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sansaorgana · 2 days

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— STILL WATERS RUN DEEP

PAIRING — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader

SUMMARY — He's a psychotic killing machine and you're a shy and innocent lady. You have nothing in common except for the fact your bloodlines have been manipulated for centuries to create a match. And you seem to be destined to be together.

REQUEST — (1) // (2) // (3)

AUTHOR’S NOTE — I don't write children!Readers unless it's for the retrospections and memories. That's why I combined all these requests into one fic. Some parts of the requests didn't make it but I felt like it was already getting long 🙈 I included the trope of Feyd and Reader being destined to be together – some sort of Soulmates AU, I guess? ✨

WARNINGS — arranged marriage, blood, spiders, mentions of Baron Harkonnen abusing Feyd, SMUT, fingering, oral, hints of innocence kink, The Harpies being a bit non-consensual

WORD COUNT — 7,500

🔞 THIS FIC IS 18+ 🔞

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

STILL WATERS RUN DEEP

Giedi Prime was surely a scary and intimidating place for a twelve years old girl. The lack of colour and friendly faces made you shiver and anxiously cling to your father’s hand. You couldn’t understand why he had insisted on you accompanying him on this official state visit for the meeting with Baron Harkonnen. He would never want to take you with him to much more pleasant places. You were too young to understand the hidden agenda, the Bene Gesserit scheming – whose plans had been destroyed by Lady Jessica giving birth to a son instead of a daughter. They needed a new match for the young na-baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, The Baron’s nephew. After years of searching and studying many possibilities, they had decided to create a union between your House and The Harkonnens. Your father was more than happy – it was an honour to bond with such a powerful family. You were from one of the planets of a lesser importance. That was the reason for The Baron’s distrust towards the plan. He would rather see his nephew marrying a great lady, perhaps even an Imperial Princess.

While he talked to your father, you were left alone with no one but one guard in an empty room. You were sitting on a black couch and looking with awe at the portraits on the walls. All men looked the same on them – big, bald, hairless and scary. They fascinated you as much as they intimidated you.

After a while, the doors leading to the corridor opened and you startled at the sight of a boy more-less your age entering confidently with a contemptuous look upon his face. He looked like all The Harkonnens – sickly and scary. He was wearing clothes you had only seen on gladiators and warriors before but it looked disturbing on a body so skinny and small, even though he was tall for his age. There was a splash of blood upon his face and it made you gasp and take a step back. He smirked at you.

“So, that’s you? Disappointing,” he commented harshly as you swallowed thickly.

“What are you talking about? Who are you?” You looked nervously at the guard but he remained stoic.

“I’m Feyd,” he introduced himself. “My training has been interrupted and I’ve been told to meet you for whatever reason. Haven’t expected such a scared, little bunny,” he sneered and you spotted his teeth were black. They didn’t look rotten, though.

“What happened to your teeth?” You asked him, raising an eyebrow.

“My Uncle made the medics paint them black to intimidate my enemies,” he answered, proudly.

“What kind of enemies might a twelve year old have?” You asked, surprised.

You had no enemies. Your life was of a typical spoiled young lady – full of mother’s kisses, father’s embraces, candies, ponies and maids braiding your hair in the evening while telling you tales of handsome and brave prince charmings. You couldn't imagine that it was different for other people.

“You’re stupid,” Feyd pointed out and you shut your mouth, feeling hurt at his words as tears pricked your eyes. He approached you and you took a step back, scared of him. “Don’t cry,” he tilted his head at the sight of your wet eyes. “Has no one ever told you that you were stupid?” Now it was his time to be surprised and you shook your head. “Do you want to see something?” He proposed as his eyes sparkled.

“I’m scared,” you admitted, genuinely.

“I will protect you,” he offered his pale hand and you looked at it with fear in your eyes.

“I am scared of you,” you raised your eyes to lay them on his face again while you explained.

“Good,” he nodded with a chuckle. “But I’d get in trouble if something happened to you. You are the daughter of my uncle’s guest. Come,” he encouraged.

Your status gave you courage as your curiosity only fueled your desire to actually follow him. Just like the portraits on these walls – he was as intimidating as fascinating to you. Perhaps because you had never before met such a boy.

You took his cold hand and a shiver went down your spine. For a short while, you thought you would faint as an odd feeling filled your small body. A familiar warmth that you only felt when you were back home, in your bed, feeling safe and sound with the nanny or your mother caressing your head to help you sleep. Like he was home. But he couldn’t be. You had never met him and he was scary.

“Have you felt that, too?” You gasped.

“No,” Feyd lied. “Come,” he dragged you behind him and the guard opened the doors in front of you.

Feyd took you down the corridor and led you downstairs to some sort of dungeons beneath the fortress. You were starting to have a bad feeling about it but something deep inside you made you trust that odd boy. Without understanding it yet, you were starting to realise he was the one who had been meant for you from the day you were born. There was some connection between your bloodlines that was drawing you towards each other.

You found yourself in an old, dark and damp room. It smelt of something rotten and it was full of spiderwebs.

“What is this place? It’s disgusting,” you pointed out as you winced. Feyd let go of your hand and sneered at you.

“Life is unpleasant. The sooner you learn that, the better,” he pointed out and suddenly, he reached for a short knife by his waist you had not noticed before. You yelped at the sight, convinced he had only dragged you there to kill you.

“Don’t be silly, I won’t hurt you,” he rolled his eyes and you nodded, unsurely. “Do you want to see me kill something?” He smirked playfully at you.

It felt wrong and you felt the anxiety rising in your abdomen when you realised you’d get in trouble for that. On the other hand, you did want to see him kill something. It was curiosity mixed with excitement to witness something forbidden and something you had been sheltered from.

“Yes,” you nodded, eagerly. He was a little surprised at your reaction but he only smiled.

Feyd beckoned you over by waving his hand and you followed him, quietly. Then you gasped and covered your mouth as you gagged out of disgust at the sight of a big, fat spider in the corner of the room. It was huge – nearly as big as you were. But it was also fat and slow. The legs were long and thin, furry black sticks.

“I found it a few days ago,” Feyd told you as he looked at your disgusted face. “Gross, isn’t she?”

You nodded.

“She reminds me of my uncle,” Feyd explained with hatred in his voice. “Do you see those small spiders on the ground?” He asked and you looked down. It was full of smaller spiders but they were all laying there dead. “She feeds off of her own children.”

You took a step back, utterly disgusted and sick. Feyd snorted at you and turned his back on you to gut the big, black spider. You watched with terror how much satisfaction it was giving him. He struck the monstrosity so many times that you lost count. He kept striking when it was already laying there dead.

“That’s enough,” you whispered and Feyd froze before turning around to face you. There was pure murder in his eyes and when he walked towards you with a knife in his hand, you were sure he would kill you now, too.

You took a deep breath in and closed your eyes, expecting the worst. But when you felt his breath on your face, you heard him hiding the knife away.

“Stupid little bunny,” he told you and you opened your eyes, hesitantly. He was staring at you as if he was studying your face.

The door opened suddenly and a few guards entered, sighing out of relief. Your father was standing behind them, scared. Baron Harkonnen was there as well, floating ominously.

“There you are!” He raised his voice and you spotted that all Feyd’s confidence was gone in a second. The boy looked down and blushed. “I’ve told you to behave. Why are you scaring Lady (Y/N)?!”

You turned around to face The Baron, hiding his nephew’s from his sight with your small body.

“He did not scare me, my Lord,” you assured with a slight bow of your head. “I wanted Feyd-Rautha to show me around,” you lied to protect him.

You had a feeling his uncle would punish him and he looked like a man you would never want a punishment from.

“She’s naive,” your father tried to save the situation. “Curiosity killed the cat,” he reminded you and grabbed you by your wrist to pull you closer to him. “Forgive my daughter, my Lord Baron.”

“She is forgiven,” the big man smirked viciously before lying his eyes on his nephew. “The boy, however, is not.”

You wanted to protest but your father gave you a stern look and announced it was time for you to leave now. So, you obeyed and walked away, following the guard leading you out of the corridor. But you kept looking behind, trying to see Feyd-Rautha for the last time.

“Will I see him again?” You asked your father, looking up.

“Who?”

“Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha,” you explained and your father sighed as he looked down at you.

“You will in eight years,” he announced. “You will become his wife.”

Those eight years you had not wasted a day, practising for your new role every day. Learning all about The Harkonnens; their culture, their history, their customs and war strategies. You knew that their nobility would not give you an easy time for being a Lady of the lesser house. You wanted to prove your worth with knowledge.

Your wisdom was your only weapon because you lacked confidence nor experience in nearly anything. Sheltered your whole life, surrounded by books and teachers, you were shy and innocent. The spider incident on Giedi Prime still remained your only sin – that no one except your husband-to-be possessed the knowledge of.

You had not been in touch with him at all but the stories had reached you about his nature and his victories in the gladiator arena. You believed them all because your short encounter had been enough to give you an idea about what kind of man he would become. You had never protested whenever your marriage was mentioned but you felt anxious. You didn’t belong on Giedi Prime, you didn’t fit in the world of death and violence.

Tested by Gom Jabbar, you nearly failed the test. The scary Reverend Mother gave your mother a look of disapproval. On the very next day you were shipped to Giedi Prime for your wedding, though. You had survived the trial and only that mattered – the long-planned scheming couldn’t be sabotaged.

On the day of your arrival, you were led with your parents to a room you had remembered from your last visit. There was the same black couch and the same portraits on the wall – only now there was one more than before. The last one in line, of a young man with handsome facial features, signed with your betrothed’s name. You opened your mouth slightly as you kept staring at it. He was a young and handsome na-baron; a strong warrior surrounded by men and women who admired him. You could only imagine how inconvenient a marriage had to be for him. Especially to an uninteresting and unimportant woman like you.

The doors opened and you turned around to see him in real life as he entered the room in black gladiator gear. He looked better than in the portrait – raw and magnetic, dangerous. Your parents stiffened at the sight of him and they both bowed their heads.

“Lord Na-Baron,” your father greeted him. “We have delivered our daughter to you, according to the agreement,” he explained. “We have hoped to be greeted by your uncle The Baron.”

“He’s busy,” Feyd interrupted your father in a low and raspy voice that sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes were only fixated on you – curious and mocking. You bowed down slightly as well, not wanting to disrespect him.

“Y-yes, of course, my Lord…” your father took a step back.

“You’re grown now,” Feyd-Rautha stood in front of you with a smirk and you took a deep, shaky breath in.

“So are you, my Lord Na-Baron,” you nodded.

“She hasn’t changed a bit,” Feyd turned around to give your father a contemptuous look. “A timid little bunny. But it’s no surprise since she’s been raised by a coward and bootlicker like you.”

“My daughter is of many qualities, my Lord, I can assure you…” your father panicked.

“A wife only needs one quality,” Feyd sneered at him as your blood ran cold at his words. “Show them to their rooms,” he told the guards and left the room.

“I can’t believe you’ve made deals with these people,” your mother snapped angrily at your father who was standing there with his head kept low, ashamed.

But it was not like he had any saying in this. It was the plan of the Bene Gesserit. You were nothing but pawns in it. You tried to remember that Feyd-Rautha was a pawn, too.

After the scary and bloody wedding party, you were taken to your husband’s bedroom where you were supposed to be prepared for the wedding night. However, it was not the maids waiting for you there. Three bald Harkonnen women were sitting on your husband’s bed and smirking at you, showing off their sharp teeth. They were dressed in black leather and clinging to each other as if they were one body instead of three.

“We will prepare her for the Master,” one of them told the servants who had taken you there. You looked at them with panic and they only looked back with guilt and compassion before walking out as quickly as possible, leaving you alone with the scary snake-like creatures.

They were circling around you, sniffing you and chuckling contemptuously. You didn’t understand anything but you tried to bravely keep still and endure. Then, one of them approached you and licked a fat stripe across your cheek. Your eyes widened in terror.

“Oh-so-innocent,” she commented. “Have you ever pleased a man?” She asked.

You were terrified and embarrassed, you didn’t know what to do.

“N-no, my Lady,” you stuttered and nodded your head, unsure how to address her.

They all found it amusing as they laughed.

“My Lady, she calls me. I might like this one,” the woman caressed your hair with some sort of perverted delicacy that made you feel even more scared. Your heart was pounding in your chest and your hands turned cold and sweaty. “I’m not a lady, na-baroness. I am your husband’s whore,” she informed you and you nodded again, hesitantly. “We are his favourite pets. You see… Our Master likes perversion,” her hands landed on your hips as she pulled you closer to her body. “We will teach you how to please him and how to take him.”

“He’s a lot to take,” another woman stood behind you and grabbed your breasts from behind.

“W-won’t he mind, my husband?” You swallowed thickly.

“Not at all,” the third one giggled. “He always shares his toys.”

