took in
Something twisted inside Wanda at your words and a dark expression overcame her features as her grip on your thighs involuntarily tightened.
“Well see how you feel after this, pretty girl”
The pet's name is spat out like a curse. But you don't miss the way her tongue rolls over the words like she meant it. Like she actually thinks you are pretty. And so, despite the situation your cheeks burn red, and your heart hammers in your chest.
You didn’t get a chance to respond before you felt her roughly slide two fingers into your dripping hole, immediately curling and hitting your sweet spot. A satisfied grin formed on Wanda's face as she watched your head fall back in pleasure.
Unable to wait any longer She dropped her head and replaced her fingers with her tongue, moaning at the taste of you. You glanced down and felt your pussy clench at the erotic sight of Wanda stuffed between your legs.
She opened her mouth wide and immersed her tongue as deep as it could go. Swirling and twisting in all the right places. It had been so long, Too long since she had gotten to taste her girl, the urgency and desperation became evident when she started lapping at you like a ravenous creature.
A sharp hiss escaped your lips as the metal points of her crown pressed into the tender flesh of your thighs. You instinctively squirmed and writhed in an attempt to escape the painful sensation
She only tightened her hold on your thighs keeping them secured to her shoulders “Stay still," she commanded, her voice dripping with desire. "I'm not done yet.”
Your response was reduced to a mere whimper as an overwhelming sensation engulfed you. All of your nerves felt like they were on fire. You couldn't even form a coherent sentence. It all felt too good.
You felt your orgasm build embarrassingly fast, the tight coil in your stomach winding even tighter. It had been an eternity since someone had touched you this expertly—no one living up to the lofty standards Wanda had set.
Her tongue dipped into you and then dragged along your slit until it reached your clit, where she relentlessley started sucking on the hardened bud. Your moans echoed throughout the room As you began to mindlessly grind up into her mouth.
Every roll of your hips sent the sharp material of the crown deeper into your skin. Your mind began to feel fuzzy as it fell into a haze of overwhelming pleasure. Wanda was drunk off the sight of you right now. Fucked-out and completely at her mercy. Her chin was coated in your slick as she shamelessly devoured you.
Her eyes were glued onto your body, taking in the sight of your head thrown back in pleasure, your limbs squirming under her, watching you struggle to fight of your orgasm only encouraged her to go faster.
She pressed her face further into your core. A crimson streak of blood trickled down your thighs and onto her crown. Mingling with your arousal.
“Cum for me baby,” she commanded with a throaty groan, her fingers digging into your thighs. “show me that you’re mine”
You let out a loud moan and your hands flew to the sides of her head, Tangling into the mess of frayed red hair, Wanda's own moans harmonized with vibrations coursing through you, heightening the intensity of your orgasm.
Your hips slowed their pace as the waves of pleasure subsided, leaving your body pulsating with the aftermath of your climax. Breathing heavily, you propped yourself up on your elbows, your eyes fixated on Wanda who was undeniably captivated by the streams of blood tracing their way down your thigh.
A sinister smirk curved your lips as you taunted “You twisted bitch, you love it when I bleed for you”
Wanda responded with a chilling expression. Without breaking eye contact, She re-wrapped her arm around you. Her fingers possessively digging into your skin. She dragged her tongue over the cut, savoring the metallic taste
Your eyes fluttered shut, The gentle warmth of Wanda's tongue soothed the irritated burn, providing a small measure of comfort. As she rose from between your legs her hand found your throat, gripping it with a firm hold that demanded your attention.
Your eyes reluctantly reopened to meet Wanda's intense gaze. Her lips captured yours in a demanding kiss, and the lingering taste of blood mixed with your arousal coated your taste buds. It was a heady mixture that left you feeling undeniably dirty yet strangely exhilarated.
“You belong to me,” she whispered against your lips, her hand still wrapped around your throat. “You are mine to touch, to pleasure, to mark. Don't you ever forget that.”
You smiled and bit your lip, amused by her sudden possessiveness. Using her magic, she removed the rest of her clothes and waved her hand in front of her hips until a long scarlet dildo attached to a black harness reappeared.
You bit into your lip harder as recognition washed over you. It was your favorite toy, the one that allowed Wanda to intimately feel every inch of your throbbing pussy. You felt yourself clench, Anticipation coursing through your veins.
Still hovering over you, She held the base of the strap and dragged the tip along your slit a low groan emitting from both of your mouths at the contact. You began to grow impatient, arching yourself up as you watched her tease herself.
She finally pushed herself into you, and an unrestrained moan escaped her parted lips as she savored the exquisite sensation of your snug, velvety walls enveloping her. She stilled herself for a moment, allowing you to gradually adjust to the fullness.
“I missed your pussy so much” she groaned out, coming down to press her chest against yours as her hips began to rock into you. The toy curves up and and slides against your insides in the most perfect way, she’s nearly halfway in and you clamp down on her.
“Fuck, you're squeezing me so good.” Wanda leans closer to you, inhaling your scent as one of her hands grips your thigh. She pulls the toy out until just the tip remains inside before roughly snaping her hips forward. You loudly moaned into her ear, digging your nails into her back.
“Harder” you whined, wrapping your legs around her waist and pressing your heels into her back, edging her in deeper. “Please, wanda”
She grinned and started pounding into you harder. Pushing her cock in as deep as it could go. “I knew you were still my slut.”
You could only respond with a breathless call of her name. She further pushes your body into the mattress making you feel even smaller as her strap rams into your pussy. you grip onto her tighter and your moans float all throughout the room, they bounce around the walls and come slamming back into your own ears.
“Yeah, you like being called what you are? Because you're my slut. Mine” Her movements are becoming erratic. The mattress squeaks under you and your headboard slams into the wall with every forceful thrust of her hips. “im never letting you slip away again.”
Your hands claw deep red streaks across her back that move with every flex of her muscles. Her hand grip your ass, grinding you onto her cock as her thrusts begin to lose their rhythem.
She thrusts at an angle that has you seeing white light. Your whole body shook as your orgasm crashed over you. Every nerve was sent into overdrive, no feeling could ever compare to this. Being under Wanda, your limbs tightly bound to her as you fell apart on her cock. It all felt so right
“Fuck, oh fuck, You're gonna make me cum” she grunted, shoving her face into your neck. As she chased her high, tortured with the need to release into your wet heat “Gonna fill this pussy up so good-Fuck!”
Her hips roll into you until she is fully submerged in your pussy. Loud moans and whines fill your ears as you feel thick ropes of her cum paint your insides, filling you to the brim until it splatters on the insides of your thighs. Her hips are still fucking into you and your cunt wraps around her cock pulling her in further.
After she rides out the last bits of her high, her body collapses onto you, pressing you into the mattress. You feel her shaky sighs against your neck, and her body slowly relaxes as you soothingly run your hands through her hair. Just when you think she might have fallen asleep, she abruptly leans up to look down at you.
“You're a fucking nightmare.” you breathlessly whisper
She responds by kissing your lips, her love and obsession intermingling in that stolen moment. You can't help but return the kiss with the same feverish fervor, wrapping your arms around her neck and arching into her.
This new side of you excited wanda to exhilarating heights. Even in the early stages of your relationship, you had always embraced your darker nature, and it was one of the things that had initially drawn her to you, but this newfound level of intensity made her pulse with excitement about your future together, the things you'd do together, the things you'd learn, all the things she would teach you.
You were just so perfect for her, you had always been, and In your bones, you knew you could never be without wanda, it was as if the two of you were eternally connected at your very core.
A smile stretched across your face as she gazed into your eyes. It was clear that your journey into the depths of darkness was far from over.
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babsisbakery · 10 days
Text
Running for your life
Alexia Putellas x fem!reader
For @greynatomy: happy belated birthday
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warning: angst, someone is following you at night time
It was night time. Darkness envelops you. The moon and stars trying to illuminate your way but failing miserably. Too many large trees, their branches letting through as little light as possible. Many broken street lights on your way. The path is barely lit. Shadows cast upon every direction. Every step ricochets in the narrow street. The paved sidewalk does not help the following noises. Hectic steps can be heard, people watching from their windows but not daring to interfere. The path is empty besides two silhouettes. A broad figure directly behind you. Their pace is not slowing down, keeping up with you. At least you’re thankful for the extra laps you have to run on a daily basis because the workout is coming in handy at the moment. Otherwise, you’re afraid, it would have been a futile attempt to escape. 
Adrenaline pumping through your veins at rapid speed. Your heart beat has never been so high. Just one small mishap and it's over. The person behind you would get what it wants and that's you. As you keep running you see a group of women, far from you. Should you or should you not flee to them. You would outnumber the person but wouldn't you put innocent ladies at risk. Put their lives on the line to save yours. To maybe endanger some strangers. You decide against it, you weren't sure if the said person had a weapon. Even a simple knife can cause severe damage. Those ladies don't seem fit enough, rather drunk, a bit shaky on their legs. As you've already decided on the other possible option it struck your mind. It would have been perfect. Run to the helpless women, letting the person pursue them and not you. You have plenty of energy to get away safely while they are preoccupied with its fresh victims. But it was too late. Your mind was set on preserving their lives and risking your own in the process. 
Like a lightning bolt it struck you. Your girlfriend Alexia is out with a couple of her friends from the club while you decided to head to Irene to see Mateo. Walking back home alone in the dark didn't seem that bad at the time. Well how wrong you only were. A stranger following you, is not how you imagined your night to end. You should have stayed over like Irene suggested but you came up with another clever idea to get yourself killed - or worse, ending your football career. It's normal for yourself to get yourself in danger or trouble. But this is on another level.
Remembering the club’s name as you try to speed up, reserving your energy says what, to outpace the bastard. As you are mapping out the streets in your head and frantically searching for signs which indicate where you were you hear a bang. You don't dare to look back too scared to stumble and possibly end up like most horror movie characters, dead. Through a traffic mirror you could hardly identify someone but with a bit of luck a local just turns on their porch lanterns which illuminate the darkness. The figure is in a good distance from you, providing a slight cushion for emergencies. For example not looking where you go and losing your balance. 
Finally you figure out which streets to pass to get to your destination, your girl. You’d need five minutes if you sprint, walking there would be much longer. It shocks you that you have run such a large distance already. Not sure how much of this pace you would be able to continue without struggle. Your breath seems a bit more ragged. Heart pumping faster. Some sweat collects on your forehead. The purse on your shoulder felt heavier than usual. 
Time flies by fast, the constant movement making you lose track of it. Not comprehending how close you actually are to the club, you look around. Nothing seems familiar, well you've only been here a few times but always focused on the conversations with your friends. Panic overcomes you, the energy left in you fading. Frantically you look around but your head isn't thinking straight. With no idea how close or far the stranger is you search for an entrance, a safe space. A place to protect you from cruelty. But that's a mistake on your part. You misstep or stumble or you run over your own feet, you don't register clearly but you’re aware of falling.
You feel your jeans ripping. Your hands cushion your fall the best they can. Ripping your palms open in the process. But there is plenty of adrenaline coursing through your veins for you not to feel any pain. Blood pours out of your head soon after it hits the ground. The only thing you register with your blurry vision is the mysterious coming closer. There is an empty attempt to scream by you. Nothing comes out of your mouth, it doesn't even move, it stays closed. 
What you don't notice is that a door, a few metres from your current location, opens as you fall. It's your girlfriend with a couple of your shared teammates. They don't know it's you. Your back facing them. Still they run to the “stranger” in need. They are always helping those who they can help. Alexia doesn't miss the dark figure running towards you. She steps in front of the person she assumes is an unknown person. Blocking the way for your chaser. “Is there a problem mis-.” tries to ask your girlfriend. Before she can end her question her attention is demanded by Patri, who turns her abruptly around. She faces you, her face losing any colour it has.
In her position now stand Mapi and Lucy. Like two bodyguards, protecting their friend. Alexia falls to her knees. Seeing you so fragile breaks her heart. Noone would want to see their significant other in such a terrible state. Ingrid is on the phone summoning an ambulance. The flowing blood is concerning, your injury could be worse than what reaches the eye. Your girlfriend is cradling your head, muttering things in Spanish, incoherent to you. Even if she was talking louder you wouldn't have heard her. Your head is safely tucked into her lap. Her pants are now covered in red. You are in a trance. Mind foggy, vision still blurry. Consciousness is slipping from the tip of your fingers. The last thing you see before your eyes shut is the stranger passing something to Mapi. Something you recognise. 
When you awake, you're in an unfamiliar environment. Alone in a white room. Machines beeping, wires attached to your arm and bandages cover your hands. Normally people would panic but you don't, staying level headed. You’ve been in plenty of those rooms to add things together. Lying in a hospital. The light is too bright for you. A concussion for sure. At this moment Alexia walks in, looking rather shallow. As if a trail of sadness is following her. But as she sees you awake, the usual spark in her eyes returns. Relieve washing over her face. She’s instantly by your side, grabbing your hand into her own. Kissing your bandages head. Until now you weren't aware of that. Slowly your free hand moves to touch your head. Lots of covered area.
The midfielder presses a button, calling a nurse. The medical staff checks on you. A fast recovery is promised. Nothing to worry about. Except your mental state. Alexia tells you what had happened while you were out of it. Explaining in detail what the stranger wanted. To give you back something that had slipped from you while you were rummaging through your purse. But it seemed that the said person was being cryptic and soon vanished after your teammates bombarded them with their own doubts of the sketchy situation. They also told Mapi and Lucy that they tried to call out to you. Maybe they really did but you don't recall such a thing. Something your mind could have pushed away, a lost memory. It raises a lot of questions in your mind.
Since this incident you've never been the same, always cautious about your surroundings but even though it ended well you can't shake the feeling off that it could have been different. If you hadn't reached your teammates you wouldn't have seen another day. Of course that's only speculation even if the said stranger apologised and expressed their motive, it didn't sit right with you. The only person you expressed your thoughts about this was Alexia. She had your back and was there for you. Nightmares were plaguing your nights, your girlfriend right beside you consoling you when you burst into tears and reassuring you. With time those went away as well, contently lying in Alexia’s safe arms, sleeping peacefully. Your trauma is healing slowly. Still you’re not sure if you dare to go out alone in the dark again. Maybe with some therapy you will but for now you take one day at a time. But you know you’ve grown closer with your person. You're thankful she stood by you. Not leaving your side even if it got difficult. It made you certain she is the one. You knew before but some issues kept you from truly believing it. It was time to take the next step in your relationship. Life is too short to waste it, you've come to realise. This event changed you, it's something you don't wish on anyone, it still had a few positive outcomes. A fresh perspective on life. A life with Alexia.
All together it made you appreciate the people around you more. Stronger bonds not only with family but with friends. They showed up for you when you were in need, not even knowing it was you. That's the people you can count on no matter what.
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flordeamatista · 5 months
Text
THE MAGICIAN
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pairing: mafia!lloyd hansen x reader x mafia!nick fowler
concept:  Ecstasy and intense burn fuse together like mirrors falling from the sky.
word count: 2k
warnings: mirror sex + chase kink + double penetration (vaginal and anal), soft dubcon to be safe, mature themes,unprotected sex, nickname ──(Princess, Sunshine) (flashing gif ── glitching gif)
lovely beta: @writing-for-marvel & @lunarbuck
THE WITCHING HOUR ──── KINKTOBER'23
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masterlist
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A gentle breeze of cold, wet air won't make your fears disappear.
Rain continued to pour down, the icy drops searing your skin as you stepped into the abandoned carnival. Gunfire and lightning lit up the sky, a vivid warning that he lurked around every corner.
Your stomach twisted with terror as you pushed open the carnival gates. Your face was soaked in raindrops, and you felt fear rising from your bones. The cold air reminded you that you were alone and fighting for every moment.
With a charcoal sky in the background, the fairground rides spun and creaked, their colors competing with the smoke from gunshots echoing among them. The thrill rides became a roar of chaos as everyone screamed in response to each gunshot.
In the darkness above, fluffy clouds were tinted black, interrupted only by flickering flames that licked up like tongues of fire, illuminating the whole scene in an eerie carnival glow.
A thick, chaotic energy descended over the scene, overwhelming the sense of tension and stillness. It was clear that his anger had reached a boiling point. 
It was all your fault.
His face was contorted in rage as he surveyed his domain, stomping around and smashing anything that dared cross his path.
During his shooting spree, your name was shouted.
Two paths lay before you - one led to safety through the House of Mirrors, and the other led to certain death.
The faint red light shining from ahead made your stomach churn with fear. Darkness filled the air with dread and suffering. While explosions echoed in the distance, you remained indecisive.
Tightly clenching your hands, you took a deep breath before reluctantly stepping forward.
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Stepping through the entrance, you removed your jacket. Your senses were overwhelmed by his words running through your mind. Reflections gleamed off the walls as if you were trapped in a time warp. There was a shakiness in your breathing. A wall of mirrors reflected each other in an endless regression of images.
Suddenly, your nose was filled with the unmistakable aromas of a man before his rough hands snatched your waist and pulled you back towards his chest.  
You fell to your knees. His rough hand covered your mouth while he pulled his gun from its holster at his waistband, keeping it cool against your neck. Moving your body left, you tried to squirm away from his gun. When his hands reached your shoulders, he squeezed them and pushed you back down.
“Shhh… Sunshine. What are you doing here?” The gun barrel pressed into your throat as he straddled you, crushing you beneath his full weight. Whistling escaped his lips, but when he took the gun away from your neck, only emptiness followed. His eyes were on your rear end as he groped away from your neck and down to give you a squeeze. “I'm here to help us." He pushed himself off you and offered you his hand, forcing you to look at him directly through his crystal blue eyes. 
Your tears streamed down your face, and you squeezed your eyelids shut. It was exhausting running from him, maybe this was all you had left.
However, you would meet his enemy, and you didn’t not know whether that would be a victory or a defeat.
"Us?” you spat out. It was clear to you who was holding you down, and you also knew that he didn’t play by the rules.
“Yes, Sunshine, because you have things I want from you. And you need me desperately."
Through your lashes, you saw his eyes scan over your body as he wound his gun from your lips to your breasts.
The voice of this man is familiar to you, one who is labeled as a narcissistic sociopath and who is incapable of empathy for anyone except himself. Your plans were at the center of his fucked up plan for you.
Glistening demonic blue eyes just gave you a hint at what he wanted.
“Leave me alone, Lloyd! You're no better than him," you shouted. 
The darkening of his eyes and the calloused grip of his hands told you just how angry he was. Then he ran his fingers delicately along your blouse’s lacing until they rested on your breasts. 
Pulling you close, he tied your arms behind your body. He held you tight in place as you gasped in shock and stepped back. Lloyd pulled his gun from his back pocket as he leaned forward to kiss you. His grip was firm as his lips pressed against yours, and you could feel his tenacious body bear down on you, making you shiver. In fear, you struggled to loosen his grip, but he only tightened it more. 
"That's fine," he growled with a mocking smirk. "We can do it that way too." 
Your wrists were bound behind your back, the rope digging into your skin. Lloyd had spun you around and pushed you up against the cold mirror glass. You could feel every muscle in his body as he pressed against yours. He made every inch of himself felt, from his thick cock to the smirk on his lips. It was an out-of-body experience, being touched all over by someone else's hands while they did it for their own pleasure. 
Taking out a handkerchief from his pocket, Lloyd moved it towards your face and filled your nostrils with a pungent smell. Once you were feeling lightheaded from the dizzying scent, he whispered, "I've got you, Sunshine," into your ear before sweeping you up and carrying you into the depths of the house of mirrors.
The air was filled with gloomy lust.
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You sat on a chair in nothing but your underwear. The walls of the room were lined with mirrors containing an image of yourself so you could see every angle of how you ended up here.
The man behind it all was Mafia King, Lloyd Hansen; he seemed to have total control over any situation at all times, even when he was losing.
Lloyd placed his hand on your shoulder as he leaned down.
“I know what you want," you said in a soft voice, "but I'm not going to give it to you no matter how hard you try." 
Slowly, his hand maneuvered down the front of your underwear to gently touch your clit.
"You like this, don't you? I heard you had him under your spell, so let me have a taste, Sunshine."
You refused to break, spitting on him as he smiled unbothered by your defiance. 
"My cock will surely break you, Sunshine. But the worst punishment will be sharing you with him since you decided to cross into neutral territory," he said sinisterly.
On cue, Nick Fowler appeared in the frame of the mirror, clapping as if watching a play. "Ah," Lloyd murmured, "he's here."
“Hello, Princess. Looks like you got yourself into an even bigger mess with two mafia men.” 
Taking Lloyd's knife from his back pocket and untying the rope, Nick walked alongside the chair and forced you to stand up. He grabbed your throat firmly and locked his piercing blue gaze on you. 
Slowly, Lloyd's hands rubbed the inside of your thighs while pushing them further apart. He weighed your response as he smirked at you.
The only thing you could do was whine and try to keep your eyes open.
A buzz of anticipation filled your body.
"Shh, Princess," whispered Nick. "Take a look in the mirror. See what he is doing to you."
The smirk on Lloyd’s face appeared as he placed his two fingers on either side of your swelling lips. You don’t tell him to stop. 
Sensual and delicate to the touch.
Nick's fingertips gently massaged each of your breasts, savouring the softness and firmness. When he heard you moaning, he gently squeezed your nipples until they hardened between his forefinger and thumb.
Slowly, Lloyd inserted a finger inside you, followed by another, causing your hips to rock forward. 
For them, finding the information they needed took only seconds. You, on the other hand, enjoyed them taking their sweet time devouring every part of your body.
"Fuck, you're soaking wet, and we've only just begun." Fear gripped you as your head was clouded in fog. You could feel Lloyd's rough hands against your neck. You could feel your pussy becoming wet just by the simple touch.
Your nose was filled with the scent of sweat and whiskey. Lloyd smoothed his other hand over your spine as if it were a stream of water flowing down it.
“Remember, Princess, we are on neutral territory and that means you have to deal with both of us.” Nick’s voice was firm but distant as it echoed off the mirrors. 
Nick’s warm breath tickled your neck as he slowly eased himself inside you, inch by inch. His moans of pleasure filled the room as you were engulfed by his hard, thick cock. Every time Nick thrust into you, he took you to new levels of pleasure.
You felt Lloyd's chest pressing against your back as Nick moved faster and faster, increasing in intensity until you finally screamed out in pleasure. 
“Let me fuck this ass. Maybe she’ll tell us with two dicks in her holes." Lloyd began blowing air on your back while he moaned about what he wanted to do with you as Nick thrust in and out. "Let's get you warmed up"
That's how this is gonna feel, baby, so strong that it'll make you alive. 
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“Open her up for me, Nick” 
Nick's hands glided down your body, cupping either side of your ass. His fingers pried apart your cheeks. Gentle but assertive pressure let you know he was readying you for Lloyd. 
Lloyd's eyes smiled into yours as his tip tested the waters. You felt a slight burn as he inched inside your tightness. “Kitten, oh, Kitten,” he murmured, coaxing you along. 
Nick pulled away slightly and demanded that you look at him. He captured your gaze with his own, and the intensity in the double mirror reflection was almost too much to take in.
The sensation of being filled by both men triggered moans and gasps to erupt from deep within you. 
“Look at you taking us in,” Lloyd said reassuringly as his hand moved back and forth on your spine. He delivered a sharp slap to your ass, sending shivers racing through your body. 
His lips left a trail of heat down your neck, teasingly stroking the sensitive area that instantly made your body hum. One hand rubbed circles around your clit while the other teased and tugged at it. You sank further into their embrace as both men pressed deeper into you, and the sensations swirled through your body. Their groans and cries pushed against your body's walls until finally, they reached an explosive release.
You clenched around the two dangerous men, and they spilled their cum in you as they fought over pleasure and pain.
 Ecstasy and intense burn fuse together like mirrors falling from the sky.
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aquadenks · 5 months
Text
nothing will get in the way of us
Ghost!Bakugou x f!Reader
summary: when reader explores an abandoned, notoriously “haunted” house with her friends, she crosses the veil to relive the memory of a once-murdered woman cursed to be stuck in her last night with her obsessed lover forever
wc: 3.5k
cw: fem!reader, reader called sweet cheeks and baby, dubcon, noncon, obsessive lover bakugou, yandere themes, the house has more spirits than just bakugou, creepy vibes, he can touch you but you can’t touch him, ghost physics are iffy idk, blood, knifeplay, stabbing, murder, ghost sex, fingering, PiV, he cums inside, unprotected, halloween fic — unedited, nsfw, MDNI
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Go explore the abandoned house, they said. It would be fun, they said.
It didn’t feel so fun anymore. Your friends had vanished, the candles over the fireplace were lit, and, most unsettling of all, everything looked… correct. As it ought to have been before the years had worn away at the wallpaper, dust and cobwebs covering every surface and corner. It looked lived in again, which was very much not how it looked when you first came through here, before you split off from your friends to explore separate rooms upstairs.
“Guys? Hello? This isn’t funny!”
Thunder cracked outside, and you slowly made your way over to the window, glass unbroken, to see the rain hitting against the pane, sky brooding over the world in a menacing, moody, inky black. Not a star broke its blanket of darkness; not even a pinprick of light penetrated its rule.
The only light came from inside the room, the candles flickering, the chandelier over the stairwell dim, casting nasty, foreboding shadows around the living room. Then, in one erratic flash, the room was lit from the outside, blindingly white, with lightning.
A floorboard creaks, and you flinch, spinning to scour the room, the darkened doorway, the empty stairwell. A seemingly resounding nothing. You waited with baited breath, not daring to let it shudder out of you nor dare you blink, lest someone reveal themselves to you.
“Guys?”
Even your voice leaves your side, running away into all the crevices of the house, down the hallway, hiding in bedrooms and closets and drawers, pressing itself flush to the wall so it can’t be found under the blanket of weird, bending, flickering shadows.
No answer, but there’s another creak, and this time you realise it’s coming from the ceiling, and your heart squeezes at the notion that there could be someone creeping above you. Your friends were just here not long ago, and aside from the freakish way the house has transformed, restored itself, you couldn’t comprehend that it could have ever possibly swallowed them up, too.
Unless it hadn’t. Perhaps it had only swallowed you, whole and alive.
And yet you were frozen in fear, legs like lead, unable to leave your post at the window, hands braced behind you on the windowsill, straining to hear another echo of that dreadful creaking.
A chill ran up your arm from the gap in the window, barely visible to the naked eye, particularly in that lighting, but if you stared intently at the curtains, you could see a mild sway. You slid from the window, moving towards the fireplace, back pressed against the wall. Inch by inch, you slide across the room, trying to stay in the light, scared of what might lurk in the dark, where you eyes couldn’t make out shapes and outlines.
The air felt alive, like a choir singing, all the groaning and rattling of the weather and the old house harmonised.
Among those sounds, while you were making an attempt to convince yourself there was nothing there but you, and if you left you’d be free, or at least outside of this cursed, giggling, haunted place, there was a whispering. It came on the breeze, tickled the hair on your arm, static making the hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention.
“There you are.” The voices whispered. “There you are.”
“Who’s there?” You shrunk into the corner, frantic eyes checking the room, then the path to the front door, then searched the room again.
“There you are.” You could have sworn you heard your name whispered in your ear as you flinched.
You were hearing things. You had to be. There was no way this was real, no way there was a disembodied voice speaking to you, identifying you, watching you—with what eyes?
Another rumble of thunder disguised those shuffling footsteps dragging on the floorboards overhead, and another flash of lightning lit up the room in misery—only in that light did you see, for the briefest of moments, the wreck of abandonment you’d first walked into earlier that night, before it was masked again. The pale wallpaper, the print still fresh, and stairwell brandished with varnished wooden railing, it all taunted you.
“Light.” The voices said. “Light a flame.”
You stared at the flickering fire melting away the candle, wax pooling and running down the sides of the tall white stems.
In the chill catching at your skin, the candles fluttered but didn’t get cast out, even when the breeze felt strong enough, and ominous enough, to throw you into total darkness. Carefully, close and measured, you blow at one and watch it die out, the orange glow fading from the wick as smoke clouded from the candle.
As you watched the wisps of grey, a scream echoed from upstairs. Familiar.
Before you had the sense to think through your actions, you snatched a candle from the mantlepiece to light the way and ran up to follow the source of the sound, hand brushing the smooth banister, the stairs not groaning as they had the first time you encountered them, recognising the scream of fright as one of your friends, but as soon as you crossed the doorway of the room, empty and dark, the door slammed behind you.
You yelped, trying the door but finding it locked. The candle you held in a tight grip went out of its own accord, plunging you into darkness.
Your heart pounded, quickening with every horror this night presented.
This room, this bedroom, was filled with a stifling presence that had your haunches raised.
“What are you so afraid of?”
No one. No one, not anywhere you could see, and yet he—whoever he was—was right there next to you. You could feel it. His large palm settled on your shoulder, and the weight of it was so real, but when you tried to shrug it off, it was immovable, unreal, an invisible touch.
Your scream was caught in your throat, candle dropped to the floor in your fright. You were frozen once again, heart jackrabbiting inside your chest as that touch fell away, one finger tracing down the length of your spine.
“Where’re ya goin’? I thought you were waitin’ for me? Thought you wanted me.”
It was like his breath was at your ear, and you shuddered, eliciting a sadistic chuckle of amusement from the ghost.
“I don’t believe in ghosts, I don’t believe in ghosts, I don’t believe—” you muttered, squeezing your eyes shut and willing yourself to move, to try the door again even if it was no use. Hell, even screaming might have done something to save you if your friends could hear it.
He didn’t seem to hear you, or if he did, he ignored what you had to say, tutting lowly as he walked his fingers back up your spine slowly, one by one, until he reached your neck.
“I ain’t gonna hurt ya. Not entirely.”
His hand closed around your neck, firm enough to demand your obedience, but not squeezing down to restrict your breath.
“Let me go!” Attempting to grab at his hand proved useless, clawing at your own throat and making no progress at fighting your way out of his hold.
You could feel him surrounding you, invisible but heavy in presence, stepping forward to press his chest against your back.
“Shh,” his breath at the nape of your neck has you shivering. “Quit tryin’ t’ leave. Y’don’t wanna go out there yet.”
“Why not? Where are my friends?”
“Tch. You know what I’ve done, so stop complainin’ already!” His other hand wrapped to grab at your waist, palm splayed against your tummy, pinning you to him and keeping you from being able to squirm. You tried to stomp on his foot, but there was nothing you could get a hit on despite his inexplicable ability to restrain you. “Oi, listen to me, will ya?”
“No! Get off me!”
Fear and frustration that you couldn’t even grab at his clothes or scratch his skin warred for control, making you both desperate and determined to get free. You had certainly had enough of this house. It was supposed to be abandoned, not haunted. It was supposed to be fun, to see who could stay the longest in the house before getting creeped out, you and your friends daring each other to sleep on the floor of the sitting room, not whatever this separation was.
But feeling that way didn’t help you escape. In his hold, in whatever realm, whatever curse this house put upon you, you were trapped.
You’re dragged away from the door, and your breath hitched in your throat.
“I said, listen. Yer Dad never liked me. Couldn’t leave with ya without dealin’ with him first, said so yourself.”
He pushed you down on the bed, a puff of dust from beneath you surrounding you, breaking whatever illusion the house had masked itself with. Dust you had seen in the house, layered on the furniture, when you had explored with your friends earlier in the night. Even so, this mystery was beyond you to figure out. How could you tell what was going on—it was Halloween, and these supernatural events were past your understanding.
If you got out of this alive, surely no one would even believe you.
You searched the space in front of you, coughing on the dust tickling your nose, and there, just vaguely, you saw the outline of somebody in the moonlight coming in through the crack in the curtains, drawn almost completely closed.
The palest of blues.
It wasn’t enough to make out his stature or his face, but you were definitely not alone. There was no explanation to how this was possible, and you were too dazed trying to put together what he was saying into some narrative you could make sense of to think or make some ghostly theory.
You never had been much of a believer in those ghost hunters and their bullshit programmes, or of the paranormal in any capacity.
“Now, c’mon, give me some reward for gettin’ him outta yer hair.”
The bed dipped on one side of you, then the other, as he knelt above your hips, and you lost sight of that hint of blue that gave you the chance of tracking his position and his movements.
You watched, entranced, as your top was pushed up under your breasts. You knew it was him, but it looked as if it moved itself. Then you felt something cold, something you knew wasn’t any part of him.
He drew the pointed tip of the item down your centre, stopping at your bellybutton where he tapped it against your stomach. Pat, pat, pat.
“Don’t look so afraid. I ain’t gonna hurt ya. You know that.”
You lifted your head to look down, expecting to see nothing, but there was a trail of red where he had touched.
“Shut up, you know what I did. There ain’t no knockin’ him out and thinkin’ he’ll just leave us alone. I had to kill him.”
You touched the dark, tacky liquid, the trail smearing where your fingers swiped through it—thick, red, blood from the knife he had traced your body with, but it wasn’t yours. Whoever he thought he was talking to, he had killed for. Her father.
“Besides, now we can have our fun here in peace. You can scream as loud as you wanna, ain’t no one coming to interrupt us.”
You felt the moment the knife in his hands made contact again, hooking underneath the fabric of your top and sliding flat between your breasts, invisible blade cutting through the fibres of it and, giving way to let your breasts spill out for him to see.
“Now, stop talking, sweet cheeks. S’not like you were gonna come back t’ see him once we leave anyway.”
You couldn’t move your arms to cover yourself, and you watched as more of the blood smeared on the swell of your breasts, marking you up, breaking whatever barrier held him apart from you—or, you apart from him. The longer you were around him, playing out this moment between him and whatever lover he had, the less you were able to have your own inhibitions, like you were under his influence.
You cared about whoever he killed, but you didn’t even know the man. You didn’t fight him. You were scared, but you almost felt a sense of trust that he wouldn’t hurt you, too.
Or, maybe, you were under her influence. The soul of the woman he came for, the woman you were replacing here in this bed.
He undressed you slowly, down to your panties which he pulled aside, thick fingers spreading you open. Along the inside of your thigh, you felt the blade trace upwards and angle just right, then he let out a low whistle.
“Look at that pretty pussy.” He must have used the reflection of the blade to look at you. “Wet for me already. I think you like this, bein’ covered in blood. Having me wrapped ‘round yer finger, ready to kill for ya.”
You wanted to see him and know what kind of man he was. You wanted to know how this night came to be, but you could only lay there and experience some part of it, maybe see how it ended.
You wondered, was he handsome? Was he tall and strong and imposing, or was he sweet and tender before this night that twisted his mind? Was he the sort of man that was always capable of murder, or was it a crime born of passion and of love?
“You always do get the wettest when we shouldn’t be messin’ around like this, don’t ya? Hm?” He roughly grabbed at your face, squeezing your cheeks so hard your lips pouted. “Actin’ like you’re so perfect, cryin’, but I know you like it, ‘cause you’ve got me protecting you. No one’s gonna catch us. You like when I tell you that shit, don’t ya? No one’s gonna catch us tonight, either. We ain’t getting in trouble, we’ll be long gone before they find yer old man.”
He kept talking, kept you staring up at the ceiling—at him—while his other hand pressed the sharp tip of the knife into your hip, just enough to draw a pinprick of blood to the surface.
You hissed and tried to shift away from the pain, but he pressed into you, forcing your head deeper into the sheets with his hold on your face, his weight pinning you to where you laid under his control.
“Gimme a kiss already, sweet cheeks. One kiss, then we can go. I’ll cover yer eyes and everything. You ain’t gotta see nothin’ out there.”
Words that weren’t yours flitted across your mind, distantly begging to be spoken, but you got stuck at one. Just one, mouthing the shape of it silently as you listened to him, felt the ghost of his kiss take from your lips surprisingly softly. Because he did love her.
“Katsu… ki.”
“Yeah? You need me?”
His callous fingers searched your folds until he found what he was looking for and dipped his two middle fingers inside you, sinking in all the way to the knuckle and curling against your walls.
He’d dropped the knife somewhere on the bed, you couldn’t tell where, but it didn’t seem to matter to you. Though it was able to mark your skin and make you bleed, it wasn’t in his hands anymore now that he was more interested in kissing on you in ways that men in your life hadn’t seemed to before that you could remember. You couldn’t remember much of anything like this, with him, thoughts not your own and memories so hazy you couldn’t even recall why you were so scared to come to him in the first place.
“Needed this? Needed your pussy played with to calm you down?”
“Mhm.” You found yourself moaning into the kiss, heat burning in your flesh to think of what you might look like if your friends found you now, kissing air, but you didn’t care as much as you should have. As long as he kept kissing you like that, and touching you like he did.
You were putty.
And he had you in the palm of his hands.
“You never change, baby. S’why I love you so fucking much.”
“Fuck me,” you found yourself begging, and you couldn’t tell if it was you or her, but you didn’t care. You wanted him to fuck you, the desire pulsing through you with every heartbeat, the thought filling your brain with every breath of him you took. “Fuck me, Katsuki.”
It’s exactly what he wanted to hear, moving to give you just what you asked for, pulling out his cock and grinding into your sex, slicking himself up with your wetness and spitting onto his hand for extra lube. The schlick of him pumping his cock filled the quiet of the room, your shallow breathing as you caught your breath the only other sound until he sunk into you.
“Fuck, baby.” He groaned, grabbing at your hips as he thrust deeper.
Your hands itched to touch him back, to feel his size. He had to be a big guy, the way he could manhandle you, the weight of him, the stretch of his cock. He was overwhelming on all of your senses.
And he knew exactly how to fuck you right, heavy cock wedged up against your walls and curved so deliciously, hitting your g-spot with each thrust like he was carving out a space inside you just for himself to return to whenever he wanted.
Because you were his girl, and he was taking you with him wherever he was headed.
Hands explored your body, palming your breasts and smearing the blood all over your chest, rubbing it into your nipples and his hands, making wherever his hands touched visible. Leaving you with handprints as he stroked down your waist, shifting your hips to fuck you deeper, wrapping your legs around his waist, turning your face so he could suck and sink his teeth into the side of your neck, marking you up with bruises and indentations of his incisors.
It pinched when he nipped at you, huffing into your neck, balls slapping your ass, but you ignored it, too busy chasing the sensations of him playing with your nipples, clit throbbing to be touched as he drove his hips into yours, grinding into your sex before drawing back again.