“Not this one,” the doors opened as Feyd-Rautha entered the room. He glanced at the women angrily and they immediately let go of you and moved away. “She is not a toy, she is your na-baroness. What are you doing here?” He snapped. “Have I not forbidden you from entering this room from now on?”

“Oh, Master…” one of them approached him to put her arms around his neck but he pushed her away.

“Get out,” he hissed and they ran away.

When the doors closed behind them, Feyd looked at you and sighed before approaching you and caressing your cheek.

“You alright, wife?” He asked.

“Y-yes, thank you,” you nodded and flinched at the feeling of his cold fingers brushing your cheek. An odd and out-of-place warmth started to fill you like all those years ago. It made him startled, too, and eventually he took a step back.

“You must be exhausted,” he only said as he looked away, awkwardly. “We can perform our duties in the morning.”

“Th-thank you,” you nodded. “I’ll go take a shower now…”

Feyd pointed at the doors leading to the bathroom and that was all for that night. When you came back to his bedroom, he was already gone. You went to sleep without him, confused by his behaviour.

Baron Harkonnen watched carefully with his own eyes and through the eyes of his servants. He observed and he listened – nothing could ever escape him. But the new na-baroness was as easy to read as a book. When she joined him and Count Rabban by the breakfast table, she didn’t wince while sitting, which was an obvious sign she had not been claimed by Feyd the previous night. The Baron smirked when the new na-baroness began to eat the meal, keeping her timid gaze down, terrified of her surroundings.

If Feyd-Rautha refused to be her friend, The Baron would surely find her a purpose. She would be an easy tool to keep Feyd in place. A silent, obedient shadow following her husband everywhere. A perfect spy.

“Na-Baroness,” he addressed her and she flinched before looking up, scared. “I would like you to join the council after the meal. Your husband rarely takes part in them since he is too busy training but now you are an extension of him,” The Baron forced a smile and she nodded. “I’ve been told by your father you are well-trained in Harkonnen history and customs.”

“Y-yes, my Lord,” she bowed her head.

“I know that Feyd-Rautha is not an easy man to be around,” The Baron continued as Rabban raised his head, curious about his uncle’s scheming plan. “He’s been like this ever since he was a child. I’ve been trying to temper him.”

“I remember,” the young woman whispered.

“You can tell me about anything that is worrying you,” The Baron assured her and she smiled genuinely. “Has he hurt you?” He squinted his eyes, knowing the answer already but wanting to test her honesty.

“No, my Lord. Feyd-Rautha did not spend the night with me at all,” she answered and he nodded as Rabban sneered.

“You have to forgive him, my Lady. He prefers other… forms of entertainment,” The Baron explained softly.

“I believe I have met them, my Baron,” the woman looked down.

“Most likely, yes. They don’t like to share him,” The Baron chuckled.

“But the heir…”

“Do not worry about the heir. You are both still young, you have time. There is no need to hurry anything. Take your time to adjust on Giedi Prime first,” The Baron tried to calm her down and she looked up with so much gratitude in her eyes that he was sure he had succeeded. She was his agent now.

To your own surprise, you found new friends in your husband’s family – his uncle and brother – but not him. Feyd-Rautha was mostly avoiding you and a few attempts to claim you were ending in a fiasco. You couldn’t understand why he would pull away suddenly and leave you without a word or fail to get hard enough no matter how long his touch lingered upon your body. It made you feel as if you were lacking, because you knew for sure he had no problems of this sort with his concubines. They often bragged to you about it. They had offered to help you to excite him and you nearly agreed to that but Feyd hated to see you around them. He snapped whenever he caught you talking to them or them approaching you.

He hated to see you around his uncle and brother, too. He had been warning you about them but it felt cruel to do so. Did he want you to not have any companionship at all? To be sad and lonely and miserable all your days?

You weren’t appreciated in marriage but you were appreciated as a part of this family – representing the na-baronship during the council meetings with your decisions and advice. The Baron seemed to be pleased with you and Count Rabban had stopped to make fun of you over time. Still waters run deep, The Baron would often say about you as your cheeks heated up and eyes sparkled. Perhaps all the years of studying the customs and tradition of this House would not be useful in your marriage but they seemed to be useful when it came to your political presence.

It still bothered you that Feyd-Rautha was acting so weirdly towards you. You remembered the boy he had been eight years earlier. You had never feared this union because you had been sure there was some sort of bond now between you two, some sort of connection. Perhaps you had been wrong.

It was right after one of Feyd’s failed attempts to claim you, when he left you half-naked in bed with tears pricking your eyes. He walked away and most likely went to his concubines as you fixed yourself and left the room, too, not wanting to remain in the chambers filled with the smell of embarrassment and humiliation anymore. You nearly crashed with your brother-in-law walking down the corridor.

“My Lady,” Rabban nodded at you. “Is everything alright?”

“Y-yes,” you answered, trying not to show your nervousness. There was no need for him to know the details about the problems your marriage was facing.

“I was just looking for you,” he confessed and you raised an eyebrow at him. “Tomorrow, my uncle wants me to lead the council meeting only for the most important members of the court. It’s about a matter of a very high importance and it’s confidential,” he whispered. “I hoped you would join me. Without my uncle there, I will be the only one representing our family.”

“But tomorrow Feyd has his fight. I am expected to be in the stands,” you looked up at him.

“Uncle will be there. You are more needed here, (Y/N),” Rabban tried to convince you. You could see his hands were a little shaky – he was stressed about the responsibility placed upon his shoulders by his uncle. “It’s not like Feyd will even notice your absence,” he added.

You bit on your lower lip. He was right.

“Alright, I’ll join you in the council,” you nodded your head. “Our state affairs are much more important than some fixed gladiator fight anyway.”

The servants’ slim fingers were applying the black paint upon Feyd-Rautha’s body as he observed his three harpies from the corner of his eye. They were giggling between each other and some of the words reached his sensitive ears.

“...naive…”

“Silly little thing.”

“...taste her heart…”

“What are you talking about, pets?” Feyd turned around to face them as he asked and they went silent.

“Nothing important, Master,” the bravest of them all answered eventually.

“I have a feeling you’re whispering about my wife,” Feyd pointed out.

“As I said, nothing important,” she chuckled and the rest giggled. Feyd squinted his eyes and approached them with a clenched jaw and an angry expression on his face. When he grabbed her by the chin, they stopped laughing.

“You are forbidden to even think of her,” he hissed out. “You’re not worthy of that.”

“M-Master…” She trembled as she pleaded for his softness. Her companions hid behind her and observed him carefully. “She doesn’t even know how to please you, Master.”

Feyd’s hand dropped down and the squeeze tightened around the woman’s neck. He watched her struggle to catch a breath for some time as he observed with a smirk. Eventually, he let go of her.

“My wife belongs to a different realm than you,” he stated. “She is not to be discussed, looked at, thought of… Am I understood?”

“Y-yes, Master,” they all nodded, obediently.

“Good,” he smiled and went back to the servant girls.

“You might be interested in the gossip, though, na-baron,” one of the concubines whispered. “We are your eyes and ears…”

Feyd pretended not to be intrigued although he was. He didn’t react, hoping she would say more. And so she did.

“Your uncle keeps the young na-baroness close. The rumour has it he wants to make her one of his agents. And she is slowly taking your place during the councils. Count Rabban is his Plan B if you fail. Then she will be given to him.”

“I’m sure Rabban won’t have a problem with fucking her,” the bravest concubine added as if his punishment had not worked at all. Because it didn’t. She loved his punishments. “Her innocence will only make him more eager. He will tear her apart.”

“Shut up!” Feyd growled, making the servant girls take a few steps back as he turned around to face the girl with a big mouth. “Let me remind you that I don’t need your tongue to fuck you,” he sneered. “Your sisters are better at using their tongues than you anyway.”

The woman looked down and he was informed that he was about to enter the arena in five minutes so he went back to putting the gear on, furiously clutching to his blades. He was grateful to his concubine for fueling his anger so much – he wanted to make good use of it in the arena.

But when he approached the tower with his uncle’s balcony to bow down, he spotted that his wife was not there. Suddenly, the fight made no sense to him at all. What was the point of putting on a show, what was the point of killing with grace when she could not watch?

He had been waiting eight years for her to come back. The timid little bunny girl that made him feel so warm inside. That made him feel like home. Nothing had ever made him feel this way. They were destined for each other. Now, when she was by his side, he had no idea what to do. He had been training his body for years to impress her and be able to protect her but nothing was working out the way he had planned. She was slipping away.

She was slipping away because of his uncle’s scheming and because Feyd-Rautha himself had no idea how to approach a creature so pure and innocent as this woman. If anything in this world was still able to save his rotten soul, it was her. But maybe he had been naive to think so. He was beyond saving.

He didn’t give the audience a show on that day. The fights were quick and swift. No playing with his victims, no tormenting. Just a kill after kill to finish it as fast as possible. And no bowing down at the end. He just walked out of the arena, still clutching his fists on the blood-dripping blades. He walked past the guards and servants, not wanting to change or bathe – he wanted one thing only. To find his wife.

The sounds of the cheering audience were becoming more and more quiet. They waited for him to walk back and bow down, raising his knife in the sign of victory. He had no plans in doing so. He would not kneel in front of his uncle. Not when his wife was not beside him, because it was her he had been kneeling for. Not Baron Harkonnen.

The council was over now but you stayed inside the conference room with Count Rabban to discuss what had been decided and what to tell his uncle. You were staring at the maps of Arrakis and wondering whether the Emperor’s assurances of help were trustworthy.

“What I’m saying is… If he is so willing to get rid of The Atreides just because he considers them to be dangerous… He might do the same to us one day. We are a real danger to him way more than any Atreides is,” you pointed out.

“Especially now when we have knowledge that can turn other leaders against him and…” Rabban’s words were interrupted by the heavy black doors opening rapidly. You flinched and instinctively hid behind your brother-in-law’s broad shoulders.

It was Feyd-Rautha himself walking inside with an angry look on his face. Wearing his gladiator gear stained with fresh blood and still wielding two bloody swords. He looked ferocious as his cold eyes searched for you. When he spotted you behind his brother, his jaw clenched and so did his fists on the handles of the blades.

“What is going on here?” He barked as you and Rabban looked at each other, questioningly.

“Husband,” you tried to be brave as you took a step ahead to approach him very carefully. “I see you’re finished now. I assume you’ve won.”

“(Y/N), wait,” Rabban grabbed your sleeve to keep you in place. He didn’t want you near Feyd in such a state. But Feyd didn’t like his brother’s gesture.

“Let her go, brother,” he snapped. “She is my wife and she will approach me if she wishes. I would never lay my hand on her,” he drawled through gritted teeth.

You felt Rabban’s fingers letting go of the fabric of your dress and you walked up to Feyd. Something inside you was telling you that he needed you at that moment. Perhaps that was the intuition of a wife.

“Oh, we all know that you don’t lay your hand on her at all, brother,” Rabban snorted at him.

You watched in terror how your husband’s face became even more angry than before. He yelled and attacked his brother with all the burning wrath he had before been trying to stop from outbursting with.

“No! Stop! Please,” you pleaded as they fought and struggled one against another. Rabban took out his own blade now, too, and they ended up wrestling on the floor like two children. “That is enough, please!” You cried out.

Your tears brought attention to only one of them – your husband. He was distracted by them and ended up with his brother’s blade pointed at his face. You froze and Rabban laughed with contempt.

“Such a great warrior you are, my brother. Trained day and night for years, got your little arena shows… And now you got distracted by a woman,” he pointed out.

“That woman is my wife,” Feyd drawled.

You looked around in panic but the guards stood there petrified. They were afraid to attack any of the brothers. Usually shy and timid, you felt an odd outburst of courage as you took a blade from the guard standing nearby. He did not protest but only watched in terror as you approached the brothers and pointed the blade at Count Rabban himself.

“Don’t be stupid,” he laughed at you.

“Let my husband go,” your voice shivered but you managed to stand your ground.

“Or what?” Rabban sneered. “We both know you won’t strike me.”

In that very moment Feyd kicked him and got out of the direction of his brother’s blade. He ended up on top with his own knife pointed at Rabban. A smirk on his face revealed that he had never been defeated even for a second, he was only toying with his brother… and with you, too.

“She might not but I will,” Feyd hissed at his brother. “My marriage is none of your business, brother. And you stay away from my wife.”

“I am only representing you during the councils,” you tried to explain and Feyd looked up at you with his brow furrowed. “Your uncle told me I should because you rarely take place in them.”

“He’s scheming, can’t you see? Trying to turn us against each other. Thought you were smarter than this,” his anger was directed at you now.

He let go of Rabban and stood up to walk out of the room. You swallowed thickly and lowered your blade, scared of your brother-in-law’s reaction now when you were left alone with him after threatening him.

“Why did you take his side?” He only asked as you gave the blade back to the guard. “He doesn’t treat you any good. He never will.”

“He is my husband,” you explained quietly, avoiding his curious gaze.

“By name only. Your marriage is not even consummated.”

“Feyd was right,” you looked up. “Our marriage is none of your business, brother,” you emphasised who he was to you now before walking out to follow Feyd. It was easy because he left a trail of sand and blood from the arena behind him.

He went to your chambers so you took a deep breath in and pushed the doors open to face him in all his wrath and anger. He was struggling to get out of his gear with shaky hands as he shot you a furious glance over his shoulder.

“Should I call for the servants?” You asked.

“No,” he snapped and you sighed before approaching him and helping him yourself. At first he tried to shake you off but you were stubborn so he gave up and allowed your gentle fingertips to work on the pieces of clothing. “How do you even know how to do that?” He asked. “Did Rabban show you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, dear husband. I’ve read dozens of books about The Harkonnen art of warfare. I know your gears by heart. And Rabban is no gladiator,” you explained.

“Dozens of books about the art of warfare and The Harkonnens and yet it slipped your mind what masters of manipulation we can be?” Feyd barked at you and you chuckled. He didn’t find it amusing as he looked you up and down with contempt so you leaned in and placed a kiss upon his soft lips while your hands cupped his face. He was visibly taken aback by that, he didn’t even close his eyes for the kiss and he continued to observe you as if you would attack him any second.

“I have studied everything like a good pupil I was,” you whispered after breaking the kiss. Your hands kept caressing his cheeks in a soothing manner. “And now I’m one of The Baron’s closest people. I’m your inside man, Feyd-Rautha,” you smiled gently and his eyes sparkled at the realisation.

“But… why?” He only asked, confused.

“What do you mean why?” You bit on your lower lip.

“I’ve been treating you… coldly,” he admitted.

“Well, that is another matter. But that is between you and me. The marriage is between a husband and a wife. Not between them and his uncle or brother,” you explained. “I still remember that big fat spider. I’ve known ever since I was twelve years old that the thing you crave the most is to gut your uncle like you did to that monstrosity in the dungeons. And as your wife… I will do everything I can to help you,” you assured him.

But Feyd was not convinced. He pushed you away although he did it way gentler than you’d expect. He walked away from you as he stepped out of the pile of clothes by his feet. He was wearing nothing but underwear now and you watched how his muscular body glistened with sweat after the fight.

“You can be a double agent, wife. I don’t trust you,” he confessed.

“You have no reasons to,” you nodded. “Except for the fact we have fate and destiny bonding us. Am I the only one feeling this when we touch?” Your voice lowered as uncertainty began to grow inside of you. Perhaps you were. Perhaps you were the only one feeling that warmth indeed.

“No,” Feyd admitted, nearly inaudibly. “Why do you think I can’t fuck you?” He approached you again and you gasped at how close he chose to stand.

“Because you find me unattractive? Or boring perhaps,” you shrugged your arms. “I don’t care about that. Our bond is stronger than physical attraction.”

“I can’t fuck you because that feeling is overwhelming me and I don’t know what to do. I’ve never felt like that. You’re too pure for me,” he confessed, visibly uncomfortable with his own words as he looked away.

You were stunned for a moment.

“You’re an idiot, Feyd-Rautha,” you laughed eventually and he blushed. “I am not pure. I am flesh and blood just like you,” you told him. “For example now… When you’re standing in front of me… like this,” you allowed your hand to wander all over his hard muscles. “You’re starting a fire that will be difficult to put out later,” you looked up to meet his gaze. “Every time you start and don’t finish, you leave me in torment,” you confessed. “And nothing helps,” you pouted. “I writhe and I roll around and grow more and more bitter knowing that you’re giving your whores what you’re supposed to give me.”

He was nearly paralyzed in a way he was staring at you. You grabbed his hand and pulled your dress up to press his hand to your womanhood. You were soaking through your underwear now and he blinked a few times as his gaze intensified.

“I will never forgive myself if I break you,” Feyd took his hand away despite your protests.

“You’re breaking me by refusing to touch me,” you whined.

“Touch yourself,” he said suddenly as his eyes sparkled and you were left speechless. “Touch yourself for me. I will help you. I’ll make it feel good,” he proposed.

Out of desperation, you decided this was better than nothing – at least for now – so you agreed. As fast as possible, you got rid of your dress and remained in nothing but your sheer underdress. You laid on the bed and watched him approach you. Feyd laid next to you, observing you carefully. His eyes were admiring every curve of your body and every inch of your skin. Without waiting for his command, you pulled the underdress up and took off your underwear to toss the panties aside and start playing with your wet folds. It was embarrassing to see him watch but it also excited you in some twisted way. You toyed with your clit, moaning softly, showing him what kind of pleasure you could bring to yourself – what kind of pleasure you had to bring to yourself since he refused to do so.

“Easy, slow down,” Feyd breathed out and placed his rough hand on your waist. He was caressing you and joined your lips together in a sloppy kiss. His free hand undid the ribbon on the top of your underdress to free your breasts. They shivered under the touch of his big hand as he played with your nipples and buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your sweet scent and sucking on the sensitive skin below your ear.

You shut your eyes close, trying to focus on the pleasure as your fingers rubbed on your sensitive swollen clit but it was not enough. It never was.

“I can’t…” You admitted your defeat as you tried to catch a breath.

“Yes, you can,” Feyd whispered into your ear in that low, raspy voice of his that sent shivers down your body and straight to your core. “What’s stopping you?”

“It’s just… I don’t know…” You didn’t know how to find the right words. “It’s not enough,” you admitted. “It’s not you.”

“Let me, then,” he raised himself to look into your eyes as his hand moved your hand away and his fingers replaced yours on your exposed clit. You gasped at the feeling of his fingertips drawing circles and teasing your entrance.

You pressed your hands to his chest and then you moved them lower to explore the hard muscles of his abs. To feel them underneath your fingers was enough to make your back arch needily, exposing even more of your hungry pussy. Feyd smirked at that and buried his fingers deep inside as you gasped out of pain but it was quickly replaced with pleasure.

His free hand grabbed your chin gently and when you looked up, batting your eyelashes and opening your lips slightly, he put his fingers inside of your mouth and you grabbed his wrist to hold on to it as you sucked and moaned. His other hand was bringing you close to your release as his movements were fast and rough and his thumb circled your clit.

You cried out but his fingers muffled it so you ended up choking on the sound escaping your lips as you came writhing under him with sweaty forehead and single hair strands sticking to your face, your whole body set on fire, trying to catch a breath. Feyd swallowed thickly as his eyes sparkled.

You yelped as he smacked your sensitive pussy right after pulling his fingers out of it and licking them clean, looking deep into your eyes. You were speechless as your mind was left thoughtless.

You could only watch him lower himself and open your thighs even further with his strong arms as he buried his face between your legs to lap on your juices. You were sensitive so it burned in the beginning but the uncomfortable feeling submerged into pleasure once again. Feyd’s tongue was cleaning your folds thoroughly and penetrating you while you threw your head back as you laid your hands on the back of his neck, keeping him close. But this time he didn’t let you cum so easily.

When you were about to reach the peak again, he moved his head away and the next thing you saw was his face right in front of yours, his chin dripping with your wetness and his cold eyes filled with so much fire that you felt like a prey trapped by a big predator.

But you loved that feeling. You loved to feel small and tiny under him, trapped, vulnerable. You dug your nails into his biceps and looked down. He had already tossed his underwear aside and his cock was hard now, swollen and aching for you, you could see it twitching and leaking black precum. He looked heavy and big and you wanted him badly to claim you and violate you to the point no other man would ever even think of touching you after him.

You had never made him that hard. You had never gone so far before. You were sure you’d succeed now.

“Take me, claim me, make me yours,” you pleaded. “Please, I want more of you.”

Feyd shut you up with a kiss and a strong, stinging pain of his hard cock finally penetrating you. Your eyes widened as you whined. He intertwined your fingers together and held you through the process of adjustment to his size. You were the first one to impatiently rock your hips to show him you wanted him to move. So he did, slowly and carefully. He winced from his attempts to keep himself in control and you let go of his hands to pull him closer by his shoulders and deepen the kiss.

You moaned softly and helped him to fuck you by you rocking your hips against him as your legs wrapped around his waist. You both had been waiting so long for this moment of unity that it didn’t take long for you two to reach your highs and the familiar feeling of warmth filled you whole. You didn’t remember your own name, the only thing you knew was that you were home and the man above you was destined for you; you were born to be his wife and he was born to be your husband. The thousands of years of manipulation of the bloodlines had led you to this moment and nothing could tear you apart now. No amount of rumours, scheming or the disability to show emotions.

You were catching your breath as Feyd was slowly coming back from his high above you, panting heavily and looking at your face with hazy eyes.

“You belong to me,” he leaned in to kiss your lips again. “You always have.”

“No matter what happens, we are one,” you agreed with a nod and intertwined your fingers with him as you held his hand. “Now, when that is settled, we shall focus on our most important task.”

“And that is?”

“Killing the fat spider in his nest,” you answered.

“Thankfully, we have experience,” Feyd teased before placing yet another soft kiss upon your parted lips.

MASTERLIST

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen x reader #austin butler x reader #lilysfiction

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charlottemorningstarsdarling · 3 days

Text

𝕱𝖗𝖚𝖎𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖔𝖓

Part three of this, but can be read individually:)

Pairing: Alastor x Doe!fem reader

Summary: It’s basically a bunch of snippets of Reader being pregnant (if you would like to read more about it, more scenarios and details, feel free to request!)

Warning: talks of pregnancy(like, a lot), smut, breeding, possessiveness, lactation kink, mentions of birth, etc…

Alastor wasn’t too surprised when a few months after their first mating, her body started changing.

I mean, they were really worked up, all the time. After their first time they stayed in her room and nest for two weeks, barely coming out. Alastor was the one who sent his shadow down to bring them food, a lot of food. He tried to feed her as much as possible.

“You need to eat as much as you can, doe.” He had her favorite pasta, like… a lot of it and he insisted on feeding her himself. So there he was, holding a spoon that was packed with pasta, however she shook her head and pulled away.

“Alastor, I am afraid to gain too much.” Her ears flattened on her head in shame. “What if you won’t find me beautiful? And you won’t want me as your mate anymore…?” Her eyes were rimmed with tears. He gathered her face in his palms, that were as big as her head, he gave her a long kiss on her forehead.

“My darling doe, how could I not find you the most beautiful creature in this world? You’re mine, my mate and my everything. And you are doing the most beautiful things one could do, you’re giving me a little fawn. You’re about to go through pain and discomfort just so we can hold our own in our arms. How could you worry about some extra weight on you?” He knew what calmed her down always, he put her on his lap and leaned her head into his neck, so she could feel his scent more strongly. “You need to nourish your body so you could nourish our baby, your body needs nutrients to produce milk and keep the baby warm.” He rocked her from side to side. That did it. After that, she ate the bigger portions that he gave her.

But, after a bit, it was evident that her weight gain wasn’t due to her eating habits. It was due to the little fawn that was growing inside of her.

Alastor was worried about her, she was not quite herself. She never threw up, but felt nauseous from nearly everything. She also slept whenever and wherever she could. She went to sleep early, woke up late, and still somehow found time to take naps. Husk was actually the one who told Alastor that there could be something up with Y/N. One early afternoon, Husk was cleaning glasses when he saw her out of the corner of his eye, she sat down on the couch with her notebook in hand. He turned away for a second to put the glass back into it’s place, and when he turned back, Y/N was already deeply asleep on the couch.

Alastor was terrified on the inside at first, they finally find each other, only so he could lose her? What if she was sick? He couldn’t bear to see his mate fading away before his very eyes.

All of his worries went away when Y/N got an even bigger appetite for sex than before, they already fucked like rabbits. But now? It didn’t matter where they were or what time it was or what were they doing. No. If his darling wanted to fuck, he would fuck. Luckily, Alastor disliked not having her around the hotel, it was still dangerous for her out there. So, he fucked her on every solid surface in the hotel, with zero shame.

One thing about mates is that after they did their mating, the doe would start picking up certain characteristics from the buck. They noticed the first time when Vaggie pointed it out. Alastor and Charlie were working out plans for the hotel, and of course their partners had to be there for moral support, Vaggie and Y/N were sitting on the cushion in her’s and Charlie’s room, the one that is in front of the huge window. Y/N was staring out the window, completely lost in thought, the other woman snapped her out of her thoughts by gently wrapping her index finger in one of Y/N’s locks.

“This is new, I didn’t know you wanted to dye it, but it suits you.” She smiled, but Y/N looked at her with evident confusion.

“What do you mean?” She tilted her head.

“Your hair?”

“What about it?”

Vaggie only chuckled and led her to Charlie’s vanity, where she held up one strand of Y/N hair, which was… red and with a slight blackish tint at the bottom, along with quite a few locks of her hair.

To the movement, both Alastor and Charlie went to the vanity too.

“Oh. My. GOD!” Charlie shrieked in joy.