You squeezed onto the form of him between your thighs, solid and almost real. The closest you could get to feeling him yourself, and you clung to it. Clung to the realness of that moment, of him being with you, cursing and grunting about how good you felt.
“Katsuki… ‘m gonna cum.”
“Yeah, cream my cock, baby. Wanna feel you cum for me.”
His weight lifted off of you, grabbing your hips and thrusting into you with a new pace, keeping you on that precipice longer, not giving you time to keep up as he pounded into you, hitting that spot again and again until your vision blurred. You shuddered, weakly holding onto the sheets either side of your head as you blindly rode out your orgasm, shutting your eyes as you focused solely on the pleasure bursting through your entire being.
“Ah, fuck!”
The sounds of his own climax had you clenching around him as he came inside you, strangely hot for a ghost.
“Fuck,” he repeated, and it wasn’t until you opened your eyes again that you realised why, his tone changed slightly. “Sweet cheeks. What the fuck?”
You were holding the knife, real as the resistance it was met with as you pushed it into his chest. Blood poured from the wound, soaking his clothes, running down his body onto yours—real. It stained him, like the blood he wiped on you, the blood that he smeared on your body, the blood that revealed just where his hands were now, raised at his sides, disbelieving that his sweet cheeks would stab him.
Him, of all people.
You could see him, painted in the red of his own blood. His hands dipped into it, soaked in it, and though you still couldn’t see his face, you had quickly learned to decipher his temperament from his infliction alone.
“Baby, I did it for you. For us.” He was upset. In shock. His red hands clamped over yours, staining you more, forcing you to pull out the knife stabbing into him.
You saw the blood run along his abs, hinting down at the cock that was buried in your heat.
He wrestled against your hold as you attempted to fight him, but even hurt, he was stronger than you. You couldn’t atop him from turning the blade down and plunging into your own stomach.
Panting and weakened, he slumped over you, weight keeping you impaled. “Told ya, baby, we go together.”
365 notes · View notes
fir3ylolol · 5 months
Text
lighting in a bottle pt. 2
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pairing: Raiden x Reader
tw: vaginal sex, vaginal penetration, fingering, first time, romantic, praise, making out, afab reader, gn reader, smut, sweet smut
a/n: raiden is actually so fun 2 write i love himmmm. also, i still need 200 follower special ideas, hand them overrr. 2nd part to @redsrioters request
word count: 2.41 k
pt. 1
Ao3
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Raiden was nothing if not persistent, showing up after every shift to walk you home. Sometimes he even brought Kung Lao along, who would bug you for Madam Bo’s leftovers while you were trying to clean. But it was sweet, how much he cared. So you had no trouble in continuing to go out on dates with him. First was stargazing on the way home from work. Then it was grabbing a dessert to share. Then going to the night market, going to the theater, and even being brought to a training session. Seeing lightning course through your almost-boyfriend was…interesting to say the least. Something you wanted to see again though. It isn’t until two weeks after your first date that you have a fully free day. And Raiden isn’t going to waste it, showing up at your door at 11 a.m. with a light knock.
You see him through the front window, a large basket in one hand and an equally big bag in the other. You can’t help but giggle a little, rushing to finish getting ready. You swing open the door, leaning forward to peck him on the lips. He barely has time to process it before you pull away, shutting the door. He’s got a wide smile on his face, eyes locked on you as he steps back slightly. “You ready?” He asks as you two start walking away from the village. “I wouldn’t be walking with you if I wasn’t ready,” you joke, face scrunching up slightly with sarcasm. He laughs, shoulders shaking slightly, as he manages to say, “You got me there! But I mean ‘Are you ready to spend a good day with yours truly?’ I got up early to get the food ready.” You look at him, eyebrow raised but a wide smile on your face. “How much did you pack?” He looks down at the basket, before looking up sheepishly. “Probably way too much. But I didn’t want to make something you didn’t want to eat.” You lace your arm around his, pulling him close, “How very kind of you.” He smiles widely, eyes crinkling up in the corners. He turns slightly, leading you down a beaten path that slowly angles downward. You watch as the path slowly becomes more overgrown, trees starting to grow thick above your head. You can hear a gentle trickle growing louder until you reach a rocky stream. 
There’s a large rock right at the bank, smooth and warm, soothing to the touch. Raiden spreads the blanket in his arm out on the rock, smoothing the corners down before sitting down, and starting to pull the food out to rearrange it. He pulls out container after container, warm condensation visible inside. Fragrant spices overwhelm your senses and you sit down beside him, eyes darting across everything. “Wow…this may rival Madam Bo’s cooking.” He looks up, nervously waving his hands, “Oh, don’t say that. She’s going to find out you said it and lose your job.” You scoff slightly, shuffling closer, “She can’t fire me. I’m one of the only people in the village she can stand to be around for a while.” He laughs quietly, before grabbing a bite of sauteed vegetables and holding them up to your lips. You take a bite, chewing slowly, muffled moan you savour the flavor. “Wow, you’re a really good chef. This is so good!” His smile grows again, moving to grab more for you. You put a hand up slightly, confused at his actions, “You know you don’t have to feed me, right?” He pauses slightly but continues moving again. “I know. But I made it, and I like feeding you. The way you react is cute.” Well, now you can’t resist, gladly accepting the delicious food. You look around while eating, observing how pretty it is here, and peaceful. “How did you find this place?” You break the silence once again. His eyes light up slightly as he recounts his story, “Well when we were little, Kung Lao and I were always trying to escape work and training. So we would try to find secret places, places we could play without being bothered. This was my favorite one. I was very sad when we were finally caught. But I still come here from time to time, just to clear my mind.” You smile gently at him, the thoughtful side of him is always your favorite. Suddenly, he stands, rolling his pants up to his knees and taking off his shoes. “What are you doing?” you question, leaning forward to see him better. He rushes towards the edge of the water, pausing to look over his shoulder and shouting, “Enjoying the water! You should join me!” He walks in, splashing slightly as he goes further in. You stand up, pulling your clothes out of the way to climb in, now bare feet slipping against the wet rocks below. You can’t help but giggle, the cool water and large stones slightly ticklish against your sun-warmed skin. Raiden is by your side again, arm around your waist to support you as he laughs as well. You smack his arm lightly, “Laughing at my struggles, are you?” He pulls you closer, eyes crinkling in happiness, “No, I’m laughing with you. A distinct difference.” You stare at him a few more seconds, before leaning in closer, capturing his lips in a kiss. You feel his fingers dig into your skin more, as his soft lips press against yours with passion. You’re so lost in him that you forget where you’re standing, your foot slipping against the ground. You end up pulling him in after you, a loud splash echoing through the quiet area. You sit up, gasping and soaking wet. Raiden is pushing himself up, looking towards you through his eyebrows. But it only lasts a second before he’s hysterically laughing, nearly falling back in. You lean forward to shove him slightly, which only makes him laugh more. It’s infectious, both of you laughing like madmen, sopping wet.
You both manage to walk back, clothes heavy but laughter light. It’s almost too short, as you reach your door quickly. Turning to look at him, rosy cheeks and hair still dripping, you feel something come over you, an urge, a desire begging to be given in to. You lean against the door, pausing to think before speaking again, “You know, it’s getting late. And I don’t want you getting sick because you had to go all the way home sopping wet. So…want to come in? It can just be for a bit, to dry off.” You try to cover your tracks, not wanting to push him. But his smile falters slightly as if he’s struggling to decide. You move to open the door, rambling on to cover your tracks, “You don’t have to, you know. I’m good with anything, I just figured I should offer.” You feel his hand on your shoulder, as his voice comes as almost a whisper, “I’d love to, thank you.” You feel all the nervous energy in your body dissipate, unlocking the door and ushering him in. “Please, make yourself at home. I’ll start a fire to dry us.” As you move to fill the fireplace, he puts his basket down, observing your house in awe. “I like your decorations. It’s very…you.” He says, smiling over at you from the other side of the room. You light the fire, tending to it to make sure the wood catches. He sits next to you, watching you with the same awe as before. Finally, the fire’s blazing, and you sit back next to him. He quickly wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. You can feel his body heat, warm still under the damp clothes.
He takes his free hand and cups your face, turning you to look at him. As the firelight bounces off his eyes, you melt into his touch, meeting his gaze with the same intensity. He whispers, barely audible, “You look so lovely like this, so beautiful.” He leans in, pressing his lips against you in a slow but passionate embrace. You wrap your arms around his neck, your body turning to face him more. His hand stays on your face, his other hand traveling to your waist, and he leans back to pull you into him more. It’s like he can’t handle any space between you two, lips dancing against yours slowly. He breaks away, taking a deep breath, eyes darting across your body needily. You manage to whisper out, “You know, you could probably get warmer without those wet clothes on.” His fingers tense against you, as he breathes out, “Yeah, care to help?” You move quickly, trying to peel his clothes off as he helps, only stopping when his top is off. You’re distracted by the sight in front of you, gorgeous tanned skin, with well-defined muscles and a shine from the water still on him. He chuckles lightly, lifting your chin so your eyes meet his, “Distracted much?” You turn your head away, laughing lightly, but they’re cut off, as you feel his calloused fingers through your wet clothes. He’s tugging it off, and you’re finally free from the increasingly uncomfortable clothes. It’s his turn to stare, cheeks flushing more at the sight. You lean in, meeting his eyes. “Hey…you don’t have a lot of experience with this kind of stuff, do you?” He rubs the back of his neck, looking down slightly, “That obvious, huh? I’ve just always been too busy with training and work to date.” You kiss his lips quickly, before resting your forehead against his. “Don’t worry, love. We can take it slow.” He’s tugging your pants off now, as he smiles up at you, “I’m not worried. I just can’t wait to see more of you.”
You’re kneeling in front of him, his eyes traveling across you, almost overwhelmed. You move forward, straddling his lap as he’s sat, slightly leaning back. One hand braces against the ground as the other gently traces down your hip. He looks up, breathing shaky, as he speaks out, “Can I…” hand traveling lower, in between your thighs. You nod, peppering his cheek with kisses. His shaking fingers drift over you, fingers brushing against your clit. You gasp slightly, as he stares down, pupils already blown out. Cautiously, his middle finger dips inside you, and you see his eyebrows knit as he sighs out shakily. He curls it upward, and his eyes dart up to meet yours. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. He moans lightly into the kiss, finger speeding up slightly as your lips do. As you deepen the kiss, you can feel him growing more restless beneath you, trying to hold himself back. But you’re getting tired of waiting too, and you break the kiss again, panting as you try to catch your breath. His heavy breathing is moving you too, eyes half-lidded as he looks at you. You whisper out, voice barely audible, "I’m ready.”
His eyes grow wide again, and before you realize it, you’re on your back below him. He shuffles out of his pants, and you can practically see his heart pounding out of his chest. He pushes your legs apart with his knees, hands resting next to your head. He pauses, looking down into your eyes as he asks, “Are you sure? It’s not like I don’t believe you, I just…I want you to be sure.” Nodding, you wrap your arms around his neck and smile, whispering gently, “I’m sure, love.” Carefully, he lines himself up with you, and you feel him slowly push inside you with a hiss. He’s gentle, allowing you time to adjust. You feel his arms trembling as his face is scrunched up in concentration, trying his hardest to remain in control of himself. He rests his hips against yours as he’s fully inside, head hung down as he lets out light whines. You lift your head, kissing his lips softly as you tangle your fingers in his long hair, no longer tied up. He eagerly leans into your lips, hips starting to roll into yours. His movements are unsteady, unsure of himself, but as he watches you writhe beneath him, he grows more confident. Each sound, each moan and whine from your lips egg him on further. He can’t help but whine himself, eyes locked onto yours as he fucks into you. But it’s not a look of pure lust, it’s a look of care and tenderness, of heartfelt feelings. And he can’t hold it back anymore, shifting lower so his whole body presses into you to speak into your ear shakily, “You’re like a painting, everything about you is perfect. You’re so kind and funny, and I can’t believe I could have missed out on all of this.” He swallows hard, thrusts becoming more erratic again, as he continues to rasp to you, “You are so stunning, I’ve always thought so. I saw you and it all just clicked, everything I wanted and needed in my life. I saw it in one second.” His head is resting against the floor now, next to your head as you cling to him, gentle moans as you bounce under him. All he can get out is “I adore you,” before he cums. He tenses, body curling over yours as he whimpers out quietly, only loud enough for you to hear. He stays there on top of you, arms shaking slightly as he comes down. 
Finally, he’s able to climb off you, laying to your right. You take a minute to look at the fire, the flame is much smaller now. But it’s still warm and cozy, especially when you feel two strong arms wrap around you, pulling you close to him. As you settle into his hold, you can’t help but think about everything he said, even if it was very hard to understand at parts. Hesitating, you finally ask, “Did you mean it? Everything you said? Or were you not thinking clearly?” He chuckles in your ear as whispers back, “Of course I meant it. I’m no liar. But it was good enough to not think clearly.” You scoff jokingly, but cuddle back into his grasp again, before speaking again, “Want to lay in my bed instead of the floor?” All you get in response is an even quieter, “Please.”
201 notes · View notes
ellephlox · 5 months
Text
Lights Out
Summary: You’re touring a haunted house with Matt, and the entire building loses power when a thunderstorm arrives. On the bright side, you’ve got Matt to lead you out (when he’s not taking advantage of your inability to see). 
Pairing: Matt x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Creepy haunted house imagery, swears
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The sign for local attractions on the highway was battered and scratched, bearing the words HAUNTED HOUSE — EXIT 64. Rain pounded on the windshield as you drove; it was a long seven hours from the weekend holiday you’d taken with Matt back to Hell’s Kitchen, and you were only halfway done the drive. There was obviously no way for Matt to switch off with you, so instead he kept pushing for rest stops so that you could stretch your legs from the driving, despite your assurance to him that it was okay. 
You pulled into a parking spot outside the attraction, mud and dirt grinding under the tires. Once the key was out of the ignition, the silence of the engine was eerily fitting for the view of the haunted mansion in front of you, especially with the pounding of the rain on the roof. 
“Wow,” you said, peering up at it. “This thing’s actually pretty big. It looks Gothic — there’s a rounded tower-like part on the left, with bay windows, I think. In the center where the roof is highest, it’s pointy and there’s a weathervane with a skull on top. The outside is painted a really ugly purple. Oh, and the decorations are awesome. They look genuine, too; gravestones, a body sticking out of the chimney, blood splattered all over the front porch. Ha. There’s even a hearse parked next to us.”
“Scary or corny, overall?”
“It looks pretty good. I’d say it’s scary but you’re here with me,” you said, grabbing his hand. “Ready?”
You paid at the ticket booth and then entered the mansion. Only once you were safely inside, far from any of the workers, did Matt drop his hand from your arm. “There’s no one else here,” he said. “Just you and me.”
You nodded at a skeleton sitting at a piano. “And Mr. Bones right there.”
Matt tilted his head. “There’s a motion sensor ahead. Probably there’s going to be a jump scare.”
“Well, it’s not a jump scare anymore,” you said, rolling your eyes. “How much of this can you sense, anyway?”
“It’s... kind of a confusing influx of sensory details. Different machines behind the walls for all the animatronics and music, weird smells coming from everything, and I can feel the shifts in air pressure when something’s moving. It’s all kind of a... bonfire of input.”
Sure enough, a vampire sprung out of a coffin moments later, and even with Matt’s warning you still flinched, heart skipping a beat when it shrieked at you. The layout of the mansion was narrow and winding; different hallways took you through a variety of different rooms and scares. Some of the sights were admittedly scary; an animatronic girl with stringy hair and an axe came flying out of the shadows, and even the floorboards and doors beside you would buckle unexpectedly as you passed by them. To your delight, one of the picture frames turned to life and even caught Matt off guard — you felt him stir slightly beside you. The path through the mansion took you up two flights of stairs, all the way to the top floor of the house. 
“It’s a kitchen!” you said, admiring the decorations. “With — ew. Blood coming out of the faucet. And fingers baking in the oven.”
But Matt had his head tilted slightly towards the window. “Lightning’s about to strike,” he said suddenly, and true to his word, a massive flash lit up the entire room only a second later. The clap of thunder that followed was nearly simultaneous with the lightning, and rattled the mansion so hard that the window shook. 
And that was when the mansion lost power. Everything, all at once, fell silent as though it had been muted, and you were plunged from shadowy, dim lighting into absolute pitch blackness. 
“Matt?” you said uncertainly, reaching out for him and only finding empty space. The thought of all the things around you — amusing only moments ago — suddenly made your heart spike. 
“Right here.” Matt grabbed your hand and squeezed it. “Any light coming in at all?”
You waved your hand in front of your eyes. “Nothing. It’s like a black hole in here. And of course we left our phones in the car,” you grumbled, shifting closer to Matt. “A flashlight would be nice.”
“No light is coming in through the window?”
“Only when there’s lightning. And I don’t think there are many windows in this labyrinth.” Gingerly you stepped forward. “This is... not fun.”
“I’m personally very offended by how opposed you are to being visually impaired.”
You frowned. “You make fun of my bad hearing all the time — which, by the way, is not bad hearing, it’s simply normal-person hearing.”
“I think it’s bad hearing.”
“We’re allowed to make fun of each other’s senses,” you continued. “That’s the most important tenet of dating someone.”
“Oh, really? Then I’m free to tell you that you’ve got absolutely terrible common sense?”
“Ha, ha. You’re so clever,” you deadpanned. “Are we out of the creepy kitchen yet?"
“Yeah.” Matt nudged you to the right. “This way.”
“Are we close to the exit?”
“No. It’s probably another ten minute walk, at the very least.”
“Lovely. Why doesn’t this place have a generator?”
“It should. This could be a huge liability. If someone got hurt and decided to sue, the owners could easily get in trouble.”
“Only someone who had to endure the trauma of a bar exam would think about liabilities when the power goes out,” you said appreciatively. “So... we’ve got two flights of stairs to go down?”
“Three. The exit’s in the basement,” Matt said. “Watch out. There’s fake cobwebs ahead of us.”
You were glad for the warning, because the revolting sensation of gossamer threads brushing against your face would have otherwise been disturbing. Lightning flashed again, illuminating the hallway, and for a moment you were face-to-face with a ghastly clown that was grinning beside you. You yelped, nearly falling backwards into Matt. Adrenaline soared through you, and you couldn’t help but squint through the darkness in an attempt to make sure the clown wasn’t moving. It was to no avail — when the lightning was gone, so was any visibility.
“Take a deep breath,” Matt said, nudging you with his shoulder. “Your heart’s going a hundred miles an hour.”
“There’s a clown, Matt.”
“And he’s made of rubber, wood, and plastic.”
Lightning flashed again, and you winced at the clown’s companion, a bloody jester gloating on your left. “Are the haunted house workers coming in to help?”
“No. There’s only one worker, and based on the way her heart jumped with the power going out, I highly doubt she’s going to walk alone into a haunted mansion with all the lights off. Careful, the hallway twists a bit right here.” Matt gently guided you to the left. You went forward reluctantly, feeling that you were about to walk into something at any second despite your trust in Matt. “And there are two steps down right here.”
“Right where?” you asked, slowing to a halt.
“Right here, in front of us.”
Anxiously you edged your toe forward, feeling for the drop of the step. “This is incredibly creepy.”