“Why, what a pleasant surprise!” He said before noticing that the tip of her ears were also developing a crimson color. He leaned down and started running his finger up and down her ear, causing her to lean into the gentle touch and flatten her ears against her hair.

Weeks went by and the changes became noticeable, Angel Dust immediately planned a brand new wardrobe for her to match the colors of her hair and ears. Even when Alastor had to go into town for business, he always made sure that his Y/N wasn’t alone, it was mostly Angel and Husk who kept her company. It was the situation now, Alastor had to leave for an Overlord meeting, and Y/N was in Angel’s room. He thought it would be a fun activity to have the doe try on his slutty clothes, but she liked it, she felt sexy.

She felt the physical aspects of her change of appearance lately, but she couldn’t make sure.

“Angie, I cannot zip this up! I would hate to ruin it.” She was laughing at herself, she was twirling like a fool, trying to reach for the skirt’s zipper herself, and failing miserably.

Angel pushed himself up from the bed, with a big smile on his face. “Here, let me, that one always gets stuck and I have four arms for a reason!” He tried to make it happen, but something was just in the way. He made her turn around to kneel in front of her, trying to see what was stopping the tiny zipper.

And that is when he saw it…

“HOLY SHIT!” His concentrated eyes changed immediately to surprised ones.

She looked down at him in panic, feeling a sudden pang of guilt, and tears. “What? I ripped it?! I am so so so sor—“

He just stood up laughing and put her in front of the mirror, so she could see herself from the side. She was still feeling sorry about the non existent rip that she didn’t even notice what he was trying to do.

His soft hand came up to her chin, so she could look into his eyes and then he guided her gaze to the mirror. “Y/N, look! There is a reason that the skirt didn’t want to zip up.” His fingers grabbed the bottom of the skirt to pull it lower, revealing her stomach.

Before she even had time to register what was happening, his lower set of arms came up to cup the lower part of her belly, which was slightly swollen.

She was shocked to say the least, but in a happy way. She was still staring at it from the mirror when Angel’s upper arms came to envelop her into a hug.

“Oh, Y/N… You are going to be the best mama, I know it.” After they broke apart from the hug, he lifted one eyebrow. “Sooo… Creepy face fucks good…?”

“…Fuck yeah.” They both started laughing, until Y/N was hit by her pregnancy hormones. One moment she was laughing, she was sobbing the next. Thankfully , Angel stayed with her until Alastor arrived back home. He held her and cried tears of joy with her. He tucked her in with his softest blanket, poor thing needed a nap after shedding so many tears. Fat Nuggets was curled up at her belly, and Angel slept close to her, too. Feeling protective over his best friend who was cooking up something beautiful inside of her.

That explained a lot. Her emotions, her sudden waves of horniness, her constant nausea and tiredness. No wonder all these things were happening to her.

She was expecting a little fawn, her and Alastor’s little fawn. A tiny fruit of their mating.

When Alastor arrived back, he knocked on Angel’s door and the sleepy spider opened it up. He let him in and they both looked at Y/N, who was asleep and cuddling with Fat Nuggets.

“I might just get jealous.” Alastor spoke in a hushed tone, then made her way to her side. He reached under her and gathered her in his arms in bridal style.

After saying farewell to Angel, he took his mate back to their room. He put her in their soft bed and laid beside her, snuggling her into his arms. She woke up when she felt his skin warming hers, this was the perfect opportunity.

“Alastor…?” She whispered, he was looking down at her, admiring his love.

“Hello there, my dear. Had fun with Angel?” He caressed her hair. But she leaned up on her elbows and towered over his side. Her silk nightgown was bigger on her form, so her tiny belly bump wasn’t visible.

“I have something for you…” she smiled, a genuine smile. He chuckled and pushed her strands of hair out of her face, those particular strands were just like his own. It made his primal and possessive self go mad, it was obvious to everyone that she belonged to the radio demon.

He kept looking at her with a love-dazed expression, waiting for her to continue. She pushed the straps of her lacy gown down her shoulders and she started to pull it over her head. “Well, this is certainly a beautiful sight.” His eyes were glued to her boobs.

“I have something better…” She straddled him and kissed him deeply. After a few seconds they were still lost in each other's lips. “I” kiss. “Cannot” kiss. “Wait” kiss. “To fee—“ She pushed her swollen belly into his lower ribs, not harshly, but enough to make him notice. “What is..?” He pulled away and checked her lower stomach, and that was when he saw it.

“My doe…I—“ He palmed her skin, it felt firm, but oh so very soft. His eyes softened and went glassy. His hands could feel the little life inside of her, where their little fawn was nestled into her womb.

He suddenly wrapped her up in his arms and attacked her bump with big smooches. “We did it! You’re carrying our baby, we will have our own baby!”

I think we all know that after Alastor was aware of his doe being pregnant, he practically became her shadow. He followed her everywhere. Helped her with everything, actually… He didn’t help her, he did everything for her.

His protectiveness got on a whole new level. There wasn’t a second of the day when his eyes weren’t on her, or his hands anywhere else but on her skin.

Angel kept his mouth shut, and waited for the two deers to tell everyone the big news, which was a few days after her bump’s appearance. What? They had their own celebrating rounds, multiple of them actually, like… multiple rounds every few hours. They needed each other in their bed and in their arms.

Charlie couldn’t stop crying at the news, she was so happy, she instantly started ordering a shit ton of books about babies. Vaggie was better at hiding her emotions, but she could not stop the smile that etched itself onto her lips, she instantly occupied herself by sharpening her spear. No fawn will ever be harmed on her watch!

As time went by and the bump was clearly evident, Y/N noticed how much others lingered in her presence. Vaggie was looking out for any danger. Charlie always talked to the baby and touched Y/N’s stomach. Angel couldn’t help but buy everything baby-related that he found cute. “What? It is my duty as Uncle Dust to make sure the fawn is a fashion icon from day one.” He said one day when he knocked on the deers shared room, with all of his hands full with shopping bags. Sir Pentious and Cherri were always lingering with Vaggie, their main priorities were protection. Pentious also made his egg bois baby-proof every surface.

They went to Cannibal town to pay a visit to one of Alastor’s dearest friends, Rosie. Y/N was wearing a dress that was tight around her boobs, but flowy at her belly. They made their way to her shop and it was so heartwarming to see the cannibal woman’s smile light up at the sight of them. She instantly ushered the crowd away to take a closer look.

“Oh Alastor! I don’t see you for a few weeks and you bring such a beautiful young lady to me?” Rosie caressed the doe’s cheeks with her manicured fingers. “I’m Rosie, and, oh… My, my. What a beauty you are! I see you two have grown quite accustomed to each other.” She noticed their similar features. Rosie suddenly opened her arms to envelop Y/N in a hug. “Come, come, darl—“ Of course, there was the bump. Her mouth dropped open and her fingers shot up to her lips. (Imagine her facial expressions in the Overlord meeting scenes here haha) “Oh, my darling. Congratulations!” Her hands were immediately all over her tummy. She ushered the pair to sit down., especially Y/N. “Sit down, dearie, you must be exhausted. Carrying that belly all the time.”

They talked and talked. Then Alastor revealed the reason for their visit.

“Rosie, me and my darling talked. And we decided that we would be honored if you could help Y/N deliver our fawn.” Rosie had helped many women through births, so Alastor knew that Y/N and the baby would be in the best possible hands. Who would have guessed that a cannibal could be the perfect midwife?

“I would be the one honored. Of course, I’ll help!” She wrapped an arm around Y/N’s waist to cup her tummy, while leaning closer to her. “We will get that baby out in no time!” After Rosie explaining everything she could about bringing a baby into the world.

If Alastor really couldn’t be around, it was Husk who was around Y/N. One time, Alastor had to discuss business with Carmilla and at the same time a very pregnant Y/N demanded a walk. So, Husk went with her, but not before he made her a sugary non-alcoholic drink that could keep up her energy. On the walk, Husk had one of his wings around her, shielding her and the precious belly from any harm. To say that he was surprised would be an understatement, especially when he felt a little kick against his wing at her belly, it made him get more attached to that little hellspawn. Of course he had a pocket full of his weapon like cards. You know, just in case.

Alastor knew that he was truly in love with his sweet mate, who was carrying his baby under her heart wherever she went. His favorite part of everyday was the hours before they went to sleep. They went back to their room every late afternoon, which consisted of her getting fluffed into the best silky pillows he could find, and him laying his head on her belly. Nothing calmed him down more than feeling his doe’s skin on his cheek and hearing the little movements of his baby.

Y/N was excited and nervous as fuck at the same time. Alastor noticed it, of course. When they went to sleep, his ears perked up to the sound of her constant tossing and turning. He gathered her face into his hands. “What’s wrong, little doe? Anything hurt? Is the fawn kicking up a storm again?” He smiled gently at her.

“What if something happens during the birth?”

He kissed her face, there wasn’t an inch of her skin that his lips haven’t touched..

“Everything will be okay, my doe. You are strong, I know that you are. You will push through it, and you will recover.” She pulled away and sat up on her knees.

“You don’t understand, Alastor. I don’t care about myself. The baby is who I’m worried about, it is all I can think about.” She was getting herself worked up, while Alastor started to bite back a smirk. She didn’t notice the change of her form. “But one thing I know… I would f̸͔̘͚͉̀͗̍̾́͜u̷͇̞̦̻̮͆̈́͐͛̓c̷̮̥̙͇͗̋̃͘͠ͅḱ̷̟͍͎͔̖͗͋̐́ǐ̵̡̙̼̼̻̈́̍͝n̵̜͖̠̰͎̊͋͊̋͛g̴̦̥̜̜͍͂͂̀̀̔ ̷̤̖͕̬̹͆̈́̐̏d̷̡̧̺̦͕̾̓̃́̅ì̵̙̼̖̯̈͒͐̽ͅé̴̱͎͇̫̝̂́̈́͊ ̴͉̩̜̼̞̏́̽̍͝f̷̭͓̬̘̠̓̔͗́̀ǫ̵̖̤̬̭̾́̀̒͝r̷͎̤̬̦̞̎́̓͆̚ ̸̹͍̭̖͚̄̄̈́̏̄ȍ̷̱͔͉̠̲̆͛̀̿ȗ̸̡͍̮͍̞̀̋̈͂r̶̛̘͍̟̜̮͒̎̑̈́ ̶̜͕̼̝̓̾͊͛͘ͅf̴̨̤͙̰͇͋̓̿̐̕ȁ̸͔̹̯̲̗̅̉͂̽ẘ̸̥͙͔̠͎̊͗̓̚n̵̡̯͎̝͓̽͊̒̉̀.̸̱͓̺͍̔̑̑̿̏ͅ”

Her voice went static, like his does. Her limbs became longer and her eyes went red. Even with her demonic form, her belly still poked out. He sat up and grabbed her face, suddenly pulling her into a passionate kiss. She instantly went back to her proper form, kissing him with nearly twice as much passion. She straddled his lap, already grinding against his hard on, while his claws ripped her nightgown. “God, you make me fucking crazy.” He said while she grabbed a hold of his pajama button up and ripped it apart, sending buttons to fly everywhere. By the time his mind had acknowledged it, she was already taking out his leaking hard cock out of his underwear.

His sharp teeth kept on nibbling all around her neck. “Not a bad form, my doe, becoming too much like your mate?”

She chuckled. “Yeah, but I don’t think it really bothers you, does it?” Her hands wrapped around his erection, feeling how hard he got from the sight of her, and lining it up with her entrance.

“Oh—How could it bother me? My mate, forming into a demon before my eyes, with a big belly. Don’t worry, you looked so very sexy… I just want to…” He grabbed a hold of her wider hips and pulled her down onto his cock. “Fuck you so hard that I knock you up again.. You look so amazing, I can finally grip you properly.” His nails nearly broke the skin on her hips.

She was riding him as if her life was depending on it, swirling her hips and bouncing up and down. He started pounding up into her, meeting her thrusts, feeling the deepest parts of her. He noticed her nipples beginning to lactate, so he latched his lips onto her, sucking harshly. She was surprised when he did that, but moaned with a deep voice. It was so intimate, it also made him fuck up into her way harder than before.

“You’re so beautiful. So gorgeous.” He felt her orgasming around him, so he filled her up with his seed. She fell against his chest, heaving and tired.

He started caressing her back. “Good girl. You’re so good to me… Taking care of me so nicely, while holding our fawn within your womb.” He leaned his head on the top of hers, enjoying the way her soft ears made his skin tingle.

“You’re going to be the best mother, my love.”

Still no fawn! Don’t worry, there will be more, I just went overboard and I felt like Reader giving birth in this would have made it too long:)

Taglist: @jyoongim @lovingyeet @adamwarlockislife-blog @that-dumb-bitch @midorichoco @alastorswifeee @littlekacchan @sugurubabe @captainfia @alastorssimp @iheartalastor @speedycoffeedelight @1o-o

#alastor #alastor fanfic #alastor fanfiction #alastor fluff #alastor smut #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x you #alastor x oc #hazbin alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel x reader

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moonstruckme · 22 hours

Note

hi lovely I hope you’re feeling better!!!! I was wondering if I could request something with poly!marauders where she’s like simmering with anxiety and isn’t having a panic attack but is sort of close bc she’s just really overwhelmed and the boys notice and try to calm her down and are just sweet <3

Thank you for requesting sweetheart!

cw: signs of anxiety

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

You appear caught in a state of restlessness. You’re meant to be reading, but Remus hasn’t seen you turn a page in ages. Your eyes keep unfocusing, your knee bouncing underneath your blanket and your fingers toying absentmindedly with the corner of your page.

Remus supposes your boyfriends haven’t done much to create a relaxing atmosphere in your home tonight. Earlier he’d let Sirius keep an eye on the stove while he minced garlic, and of course that had ended with you and James rushing to open every window near the kitchen to get the smoke alarm to turn off, and even once he’d traded Sirius’ help for James’ there’d been several near-misses with the kitchen knives and his reckless chopping. It also doesn’t help that James and Sirius are in one of their moods where listening to them talk is like watching a tennis match. Trying to keep up could give you whiplash, but luckily you don’t seem to be paying attention as they bicker about whether rugby or cricket is the rougher sport (Sirius is only trying to rile James; James clearly knows this, but he persists nonetheless). Still, it can’t make for nice background noise.

Remus corners the page of his own book and reaches across the space between you, taking your hand. You look up with a smile, pleasantly surprised.

“Alright, lovely?” he asks, fingers dancing up the length of your palm to your wrist.

“I’m good,” you reply softly. “How’s your book?”

“It’s off to a slow start,” Remus admits, “but I’m hoping it’ll pick up soon. How’s yours?”

You look down at the book in your lap. He almost wonders if you’d forgotten it was there. “It’s not bad.”

“Yeah?” He lets his fingers rest over the bump of your pulse, trying not to frown at its quick beat. “You haven’t seemed to be reading much.”

By now your conversation has caught the attention of the other boys, James turning towards you and Sirius tilting his head to see around him.

“Oh,” James says sympathetically, “is it not very good?”

“No, it’s fine.” You look back down at your book, a bit sheepish. “I guess I’m just a little distracted.”

Remus hums knowingly, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb. James’ brow furrows, but Sirius, true to form, asks outright, “Is something the matter?”

You shake your head, seeming a bit perplexed yourself. “No,” you say, “I don’t know what my problem is.”

“You seem a bit strung up,” Remus suggests gently.

“Yeah, but” —you shrug, lips curving halfheartedly— “not for any good reason.”

James makes a woeful pitying sound, wrapping his arms around your middle. “Sweetheart,” he laments, “do you think you might want a cuddle?”

“Sure,” you agree, and your hand is removed from Remus’ as James pulls you into his lap, propping his chin on your shoulder with a pout, “but everything’s really fine, don’t worry.”

Sirius leans his head on the couch cushion, looking at you with eyes sharp and contemplative. “What’s going through your head, pretty girl?” he asks.

James covers your heart with a big hand, frowning at what he feels. You shrug. “I was just thinking about what I have to do tomorrow.”

“You’ve been keeping busy lately,” Remus says. “Maybe you need to take some things off your plate.”

A grimace is fixed upon your face before he’s finished talking. “It all has to get done, though,” you sigh. “No way around it.”

Sirius and Remus exchange a look. “Maybe we can help,” Sirius says.

You shake your head. “There’s nothing you can do,” you insist. “It’s not impossible, I’ve just been lazy and now it’s all piled up and I have to deal with it.” Your voice tenses as you lay it out, and your body with it. “It’s my problem. It’s not great, but I’ll get it done.”

Sirius’ expression twitches into a frown at your increasingly agitated tone, and James gives you a firm squeeze, pressing a kiss into the side of your head.

“Shh, angel, just slow down for a minute. You’re okay right now, aren’t you?”

Some of the frustration slips from your expression. “I’m fine, I just—”

“Then relax.” James’ voice is equal parts gentle and firm. “Take a deep breath.”

You do. You close your eyes, and Remus can almost hear you counting as you inhale through your nose. James and Sirius, for probably the first time all evening, are silent.

You stop breathing in. A small dent forms between your brows.

“I can’t do it all the way,” you say, a slight vulnerability to your voice.

Remus tries to make his low and sure to counter it. “That’s okay, it still counts. Just keep going, love. And maybe hear Sirius out.”

Sirius very obviously fights the urge to gloat at the support, but he softens his preening into a lightly teasing look, narrowing his eyes at you playfully. “As I was saying, there have to be things we can make easier for you. What’s on your to-do list?”

You take in another breath, and James makes a satisfied humming sound against your temple. “I mean, I really have to do laundry.”

“Are you joking?” A grin splits Sirius’ face. “We can do that for you, baby, easy.”

“And I have to finish my project,” you go on, as though determined to prove the impossibility of your tasks, “which will likely take all morning.”

“I’ll be here tomorrow,” James reminds you. “Would it help if I made you breakfast so you don’t have to take the time?”

You look surprised, head turning towards him. “Yeah,” you say. “That would be really helpful, actually.”

“Stubborn thing.” Sirius pinches at your thigh, but Remus catches his hand before it can do any real damage. “Nothing we can do, huh?”

You duck your head sheepishly. Still, Remus can hear your smile when you say, “Sorry, you were right.”

“It happens more often than you’d think, doll. Really astute of you to recognize it, though.”

“For now,” Remus cuts in before Sirius can get to really gloating, “maybe it’s best to just try to relax, dove. Tomorrow’s problems will be manageable, there’s no sense in stressing yourself out tonight.”

“Yeah,” you say, almost shyly. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking properly.”

“Don’t be sorry, baby,” James chides, tightening his hold on you. “It’s all good now, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you admit.

There’s a brief pause.

“Sorry,” Sirius says, not sounding apologetic in the slightest, “I just want to hear it from your lips one more time. You said I was what?”

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theminecraftbee · 2 days

Text

Wels hums as he walks through the shopping district. He doesn't need much, but with the recent release of Overlord, he wants to hear if any of the establishments are playing it. He doesn't expect it somewhere like the Permit Office--Grian's spent too much time and money getting a song that was as perfectly annoying to be put on hold to as possible--and if it is playing in the log shop, he will laugh. But music tends to spread around Hermitcraft fast, and sure, this isn't about anything specific, but who's gonna miss a good opportunity to dunk on Doc?

He hears the backing beats from a nearby shop and hums along with them, walking down the path--

--then turns a corner and leaps back.

"You," Wels hisses.

Hello. Awfully rude of you not to include me, you know, says the specter.

"No, there's absolutely no reason for you to be here. None at all!" Wels says, throwing his hands up. "The last time I saw you was--gosh, I don't even know. Season Seven?"

Yes, yes, and the only time you saw me, you aren't lying to yourself at all, the specter says agreeably. Come on. We both know I was haunting you for what little of Season Eight you bothered to be around for.

"If you were on Eight then you super shouldn't be here," Welsknight says. He shakes his head and looks up at the shop playing his song. Joel's? Huh. Wouldn't have thought he'd have a reason to make fun of Doc. Welsknight removes his shaking hand from his sword hilt again and starts walking.

On account of you leaving everyone there to die, yes, we're both aware, the specter says.

"Oh, screw you, you wouldn't have done any different, get new material," Wels says. "Also, you aren't real? You're like, all of my insecurities or whatever. You don't even have a real body right now, no one's made you one."

The specter shrugs. I mean, if I'm the worst parts of yourself, really, you're the one who needs better material. Abandoning all your friends to die and then abandoning them altogether--it's a wonder they let you stick around!

Wels rolls his eyes and forces his hand to stay out of his inventory. Wouldn't do to give away that still even gets him. He peaks at another shop. They're playing the song too, but it's ever-so-slightly out of sync, which is kind of terrible. As he does, Cleo waves at him. Their eyes sort of stutter right past Helsknight, which definitively tells him exactly how much body the specter even has to possess right now.

"I'm actually having a great time with my friends this season, so like, the whole 'abandonment' song and dance isn't going to work this time. Started the season with them and everything; hard to even go for 'they'll forget me at the first opportunity' or whatever."

The thing is, the more Wels says it, the more its true. None of the insecurities and pain points that the specter is echoing back at him are what he was actually thinking about. He's been like... fine? Sure, he's definitely still got repressed negative traits, but nothing like "Xisuma's evil twin brother playing around with his head" or "the moon crashing and killing everyone" or "too depressed and burnt out to get out of bed" or "sort of considering abandoning everyone because that's like, his thing" these days. None of the things that should bring the specter that had haunted him since Beef's cloning machine back to him without a body. But Wels is careful about clones outside of something like Vault Hunters, where they're explicitly under his control. He, like, doesn't even armor stand much. So that can't be this either; Helsknight clearly doesn't have a body to be messing with Wels yet!

...Helsknight doesn't even have a body or an actual insecurity to be poking at Wels with yet.

He stops. He puts his hands in his pockets, and turns around to face Helsknight. He is no longer shaking at all.

"Dude, why are you even here?" Wels asks.

I told you, it was rude to leave me out, Helsknight says.

"What," Wels says.

The final bars of Overlord play over the speakers. Welsknight hums and nods before it suddenly clicks.

"What," Wels says again.

Honestly, you're not normally this much of a moron. It was rude to leave me out. Rapping is also my thing.

"Dude," Wels says.

I could totally destroy Docm77 any day. I would obliterate the fool you call a "friend" in ways you cannot comprehend. You invoke a sacrificial goat? I know ways he'd never recover, gods he'd never be able to retrieve himself from. It would be laughable. And you left me out.

Wels stares at the demon from his nightmares.

"You're mad at me because you didn't get to be in my diss track," Wels says.

You let me be in the last one, Helsknight says.

"Dude," Wels says. "Dude, that's pathetic."

Helsknight sniffs. I'm your worst qualities. What does that say about you.

"I didn't even write this for this season," Wels says.

That makes it worse, Helsknight says.

"I don't even know where to start? For one--no, I still don't even know where to start," Wels says. "This is like, the lamest reason you could possibly have to come haunt me. Go away, I'm basking in my like, top 3 charting hit on the Hermitcraft server."

Top three? Pathetic. There are only three songs. You'd be the top song if you'd simply included my power, Helsknight says.

"I can't beat the streaming minutes Grian puts on that hold--look, uh, dude. You're, uh, a very scary representation of my fears and worst qualities and all. Appreciate that. Next time I need to do a diss track, I don't know, maybe I'll invite you? First you've got to stop appearing solely to make my life worse, though. Bring me a cookie or something. I don't know, whatever demons do."

I'm not a demon, I'm a Shadow. We're different, Helsknight says. ...I'll think about it.

When Wels turns the next corner, Helsknight has vanished again. Wels stops in the middle of the street, looks around, confirms the specter has vanished, and then bursts out laughing.

"What the Hels," he says, somehow feeling lighter and more bemused than before. That's a new feeling with his doppleganger. Then, he goes to visit Big Wood. While Doc definitely isn't playing the song of his own accord, Wels figures that Beef just might, and given the day he's having, that would feel like a kind of irony Wels isn't sure how to describe. Besides, he wants to see if Doc will notice if Wels sets the song on loop or something. What can he say--the man's reactions to being taunted are spectacular, and Wels loves seeing them. Call it a bad quality of his or something.

#hermitcraft #welsknight #helsknight #a bee fic #hermitfic #unreality #LOOK MAN I HAD TO.#...APPARENTLY.#i put slightly too much thought into what is effectively A Dumb Bit. i mean not the rap. this fic. this fic is the dumb bit.#i mean the rap is a dumb bit too but not the one i put too much thought into. the fic is #YOU KNOW WHAT NEVERMIND THIS JUST CONFUSED THIS FURTHER. anyway that helsknight huh.

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haruchi-slit · 2 days

Text

"CONCEALED CHARMS!"

synopsis: jjk men reacting to reader who has small chest!

characters: sukuna, toji, nanami, suguru and satoru

warnings: | sukuna's part: reader is one of sukuna's concubine + nipple play + fingering | toji's part: cunnilingus + nipple play + fingering + slight edging | nanami's part: comfort + p in v + passionate sex (?) | suguru's part: comfort + p in v + lots of kissing (?) | satoru's part: shower sex + p in v + comfort | minors you were warned do not interact

Sukuna:

The king always wonders why his favorite concubine does not take her kimono fully whenever they had sex he was wondering why and it makes his head hurt, does she have a hidden mouth in her chest? no, no, no a mere concubine wouldn't have that, maybe she has a lot of scars? no her skin is like a porcelain. impossible. he wonders to himself. one day he couldn't take much more of it so he orders Uraume to come and get you to his chambers.