“I’ll tell you when to step. Just keep going, and step downward when I say.” Matt tugged you forward, and you resisted, moving as carefully as possible until you were down the steps. 
“I don’t like this,” you informed him. “Because I know for a fact that there are probably zombies or vampires or something in here.”
“Dolls, actually.”
“Oh, God. Are you serious?”
Matt laughed. “At least, I think they’re dolls. Ceramic faces, stringy hair, small size.” He took your hand and guided it in front of you. “Here. Want to feel one?”
“No!” 
“There are lots of dolls in here. And it feels... dark. Wait.” Matt’s hand suddenly held yours more tightly.
“Well, I could’ve told you it’s dark in here.”
“No. I mean... a different type of dark.” Matt was silent, and you imagined he was cocking his head. 
“What is it?” you asked, squinting around as though it would suddenly help you to see the surroundings. 
“Something’s moving,” he whispered. “One of the dolls.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“I mean a doll is moving,” he repeated. “Wait here—”
And then he pulled his hand away from yours, lost in the blackness of the house.
“Shit!” you yelped, hugging yourself. “Matt! Don’t leave me here!”
There was a small crash to your left, and then footsteps, slow and creaking, from behind you. Holy shit holy shit fuck fuck fuck fuckkkkk—
“Matt!” you shrieked. “Come back!”
And then, you felt something behind you, and the warm exhale of someone breathing near your ear. “Boo,” Matt said, in a low voice, and you automatically swung around so quickly with your fist that you would have socked him in the face, had he not caught your wrist first. 
“Shit – sorry, I didn’t mean to almost punch you—” You stopped yourself, mid-apology. “What the hell, Matt? You’re awful! How could you do that to me?”
To your indignation, he actually chuckled, sounding so damn pleased with himself that you would’ve marched away and continued on your own if you could actually see. “You know, I think that’s the fastest I’ve ever heard your heart go.”
“Yeah, because you almost gave me a heart attack.”
“I’m sorry.” Matt wrapped an arm around you as he continued steering you forward. “But you must have known that this was coming, sweetheart.”
“Um, no, I didn’t think I had it ‘coming’ because I thought I could trust my boyfriend to lead me out of a freaking pitch-black haunted mansion without trying to prank me like a five-year-old—”
“I couldn’t resist.”
“You couldn’t resist. Oh, well, that justifies it,” you grumbled, pushing at him again. “How much longer until we’re out of here?”
“Stairs to the first floor are right in front of us. Then we’re almost to the basement.” Matt dropped one of his hands so that it was on your lower back. “Your eyes haven’t adjusted at all?”
“I think the clouds are too thick for any moonlight to come through. And, of course, the lightning now decides to not flash at all.” You wished you could simply sense your surroundings like Matt could. “You’re amazing.”
“Weren’t you just saying I was awful?”
“No, really. I mean, the fact that you’re able to do all that you do, considering you can’t see; and me, the second I can’t see, I’m completely useless. It just makes me admire so much more the way that—”
“Stairs,” Matt warned. “Thirteen steps.”
“Thanks. But it just makes me admire so much more the way you... honed your senses, I guess. I mean, how many girls can brag that their blind boyfriend easily led them out of a haunted house with the navigation skills of someone with night-vision goggles?”
“It’s easier than you’d think.” Matt stopped suddenly, his fingers lightly raising to brush your upper arm and spin you so that your back was pressed into his chest. “Listen.”
You obeyed, falling as quiet as possible. Even this close to Matt, though, you couldn’t hear his heartbeat. “Matt, I’m not going to magically have your ability to hear well—”
“You don’t need my level of hearing,” Matt said. “Sometimes you just need to listen more closely. Hear that whistling?”
You focused. It was faint, but audible. “Yeah.”
“What’s that coming from?”
“Sounds like the wind coming through a vent.” Realization dawned on you. “Which means that there’s a wall in front of us.”
“Exactly. And did you hear that scuffle above us?”
“Yeah, that thump?” You hadn’t even paid attention to it until now. “It was probably that worker, right? Which means... we’re in the back lefthand corner of the house.”
“See? Easier than it seems,” Matt said, leaning in and kissing your temple. “You’re a natural, sweetheart.”
You smiled, feeling heat rise up your neck. “That’s really nice of you, but I know what you’re up to. You feel guilty for scaring me earlier and now you’re trying to make up for it with flattery.”
“Floor gets squishy right here,” Matt said suddenly, and you were glad for the warning as the wooden floorboards beneath your feet unexpectedly transitioned to foam. “They really went all-out with this haunted house.”
“Too bad we’re missing most of it. And... Matt, I love you for guiding me, but can we please slow down?” you said, leaning backwards to reduce the speed Matt was leading you at. “I feel like I’m about to walk into a wall.”
“Sorry.” Matt slowed his pace. “We’re almost out. You know, I’ll miss this a bit.”
“What, me being temporarily blind?”
“Yeah. Because you can’t see things like this coming.”
“Things like what—?”
But then Matt’s lips were on yours, passionate and hard, as he pressed you backwards into what was presumably a normal wall and hopefully not an upright coffin or anything gory. You made a small sound of surprise and kissed him back, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. Matt’s left hand cupped the back of your head, and his right groped underneath your shirt on your lower back; goosebumps ran up and down your arms.
And then, without warning, the lights flooded on, machines and animatronics beside you whirring to life. You jumped, heart skipping at the massive demon leering on the ceiling above you. Painted flames danced on the walls and a horned mannequin, eyes blinking and head rotating back and forth, grinned at you deviously. “Oh, God. We’re in Hell, I think.”
“We are? I wasn’t really paying attention.” Matt leaned in and kissed you one more time. “Your body was just a bit distracting.”
“Okay. New idea, Matt,” you said, staring at the fiery devil as it continued to sneer at you. “I see a really, really, really amazing photo opportunity. If the attendant lets me, I’m going to run and get my phone from the car quickly, then I’ll be back.”
“You’re going to abandon a blind man in a haunted mansion? How will I ever know where to go if you’re not allowed back inside to guide me?”
You laughed. “I’ll convince her to let me back in.”
And that was how, a week later, you happily received a photo print in the mail: Matt standing beside an animatronic devil, pointing at it with his thumb and smiling widely.
A/N: This is based off of a really neat haunted mansion that I visited on Prince Edward Island awhile back. Happy almost Halloween, everyone!
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red-pill-blue-pill · 7 months
Text
As friends.
Pairing: Joel Miller x Miller
Summary: Joel is your friend, he just happens to be really handsome
Warnings: mild spice towards the end ??? just in case, fluff, friends to lovers (just so y'all know I'm a sucker for that shit)
a/n: I wanted to write a little blurb but it got outta hand. This is is my first time writing for the Joel Miller and i'm nervous (I love this character so much) so please be kind 💖
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His living room was dimly lit by one of the lamps next to the couch. Something played in the background, blues you think. He had found a record player a couple of weeks ago while he was patrolling with Tommy. He had even come across some records in perfect condition, tucked inside a tattered wardrobe. He was such a lucky fucker. 
When he came back, he showed them off to you while saying something along the lines of “‘f you wanna listen to them you gotta come to mine, sweetheart” flashing you one of his now familiar cocky smiles, as if he needed to convince you to spend time with him.
Your stomach still churns at the nickname and you chastise yourself every time, for letting your mind even dare to go down that path when it’s Joel the one you’re talking about, for even thinking about him that way. Joel, your fucking friend. It had to be the lack of romantic action in your life. It had been so long since you last were with someone that your brain had to be confused. No one in Jackson had caught your eye for the last couple of years, nor tried to make any advances to you, and who would have dared when you were next to Joel —mean scary Joel— every single day?
Still, you didn’t care, you spent most of your free time either with him or at his house, playing games with Ellie while he was on patrol or sipping on wine and talking about your day when he fixed you a nice dinner. Like right now, back at his living room, soft blues playing in the background and the soft orange light from his lamp rendering the room even cozier. 
You were sitting on his sofa, glass of wine in hand. Blues had never been your type of music, at least not until Joel showed you one of the records he found on patrol, an Eric Clapton one, a smile from ear to ear and an excited “Look what I’ve found, I reckon you gon’ love it.” 
But now, as you look at him sprawled on the couch, his head —his big ass, heavy head— resting on your legs with his eyes closed and humming softly to the song, you believe it may be your favorite. 
You sipped on your wine and carded your fingers softly through his hair, relishing in the feeling of his hair through your fingers. You looked down at him, his face was completely relaxed, the familiar pull of his frown nowhere to be seen. He looked so peaceful like this, his long lashes fanned over his cheeks and the light casted soft shadows over his face. He was so handsome.
“You are so handsome” your mouth spoke before your brain could catch up. His eyes opened, orbs completely dark thanks to the lightning, and he quirked a brow, clearly amused at your comment. You tried to recover quickly “And I’m just saying this the way a friend calls another friend cute, don’t get too excited.” You chuckled. 
Lies, lies, lies.
He scoffed, “Yeah, right.” he closed his eyes again, letting himself enjoy the feeling of your deft fingers through his hair. “Who you tryna fool, sweetheart? ‘m as old as time.”
You stretched your arm to place the wine glass on the coffee table, careful to not disturb Joel with the motion. This time, your now free hand went to trace the lines on his forehead so softly, a barely there touch. A shiver ran down his spine. It had been a long time since someone touched him with such care, as if he was some precious relic, only to be treated with care. 
“Hate that you can’t see what I see, Joel” your voice was soft, charged with love, but still stern. You hated when he was self deprecating, which unfortunately was very often. 
“And what is it you see?” he swallowed the lump in his throat. Why were his hands sweating all of a sudden?
Your fingers drifted to the lines around his eyes, tracing them with your fingertips. “For starters you’re rugged and strong and that’s just plain attractive. Besides, you think age kills beauty, but it’s quite the opposite.” His eyes opened once again and gazed up at you, something you couldn’t quite make out swirling in them. You continued, trying to ignore the heat of his stare “The lines in your face… they mean you’ve lived, you’re alive.” you are here with me
“What do you mean?” his voice was barely above a whisper, hoarse because of the sudden dryness that  had taken over his mouth. 
“This one right here” you smoothed out his semi-permanent frown with your thumb “tells me you’ve got very few friends.” 
“m‘kay, that’s rude.” he feigned hurt for a few seconds, then he saw your bright smile. That goddamned smile, the one he never got tired of seeing. And then he smiled too. A small and barely there grin. 
“Then the ones around your eyes”, your fingers skimmed over his crows feet,  “they tell me that you’ve laughed and smiled a lot, that despite this nightmare we’ve found ourselves in, you were happy once.”
Silent fell over the room, Eric Clapton sang in the background as Joel and you played at your personal staring contest, one charged with unspoken feelings. His eyes were wide in surprise, searching your face, looking for something you sure fucking hoped he found in the way your soft eyes looked back at him. Your fingers still threaded through his locks, not once having stopped since he laid his head on your legs. Everything felt intimate, maybe way too intimate for just a couple of good friends having some wine after dinner. 
A nervousness settled in your bones, the kind of feeling you get when you know something’s about to happen but you don’t know what. Your heartbeat picked up, it thumped wildly against your chest, your eardrums, all along your veins. Then you cleared your throat, unable to stand the silence any longer. “Anyway, as I said, you are handsome.” you let out an awkward breathy laugh. “I‘m telling you as a friend” you quickly added. Again. For good measurement, right?
He sat back up on the sofa, his body slightly twisted to face you. In the daze of the moment you had completely forgotten how broad he actually was, his knee pressing against your thigh. “As a friend…” he echoed back at you, a teasing smile spreading over his features. God, he was going to be the death of you. 
You reached back for your wine glass and nodded absentmindedly before taking a long gulp, not daring to look him in the eyes just yet. Suddenly, his hand cupped your face softly, fingers pressing lightly into your cheeks, encouraging you to look at him. His eyes were filled with tenderness and the kind of hope you have when love is still a possibility. His lips were mere inches from yours, his breath mingling with yours. 
“Would’ya mind if I kissed you, sweetheart?” his voice was low and syrupy and it ignited a different kind of desire in you, something you had never felt before, raw, primal. You inhaled sharply and before you were even able to answer he added “As friends, that is.” he chuckled, clearly proud of himself for teasing you, and you smiled fondly. 
“Ain’t that what really good friends do?” you laughed breathily.
“Oh, I reckon they do a whole lot more than that.” 
His lips pressed softly against yours, a softness you knew Joel was capable of but you had never experienced it yourself. Now, after getting a taste you didn't want to live without it. His hand moved to cup the back of your head, tangling with the hair at the nape of your neck, keeping you against his lips, deepening the kiss. Your hands found purchase on his shoulders, and thank god because suddenly Joel was grabbing your thighs and pulling you to straddle his lap. 
He took advantage of the gasp of surprise that left your lips and licked greedily into your mouth. His hands roamed your back, going down occasionally to squeeze your ass over your jeans, relishing in the whimpers he pulled from you. Your hips started moving on their own accord, rutting against Joel’s growing bulge, making a deep groan rumble on his chest.
You tugged on his hair to break the kiss and stared dreamily at him. His pupils were blown out, his half lidded eyes hazy with lust, his lips swollen and red from kissing and a light shade of red tinted his cheeks. He was positively fucked out. 
“You want this?” he asked while playing with the hem of your t-shirt, ducking his head once again to lick and kiss at your neck.
You could only muster a distracted “Hmh” as you kept rutting your hips against his. “As friends?” you asked between whimpers.
He pulled away to look at you, a hint amusement in his eyes as he took in the cocky grin you were sporting despite the lust filled gaze directed at him. His hands slipped past the waistband of your jeans, grabbing your panties from behind and pulling till the fabric rubbed against your clit. You couldn’t help the moan that escaped your lips.
“As friends” he answered before claiming your mouth once again.
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cambion-companion · 1 year
Note
can u do 7 from the prompt list?
Aw, of course Anon :)
Masterlist here
Aemond x reader | Kiss prompts
7. “I’ve missed you” kiss
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The heavy raindrops fell, soaking your through your heavy clothing to your skin. You had been waiting out in this weather almost an hour, eager to greet Aemond upon his arrival. You wanted to be the first thing he saw after coming home from over a year abroad.
Vhagar, being too large to keep in the Dragon Pit, had landed amongst the foothills outside King's Landing, her arrival shaking the earth under your boots.
You hurried forward as you saw a figure through the curtains of grey rain, his white hair just as soaked as the rest of him. A couple guards had already approached the prince, greeting him only to be waved off by an impatient hand. You hung back, not wanting to be recognized as the sole lady of noble birth braving a thunderstorm to welcome Aemond home. You pulled your hood closer to your face as they passed, not taking too much notice of your presence in their hurry to get to shelter.
A streak of lightning lit up the darkening sky, illuminating the man now mere paces before you. Aemond recognized you, and with a widening smile, strode to meet you as you slipped on the muddy earth toward him.
He opened his arms and you collided against him with a sharp exhalation upon impact. Aemond took your face, dripping rainwater, in his gloved hands. "Y/N, I didn't expect you to catch your death in this storm only to see me!"
"I couldn't wait a moment longer!" Both your voices were raised above the drumming rain.
Aemond shook his head, a fond smile upon his curved mouth. He brought his lips to yours in a heated kiss, despite the frigid downpour. An umbrella of warmth spread from your chest to your toes as you grabbed his coat at the waist and pulled him hard against you. Aemond broke away only slightly, turning his face to the sky, the raindrops splashing on his skin. "How I missed you, Y/N." He dipped his head to kiss you again. "How I craved you." He nibbled a path along your jaw and down your throat.
Your hands entered his open coat, ghosting your fingers along his torso and to his back. You arched your neck, granting Aemond's exploring mouth better access as he sucked a mark onto your shoulder. "Let's get you inside." He said as another lightning strike heralded booming thunder. "I need a bath." Aemond moved his lips to yours once more, savoring the taste of the rainwater on your tongue. "You will stay with me tonight, damn what gossip spreads. I'm going to show you exactly how much I missed you."
With a sudden lithe movement, Aemond swept you up into his arms and began carrying you back to the fortress and the promise of a long, warm night.
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Text
close to home | chapter two
close to home | chapter two
plot: the night takes a turn for the worse, Daryl is introduced and must decide to trust the reader, or to kill her.
series masterlist
Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x f!reader Word Count: 1,651 Warnings: violence, blood A/N: thanks for reading!
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Trying to sleep for the night was useless, though Tora’s soft snores comforted you. At least someone was sleeping. Sleep was far from you, your mind thinking off too much and your stomach aching for more food. You wouldn’t touch the jerky you found, at least not until morning. It would be a long seven-mile journey back. 
The thrift store was still dark, and the rain was still hitting it hard. The building shook every so often with thunder. But other than that, it was quiet. Still, you were antsy. There was an energy in the air as if something was going to happen, and you were just bidding your time until it did. 
A soft orange glow filled the room as you finished picking dirt out from underneath your nails with a butterfly knife. Your eyebrows furrowed together, and you looked around the room. For a second, you thought it was electricity, and people would come into the room chatting about their days, and you’d awaken from the nightmare. 
But that was silly. 
The bedding shuffled as you stood up, and Tora’s head perked up, eyes adjusting to the new light in the room. It was coming from outside. 
You grabbed your gun, switching off the safety and raising it to eye level as you approached the front doors. Rain was pouring down so heavily it would’ve been hard to see ten feet out the door, but the library on fire across the street lit up the street. 
“What the fuck-” You muttered. 
Movement across the street caught your eye, and you saw a few people running about. People. Not dead ones. 
You swallowed the sudden lump in your throat and watched for another moment. Who were they? You’d been to this town dozens of times and had never seen another one. And now, suddenly, there were a few of them, just a hundred feet away. 
You grabbed the door handle and started to push the door open; unknown words on your lips when movement from down the road again caught your attention. Only it wasn’t alive, people. It was the dead ones. Hundreds of them. 
“Holy shit.” You said, backing away from the door. “We have to go now,” You said to Tora, who had just nestled back to sleep. You grabbed your bag quickly, threw it over your shoulders, and then scooped the cat in your arms. She meowed in protest for a second but settled quickly in your arms as you ran out of the thrift store. 
The rain hit hard, and Tora growled softly. You whispered apologies under your breath and started to run. Puddles of water splashed undertow, and your boots were soaked through within seconds. The bag was impossibly heavy and was only getting heavier with the rain. 
Thunder clapped again, and you stopped to look back. You couldn’t see the people running around anymore, but the dead were still there, the fire was taking down the building, and your heart ached at all the lost literature. But regardless, it wasn’t time to worry about that. 
You picked up your pace again, dodging the dead ones left and right. The fire seemed to be bringing them all out of the woods. You couldn’t tell the difference between rain and tears on your checks. 
The wind was picking up, and the air was full of smoke. It was getting harder to breathe, and the running didn’t help. But you could just barely make out the tree line. You could get Tora up a tree, follow her up there, and wait out the night. It was dangerous with the lightning, but so was the ground. 
Long shadows of trees cascaded on the forest ground, and they started to fade as you put more and more distance between you and the fire. Tora was meowing loudly, but you held on tight, not daring to lose her in the chaos. 
The path took you down a hill, and you tried to pinpoint where you were so you could get back to the campground, and find your way back to the lake. The dead ones were hot on your trail, and you couldn’t believe how quickly they appeared. You’d only seen the two this morning; now, there were hundreds. 
As you turned a bend, you slammed into something hard and fell to the ground. Tora escaped your grasp, and you heard the mechanical clicking. Your wet hair stuck to your face as you grabbed your gun and turned, ready to aim at the dead one. 
But your eyes didn’t meet the unforgiving frozen stare of death and instead met the top of a crossbow. 
***
forty-four minutes earlier
Daryl took a deep breath and leaned against the wet side of the building. The entire run had gone to shit when they stumbled on a herd a mile back. Luckily, they stumbled on the small town, with plenty of ways to get the herd off their backs. 
“We need to do something!” Rick yelled over the pouring rain. “We need to find something to distract them.” 
“‘aight,” Daryl cursed, redrawing his crossbow. “The walkers got us all cornered up. Where the hell is Glenn and Maggie?”
“I think I saw them go down the alley. They know how to handle themselves. They have to. We got to distract them.”
“This thunder is makin’ 'em go crazy!” Daryl yelled, “They’re all just spinnin’ ‘round in circles tryin’ to find us. We need to get ‘em all grouped up so we can get the hell outta here.” 
Rick looked around, the rain washing away the blood on his face. “Okay. Okay. There are a couple cars up ahead. Looks like this place fell early. There’s gotta be some gas in those tanks. Let’s light a fire.” 
No more words were needed, and the two took off, quickly siphoning gas into their empty water bottles. Thunder clapped overhead, and Daryl looked around. They had put a good distance between themselves and the walkers, but he didn’t feel safe. They’d be on them soon if they didn’t hurry.
Rick led Daryl to the closet building and laughed as he realized what it was. “I’ll knock over a few rows of books and spread the gasoline out. We don’t have much.” 
Daryl worked quickly and silently to shake the gasoline out around the room. When he’d returned, a pile of broken furniture and books were covered in gasoline. 
“Let’s light it up. We’ll make a breakthrough in the woods to return to the car. That’s where Glenn and Maggie would try to get to. If not, they’ll get to the prison on foot.” Rick said. 
Daryl nodded before grabbing a book, lighting it on fire, and then tossing it into the pile. It caught immediately, and Daryl and Rick ran from the building and into the back alley. Dozens of walkers were spread out, and the sight of the growing fire started to catch their attention. 
The archer followed Rick silently through the alley, clothes soaked through and dripping with water. Sweat, dirt, and blood ran down his face, and he kept wiping it clean as he ran. 
“Shit, shit, shit!” Rick yelled. “Walkers!”
The street was covered in the undead. The fire bringing more of them out of the woods. Daryl glanced at Rick, and he nodded. It would be a fight. It was always a fight. 
But the walkers were coming in every direction, the thunder was so loud, and the rain so heavy that Daryl lost sight of RIck. His arms were coated in blood as he brought down body after body. And still, they kept coming. 
“Rick!” Daryl yelled, his voice drowned out in the rain. He huffed and turned the corner to a quieter street. In the distance, he saw someone running into the tree line. His eyes narrowed, and he dodged an impending walker. “Rick!” He called after him. 
Another half dozen walkers were down by the time Daryl reached the treeline. He glanced back at the town drowning in water and blood. He had to get to the car. Whoever survived would be in the car. They’d all be in the car. 
***
Your eyes narrowed at the person before you, and you clicked the trigger into place. You couldn’t catch your breath and knew there wasn’t time to. He would kill you, or the dead ones would. Your throat was dry despite the rain on your face and the drops sliding over your parted lips. 
“Where are my people?” The man asked, “Who are you?”
You stayed quiet, your eyes looking around. There were dead ones in the distance, and you could hear the moans over the rain. “I’m nobody,” You finally said, “I was in the thrift store, and I saw the fire and the dead ones. Figured it’s best to get out of there while I still could.” 
“How many people are with you?” He yelled. 
“It’s just me!” You yelled back, “It’s just me, asshole. And my cat, but you scared her off.” You glanced around again for the cat. 
“Huh?”
You dropped and swept your leg out in his second confusion, knocking him to the ground. The crossbow dropped, and you quickly kicked it away, raising your gun to the man’s forehead. He froze. 
You looked around quickly again; there were dozens of dead ones headed your way. You whistled that same three-note tune and heard rustling behind you. Your eyes didn’t leave the strangers. 
“There are dozens of them. Only two of us. We need each other if we want to see the sunrise tomorrow,” You shouted, thunder booming again. You dropped your gun and offered your other hand. “My name is (Y/N).”
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azulyrae · 10 months
Text
❛ —— 𝐈 : The Pawn.
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his life had been but a recurrent and miserable passing of time; plagued by the constant questioning regarding his value; the nagging behind the point of his meaningless existence and the place he occupied in the reality in which he was inserted. azriel had not lived; rather survived, doomed to loneliness despite the amount of friends he had made. one could not be overjoyed with such a fate; one could not see the point to insist on the stubbornness of life, if one could not share it with a partner.
after five centuries, azriel had felt the bond snap inside his heart; a dagger that tore the flash of the muscle; whose blade twisted and spilled his blood. for once, his agony was but self-inflicted; the pain, a consequence of the emotional absence of [name] archeron, his lightning bolt. azriel had been a lonesome wanderer, grasping to an abstract concept and companion that had finally found him mid-travel. and after quiet ponder and the insistence of his mate’s sisters, the shadowsinger decided to steal her from the tortuous path of self-sacrifice, and led the queen and king of their chess game to quite an experimental and potentially catastrophic game.
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the first chapter of onyx sword of sorrow.
check the original post to be aware of the trigger warnings.
azriel/fem!archeron sister. reader with mind control & the ability to shapeshift.
word-count: 10K.
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“I long for you; I who usually longs without longing, as though I am unconscious and absorbed in neutrality and apathy, really, utterly long for every bit of you.”
― Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena
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The leisure room’s stillness brought the male comfort. His thoughts, once a swirl of revolt, were reduced to mere pondering. The sound of his pacing, incessant during the first half-hour of his arrival, ceased with the time spent in silence. Azriel sat on his most favored elbow-chair: made of charcoal-colored leather; with enough width to accommodate his wings; the one further from the hearth; and had not left since then. The hollow pair of his eyes were fixed on the peeling brown-paint of the walls near the shelves — even if they did not perceive a thing.
When he had reached the familiar space of the House of Wind, Azriel scurried to the least frequented room and enclosed himself inside. By then, the sun held itself with pride in the middle of the day sky, burning and fierce, while a warm whiff entered sporadically through the opened doors of the balcony and the wind swayed the linen curtains. The Shadowsinger poured himself a generous amount of aged scotch with ice and proceeded to lose himself in mute and almost betrayed speculation.
The male didn’t need, nor did he ask, for the eventual reports of his shadows regarding the time passage. Azriel could deduce the lingering of his presence according to the light’s position. Although he had drowned the first dose of whiskey inside a luminous room, by the time his twentieth one doused his sore throat, the full-moon shone, its bright light a rival to the countless stars in Velaris’ night sky.
The House lit the hearth at least three hours prior, and Azriel commanded it to extinguish the flames. It wasn’t the first time, and the Spymaster doubted it’d be the last too, in which he wasted precious periods of his day staring into the meaningless and oppressive void; seconds and minutes and hours converging into a single unity until Azriel could no longer discern, nor notice, their passage. Pale and ethereal, the weak moonrays entered the ambient — that grew more frigid as dusk arrived — and the peeled pattern of the old tint could scarcely be seen in comparison to the daytime’s. But Azriel would’ve been able to point each furniture with precision, or move without hesitation, for he knew every centimeter that constituted the House of Wind’s extension. More than all, the Spymaster could’ve reached a particular point of the leisure room even if he was tied and blinded.
His sight burnt figurative holes in the untouched chess board, still secured inside the store’s package, despite the fact that it had been gifted to her months before, during the Winter Solstice. It rested under a pile of unwrapped presents, each thoroughly thought and given by a member of the Inner Circle. His High-Lady, Mor and Elain had spent weeks trying to convince her to join them for the Winter Solstice, their promises of amusing and private festivities not fazing her in the slightest. So, before their departure, Azriel had told Clotho to leave their gifts somewhere in the library where she would see them, for not a soul managed to learn where she had ventured to. When he returned and found the damned pile, Azriel felt a sudden wave of rage trespass his very being. Because the Spymaster lacked Cassian’s patience, such an offense was not ignored.
Azriel was left both enchanted and wary once his eyes fell upon her figure for the first time. Prythian was close to war against Hybern then, and they were in dire need of allies. In order to contact the Mortal Queens, Feyre had resorted to her sisters, and though she’d granted them an overview of their personalities and shared past, the female was particularly vague regarding the older one. The Spymaster was half-expecting fidgeting and condescending women, quite uninteresting and avoidant. However, she held none of those said characteristics.
With briefness, she had informed Feyre of the occurrences the sister had missed after her return to the Fae Lands. Their father sailed to where she theorized to be the farthest west, and with the man gone, her, the oldest — [Name] — was in charge of their coin, the employees, and their mansion’s maintenance. Feyre once confessed that was it not for one of her sister’s sacrifices, she would never have survived a single winter to wield a bow. The fact alone granted the said woman great respect amongst them all, though her identity was only confirmed when Azriel and his brothers faced that force of nature.
Feyre had advised — rather threatened them — to maintain a certain and specific distance. The three were given no further details, yet, were all glad to adhere to her orders. Still, with her clear avoidance regarding the topic and the deep sorrow in her eyes whenever she covered her older sister’s brief character, Azriel had managed, to a certain extent at least, to connect the pieces of the puzzle. And with what he presumed to be a precise knowledge, the Spymaster expected a strong, yet secluded woman; one who’d offer her home out of consideration for Feyre without engaging with their troubles any further.
How wrong he was.
When the soon-to-be High-Lady informed the three sisters of their need, Nesta’s discontentment came in brisk and sharp words, while Elain remained silent and, in fact, quite nervous over the prospect of a discussion. But all [Name] had asked her sister was whether she’d need anything more. As if offering Feyre her home was no bother; as if she was willing to offer her entire being, if it meant granting the youngest sister a solace of her own.
She led them to the private office upstairs, and Azriel absorbed the small glimpse of her ferocious spirit, overwhelmed by her scent and presence in every centimeter of the room. A shelf took over an entire wall; there were countless maps of the Mortal Lands plastered on a mural, most with colorful arrows traced with either red or blue paint, as if to showcase hot and warm currents; and an enormous table placed on the center, with pages whose scriptures varied from long, handwritten notes to numbers and formulas Azriel himself couldn’t understand, despite the five centuries he’d lived. The chessboard was the last thing he saw. It was placed in a corner, a melancholic sight to a male as himself, who adored the strategies and competition the game’s matches granted him. [Name] had no opponent; no friend she could invite to play against.
The Spymaster had then noticed the clear loneliness of the Archeron sisters. He could still remember Feyre’s haunted and paranoid figure, resorting to self-isolation for she was not taught to accept the offering hand of potential allies. The parallels were absurd as [Name] fished a silver-necklace from her dress’ collar, using the small key hanging from it to open one of the many drawers from the center table. And from the inside, the mortal pulled a detailed plant of the mansion’s entire extension. She was distant, her words were sharp and matter-of-fact. Yet, the older sister was analytical and prone to listen, quick to action and unafraid to voice her opinions. Despite their five centuries of experience, [Name] somehow managed to catch on to a concept or idea the brothers oversaw, and didn’t hesitate to point clear errors on their strategies, nor was she embarrassed to acknowledge possible improvements regarding her schemes. And once Azriel noticed the manner with which Feyre’s eyes shone with pride and admiration; how close they held one another when the female was to return to Velaris; he knew [Name] had, unbeknownst to her, passed some of her coping skills to the younger sister.
During the first reunion with the mortal queens, they were all left with a sour instinct and anticipation. Yet, [Name] was the single one immediately sure of their betrayal, as if, somehow, the female grasped onto aspects of their stances and personalities the others overlooked. It was her certainty that drove Rhysand to order Azriel to return regularly to the Archeron mansion until their next scheduled reunion. While his High-Lord was off to the Summer Court, the Spymaster was inside that same private office, studying more recent mansion-plants that [Name], somehow, convinced the architects to let her borrow, as Nesta watched them like a hawk with an untouched novel in her hands.
As expected, [Name] was indeed detached and blunt; disdainful, even, when annoyed. The surprise of it all, whatsoever, came with the fact that she was also hotheaded. [Name] seemed to him as a powerful fortress. Her words coated in sarcasm, voiced with little forethought or regret; her ruthless honesty and logic. She was not warm, nor was she raised to. Instead, [Name] was reliable. The tree that never bent; the castle built on a mountain rock, impenetrable and magnificent. One would not imagine that under such coldness hid a chaotic thunderstorm. A well-phrased insult and he could almost catch a glimpse of her lightning; an arrogant grin to prove her wrong and he could see a twitch in her plain features. Azriel, surprisingly, noted that he quite enjoyed the act of annoying the oldest and provoking a reaction. Even better, for his own personal and secretive satisfaction, the male also proved to be great at it. 
But once those banters were put aside, one would notice that [Name] wasn’t cruel nor prideful, and whenever Nesta grew tired of their technicalities, with Elain assuming the chaperone’s position instead, Azriel managed to strike less task-driven conversations.
He learned that [Name] first engaged in chess matches at the ripe age of seven, when, bored to no end, she saw their old mansion’s chief of cuisine play by himself. The man taught her well, and what he could not answer, she searched for in books. The mortal was dutiful to her studies, quick-witted and with keen observation skills that, combined to her well-chosen words, left every single one of her father’s late investors at her disposal, regardless of her young age. And when they weren’t lost in provocations and meaningless competitions related to who could come up with the most logical and efficient strategies to the possible outcomes of their encounter with the Mortal Queens, Azriel enjoyed sharing stories of Prythian with [Name], covering the continent’s territories, and listening to her theories. His favorite part of the whole interaction was noticing how the woman’s eyes would shine with anticipation, her imagination running wild at his words. He noticed then, her endless fierceness; how her core shook with thunder and catastrophe. There was more than the simple desire to learn more of the world; there was rage for what she would never see, resentment for her mortal limitations, and grief for the one she could’ve been.
Although he didn’t quite consider her a friend, Azriel wasn’t blind to their similarities either. The eldest of their respective families; the ones assigned to the ugliest, most dutiful aspects of their homes; the paranoid and distant personalities that granted both of them a fearsome first impression. He had no doubt she would’ve made whatever sacrifice, gone whichever length necessary, to free her sisters from related burdens. And — she had once said — if the trail ahead required her to taint her hands red, [Name] would comply, wash them after the process was done, and repeat the cycle for as long as it was needed.
Azriel had spent his almost half-six centuries of miserable existence yearning for a twin-flame; one that would be more pure and moral, empathetic and sweet, less prone to brutal logic and violence. The Spymaster once believed that if Morrigan, the female of pure altruism and resplendent strength, was to bless him with reciprocal love, she would purify the darkness within him; adore him until he learned to see himself through her perspective. Yet, during those comfortable conversations, Azriel couldn’t contradict the inherent truth of the fantastical feeling of being thoroughly understood. Although he remained sick and twisted, a vile creature built on hatred and violence and revenge, the male found that [Name], with her bottled rage and strength; her obstination to understand various concepts; to surround herself in theories and studies and schemes; to gather private informations from possible threats just in case; was a more comforting companion than a pure, immaculate female could ever be.
Azriel had no expectations, whatsoever, to match the mortal’s good heart. He caught a glimpse of her paperwork once, and noted that she was investing part of the re-gained family’s coin in business in less fortunate regions to increase the employment tax. Feyre had also told them that her sister learned not one, but three different languages in a decade, to communicate better with the foreign investors, and to aid the illegal immigrants that worked for their family at the seaport. And though it didn’t seem possible that [Name] could understand and match his struggles, during the quietest moments of dawn, Azriel liked to pretend otherwise.
Duties, however, were a constant call, and the Shadowsinger was assigned to spy on the Mortal Queens, rather than to return to the Archeron’s household. The bitterness on his tongue lingered through it all, both from the unforeseen difficult character of his mission, and from the sudden thought of Cassian visiting the mansion by himself. However, whatever infatuation Azriel labored for her, grew cold during the aftermath of Hybern’s mischievous plan.
[Name] was the first. She was chained, and struggled in her fight as the males threw her inside the Cauldron. The sight of her desperation was overbearing. He had wanted to slash those who held her in half; needed to protect her from the rising waters of her past. His sudden response to her screams was what granted him a week-worth of time spent on a sickbed, for the single movement to reach her had been enough for the poison to spread. Hybern was astute enough to catch on to the female’s importance to her sisters; he knew that, by destroying her fighting spirit, the other three would soon follow. However, the Cauldron expelled her after no more than half a minute, as if whatever happened between their brief encounter, whatever it saw in her, was too disturbing; vile; dangerous. It didn’t wait for Hybern’s soldiers to grab the borders and turn it, throwing the female on the ground in the process. 
No, the Cauldron moved on its own, the pitch-black water stinking of surprise and desperation when the artifice fell and the female arose, reborn. Hybern himself had been shocked and afraid. For the months that ensued, Azriel wondered if his poisoned mind had deceived his sight, for he had met the sister’s eyes then, and stared into the thin pupils of a dragon; he wondered whether the poison was to blame for the devastating tug on his heart, the brief light that sliced through the darkness of his core and shook his very being with its power.
However, when he next saw her, [Name] was a High-Fae — taller, her movements more fluid, and a stance that was both terrifying and compelling. Yet, it was the sheer strength and promise of violence that undid him. The eyes that met his own were determined and hostile, challenging and commanding, as if [Name] noted her enforced physique and decided not to hesitate if the time urged her to use them. She was desirable and breath-taking as a mortal, with hypnotizing complexions, too; a woman aware of her attributes and influence and unafraid to use them as she saw fit. But being a High-Fae made her more lethal, a fantastic and splendid female granted with the means necessary to pursue her goals, to back up the violence hidden under the sarcastic retorts.
Azriel’s knees nearly buckled. He wasted precious centuries pitying himself, for he had been assigned the burden of aggression. His hands were scarred and eternally tainted with blood, vile things that were the living proof of his fate. However, [Name] embraced the future the Mother drew; she’d be the serpent and the bite and the venom; she’d be the tortuous pain that preceded death. And if that meant protecting herself and those she cared for, the guilt would be non-existent. Nothing but twenty-five, and the female made peace with the demons that had been plaguing him for five centuries. 
She had a pile of books clutched against her chest, and maps that depicted what seemed to be the detailed territory of every Court and Faerie Realm of Prythian, rolled up and secured between her biceps and forearm. His shadows began to hum a soft and low ballad, dancing around their bodies. The Spymaster waited for [Name] to recoil, yet, she stared at the dark-tendrils of smoke with slight curiosity and the gleam of something else. Her eyes moved between his shadows, in a manner he learned to be those of her scheming. The hall in which the Spymaster stumbled upon [Name]’s renewed powerful figure seemed to diminish as he, enchanted, stepped closer. However, the curiosity that pooled in her eyes a second prior turned into hard-steel, a sense of despise and deception covering the grateful stare. Azriel noted the silver-blue color of the dragon’s eyes; the thin pupils of a violent storm retributing his entranced glance. His steps ceased; his shadows recoiled; and Azriel managed, a tad too late, to mask the hurt from his features.