"my king, you called?" you murmured closing the doors behind walking towards the king.

he's sitting on the edge of the bed, he stood up, looking down because of the height difference,

"why do you not take your kimono every time we had sex?" he straight up asked, it caught you by surprise...

"o-oh i thought it wasn't necessary nor important that's why..i-"

"you're lying woman." he frowns "what no no no my lord i am n-" you retort before he lifts your weight and bounced you lightly on the soft mattress, "my king you really don't have to see my chest! it's not an important matter!" you resist but Sukuna is just so eager to see what's under your kimino he flicks his fingers together dismantling your kimono and so as your undergarments, your arms were quick to cover your chest, grabbing the sheets of king's mattress. "ah~ is this why you're always covering your chest? how cute." he says as he puts his weight on the mattress crawling towards you, he snatched the sheets you're gripping to with his other arm, "were you afraid that I'm going to replace you because of your chest?" he teased, "y-yes my lord, i was" "how pitiful..." he lets off a sadistic sigh as he grabs your arms revealing your cute small tits, it had his mouth watering, "there's no need to hide, brat..." Sukuna chuckles as he latched his mouth on one of your perked nipples giving them attention that they need, now he's not wondering anymore. now he can focus on giving the attention that they need, he wonders why you hid them away for such a long time. sukuna knows that he have seen many boobs in his lifetime but yours was definitely one of a kind. you moaned softly while he enjoyed your little titties popping them out using his tongue as his other arms and hands pleased your cunt, his tongue placed in his stomach, roaming on your body, at this point his pleasure is not one of his priorities, yours is...

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Toji:

"shit toji- that's the spot..." you rambled tugging your hands on his hair. This is the third time you and toji got intimate since the two years of your relationship and he hasn't seen you fully nude, yes he has seen your cunt but he hasn't seen your chest, for now, not that he minds he's just curious why. how is he still not yet to notce that you're flat chested? cause you wear push up bras, that's why he hasn't questioned why you don't want to remove your t-shirt. but today the curiosity got to him. "can you remove your t-shirt?" he murmured sending vibration on your clit, "why- so sudden? you never asked me to remove them" you'd debate "it's just...i want to see you nude that's why, you've seen me nude so why can't i see you?" Toji continues while lapping on your pussy, you were nervous, so nervous..."toji- i i can't. i think I can't" you whispered Toji's eyebrows knit "what do you mean you can't?" "it's just- you'll be disappointed" you sucked your lips between your teeth, "disappointed in what? it's not that I'm forcing, I'm just really curious why you never took them off..." he says with a lingering doubt and curiosity as he scissors his fingers in you. you let out a deep sigh and used your elbows to support your weight, you proceed to tug on your shirt revealing your push up bras, toji was too busy eating you up that he didn't even noticed, until he looks up to you, you're completely flustered it was a mix of embarrassment and arousal. toji continues to eat you out with his tongue while looking up to your flustered face, your arms that's covering your chest is what caught his attention. "hah...what is there to hide baby girl? I've literally seen your cunt" Toji says inching his mouth away from your pussy he used his hand to slick his hair back, to take a better look on you, "heh...now i see why" he smirks wiping your juices from his mouth, eyeing at your chest, "why hide this pretty tits of yours princess? were you shy?" you nod "you're so cute when you admit something yea? reminds me when you first confessed to me hah" he uttered ghosting his way to your body once again, swiftly unhooking your push up bras revealing your erected nipples it looked so cute, fuck it looked so scrumptious he swore he almost drooled. Toji wanted to suck your nipples, but not yet, not just yet, he traced his hand on your sensitive nipples, gently pinching tight circles on your tits, making you arch and squirm, your own drool was dripping to the side of your lips, now he decides to lock his mouth to one of your boob and you swore you almost shot stars, "fuckkkk to'ii mhm" you mewled as his finger inserts in your pussy, it felt that good. after that he never ever lets you wear your t-shirts whenever the two of you make love. he says: "it's cute don't hide them away from mee!"

+ ° . ๑・° ⊹ . + ° . ๑・° ⊹ . + ° . ๑・° ⊹ .

Kento:

it's Saturday night and Kento is very frustrated in work, he's supposed to come home by now but he was asked to work overtime, despite not being home for almost a week he was forced to stay over time, by the time he got home it was already midnight and he was surprised that you were still awake waiting for him, eating ice cream and watching movies in Netflix. You rose from your seat and made your way to the hallway to greet him. "good evening, Kenn~" you chirped, planting a soft peck on his lips to which he warmly responded to. "why are you still awake, darling?" he inquired. without missing a beat, you replied, "waiting for you, of course"you tinged with a mischief tone. "did you missed me?" he asks once more "of course i did ken..." you buried your face on his chest, "soo much" you babbled, his lips tugged a small smile as he ruffled your hair, colliding his lips to yours once more.

he admits, that he's not just frustrated cause of work, he was also frustrated of being away from you, this was not the longest time the two of you were separated, but still, nanami missed you, your scent, your presence, your touch- most of all your fucking cunt. there's just one thing that he always had his mind on, why you always wear your over sized shirts while having intimate sessions with him, and it's been going on for years now, but he never questioned that cause it wasn't a trouble for the both of you so he lets you be, it never bothered him until this day.

your legs sprawled in the thick atmosphere of lust as Nanami bucks his hips on you, his balls slapping eagerly on your ass, your arms and hands were locked on his neck, toes curling, back arching and eyes rolling back in to the depths of your skull. "Kento- fuckkk" you wailed, fat beads of tears pooled down from your eyes as he lets out all his frustration on you, "were you waiting for me because you wanted me to fuck you?" he groans drilling his fat cock in your cunt, "yesyesyess" you whined, nodding repeatedly as he carves your womb with his cock. groans were heard echoing in your shared bedroom, Kento noticed that you were sweating so much that it made your clothes damp, he sees this as a opportunity to get you to take your shirt off, "how bout you take that shirt off, baby?" he murmured burying his head on the valleys of your neck, you thought, it's about time to let him know that you're flat, you've been hiding your chest from him ever since, wearing bras with big foams so he won't notice, while being fucked dumb your head was clouded with thoughts, "Nanami- do you like girls with flat chest?" your tongue slipped, as the sound traveled to your ear you realized it sounded so embarrassing, Nanami chuckles at your sudden question, "what do you mean?" "n-nothing!" you stutter "take your shirt off baby, i don't want you to be soaking with your own sweat" lie, Nanami's not the type of guy to lie but he's fucking itching to see you full naked body, thinking about it just makes his fucking mouth drool, you kissed your teeth with your lips as you hesitate looking on the opposite direction it's about time you let him know!

fuck it you thought to yourself. you pulled your head up, positioning yourself in a sitting position before tugging your shirt and bra off he watched all of it, while jerking his cock in your sopped pussy, kento's eyes widen, but it wasn't because he was disappointed, he realized that you were hiding your chest because you thought it'll matter to him, he sees your face flushing to bright pink, he ghost's his lips to yours kissing you so deep and passionately, in which you responded too, you kissed till the both of you were out off breath, "don't ever think that your body's appearance would change my love towards you, you're beautiful...i love you so fucking much" he grunts kissing your forehead, "f-fuck thank you nanaminn~!" you sobbed, "fuck, look at how cute your tits are".

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Suguru:

this man's always been so mesmerized by your body, your personality and all, the way your clothes perfectly fits your curves, the way you move in such graceful ways, he's on his knees for you, he's always been drawn to your confident and alluring demeanor, as he got to know you more telling you that he love you so much, he found himself falling deeper and deeper in love with you. He loved every inch of you, but one day, as he was caressing your body, he realized something that shook him, while he had always admired your gorgeous curves and full breasts, he suddenly noticed that they were not as prominent as he had originally thought. In fact, as he ran his hands over your body, he realized that you were actually flat-chested.

At first, Suguru was taken aback. He couldn't believe that he had never noticed this before. But as he looked into your eyes, he saw the look of insecurity and fear in them

"S-suguru..." you uttered thinking that he might be disappointed... you've been hiding it from him since the beginning afraid that he'd judge you, and in that moment, he knew that it didn't matter to him. He loved you for who you were, not for the size of your breasts. he pulled you close to him, "y'know that it doesn't fucking matter to me, right? even if you looked like a pancake, I'd still love you.." he chuckle softly showering you with gentle kisses as he whispered sweet nothings of reassurance in your ear. He told you that he loved you just the way you were, that your body was perfect to him, and that he would love and cherish you no matter what. "i love you... don't ever think that you're not enough, you're more thatn enough"

you could feel the weight of your insecurities lift off your shoulders as he continued to caress and kiss your body, showering you with love and acceptance. And in that moment, you felt more beautiful and desired than ever before. sensing your newfound confidence, Suguru's hands began to roam over your body, caressing your thighs, moving his hands to your core, he was determined to show you just how much he loved and desired you, regardless of your breast size. He pulled you into a one deep passionate kiss, his lips hungrily seeking yours as his hands explored your body burning with lust. his touch was estatic, sending shivers down your spine as he worshipped your body with his hands and mouth, with each touch, each kiss, each whispered declaration of love, your insecurities quickly melted away. you were lost in a haze of pleasure and love, completely surrendering yourself to Suguru's touch,

as he entered your cunt, you could feel the intensity of his love and desire fueling every thrust. "holy- shiii s'guruu" you mewled rolling his name out off you pretty mouth as he showed you just how much he loved and, leaving you breathless and completely satisfied.

and as you both lay spent in each other's arms, basking in the afterglow of your lovemaking, you realized that Suguru's love for you was not based on your physical appearance. He loved you for everything that you were, and that was the most beautiful and empowering feeling of all. "i know you already know, but i love you" you whispered mischievously as you kissed his forehead, in which he responds with a witty chuckle pulling you into a bear hug.

➽──────────────────────❥

Satoru:

satoru had been spending more and more time at your apartment lately. ever since he insisted to join your bathing time, he seemed to always find an excuse to come over and spend time with you. and as much as you enjoyed his sweet company, you couldn't help but to feel self-conscious around him. you had always been too insecure about your body's appearance, specifically your flat chest. you had spent years hiding it away, wearing oversized clothes and avoiding situations where you would have to expose yourself.

but now that Satoru was around, you couldn't avoid it any longer. you knew he had seen you in your shower room, but you always made sure to cover yourself up as quickly as possible. However, today was different. You had been caught up in the moment, lost in the sensation of the warm water cascading over your body, when you heard the door to your shower room open. You quickly tried to cover yourself, but Satoru was already standing there, a smirk on his face.

"So this is where you've been hiding," he said, his eyes roaming over your body.

You felt your face heat up in embarrassment, trying to cover your chest with your arms. But Satoru's eyes never left you, and you couldn't help but feel exposed and vulnerable under his gaze.

"I-I'm sorry," you stuttered, not knowing what else to say.

Satoru chuckled, stepping closer to you. "there's no need to apologize. I like what I see."

you couldn't believe what you were hearing. you were used to being teased and mocked for your flat chest, but satoru seemed genuinely interested in you. before you could say anything else, he leaned down and captured your lips in a heated kiss.

his hands roamed over your body, exploring every inch of your skin. you couldn't help but moan against his lips, melting into his touch. satoru seemed to know exactly what he was doing, his hands finding all your sensitive spots and driving you crazy with desire.

he broke the kiss, trailing his lips down your neck and collarbone, leaving a trail of hot kisses in his wake. You couldn't help but let out a soft gasp as he reached your chest, his fingers teasing your nipples to hardness.

He pulled back, looking at you with a devilish smirk. "you're so responsive. I can't wait to see how you react to my touch."

and with that, he dropped to his knees, his mouth latching onto your nipple. The sensation was overwhelming, sending shivers down your spine. you couldn't hold back your moans any longer, your hands tangling in satoru's wet hair as the water runs down to your heated bodies, he sucked and licked at your chest, giving them the attention they deserve.

it wasn't until Satoru pulled back, a satisfied smirk on his face, that you realized he had seen your flat chest. you braced yourself for the teasing and mocking, but to your surprise, Satoru merely leaned in and whispered in your ear, "You're perfect just the way you are."

and with that, he stood up and pulled you in for a passionate kiss, his hands roaming over your body once again. You felt a surge of confidence wash over you, feeling desired and wanted for the first time in a long time.

satoru led you to your bedroom, and the two of you fell on your bed in a tangle of limbs and passion. He didn't hold back, showing you just how much he desired you. he whispered dirty words in your ear, "good, fucking girl" he murmurs, his fingers finding all your sensitive spots and driving you crazy with pleasure.

you had never felt so much pleasure, satoru was dominant and in control, yet he made sure to worship every inch of your body, making you feel like the most beautiful person in the world rather the most perfect person in the whole entire universe.

as you both reached the peak of pleasure, satoru held you close, his lips pressed against your forehead. And in that moment, you knew that he accepted you for who you were, flaws and all. And that was all that mattered.

"goodness, your tits drives me crazy, girl!" he says plopping his body to your side catching his uneven breath.

a/n: i enjoyed writing this, cause as a woman with a flat ass chest...this is just mwaa! this is also self indulgent :p

tags: @lillywillypeepiepopilly

(if you want to get tagged just comment down below!)

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ourautumn86 · 20 hours

Text

in heat

dom! alpha abby x sub! alpha ellie x sub! omega reader

a/n; i’ve made my research about aob and female alphas have dicks, so if you don’t fw it don’t read it!!❤️

cw; +18 content, minors dni!!, synchronized heat and ruts, dom! alpha abby x sub! alpha ellie x sub! omega reader, different positions, breeding kink, oral sex (all three receiving kinda??, ellie and r for sure), making out sessions, dirty sex, cum eating, creampies, multiple orgasms, praising kink, ellie being a sub mess, abby uses her alpha voice for a sec, tit and nipple play (r and ellie receiving), hickeys, biting, hair pulling…

okay so everybody knows how hard ruts and heats are. how brutal they can be when there is no alpha or omega to spend it with. but nobody talks about the disaster that conveys when both sync at the same time.

your gilfriends and you didn’t really keep on track the timings of your ruts and heats. why would you? you were there for each other. so when ellie’s turns up is no big deal. or so you thought. ‘cause the moment you took a whiff of her scent your heat hit you like a wave, triggered by the auburn headed, and so abby’s, triggered by yours.

so now here you were. caged in between two alphas in rut, who couldn’t give you just a mere moment to rest. it’s not as if your body needed it. all your mind could think about was having either one of them inside, fucking up their cum inside of your womb, digging their fangs on the juncture of your neck, knotting you…

the thing is… that ellie and abby were unstoppable.

“oh, fuck!” you cried out as abby’s tip hit your cervix, the mix of the blond’s and red headed’s cum flowing out of your abused and swollen cunt with every harsh thrust of her hips. her lips were harshly sucking on your neck, strong arms surrounding you from the back to keep you still, warm big hands palming and squeezing at your breasts and reddish eyes focused on the other alpha in between your legs, whose tongue lapped messily at your slicked cunt and the peeking base of abby’s dick. your back was arching, your golden eyes shining with tears on them as ellie sucked on your swollen and sensitive clit. you didn’t know how many times you’d already cummed. but by the way your pussy kept swallowing them up, you guessed that not enough.

“good girl. such a good girl letting us use her like this. look at her. she just wants to be stuffed up full, isn’t that right baby?” abby smirked, slightly bitting at your shoulder as she gave you a particularly harsh and deep thrust, what made you moan.

“yes, yes, please… want your cum, want you to cum inside.”

—it was a good thing that you were on tablets, or else you three would have probably ended up with babies a long time ago.—

“yeah? want me to cum inside? want me to cum inside your pretty little pussy, baby?” she panted, feeling her dick twitch when ellie’s mouth sucked on her balls. “fuck ellie.” one of her hands left your chest to take ahold of her auburn locks. the alpha moaned at the tugging, her own throbbing dick painfully hard in between her stomach and the sheets she humped herself against. “someone’s desperate down there, huh?” she chuckled, making the alpha growl, her normally green eyes taken by a deep red.

“you’re the one inside her.” she answered, and the blonde tugged on her hair, pulling her away from you and making her scoff. there was a smirk showing off her soaked lips.

“smart, aren’t you? could be using your mouth for something better instead of talking back but here you are. maybe i should just let you watch and talk instead.” ellie whimpered, thrusting against the sheets, her demeanor changing as quick as the smirk disappeared from her lips.

“just want to cum.”

“i know.” abby said, focusing on rubbing your clit for her. “but you already got your turn. look at the mess your cum made out of my dick.” ellie’s eyes went back to the base of abby’s cock, were a white ring formed, her recent load dripping down her balls and onto the sheets. she moaned. “fuck. you like the sight, don’t you? like to know i’m fucking your cum deeper inside her?” she nodded, bitting on her lip.

“please. let me help.” she begged. it was funny. how out of the bed abby and ellie would always fight for dominance, but once they were inside this four walls she’d give it to her so easily.

“gonna make our girl cum?” she inquired and ellie nodded once again. “atta girl.” the blonde let go of her hair, relishing in the pornographic moan you let out once ellie was back at sucking at your clit.

whimpers fell out of your lips as you clenched around abby, making her grunt.

“fuck. you’re milking my cock baby. you close? gonna cum for us pretty girl?” you nodded.

“yes.” you cried out, feeling yourself reach your peak. “i’m cumming!!” abby was not too far behind, not when she felt you cream all over her dick, her hips pistoning inside your pulsing and warm walls.

“gonna cum. gonna knot you up and breed you, princess. gonna get you all round and pretty for us.” you moaned, tears swelling up your eyes. “that’s what you want? wanna make ellie and me mommies, hm?” you nodded, thighs shaking as ellie whined, still suckling at your clit.

“yes, yes. want you to get me pregnant please, please cum inside, cum inside, please.”

“fuuck.” abby growled, your words making her with one, two, three more thrusts cum, her knot swelling and making you cry as she kept thrusting, abusing your walls to reach your womb, where she stilled, warm loads of heavy and creamy cum filling you up with a grunt.

“shit, it’s too big.” you whimpered, feeling abby’s lips on your neck and her hands on your breasts, pleasing you to relax and take it all.

“you can take it. take it for me. for us. be a good girl.” you nodded, watching as ellie got on her knees in front of the two of you, her cock dribbling with precum as her dazed red eyes focused on you.

she crawled her way to your lips, capturing them in a wet hungry kiss that left you with spit dripping down your chin.

one of her hands surrounded her dick, pumping it with a growl as your tongue glided around hers.

abby cooed. “look at her. so fucking desperate.” ellie groaned. “she just can’t wait to fill you up, baby.” abby whispered, her hands coming up to play with ellie’s breasts. “so fucking cute.” ellie panted, her hips thrusting against her hand. abby clicked her tongue, maneuvering the two of you —since you couldn’t get away from her due to her knot keeping you in place— ‘till she was down on her back, her head at the edge of the bed. “come here, use my mouth.” she ordered, and ellie couldn’t help but moan, hurriedly getting up on her wobbly feet to get herself in front of abby, her dick throbbing when the blonde’s mouth fell open for her.

“fuck.” ellie cried out when abby took her cock and wrapped her lips around her tip, her warm tongue gliding through the slit to savor every last drop of her salty pre cum. you whimpered at the sight. sure, you had to bend your body slightly to turn around and watch, but it was truly a sight of sore eyes, watching ellie slowly pick up her pace down abby’s throat, who was so pliant to please the smaller red head. the sight alone was making you drip down onto her thighs, your hips subconsciously starting to grind against her for some kind of relief, making abby groan in pleasure and consecutively ellie moan.

abby’s hands strongly gripped on your hips, bouncing you up and down her dick now that her knot’s swelling was going down, filling the room with now you three’s moans.

“stop. stop. i’m gonna cum.” ellie whined, feeling the band on her lower stomach about to snap.

abby let go of her dick with a pop, calling out for you. “get up here.” she ordered as she licked ellie’s length from base to top, over lining the veins with her tongue and making the alpha shudder.

you made quick work of following her orders, getting up from her dick to move and present yourself to ellie, back arched and leaking cunt showing for her hungry eyes. abby pumped her with her hand a couple of times before guiding her to your pussy, once she had pressed inside with a moan (which turned into two since you too couldn’t help but cry out at the feeling of being stretched out by her once again), pulling you up to your knees to start to kiss your chest. ellie’s pace became brutal pretty fast. she was close, desperate to cum inside you. and you were desperate for her to fill you up. abby took ahold of her face with one of her hands, kissing her over your shoulder as her free hand came down on between your bodies to rub at your clit.

you weren’t gonna last.

“i’m cumming.” ellie gasped against abby’s lips, and abby smirked.

“yeah? gonna fill her up?” she nodded, whining, feeling her knot swelling. “atta girl. cum for me.” it’s not as if she wanted to disobey to her voice, letting out a whimper just as her seed spilled into your womb, making you gasp as well due to how fucking full of cum you were. the feeling of it all made you fall apart once again, your knees failing and making you lean against abby’s warm and exposed chest. “did so good for me, my good girls…”

you closed your eyes. hoping that maybe just for a few minutes you could get a rest.

a/n; 😔 i can take them both (not in a fight)

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vesppperoro · 2 days

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hii uhh, i had a little idea that id like to share if thats ok, it might be quite triggering tho so be warned ‼️

a sinner demon reader thats based on a teddy bear, because theyre too soft and mushy personality-wise, and they ended up in hell due to being suicidal. like their whole body is covered in stitches thats supposed to be a metaphor for sh scars

do whatever u want with that info, u can even ignore it if u like, have a nice day ❤️

Hazbin Hotel Cast with a Teddy Bear!Sinner Reader

Includes: Charlie, Vaggie, Angel Dust, Husk, Niffty, Sir. Pentious, Cherri Bomb, Alastor.

A/N: this is such an interesting idea! I’m going based on my own experiences as someone like this, along with research. I appreciate you for trusting me with this <3 I definitely WILL make a p2!! Might write for this sinner more tbh I loved writing them!! I thought you meant a child and I wrote that I’m so sorry 😭

Charlie Morningstar

She truly didn’t understand why you were in hell.

You are such a sweetheart! She adores you.

When you showed up to the hotel one day, without clothes and covered in stitches, she was immediately worried.

She took you in and washed you up as best as she could.

You were like a child! Why were you even here?

She was happy that you wanted to be redeemed, however.

She became a mother figure to you.

You go to her when you’re sad and you hug her frequently.

She traces your scars sometimes and you two share a silent moment together.

A silent moment of understanding.

She loves picking you up and holding you!

She hugs you like you’re an actual teddy bear.

She’s the one you go to for emotional things.

She’s good at comforting you. She somehow knows what you wanna hear at all times.

Vaggie

She became a secondary mother figure to you.

She was Charlie’s girlfriend, so of course she was.

She understood your situation and was pissed heaven casted a sweetie like you because of your lowest point.

She’s the more levelheaded one.

She’s the one who gives you advice and stuff like that. While Charlie is the more emotionally supportive one, Vaggie is the more mature and steady one.

She also traces your scars. Even if you don’t like them, she tells you you’re beautiful no matter what.

When you told her more of your story, she almost cried.

A child feeling this way broke her to pieces. Especially since you were so soft.

Other than the sad stuff, she loves cuddling you.

You, her, and Charlie sometimes have cuddle sessions with you in the middle because you’re so warm + soft + squishy.

She would kill anyone for you. You’re just so adorable!

She tries to teach you to fight but gives up when you don’t want to hurt anyone.

Angel Dust

Honestly, he saw himself in you.

A lost, scared, and lonely child. You didn’t know the cruelties of the world, aside from those cruelties in your mind.

He tries his best to comfort you. He’s not the best with words, but he’s always there for you.

He calls you sugar bear! He loves you to death.

He would go to the ends of hell for you.

He treats you like he wished to be when he was the same way.

You two share a lot of similarities, so you bond well.

He nearly cried when you told him your stitches were scars from sh.

He embraces you any time he can.

He tries to be the parental figure he needed so you can have a better life, somewhere no one would judge you.

Husk

He’s stubborn, like a dad. He acts like one too.

A hardheaded, yet sweet dad.

He’s like the father you never had. Or did have. Whichever.

He’s the bartender, so he knew how to comfort.

But when you told him your story, he almost broke.

You two definitely sing some sort of song together. Maybe Angel or Vaggie joins.

He cuddles you and hides you with his wings.

If you give him baby doe eyes, he might just take you on a flight.

Husk is SUPER protective over you. He’s very similar to Vaggie in a way when it comes to protection.

He gives you good advice but he still hides behind his tough guy exterior.

He doesn’t understand why you’re down here, even if you tell him. You’re so sweet!

Either way, he adores you.

He loves patting your head and messing with your fuzzy ears.

Might even boop your nose once or twice.

Late night talks.

He probably talked you down from trying to commit again.

Niffty

Another tiny person! Yay!

You’re not a bad boy. She may be a psycho, but she would never call you bad.

Actually, she did once and felt bad once you cried.

She likes to hang out with you since you’re both tiny!

She cuddles and hugs you like you’re her stuffed animal.

Bug killers! Even if you don’t wanna kill bugs, she’s dragging you along anyways.

She tries to hide her needle from you since Husk told her what your stitches meant.

Alastor has to babysit both of you basically.

You and her do almost everything together! You’re best friends!

She sneaks into the kitchen and grabs you both snacks so you can watch a movie.

She makes you sleep in her bed sometimes so she can cuddle you.

Sir. Pentious

He’s a dad. Or, he was.

He treats you like he wishes he treated his son before he passed.

He acts like your father. An awkward father, but he still tries.

He also protects you.