The male wasn’t sure of what he had done wrong. Nevertheless, despite his initial surprise, and after a more attentive glance, he managed to find the hidden signs under the fearsome veil of those hard-expressions and astute irises. [Name] was in a disheveled state, with purple bags under the tired eyes and a mark between her eyebrows, of what he presumed to be left by constant worry. Azriel found himself wordless, sent into a foreign state of near-fidgeting. Ever since he’d left the burdens of a green-boy behind, Azriel had ceased to be nervous around females. He was desirable, confident, and managed to seduce them just fine, with no need for a repertoire filled with poems and romance quotes. But with [Name], it was as though the green-boy had returned, now laughing at his matured silence and nervousness. He yearned for the previous camaraderie, but had no clue of which phrases to use in order to reach it.
His hesitation wasn’t well-received. The female’s grip on her books grew tighter, and a sudden, powerful scent filled the air as she said: “If there’s nothing you wish to tell me, clear the way.”
He remained glued into place. Even if the Spymaster attempted to move left and grant her a free passage, his body had turned into nothing but a wayward bag of aching bones. For Azriel had words unsaid, his muscles were stiff and unnatural. He closed his fists in frustration, aware that his eyes were a pool of hatred. Not even his shadows ought to move, paralyzed in the scarce space between him and the female.
“You’re looking like crap,” he lied, for [Name] hadn’t demanded him to be true in his statement, only to speak up.
[Name] didn’t flinch nor showcased hurt, as if she’d found the real aspect of his thoughts somewhere within his cloaked expression. He wouldn’t confess his desire to hold what he presumed to be quite a heavy pile of books; to help her find whatever information she was searching for; to offer the distraction of a long and well-pondered chess match. Yet, her eyes flickered with acceptance and sorrow, the fate of a self-imposed loneliness one thought to be worthy of.
“I don’t need your help,” [Name] said. Grasping onto the late thoughts of lending an aiding hand seemed as though trying to capture water with a closed fist. Whenever the male found himself close enough to the instinctive wish to help, it slipped through his fingers as a volatile liquid. Despite his best efforts, Azriel caught himself fighting against the sudden lack of free-will, for, once again, nor his mind or body were his own. “You won’t offer to help me, either. I’m perfectly capable of managing on my own.”
“Of course you are,” he agreed in a haze, his words sounding slurred and disconnected.
The Spymaster hated himself for being susceptible to that treacherous manipulation; hated her for wielding it, too, and displaying all but a small remorse in the process of stealing his freedom. He connected the lines then; from the venomous scent of power to the abrupt fear of the Cauldron when it had expelled her. A hypnotizing voice, one that managed to control even his intangible companions. He wondered where the limitations of such power were placed, while fearing there were none. The previous concern related to whether or not he should propose to carry her books seemed small and meaningless in comparison to the inescapable authority he was trapped under. He, instead, began to fear for his entire Court, for there was nothing besides, perhaps, her sisters, capable of stopping [Name] from stealing Velaris from under their noses.
“I have no intentions to cause harm,” she said, waving his worries as though they were a nagging fruit-fly. Opposite from the female’s previous statements, this one didn’t feel as a demand of her part. The well-justified suspicions remained rooted in his mind, instead of slipping through his consciousness before he could even process the thought. 
However, what scared him the most was the fact that [Name]’s mental-powers surpassed those of a daemati. The Shadowsinger never once left his mind-barrier unattended; it had been a wall of revested, pitch-black steel, ever since he learned of the existence of those able to read his thoughts. He was sure they were intact, and yet, she slipped inside as if it meant nothing.
“Meaning you draw the line at generalized battles, but find it acceptable to read one’s mind without their verbal permission,” Azriel retorted. The male crossed his arms against his chest, the anger overpowering the modest shine that accompanied the beating of his heart. The Spymaster looked down on her, resorting to the glance he used to terrify his opponents and prisoners. He had noticed a tad too late that his stance mirrored his father’s, and both disgust and regret enclosed his once arrogant and spiteful stance.
But rather than recoiling, [Name] raised her chin, the eyes of the dragon returning with a barely-contained rage that matched his own. “I was thrown inside a Cauldron without granting them permission to do so; I was Made and kept hostage inside a Fae-house I’m not allowed to leave. My youngest sister is gone, and I wield powers that are directly connected to emotions I’ve spent my entire life repressing. I can’t control whose minds I can read. This place is cacophony of thoughts and fears, and I would’ve given the entirety of my lost riches to be mortal again; to not hear the suicidal and terrified intents of my sisters.”
Azriel felt a sense of shame creeping up his spine. Even if his anger of her commands for him to remain distant, and ignoring his every nerve rebelling against doing so, had lingered, the Spymaster found quite a soft-spot upon hearing her point of view. She seemed pained and confused, a lashing animal that adorned herself with claws and fangs, scales and poison, because she failed to envision a different perspective. The sudden reminder of Feyre’s tendency to self-isolate and self-sacrifice, and from who she’d taken said characteristics, went as a brisk breeze, refreshing his consciousness for too little: since the acknowledgement of [Name]’s pain meant he’d want nothing but to reach for her and help, and the female had denied him that right.
He had never resented her more, doubted he ever would. The pressure, placed upon his jaw because of the effort to struggle against those commands, was quick to bring an ache. The Spymaster had no doubt that soon, the too quiet hall would be filled with the sound of the crack of his bones.
“I can manage by myself, I don’t need nobody,” she repeated, the slight mark reappearing between her eyebrows as her expression shifted into one of obstinate confusion. 
Despite the order, Azriel’s insistence prevailed; his words were near to spill, that fucking, stupid offering to carry her books, but the scent of her hypnotizing power managed to inebriate his senses at last. 
“I. Don’t. Need. Nobody. It’s my tragedy alone to endure.”
The resistance must’ve faded from his features, for the female’s eyes returned to their normal appearance, and she passed through him. Their shoulders touched — Azriel’s bare muscles brushing against her clothed skin — and a terrible shiver went through her. The female gritted her teeth, searching for that armor of nonchalance and uninterest. 
“I don’t need nobody,” she said, his back facing her own. “But Elain does. She’s lost, and I’m sure you owe me no favors, but my sister treated you well during our scheming afternoons, and isn’t the one to blame for my character.” 
He hadn’t felt compelled to reach for Elain, enough an indicator that [Name] was but giving him the right to choose for himself whether he wished — or not — to keep an eye on said sister. As it seemed, [Name] didn’t care to wield her voice if the consequences fell upon her shoulders alone, but refused to drag others into her labyrinth of thunderous hatred. Azriel didn’t answer, and his shadows were in a mingled commotion of confusion as their desire to check on the female was countered by her own command to be left alone.
Rhysand had then approached from where he, for sure, observed their interaction. The male was quite conflicted, noticing the rebellious instinct Azriel couldn’t conceive. Instead of flying to the balcony, to then winnow to the River House, they decided it was less bothersome to dialogue inside the nearest, more private room of the House of Wind: that being the leisure room. His brother updated him of the most recent occurrences — those he’d lost during the week under an induced sleep — and Azriel himself was left puzzled at the end of Rhys’ report.
[Name]’s commanding powers bloomed after Feyre’s departure to the Spring Court. Upon failing to find the youngest sister, she invaded the private reunion of the Inner Circle — Rhysand, Morrigan and Amren, the three conscious at the time — and demanded to be informed of Feyre’s position, leaving them all aghast with their willingness to answer. Azriel observed, through the mental glimpses Rhys offered, the internal fight of his brother’s brain, and how she had, too, crushed his desire to uphold that particular information. A High-Fae whose mind was closed to the daemati, wielding a tongue that could put even a High-Lord to his knees. She suddenly was a threat twice as dangerous and unapologetic, willing to use her power whenever underestimated, and Azriel’s wariness increased with the fact.
However, [Name] hadn’t needed to repeat her orders until then. Her powers had been enough to intoxicate the minds of two of the most powerful Fae alive, and an ancient creature, at the same time. With that in mind, both were left to wonder why Azriel, out of all people, showed such resilience against her commands, and though the possible answer seemed obvious, the Spymaster refused to nurture such hope, especially since he wasn’t sure where his trust was placed with the Archeron sister. 
Azriel maintained his distance. He, indeed, began to check on Elain. At first, the male did it as both a taunt and a peace offering. Yet, despite his efforts to grasp [Name]’s attention, she had enclosed herself inside the House of Wind’s library, the books she borrowed being supervised by Clotho. And with all honesty, Elain was rather a comforting companion, her silence matching his own. The female indeed was in need of someone; someone who had no expectations, nor judged her mad for her incoherent mumbling. She grew to be a friend, one that had catched on Azriel’s ragged breath when he laid his eyes on [Name] for the first time in days; who had then begun to state the burdens of her sister and how, although used to loneliness and with her heart buried deep within, she was desperate to see the day where her duties would no longer be overpowering, while also terrified with the idea of leisure. Azriel understood her better then, and was given the confirmation of their similarities once again. Yet, that meant nothing, for the female continued to avoid them all. 
Her situation improved in the slightest when Feyre returned, and their shared conversation later-on influenced his High-Lady to encourage [Name] to accept Morrigan’s help. The females spent the next months vanishing during most mornings, whereas [Name] was nowhere to be seen later on, deciding to spend the remnants of her day lost within her studies inside the library.
Morrigan, who was Azriel’s loyal friend — and once, the biggest love he knew — understood his anguish. And though she seemed to empathize with [Name]’s motivations as well, the female made sure to keep him attuned on both [Name]’s physical and mental evolution. She kept most things to herself, of course. And considering the amount of time the two spent together, it was half-expected for [Name] to be a modest swordswoman; though she did improve, it became clear that they were discussing other things, too.
When the War was declared, [Name] abandoned her months of quiet isolation in the library or private training sessions with Mor to help them strategize and scheme. Azriel glimpsed the storm underneath the long period of sorrow and concern; fell victim to the same banters and competition and even went as far as to share a deep and meaningful conversation outside the Archeron’s sisters tent. At the time, Elain had just been rescued, and although the three of them slept inside, [Name] refused to do the same, choosing to guard them instead.
Azriel’s tongue felt heavy and useless on the morrow, when he attempted, once again, to offer his help. The male thought of a dozen synonyms and different speech forms to bypass her command, but they were all in vain. And even if she learned to control the mind-reading aspect of her powers, Azriel’s efforts must’ve been crystal clear, for she rose from the ground, her steps crushing the autumn dried leaves, and repeated: “I don’t need nobody.”
He grew tired and revolted then. It was easier to obey her desires when one had given up on contourning them. The last battle came, and Azriel’s mind was set, for he refused to keep walking around those walls’ borders, to venture on the female’s stubborn need to retract herself and put on a veil of feigned detachment. The Spymaster would no longer care, no longer offer help. And it was only when the dragon emerged from the battlefield — dark scales with blue and silver undertones — that he’d noticed those weren’t his desires, but the consequences of her command inside his mind. Though he was once resolute, a second later, the male wished for nothing but to claim the skies with the magnificent flying serpent. Considering the quickness with which his mind changed, Azriel grew both scared and amazed at the extension of her will. It was the first time he’d experienced what Rhysand and the others must’ve felt during her first morning at the House of Wind; the first confirmation that her imposition worked differently on him, as if he was made to pass through the venom curtain and sit close to the female behind it, granting her the companionship she didn’t deem herself worthy of.
At the time, the sight of the dragon was magnificent: the shadow of a flying serpent, covering the sunlight; the strong scent of ozone that hang in the air as the creature flew to the open sea, where Hybern’s fleet was seen in the horizon; the open jaw — one the size of a grown Illyrian warrior — that breathed not fire, but lightning. [Name]’s rage had resulted in the screams of a thousand soldiers, their pained cacophony reverberating as the water — the best conduit for electricity, he’d soon learn — helped murder whoever intended to plunge against them through the sea. Yet, the sight of the Fae’s eyes after such occurrences wasn’t at all welcoming. She was broken; shallow; tired. Even if he could still catch a glimpse of the brilliant and breath-taking dark scales under the common flesh, there was something amiss. Not guilt, but perchance, a sense of adamant worry and disorientation, as though she had no idea what to do next.
Azriel waited until the Inner Circle returned to Velaris. The Archeron sisters were granted the offer to find a home of their choosing, and although Elain agreed to live with Feyre, Nesta found herself a decrepit apartment in one of the poorest districts, while [Name] had insisted on staying in the House of Wind. It made sense. Between the three Made females, [Name] was the one that did not need to face the ten thousand steps whenever she wished to leave; she could shift into whatever winged-animal she saw fit, and fly to whichever path she meant to take. Although Morrigan and Feyre were quite harsh with both him and Cassian, warning of the consequences were they to invade her personal space, Azriel was glad — and hopeful, even — that she decided to linger for more than just the desire to resume her constant visits to the library, or the wish to part ways from her sisters. The future was promising without the war and the perspective of peace, and he’d have enough space to return to that old camaraderie. 
Or so he thought.
The female gave him a single glance and repeated those four fucking words. Their first dialogue was built on sarcasm and bad manners, both mistrusting one another and wishing to test their motivations and boundaries. Of course the bond would sing the loudest then. Not when the dragon emerged or when [Name] was Made; not during their heartfelt conversation outside the tent; but when he was mad with anger at her obstination, wishing to grab her shoulders and shake her to her senses. Still, a malicious sense of victory, one his entire family would disapprove of, glowed with the unprecedented truth. [Name] enjoyed being several steps ahead but could not have predicted their mating bond in a thousand years. She wasn’t aware that with the unilateral snap, her commanding powers lost considerable strength against his mind. 
So, when [Name] said she didn’t need his help, Azriel had answered: “Of course you don’t.”
Ever since then, in between the not-at-all accidental stumbles on different routes of the House, he made sure to pretend. Pretend to be at her words’ mercy; pretend to be affected by her commands. All in the while decreasing their late distance with poisonous phrases and acts of his own, that [Name] was quick to retort. However, he didn’t expect her latest one to be so vile and spiteful; never would’ve thought his mate would be so cruel.
Nuala and Cerridwen’s report was but a kneaded ball of paper, falling victim to the Shadowsinger’s unmatched anger. He stared at the pile of unwrapped gifts. Feyre had given her older and most admired sister a personalized chess board: the pieces had the texture of a dragon’s scale, and each group-piece was represented by a thoroughly designed flying serpent; the board was made of enhanced glass, and the structure underneath was a pitch-black pattern of the lightning of a violent storm crashing against the stones of a dozen mountains. Rhysand chose a long leather coat, its shoulder pads with silvery-blue spikes as those she had on her dragon back. Elain gave her a beautiful vase of colorful dragon-flowers, one he knew [Name] began tending to. Amren picked a silver necklace, the pendant with — according to her words — a blue kyanite, the rough stone carved as if to resemble a dragon head. Cassian bought three books, one being his most favored about battle strategies, and the other two — personal recommendations from Clotho, who said she was searching for the subject, and couldn’t find nothing close to it in the library — of The Story of Prythian’s Currency: Volume I & II. Whereas Morrigan was more subtle. The female said she’d give a gift related to her past experiences, one it wasn’t made to be seen by their curious eyes.
Each of the previous gifts stood in the unwrapped pile, but Azriel’s was nowhere to be seen.
He spent months trying to come up with something. It’d be the first Winter Solstice with his mate; the first gift he’d give her. Since his memories were no longer lost in a haze, the male was brought back to their first true conversations months prior. [Name] told him she had learned how to properly wield daggers and throwing knives, for someone had taught her, and she trained tirelessly ever since. Morrigan complimented that aspect, too, commenting that [Name] had quick-feet, with an agility that was made for close combat. So Azriel gave his mate two sai daggers. The butt-end was of dragons’ heads, designed in a way as not to hinder her moments; the grip was made of cool and weightless leather, with an undertone of dark blue, and one silver-colored bolt of lightning on both sides of the material; there was a stone in the middle of the wing-base — the shade, the same blue of his Siphons — and the steel from both the wing-base and wings had the pattern of scales. The shaft had a thin scripture written in the runic-language of Ancient-Fae — a courtesy of Amren, who, he was sure, felt the bond between them — that said: “The bolt that cuts through darkness, the light that breaks the night.”
Azriel placed an order to the smith for a set of throwing knives too, and this time, instead of choosing a dragon, Azriel went for two swallows taking flight and staring at one another, placed at each side of the guard. However, he prided himself more in the pair of personalized sai daggers. The Spymaster knew the Inner Circle would pick the dragon alone, for they didn’t know that at each dawn, [Name] shifted into a white and blue swallow, small and silent, and ventured through the night skies, returning on the morrow under the same form. What better metaphor for such a fast, small animal, if not throwing daggers? Regardless, he found her choice odd. Why would one prefer to be a swallow, instead of an eagle, or even a dragon? He came to the conclusion that perhaps [Name] and her unspeakable past did not wish to be perceived; after a lifetime of being placed on top of a pedestal, attracting both admiration and lust from those who stared from underneath, it seemed as though she was glad to be a merely invisible bird, rather than a devastating creature. He respected that, but nevertheless, [Name] didn’t seem to have enjoyed the gift.
When Azriel searched for the sai daggers and knives, he wasn’t sure what would’ve hurt more. The prospect of finding them yet wrapped, or in the same state as the rest of those on the pile. He never once thought they wouldn’t be there at all. The Spymaster left clear and severe orders to his shadows, and despite his companions’ wishes, they weren’t allowed to search the House of Wind — especially [Name]’s room — for the gift. Hope was an unreliable feeling, and nurturing it was a direct step into disappointment. Rage and resentment, however, came easier. Azriel was sure that his shadows had disobeyed him, and were desperate to share their information. Yet, he didn’t welcome it. Instead, the male fell straight into the rabbit hole of his duties, making it all the easier to ignore his mate. Summarizing it all, said decision was what brought him to that current dismal state, and guided him to the emptiness of the leisure room. 
Not two weeks had passed since the Winter Solstice, and Azriel was already assigned to infiltrate Montesere’s barriers. Considering the land’s history of allegiance with Hybern, and the infertile political situation between the Courts after the Wall between Fae and Mortal Lands fell, his brother and High-Lady’s concern regarding Montesere’s silence was well-based. At first, the Shadowsinger thought it’d be an effortless task. Yet, during his first attempt, he was met with a barrier that countered each and every power he had at his disposal.
The male had faced such a bothersome obstacle before. The Mortal Queens once wielded a similar protection; one that had avoided his net of spies and his own shadows for months. Azriel still remembered the consequences of his failure; the fatal mission that had him laying on the floor with poison in his veins; that left Cassian with ruined wings and pain written all over his near-unconscious expressions; the yet-human Archeron sisters being thrown, one by one, inside the Cauldron. The fatality that led [Name] to her current state, one he failed to foresee and prevent.
There was a small knock on the ebony door. A crevice — all but large enough for the head of a winged-Illyrian warrior to pass through — presented Azriel with the sight of his brother, his ever-present grin appearing as soon as he laid eyes on the Spymaster at the elbow-chair. Azriel’s previous thoughts were put on hold, his surprise apparent, and his shadows moved around him, their whispered words sounding hurt and worried: “We warned you, we warned you.” But the male, once again, didn’t hear a single thing.
Those occurrences weren’t rare, nor something he was unfamiliar with. Azriel found himself frequently tangled within them, as if his thoughts were a labyrinth with deviant entrances and constant, creative traps, he never seemed to dodge. The worries and self-loathing gave way to a frozen and profound lake; the water was corrupted, viscous, carrying a darkness Azriel himself wasn’t used to. Avoiding those traps felt as though walking with heavy boots on the thin ice that covered such a lake. He was bound to fail — to fall, — and once Azriel was captured by it, he scarcely attempted to swim, to leave; no light could reach him there, no sound or positiveness, it was a place not even his shadows dared to enter. The Spymaster wasted hours inside it, and only managed to leave it once an external presence pulled him from the putrid waters of his thoughts.
As Cassian had done, entering the leisure room and choosing the elbow-chair in front of his own. His brother glimpsed at the near-to-be empty scotch bottle, an eyebrow raising in the process. The male seemed to believe Azriel had more than enough, for he grabbed it from the center-table and gave it a gulp directly from the bottleneck.
“Are you kidding me?” The Spymaster complained, his voice a mixture of both frustration and anger towards his brother. Azriel wouldn’t dare to pour himself more after that, finding it unhygienic; all in the while, Cassian was quite aware of his brother’s antics, and drank it on purpose.
“Don’t be all selfish, Az,” the male mocked him, drinking another mouthful of the scotch. Azriel rolled his eyes, placing his empty cup on the center-table with unnecessary strength. “You’re done for the night, at least.”
“I’m not even drunk,” he argued. Cassian — the bastard — shrugged.
“That’s because you have a high alcohol tolerance,” his brother’s eyes narrowed. He placed the bottle on the ground, near his feet, and sat with a straightened back. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Azriel, in fact, didn’t. His scarred left hand clutched the kneaded report, the sound of paper ringing through his ears. That stupid piece of scribbling what was led him to that position in the first place. The Spymaster flew to the house his High-Lord and Lady shared, filled with a modest amount of shame. The twins had been surveilling Montesere’s magical barriers for almost an entire month, searching for a pattern, hoping to catch on to an immigrant or some poor other bastard attempting to leave. Azriel held that strategy to no hope, aware of the fact that it was doomed to failure. Yet, facing the predicted truth gave him a sour tongue.
Once he told the dreaded information, a reunion was summoned. However, with Cassian at Windhaven and Morrigan returning from Valahan, Azriel had a few hours ahead of him to wait for the reminiscent members of the Inner Circle, and decided to accompany Elain in the kitchen. The female, for sure, must’ve been feeling quite lonely since the twins’ departure to Montesere, and Azriel didn’t mind talking to her either. Elain, after all, was a terrific and attentive friend, with observant eyes and the willingness to listen. The Spymaster thought her thoroughly underestimated during most times, and made sure to let her know that he was, too, willing to train her if she ever thought needed.
Although he expected not much from the conversation at hand, Elain had trapped him a few minutes in. At first, the female repeated the familiar questions he’d been mostly glad to answer. However, at some point, Elain moved to place the trail of dough inside the oven, and her voice had reverberated from where she knelt.
“How is she?”
Azriel knew who she was referring to. Considering the male’s seen proximity with the oldest Archeron sister, and the fact that she barely left the House of Wind, Elain had but few choices besides the one to ask for his words regarding her sister’s state. During the past months, however, Azriel made sure to avoid [Name], and had no answer besides the honest truth no one wished to hear: she remained the same. 
The entire Inner Circle grew worried. During the first stages of the War, [Name] spent hours inside the library, hovering over a pile of books, studying every subject regarding Prythian’s history and territory; memorizing each drawn line of the borders; trying to predict their enemies’ movements, and coming up with retaliations to those, too. She also had a peaceful relationship with the priestesses, and after [Name]’s self-isolation, Clotho was instructed by both Feyre and Rhys to send a weekly report regarding the female’s behavior. It wasn’t ideal, but his High-Lady’s heart rest assured that her sister was, at least, within physical reach.
Those weekly-informations were scarcely enough. [Name]’s dragon form, and how she had saved them all to some extent during the last battle, couldn’t be forgotten nor ignored. Of course, the female’s acts to protect her sisters during poverty — and before that, even — weren’t overlooked by Rhysand, either. His brother had the bigger sense of gratitude between them all, and weren’t for Feyre and Elain, Azriel would state that he was the most eager to help [Name] somehow.
Despite Azriel’s attempt to change the subject, stating that he hasn’t been to the House much and that Cassian was a much better option to inform her, the female didn’t allow him to run. Elain insisted that [Name]’s self-isolation tendencies came from the fact that she, after the War, had no perspective. The female was taught to be of use to her sisters; to provide for them, no matter the cost; to be the anchor in which the three youngest ones could rely on during hardships. However, Velaris had changed that need for the better. And Elain was sure that, despite the fact that [Name] was glad the younger pair found solace and comfort and didn’t need her to sacrifice herself any longer, she was also lost and alone. Without her duties and the position of command that she was placed on at a very young age, [Name] was left to deal with the memories and consequences of her life’s decisions all by herself.
Azriel had lost it then. He’d been attempting to reach for his mate for months, and all she did in response was demand him to leave her alone, going as far as to use her hypnotizing voice to achieve such an end. And once he voiced his discontentment and the fact that self-isolation was [Name]’s choice, their first discussion ensued. Elain, shockingly, had snapped at him. Though she remained quiet on behalf of [Name]’s past, the female’s words were forceful and precise. She covered her sister’s relationship with both their parents and how she chose to be there for the three of them, while denying them to do the same for her; Elain pointed most of [Name]’s personality, and during it all, Azriel’s retorts grew short, since the male was again reminded of how much he related to his mate in levels he dared not confess. 
His silence wasn’t wasted either. Elain argued that [Name] needed to be of use, to feel that she was protecting her sisters somehow, in order to accept her healing process. Azriel feared that the female found out their mating bond then, but no sooner that doubt was discarded and he regained his calmness, Elain’s next phrase threw that out the window. 
“You should train [Name] to be a spy and assign her to Montesere.”
Azriel’s mind went blank. His rage was nearly blinding. He didn’t care how Elain had learned of his struggles regarding Montesere’s barriers, for all he saw was [Name] — his mate — under a complicated position, thrown into a territory they had no intel of, somewhere no one could reach.
“No.”
He refused to wear a more active and demanding voice with the members of his family. Azriel hated the possible wariness it could cause, for the sound of itself was enough to make their prisoners wet themselves in terror. But Elain didn’t falter. She gritted her teeth, meeting his gaze, her eyes a shade of silver, and continued to defend her sister.
“[Name] speaks four languages and is learning the Ancient Fae speech by herself. She has a commanding voice that worked in a room filled with High-Lords, can shift into different mortal-shells, a lightning dragon and smaller animals and beasts, too. She’s smart, light on her steps, and has enough physical training to face stronger opponents,” Elain closed her eyes for a second, as if trying to avoid the memory of a particular vision. 
Azriel was reminded of the Seer’s words when she still lived in the House of Wind, staring at the window with no emotion plastered on her face: ‘The scaled-beast of myths that flies through the airway, destined to rescue those lost in dismay. The bolt that cuts through the darkness, the light that breaks the night.’
“All she needs,” continued Elain, the familiar brown back into her eyes, “is guidance.”
Because [Name] was meant for so much more, was so much more, than the astute, self-sacrificing and scarred oldest sister. Because regardless of Azriel’s unwillingness to train her, his mate’s destiny was calling to her; growing closer to her calves with each passing day. And with, or without the Spymaster’s interference, she’d have to face it.
Azriel sighed, the prospect of it all bringing a sudden headache that made him crease his forehead. “I’ll ask Rhys—”
“Rhys agrees,” his brother said, entering the kitchen. Azriel turned, half-betrayed by his shadows, who didn’t warn him of his arrival, and half-shocked with himself, for it had been a long time since he’d been so invested in an argument, he failed to hear a third person’s approach. “Do you agree, Feyre darling?”
His High-Lady entered the kitchen, striving for Elain’s freshly-baked biscuits. She shared a knowing, yet proud, look with her sister, and hummed her approval, giving Azriel an apologetic smile. Cassian, Amren and Mor entered soon after, and the Spymaster learned that their argument was, in fact, heard by all of them. Nevertheless, once the [Name] topic was cleared, the reunion began. After it was clear their kitchen wasn’t big nor comfortable to accommodate the entire family, they all moved to the living-room — Rhys didn’t want his office to be filled with biscuit’s crumbs — and covered other worrying subjects, such as the Mortal Queens’ sudden silence; Mor’s first week at Valaham; Lucien’s eventual reports about Jurian and Vassa; Nesta’s condition, and the twins’ report. Azriel was but a shell of himself during it all, his mind drifting to Montesere and [Name]’s training, the inevitable destiny that awaited.
Once the gathering was over, Azriel barely bid his goodbyes before winnowing the closest he could to the House of Wind. Rhys’ voice entered his mind as soon as he landed, his question the same as the one Cassian had made: “Do you want to talk about it?”
His brother would understand the dilemma the best. Rhysand had stayed an entire month without news regarding Feyre’s well-being when the female acted as a spy inside the Spring Court. Azriel wished to ask him how he had managed it; how could it be possible, or at least bearable, to wait in Velaris as his mate was risking her life somewhere he couldn’t reach. But their situation was different. Rhysand could’ve winnowed to the Spring Court to assist Feyre if the female was in need; Azriel had his wrists tied against one another, aware that if [Name] managed to enter Montesere’s barriers, he’d have no news, no way of learning whether she was safe.
So, he gave Cassian the same answer he gave Rhysand: “I’m fine, there’s no need to worry.”
And as the latter, Cass respected the boundary drawn between them, didn’t question any further. Instead, he stared with curiosity as Azriel rose from the elbow-chair.
“Where are you going?”
“To give [Name] the great news.”
“It’s four in the morning.”
“She’s awake.”
Azriel didn’t care enough to continue that game of pretense, one where he didn’t voice his certainties regarding the female’s state in order to maintain their mate bond in utter secrecy. Considering Cassian’s lack of reaction — besides the clear amusement — the Spymaster was sure most of the Inner Circle’s members already had their suspicions.
“Good luck!” Cassian taunted as Azriel left the leisure room. The male’s hands grew sweaty with anticipation, and he rubbed them against the cloth of his trousers.
[Name]’s decision to continue living in the House of Wind came with an inevitable change of rooms. He had to walk up one extra floor, for the female chose the bedchamber placed on the hallway above the one he and Cassian shared, and his shadows began to move with a mischievous lack of control once they noticed the Spymaster’s intentions.
Azriel knocked on the door, announcing his presence through the shadows that peered inside. Not a second later, he heard [Name]’s frantic steps, and she, as expected, didn’t seem as though awakened from slumber. Her eyes were suspicious, and the female was dressed in traveling clothes. She didn’t care to state otherwise, nor to hide her provisions and backpack placed on the corner of her room.
“It’s a little late for a visit,” [Name] stated, although not surprised. Instead, the female seemed to analyze him, trying to find out why he was there in the first place.
“It’s a little late for tracking,” he mocked. If she was anyone else, Azriel would’ve supported his shoulder-weight on the door, a foot pushing against the crevice, inviting himself in. But [Name] left him wary of his words and acts; with a sense of unknown anticipation. Azriel felt, once again, as though a green-boy unaware of a female’s tastes. [Name] placed him on a chess board, and Azriel was left under the impression that she needed but a single misstep of his to steal his king.
“It was a spontaneous decision,” his mate answered, unresponsive as his shadows reacted to her voice-tone and began to flutter closer, like small and innocent butterflies.
“So was mine.”
“Bold statement coming from someone who’s been ignoring me for months,” she bit. Azriel didn’t allow his surprise to rise to his features. Both managed, after all, to wear a veil of nonchalance despite the implications behind their words.
“Bold judgment coming from someone who commanded me to do so.”
“You never seemed to listen,” [Name] answered, waving her hand.
“Were you sad that I did, for once?”
Her stance changed, if only for a mere second, but he caught on it. Mother be damned, he tucked that information closer to his heart than he should have. 
“What are you doing here?”
“Your sisters are worried.”
[Name] accessed him, aware of the low blow; the mouse-trap he placed on the board. She ignored it. “They’re welcome to visit me anytime.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“What are you doing here?” [Name] repeated, and Azriel was caught by surprise. Her commanding voice was, at least once, only triggered if she used an imperative phrase. The Spymaster never saw her use it as a question, which meant that she had been training somehow, it was only left for him to find out in whom.
Azriel was physically close enough to the point where pretending to be affected by her demand was useless. She would’ve noticed the absence of haziness coating his eyes; the overall alert state of his body. The male moved his pawn, the information he kept a secret for so long, finally clear for her to see. “There’s something we need your help with.”
Her eyes grew wide, a slight shift in her scent that indicated neither fear or anger, but excitement. Azriel felt a sudden tremble that went through his entire body. The fact that [Name] now knew would change every single damned thing between them for the better. The Spymaster could already anticipate the fierceness of their future competitions, her obstinate glance and taunting grin, the quick-pacing of his heart. Mother be damned, he already yearned for the sight.
“You’re immune,” she pointed out with slight wonder, clearing the path for him to enter the room.
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Long enough.”
“This isn’t an answer,” [Name] bit, her tone assuming one of annoyance and anger. He forgot how good he was at bringing that side of her to the surface. Never again, Azriel decided. Never again would he be departed from her long enough to forget of their banters.
“It’s the one you’ll get,” he insisted, kneeling near her backpack. “Where were you planning to go?”
His mate grew quiet, as if pondering her next movement and the consequences it would cause. She seemed to decide whatsoever, judging the odds favorable. “The Mortal Lands.”
Azriel’s back stiffened. He had no doubt that the adaptation was rough, but he didn’t suspect, not even once, that she could’ve been missing her late home. The male rose from the ground and away from that pack, as if the object was forsaken — wrong, — turning to stare at her instead.
“Why?”
“I have unfinished business,” [Name] ignored his disheveled state, staring at him as though he — and his entire social-circle, for that matter, — were stupid for thinking she had left nothing behind after twenty-five years of living in the Mortal Lands. “Something that, coming to think of, I could use your help with.”
Azriel gave her a stare most would cower from. She returned with one most would lose their confidence against. The male envisioned that damned board, memorized the position of his pieces, and made his move. “I presume your sisters weren’t informed of your plans.”
“Obviously.”
“So why,” he taunted, moving closer while still leaving enough space between them, “would I cross my High-Lady’s wish, and help with whatever it is you came up with?”
[Name] crossed her arms against her chest, reading in between the lines of his expression and coming to terms with his words. “It will be faster with your winnowing, but this isn’t what you wish to hear, is it? You want to strike a deal.”
He grinned, victorious, as her eyes trailed to the paintings on his forearms and exposed shoulders. His knight was so close to her king, he could almost hear the check-mate coming from his lips, even if that was all but a metaphorical game on a metaphorical board. 
“You’ll help me get to the Mortal Lands, then what? What am I supposed to do?”
“Train with me outside Velaris. You’ll be the Court’s spy, and once judged ready, I’ll assign you to a mission in Montesere.”
[Name]’s eyes narrowed, as if seeing the plastered map of Prythian on her mind. Azriel had no doubt the female had studied the land’s expanse and history, had no doubt she wasn’t clueless, at least not entirely, as to why the Night Court needed someone inside the magical barriers. There was a gleam there, and her lips curved with the same malice she wielded during their strategizing, when she saw something he didn’t; when she was sure he wouldn’t be able to counter her movements. Azriel shuddered then, not with fear but with expectation. It had been ages since the last time his mate showed enough patience and will to strike, to enter a mental competition. That game of theirs, filled with taunts and strategies and low-blows, was exciting; the type of conjunction between a sense of immaculate victory and determination upon defeat one could only find when their competitiveness was perfectly matched. 
One [Name] forgot she enjoyed until Azriel invited her to play again.
“As I see it, I’ll do as I’m told and then be given a reward,” she said, moving left to her murals. [Name]’s room was a bigger version of her late office, with books and maps and annotations plastered wherever the eyes could reach. His mate grabbed a white powder from the inside of a drawer, its scent sleep-inducing, and Azriel was left aghast at her abilities; her potential. “That doesn’t seem fair, especially considering that you might need me, but I don’t need you. Not crucially, at least.”
“Put me to sleep, and once I’m awake, I’ll inform the entire Inner Circle of your intentions,” the male answered matter-of-factly, because there was not a chance she thought that plan would lead somewhere.
“Then, what? You’ll follow my trail, because I could command everyone else to turn a blind eye? Where would that lead us, if not the Mortal Lands?”
“I’d find your trail before you even managed to reach the Day Court,” Azriel answered, his words filled with well-based arrogance. [Name] inserted two fingers inside the small, glass-made pot, and smudged her digits with the white powder. The female grew closer, and his shadows danced around her neck and waist; her thighs and arms; all of the places Azriel himself yearned to touch, but didn’t dare to.
“I don’t think you’re understanding your position. A dragon might be easy to find but what of a beetle? A serpent? What is a sparrow-hawk in the Autumn Court, if not a single bird between many others?” [Name] discarded the powder, and repressed a smile at whatever his shadows had whispered. “I’ll vanish and tend to my business, and you’ll have my sisters’ wrath and a lot of frustration to take care of.”
Somehow, a knight drew closer to his king too. Azriel’s smile was bitter, sleep no longer hazing his senses, as he glimpsed the situation, noticing the inevitable siege that had formed around his pawns. “I would’ve managed nevertheless, but this isn’t what you wish to hear, is it? You want to strike a deal.”
He purred those words — her words, — and [Name]’s grin widened, voicing the phrase that would grant her a plain upperground. “I’m sure my sisters came with the training aspect, so I’ll follow along, if only for their sake. We’ll train outside Velaris, and once I’m judged prepared, you’ll winnow me to the Mortal Lands.”
“And Montesere?”
“I’ll go there after we see to my business, not a heartbeat before.”
The feigned training would grant coverage to their departure to the Mortal Lands. Azriel wouldn’t need to report his dismissal to either Rhysand nor Feyre, and [Name] would leave the House of Wind, as it was expected. Their small venture would prepare the Spymaster for the idea of leaving his mate, by herself, near Montesere’s barriers; perhaps he’d even find another possibility until then. He offered her an opened hand, the sign of his agreement. 
“That’s a deal,” said the Spymaster. [Name] touched his palm with her own, seeming to anticipate a shudder that didn’t come. Azriel’s shadows tangled itselves in between their hands and stretched arms, accompanying the route of their tattoos, shielding the male’s gaze from his terrible burnt scars.
“That’s a deal,” she repeated. He felt as those words drove the magic to his back; traced the mark that seemed to form the letter S, from the bottom of his waist to his right shoulder. A dragon, his shadows had informed, surrounded with the illustration of scars left by a lightning strike.
Somehow, Azriel knew her back had been marked, too. And his first chess match against his mate had ended in a draw.
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general notes: i am deeply thankful for all of the support this story has been given since the very first time i have posted about it. the entire thing is wrapped up in my mind, and i am so excited to see your further reactions to [name], that became such a beloved writing of mine. regardless, thank you once again! i hope you have enjoyed this bible of a first chapter. xoxo <3
taglist [comment to be added]: @nyotamalfoy @rachelnicolee
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Text
Cellar
for the prompt 'cellar'
M | 1.3k | language/sexual themes/dubious consent alluded to.
The clouds came on quick as the wind swept up. Both Steve and Robin’s hair whipping around their faces.
 “You’re sure this is right?” Steve said loudly to be heard over the brewing storm.
“Yes, I swear. The cute blonde handed me the flyer and this is the address-“ She yelled back as she wrapped her coat tighter around her body.
They came through a clearing in the woods, lanterns lit a barely visible path as the flames danced in the blustery conditions, but there seemed to be an old house up ahead.
The flyer had touted a pop-up circus that only happened one night per city they caravanned through. Steve had expected some striped big top tent to give it away. This looked almost abandoned.
An older gentleman met them on the path materializing seemingly out of thin air, “Here for the festivities?” He asked in a rumbling voice.
Steve nodded as he slipped a hand into Robin’s- maybe this wasn’t worth it.
“Right this way then…” The man held up his lantern and walked into the wind, not looking back, only assuming Steve and Robin would follow.
Steve glared at Robin, “Do we cut our loses?”
“We’ve come this far.” She said so they followed on.
Choices made.
History in the making.
They came up to the side of the old but well kept farmhouse. The man pointed to the cellar, “You must open it and go down. The attractions are worth it- otherworldly, really.”
Steve paused, if this was all a Halloween gimmick they had really committed. Or he was walking to his death. Because going down into a cellar screamed ‘you’re getting murdered’.
“Thanks.” Robin breathed out as she crouched and opened the doors to whatever lay beneath. Music raised up from the opening. The sky flashed a crackle of lightning overhead. This was it.
They stepped down into the hearth as the man outside closed the doors over them, “Did you hear that?” Steve asked, panic rising.
“Hear what?” Robin asked as they followed the music.
“A locking sound, are we locked in?”
“Dingus, this is a Halloween attraction I got personally invited to, relax.” She firmly held his hand and tugged him along behind her.
Voices audible now, a small few benches set up for an audience. The inside of this house's underground interior more magnificent than Steve had ever seen. Instead of roots and dirt it was lavish tiles and gold. The walls a striped pattern, not red and white like a big top, but gold and black.
He blinked as he looked around himself- it felt unreal. A certain shimmer to it keeping it from a solid reality.
A few more people came down while a handful more were already here.
Ringed fingers clasped on his shoulder, “Well aren’t you a lovely addition to the crowd tonight.” The voice curled around his brain as if the word had been said in his mind.
Steve turned quick, next to him was a long haired man in a black waistcoat, striped black flood pants, heavy black books and a top hat atop his dark brown waves. His eyes expressive and lined in black that smoked out to grey. He flashed him a dimpled smile and turned to Robin, “You’re Chrissy’s guest I presume?”
She nodded speechless in the moment.
The man was striking.
A tiny strawberry blonde in a deep oxblood red corset and shiny black leather pants approached. Now Steve understood why Robin dragged him down into the earth for this, this, whatever it was.
“I’m so glad you made it.” She smiled through bright red lips. She looked hungry as her eyes locked with Robin’s, “Take a seat the show’s about to begin.”
The thing is Steve couldn’t remember a thing about the show- maybe there were contortionists? A fire eater? Sword swallower? Regular circus acts- maybe. All of it felt like a dream.
He looked to Robin whose eye’s were locked on the petite blonde as she and the man they had spoken to before entwined hands and took a bow, people around them clapped, Steve still felt dazed.
A bar lit up and people were ushered over for drinks. Robin was whisked away by Chrissy, Steve hesitated he didn’t want to ruin her good time. Things felt off, what was wrong with him?
The man from before came up to him with two drinks in hand, “Here shall we toast to our friends?” He asked as he handed one glass to Steve.
“Or would you rather come with me? So vital, I can smell it on you, the woods at daybreak- sun rays glistening on a lake. I can almost taste it.” He said close to Steve’s ear.
The suggestion enough to stir something in his insides, almost like butterflies in his stomach, maybe panicked butterflies? The man was undeniably hot. A hint of tattoos peaked from the edges of his clothing.
Steve swallowed thickly, “Me?” He asked feeling dumb.
“Yes, all of them? Boring compared to you.” The man said as he gestured his glass at the remaining people.
“I’ll go with you.” Steve said quietly.
Before he knew it they were in a more private room. Still accented with golds and black.
Steve furrowed his brows and shook his head, weird.
“I didn’t catch your name.” He inquired as he regained his bearings.
“You can call me Eddie.” The man said as he discarded his theatrical hat and moved in closer to Steve.
“Eddie.” He whispered back.
“Yes, young one, that’s me.” He winked.
Steve huffed a laugh, “Young one? We’re the same age?”
Eddie’s smirk grew his teeth seemed sharper, “Sure we are, sweet heart, sunshine, big boy.”
Steve felt the same stirring in his gut, yet he was drawn in.
The man flashed another toothy smile as he leaned in and nosed along Steve’s neck sending a shiver down his spine. His hands came up on their own accord holding onto the man’s shoulders. He felt a wet stripe licked up the side of his throat and his knees went weak.
A wandering ringed hand cupped him between his legs as his interest grew. He moaned out as his hips jerked searching for more.
Steve and Robin awoke safely in his bimmer. Confused but no worse for wear, “Are you-" he started, "how did we?” Steve got out as Robin let out a disgruntled sound.
“What the fuck?” She mused in the cold morning air between them.
There were tree branches down from the storm the night before. The morning dew on the grass frosted over from the dipped temperature overnight.
Steve’s memory was fuzzy but steeped in warmth and pleasure. He let his fingers trail over his neck but he felt nothing there just the ghost of something.
“Let’s just…wanna check it out?” Robin asked sharing a look similar to Steve’s her own memory a haze of something and nothing.
He drove closer to where they had walked the night prior. An abandoned house came into view. This one had the windows boarded up and the door padlocked, that hadn’t been there before.
“The cellar.” Steve remembered.
Robin nodded and unclicked her seatbelt.
The two wandered out of the still idling car. Exhaust visible in the chill of the early morning.
They crouched by the door they had walked down mere hours ago. Robin touched the chain, unlocked, she slid it through the handles.
Each one grabbed a side and pulled it open-
Nothing.
Stone steps, dirt, and roots. What you’d expect to find under an old farmhouse.
They ran back to the bimmer and drove back into town.
Nothing but shared confusion and the feeling of punctured skin and pleasure on the edges of their psyche.
Written for @fuctacles october monster prompt list. Just a fun little thing in the spirit of Halloween. 🧛‍♂️🩸🪞💕
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isalisewrites · 3 days
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TERRIBLE, BUT GREAT - CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
SUMMARY:
“Harry Potter.” The cold burrowed into his flesh, the scent of cloying death and molding earth clogged his senses.
“The Boy Who Lived.”
A strange sense of loss and disappointment rose within him. That brilliant, yet cruel boy could’ve been so much more if he’d not stepped down this bloodied path.
Terrible, but great. He pitied this creature.
“Come to die.”
Harry Potter faced the flash of green light with the bravery of a Gryffindor and the broken heart of a Hufflepuff.
---
When Death gives Harry a third option, one that can save everyone he ever cared about, he takes it unflinchingly. Even when that means doing the impossible: falling in love with the enemy, Tom Riddle.
---
TWENTY-NINE EXCERPT:
Tonight, the moonlight shone through the rippled window glass of the lake depths, illuminating the darkened shades of green of their Slytherin dormitory. The source of those heart wrenching sounds came from one bed, the one nearest to Harry’s bed.
Tom…
Harry stood up with his wand in hand, double checking for wards or traps that might’ve been set by Tom, but there were none. Frowning at that, Harry pulled back the curtains, stepped towards to the bed, and closed the curtains behind himself. Harry turned back in the darkness, drawn towards Tom’s agitated mumbling in his sleep. Harry cast a silencing charm around them, just in case, and eased himself onto the edge of the bed with his torso twisted towards Tom’s head. Somehow, sitting on the bed didn’t wake Tom up.
That’s not normal. He better not curse me for this…
Harry lit his wand with a gentle lumos, dimming its intensity, and lowered it towards Tom’s face. It revealed a sheen of sweat on Tom’s brow, which was crinkled in pain; pale lips were parted in quiet agony. Seeing the distress on Tom’s sleeping face shattered Harry’s heart into endless pieces. Tentatively and ever so lightly, he placed his left hand on Tom’s shoulder and shook it.
Just as Harry touched him, Tom’s eyes burst wide open; he gasped a stuttering breath, as if drowning for air. He moved. Fast, so fast—Harry couldn’t retaliate: Tom shot out with lightning precision, wand magically in hand, its heated tip digging painfully into the bottom of Harry’s chin and forcing Harry’s head to tilt backwards. Harry froze. Those dark eyes stared at him, dull, yet wild in their light.
“It’s just me,” whispered Harry. His hand was still on Tom’s shoulder, so he chanced a gentle squeeze of reassurance. Tom twitched, eyes barely darting towards the touch, before they snapped back onto Harry, hard and unwavering. “You were having a nightmare.”
Silence.
Tom stared at him. With his torso halfway twisted off the bed, he caught his breath as if he’d been sprinting, his chest heaving up and down a few times. He visibly swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing once. His last large exhale was slow and long. “Oh…” he whispered. The tension slowly drained from his body, his shoulders dropping slightly, and the pressure beneath Harry’s chin lessened. “I… my apologies if I disturbed your sleep.”
The wand lowered and Harry let out a breath. “No, it’s okay,” he said softly. “It’s okay.”
Tom dragged a hand through his hair, grimacing. Tom set his wand beside his pillow and made an attempt to wandlessly vanish the sweat from his body. It didn’t work. He gritted his teeth; he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. On his second try, Tom succeeded, drying the sweat from his skin, hair, and pajamas.
What… what the hell… hang on, has he been struggling with his magic all this time, too?
Fuck.
Did lack of sleep make using magic more difficult? Harry knew Tom had been struggling with his classes a bit, but… had he really spent the last two weeks not in full control of his magic? How the hell had he managed to hide it for so long?
‘My lord, are you all right? Did you let him hit you?’
‘Yes.’
But that’d been a lie, hadn’t it?
With rising horror, Harry realized Tom had not taken that cutting curse from Archibald Nott for Slytherin political bullshit clout. No. He hadn’t been able to defend himself. If Harry had declined Abraxas’ request to search for Tom, who had expressed concern about his whereabouts that night, Tom might’ve been hurt far worse. So much worse. Archibald Nott had been downright lethal.
Fucking hell, I’m pants at noticing shit. I should’ve…
I’ve got to do better. I’ve got to start keeping an eye on Tom and the other Slytherins, like Voldemort said.
Tom met his eyes briefly, before he collapsed backwards onto his pillow and covered his eyes with his right forearm. He exhaled again, low, deep, and exhausted to the deepest of soul depths. Harry marveled at this display from Tom, shocked that he’d been allowed to witness it.
“I didn’t want you to suffer through your nightmare, so I woke you,” said Harry in a low voice. Tom didn’t move; he didn’t acknowledge him. After a beat of silence, Harry shifted to leave to give Tom some peace. “Sorry, I’ll go—”
A hand shot out, clutching Harry by the wrist.
“Stay.”
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jungle-angel · 1 month
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Silent Strikes The Lightning (Rhett Abbott x Reader)
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Summary: Your husband is a thunder and lightning deity, you yourself sharing the element. The two of you were tasked with protecting young children, a task ordained by the gods and the titans. You just never thought you would have to protect the one thing that meant everything to Rhett
Warnings: Rescue of an infant, Perry being an asshole etc.
Notes: For anybody who wants to, I highly, highly suggest listening to the song "Our Paths Will Part" by Hans Zimmer and also "Lily's Theme" from Harry Potter if you're gonna read this, there's no pressure but both match up really well with the story
Tagging: @floydsmuse @delopsia @sebsxphia @attapullman @callmemana @kmc1989 @bradleybeachbabe @rhettabbotts
You shivered going through those woods to that lonely piece of land that all the Olympians had been watching for months. You squeezed Rhett's hand as he held the lantern in his hand, the two of you cloaked in an unseen veil to be sure no one would see you.
"Shhh, darlin," Rhett whispered when a twig had snapped beneath your foot.
You nodded nervously, afraid to let go of his hand as you approached the shabby dwelling in the distance, the windows still lit. There was a heavy feeling in the air, one you didn't like and one that was particularly strong when you and Rhett went to visit The Underworld. Royal had warned you both, time and again about this place and the people who had lived there.
Perry had been a demigod, one that had been accidentally fathered by Royal when some of his dead, peeling skin had rubbed off on a mortal witch's own hand. Where Perry had been a monster, Rhett was as pure and loving as could be, born of his father, Royal's, love for his mother, Cecelia. Rhett's love for you had been the same, despite a few little demigods here and there, never failing to show you that you were his queen and always would be.
"Rhett we can't, we're...."
"Shhhh, darlin, it's ok," he whispered. "I've got you. I know it's scary, but we need to do this. We're the only chance she's got."
Quietly across the misty fields, you both crept, the chilly air of early spring making the goosebumps on your flesh prick straight up. Rhett made a few flitting gestures with his hand, testing to see if any barriers surrounded that shabby little place. Nothing.
"Alright, c'mon," he whispered again. "Back door."
You and Rhett carefully pushed the back door open, setting the lantern down on the beat up countertop. It took everything in your power to cross the threshold of the door, assured only by the sight of your husband's back.
You silently took deep breaths as you and Rhett cautiously went up the stairs, straining every muscle in your bodies to be as quiet as mice.
"Rhett," you hissed.
"What? Darlin what's wrong?"
"Something......in the back room....."
Rhett could barely make out the form of a woman's foot in the bedroom through the slightly ajar door. Something deep inside told him not to enter, not even if he valued his immortal life.
You both turned back to the room at the end of the hall, a room that was completely bare of furniture, save for a wooden cot in which lay a tiny, newborn infant with a head full of chocolate brown hair, the same as Rhett's. She hardly stirred, all swaddled in her blanket, her pink face scrunched up as she yawned. You and Rhett were in awe of how precious she was, so sweet and so new to this world.
"C'mere Amy," Rhett whispered.
Gently, he picked her up out of her crib, the poor baby starting to whimper as he lifted her to his chest. "Shhhh......shhhhh......it's ok.....it's ok sweet baby.....shhhhh......Daddy and Momma are here.....you're comin home with us......"
From your pocket, you pulled the little purple and gold sachet Cecelia had made for you. It was small, yes, but would hold Amy perfectly. Smaller and smaller she grew as Rhett fitted her snugly into the sachet, resting in it as though she were still in the womb.
"Slip it around you're neck and don't lose it," Rhett told you. "C'mon we've gotta get outta here."
"No one's going anywhere!" sneered a voice.
You and Rhett whirled around to find Perry standing there, his green eyes burning with a hint of ugly yellow. You could feel the hate radiating off him like a fire, cutting deep into you as your hand moved protectively over the sachet around your neck.
"That what ya'll told Rebecca?" Rhett hissed. "Before ya'll sucked the life outta her?"
"Shut up!" Perry snapped. "I loved that woman.......not like you who kept fucking your whore until the gods granted her immortality!"
A loud clap of thunder startled you, your husband's eyes going dark. The hairs on your neck stood up as spider thin flashes showed themselves in his dark blue eyes.
"If you ever call (y/n) a whore again I'll have you fed to every three headed dog in the Underworld," Rhett growled.
"You have no power here....."
Rhett threw up his hand and in a flash, Perry flew up off the ground, slamming into the wall above the door with such a force that a dusting of plaster rained down onto the floor.
"I'm sorry......" Perry croaked. "M'sorry Rhett.....I'm sorry...."
"Perry!" Rhett growled, his voice deep, almost doglike.
"M'sorry.......m'sorry......"
"Don't you fucking say you're sorry to me!" Rhett shouted another clap of thunder echoing throughout the room. "You worthless piece of shit!!"
"Rhett......" you squeaked.
Rhett neither heard nor heeded your words, the thunder and flashes of lightning filling the room with frightening hues of indigo and violet. You could hear Amy crying in the back of your mind, afraid to stay and afraid to run.
Rhett's gaze turned to you, the light still burning in his eyes but his voice calm. "(Y/n) run," he said. "I need ya'll to run, I'll be right behind you."
You didn't want to, freezing a little until a frightening crack of thunder filled the room once again. You hurried out of the room, barely aware of your feet flying across the floors, the electric buzz still on the back of your neck, blindly flying out the door and into the night.
You didn't dare look back, still hearing your husband shouting obscene threats at Perry. The field felt like one long stretch into eternity, never ending and going on and on and on until the woods came into view. You bolted up the path, hurrying and protectively holding onto the sachet for dear life, afraid that some fell beast of the woods would try to grab it.
You skidded to a halt, gasping when you came to the cliff, staring down into the huge maw below. You tried to steady your hammering heart, the blood rushing in your ears as you stared down over the edge, the thin little ribbon of silver river the only thing visible in the darkness.
"Darlin jump!" Rhett shouted behind you. "Jump!"
"I can't!" you hollered back, the tears streaming down your face.
"Then you're gonna have to trust me."
You felt a set of strong hands on your shoulder, pushing you over the cliff edge, your screams echoing in the canyon below. The wind rushed by you, through your hair and the threads of your clothes when something suddenly came up underneath you, something sturdy but soft.
You dreaded opening your eyes but when you did, you saw brilliant golden brown feathers, a mighty screech reaching your ears.
The eagles.
You breathed a deep sigh of relief, knowing you were safe. You looked behind you to find Rhett on the one below, looking up at you, the victory and relief evident on his face.
Off in the distance you could see the sun beginning to rise, the hues of yellow, rose pink and red all rising to greet you both. Yours and Rhett's clothing changed from denim to brilliant togas of dark navy blue, white, gold and soft lilac as the sun began to touch your skin.
There it was in the distance, Mount Olympus, rising high into the gorgeous morning light and all the life with it. Home again you were, safe and out of danger.
The eagles landed you right in the courtyard near the waterfalls. You saw Cecelia in her dark teal toga and Royal, both running towards you, the sickle at his belt, sheathed, but always ready.
"You two ok?" he asked.
"We're ok Dad," Rhett answered, helping you off the back of the eagle. "We're good."
"Where is he?" Royal asked.
"Still in that house," you answered.
"I'll have the animals watch the place and report back," Royal told him. "You manage to get what ya'll went in for?"
"Got her out safe," Rhett answered.
Royal drew his son into a tight embrace. "Glad ya'll are safe," Royal said. "I'll catch the little shithead one of these days. You two go and rest now, your mother and I will take care of the rest."
You and Rhett were more than overjoyed to have Amy as a part of your family in the days after, taking her in as though she were born of your flesh and blood. You and Rhett watched her grow and never more had you and your family felt so complete and so whole, even on the days when her mischievous streak showed, the giggly little girl in her bright pink toga running through the fields to chase after the herd of magic cows that soon became hers. And ever after when Rhett sent a thunderstorm to water the fields below, Amy was sure to run after with the light of a rainbow trailing behind her in the sun.
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