Expect him to curl his tail around you and cuddle you when you’re sad.

He literally cried when you told him your story.

He tells you anytime he can that it’s not your fault. Your stitches are still beautiful.

Best girl dad ever.

Buys you anything he wants, even if he’s broke. (Except sharp things)

He teaches you some things about inventing!

You made him a little metal flower and he was so overjoyed. He took it with him everywhere.

He still remembers you, even if he’s in Heaven now.

Cherri Bomb

Chaotic auntie energy.

She would do ANYTHING for you.

She picks you up and places you on her hip like a baby.

She loves your ears! She also adores how sweet you are.

She wouldn’t admit it, but you’re the cutest thing she’s ever seen.

Even if you tell her your story, she wouldn’t see you differently. You’re a child, a child who went through so much.

Hangouts with her and Angel are a MUST.

They try to avoid doing the normal around you and focus on fun time.

She took you with her when she had a territorial fight one time and you almost cried.

She felt so bad that she bought you anything you wanted for a week.

She did anything you wanted to do, even if Husk or someone else said no to you.

Basically, if you wanted something, you went to her.

Alastor

He’s not one to like kids, really.

He was, however, kinder to you.

He did anything to protect you.

He was like your insane uncle.

He was the one who taught you how to use your abilities. Maybe to help you, or to manipulate you when you grow.

He made you jambalaya once and it became your favorite dish to share with him!

He introduced you to radio and he was happy that you loved it.

He started bringing you to his studio whenever he did a radio show.

He took you to an overlord meeting once. That’s how you met Rosie.

He pats your head like a dog lol.

Don’t expect him to be emotionally available. But he will be there to have fun sometimes.

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dazednmatthews · 3 days

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(crazy how) this love thing seems unfair~ m. sturniolo

short mini fic cause i lurve this song so bad. angsty asf w a semi-happy ending. enjoy my loves <3333

“mattttttt,” her voice is coated in sleep. “come back to bed.” matt is standing at his closet door, rubbing his own tired eyes. it’s about nine in the morning, much too early to be doing anything other than laying in bed with her.

“you know that i can’t, sweetheart. i have to go work with the guys.” he finally picks a top, a soft, white sweatshirt that’s semi-cropped.

“boooooooo.” she sits up, pushing the curls that escaped her bun away from her face. the look on her face almost makes matt want to say fuck it and stay right here.

after he puts on his shoes and cologne, he walks to the side of the bed and sits. she sinks into him, body melting into his touch. they sit there for a moment, no sound in the room except their breathing. it’s peaceful.

she leans up in his arm and places a kiss at the shell of matt’s ear, making the boy groan softly. “don’t do that. it makes me want to stay right here.”

another kiss, this time under his jaw. “that’s the idea.”

one of matt’s hands are kneading the flesh of her thigh, pausing momentarily to rub circles with his thumb. the other hand is planted gently on her waist. he grips a little tighter when she kisses the corner of his mouth.

“stop touching me like that if you’re leaving.” she whines, pulling away slightly. “so not fair.”

he pulls her back. “give me a real kiss.”

she shakes her head. “ew, no. morning breath, hello.”

matt gives her a flat look. “i put my literal tongue inside of you twenty four seven and you think i give a fuck about morning breath?”

she shoves his shoulder with an incredulous laugh. “it is nine in the morning, matthew!” her eyes are sparkling now. “tone it down.”

matt shrugs. “i’m just saying.”

there’s a brief moment where they lock eyes, and suddenly it’s like all the air in the room has been sucked out. matt moves his hand up, feeling the thrum of her heart beating rhythmically. it’s one of his favorite sounds.

she moves into his lap, his hands coming to the swell of her ass to steady her. her arms loop around his neck, face close.

she pulls him in, gently connecting their lips. the way the interlock is something out of matt’s wildest dreams, serenity coating him from head to toe. he’s tugging and grasping with all his might, always needing her closer.

he can feel her lashes on his cheek, can feel her nails on the nape of his neck, can feel her love through every swipe of her tongue. he never wants to be anywhere but here.

there’s a knock at the door. “matt, we gotta go!” it’s chris. “y’all are too quiet in there so i’m staying my ass out here.”

she breaks the kiss with a giggle. “duty calls.”

he groans, resting his head on her shoulder. “so not fair.”

though it’s a fight, from matt mostly, she untangles herself and stands. she extends a hand to pull matt up, giving him a chaste kiss. “it’s okay, matty, go. i’ll be right here when you get back. always.”

***

turns out that always didn’t mean forever.

there’s a low static sound coming from the t.v, but matt pays it no mind. he’s been sat there for what feels like hours, staring into the distance. he has no idea where his brothers are, something about a friends house or something.

it’s been a couple months since the two split. since matt’s entire world shifted off its axis. he hasn’t seen you since you came to drop off the box of stuff that was filling your apartment. still hurts like the first day though.

matt fights with the same urge he gets every night at about this time. during the day is easier. he’s either asleep or so busy with work that he doesn’t really think about the you-shaped hole in his life. doesn’t really think about the absence of your toothbrush in his bathroom, or the lack of your perfume on his sheets. yeah, the day is infinitely easier.

it’s at night, when he cracks. when he turns in bed and there’s no one there. when he can’t hear the sink running because you’re doing your ridiculous sixteen-step skincare routine. when he walks to his bed just fine because there’s no ill placed bag in the middle of the floor to trip over. it feels like walking into a room and immediately forgetting what you were meant to be doing. he knows something is missing, but he doesn’t know how to get it back.

he wants to call you. wants to talk. to sort through all the communication that wasn’t handled well. it wasn’t a messy breakup, or even a hostile one. and somehow, matt thinks that’s worse. he’d prefer yelling and arguing and just knowing you weren’t right for each other anymore.

but it wasn’t that. instead it was distance and tears and feeling like right now there just wasn’t enough space in each others lives for one another.

he didn’t want this. at all. he wondered if you felt the same. he’d stared at the phone countless night willing himself to dial the number. to draft a text. he’d spent just as many willing you to do the same. it never came though.

matt knows tonight is different. the hum of the ac is lulling the anxious feelings in his stomach. he knows by the way his shaky hands grab his phone that this time is going to be the one.

he doesn’t know what to say, nor how to get it out. he wants to pour his heart out, but he also can’t do that without looking at you. without seeing you and feeling the rush of unwavering love he always got whenever his eyes met yours. it wouldn’t be fair.

so he starts off light and hopes for the best. you always did used to say that he had a way of knowing you better than anyone else.

he hopes to god that’s still true.

a/n: i’m tewwwwww good to y’all fr. jus sumn lite bc i love that damn song soooo bad and it came on this morning and a giant ass cartoon lightbulb went off in my head. anyway number neighbor part five & six later today cause ik that’s what u guys really want 😭 i hope u guys like this okie bye i love you all sooooo bad!!!

TAGLIST:

@sturnioloco @peachmels @sugrhigh @tastesousweet @rootbeerworshiper @hollandsangel @sturnolio-luvs @mattsobvimyfav @misscocodiorsblog @ilovechrisssturniolo @pepsiboyy @braindead4l @mxqdii @fawnchives @hearts4chriss @certifiednatelover @nmegamett20 @imaslut4kehlani @dominicfikue @wovenribbons @streamermattsgf @pr1ncessmatt @pinksturniolo @yourfavoritefangirl @nickmillersn1gf @freshxsturniolo @sturniolobltch @mattspolitank @lookingformyromeo @alorsxsturn @imwetforyourmom @kiarastromboli @sleepysturnss @mattscoquette @sturncakez @inkyray @simply-a-simper @lanas-doll @wh0resstuff @giannasturn @iluvmattsbeard @mattsmad @bambi-slxt

(also if i add tags based on requests and on comments so if u ever want to be taken off let me know!!!! jus send me an ask or a message and it’s no problem <3333)

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo edit #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo x reader #matt stuniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo texts #chris sturniolo headcanon #matt sturniolo headcanon #Spotify

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hurthermore · 1 day

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hii!! ur writing has a choke hold on me!!🤯anyways, im so deprived of some comfort rn- could you maybe do something related to aftercare? For ex: Alastor comfort after a bit of degradation was taken too personally from reader :> (maybe some comfort while bandaging them up too idk)

Literally obsessed w ur shit ur like my fav hh writer, and ty for reading :3

Of course!<3 and TYSM!! That’s so sweet<3 warnings for sexual content, fluff? (Idk what fluff is apparently from my death one shot)

Your Alastor had always liked indulging in a bit of rough and degrading play; but this time he had went to far.

He had crossed one of your boundaries he hadn’t been aware of, calling you a degrading name you weren’t okay with; and as soon as that word left his mouth, you had become stiff.

Alastor had noticed immediately.

Stilling inside you, halting all movements, Alastor could only look in your eyes as he searched for consent within, searched for anything in your expression that still said you wanted him to continue; but he could not find it.

“Is everything quite alright, darling?” His tone harshly contrasted the nasty and rough demeanour he had with you only moments ago; now giving you a loving and soft voice as he checked in on you.

Looking to the side, you avoided his gaze as the word he used on you still pang through your chest. “Don’t call me that ever again.” You had spoken more harshly than intended, with a sharp snap in your tone, verbally indicating your distressed mood.

Immediately, Alastor had pulled himself out of you, only to wrap his arms around your torso, pressing his face in the snuff of your neck as he registered you were referring the to not so pleasant name he had called you as he fucked himself inside of you. “I’m sorry, darling.” He had meant it; truly. The dousing of guilt that consumed him as you emotionally pulled away from him had him panicking ever so slightly. “It won’t happen again.”

Sighing, you knew he had meant his apology, and despite how much the word he used had hurt you, you knew he had no ill intentions when using it; he merely indulged in a bit of degradation that you also found sexually arousing.

Placing a hand against the back of his hair, you tilted your face back to his. “It’s okay love; just please don’t say that again.” You had whispered ever so softly in his hair, only to feel him shiver from your breath cascading down his neck.

“Would you like to stop?” He had mumbled against your skin, asking for your consent to continue the sexual encounter.

“Yes…”

You weren’t in the mood anymore; and as soon as your deny for consent left your lips, Alastor clicked his fingers against one another. On command, the room you both inhabited slowly changed, warping from the confines of your shared room to a familiar one filled with items of pampering; a room Alastor only brought you to after he had made love to you or fucked you.

He had always been a gentleman to you, despite his preference to be less than gentleman-like whenever he pummelled himself into your walls, he always put your pleasure and your needs before his own.

It was something you were grateful for; and one of the many reasons you loved him.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, Alastor began hoisting you up, guiding your legs to link around his naked waist as he carried you to the large, hot bath imbedded in the floor; a bath which mimicked one of a hot tub in size.

Stepping inside, his hooves clicked against the metal alloyed bathing area as the two of you began to submerge within the hot water; it’s temperature relaxing all of your muscles as it began to douse your body.

Alastor had slowly settled you down in the bath, only to take a seat beside you as he held you close, his hands stroking parts of your body as he continued to comfort you.

You believed you would fall asleep if this were to proceed.

“I am truly sorry, my love.” He had spoken with such honesty and vulnerability as he held you, apologising to you yet again, despite doing so earlier.

“It’s okay, Al.” You only responded with a soft sigh as you leaned yourself against him.

“You know I don’t mean those things during our rougher sessions, don’t you, my darling?” He had asked ever so softly and gently, attempting to approach the subject in a calm manner, one that would be proefficient in cheering you up; his beloved.

You had only mumbled a yes, nodding your head as Alastors lips began pressing themselves against your neck. “I know, love. It’s just- that word.”

“It won’t be used again,” He quickly interrupted you. “My perfect little darling, I swear it.” He said between the pecks of romantic kisses he placed against your neck.

The smile that enriched your face wasn’t missed by your lover as you allowed him to pamper you, to echo sweet words of love and loyalties into you skin, to kiss sweet gestures of love along your body.

You were blessed to have such an evil man be your darling sweetheart.

#alastor x reader #alastor x you #hazbin alastor #alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #reader insert #x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor x reader smut #alastor smut

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tadpolesonalgae · 2 days

Text

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 15

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: I became suddenly ill about three days ago and my brain is still quite mushy so I think this has been proofread but there might be some errors here and there I’ll try to iron out once I’m better!! Sorry for any scruples and I hope you enjoy!! 🧡💛

warnings: angst, general depression, violence (self-attempted)

word count: 16,175

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Azriel catches her eye from across the room, weary hazel locking with bright amber that swirls in the faelight of the living room.

His tension is more palpable than usual, the conversation from yesterday with the golden-eyed male only further contributing to the death knell gonging quietly at the back of his mind, creaking through his knees, echoing in each footstep—each breath he takes. Time seems to be dripping by faster, even more so than usual. In the cobwebbed chambers of his mind he’s able to recall a time where days were his chosen measurement, where a twenty-four hour period contained beginning, middle, and end. But as he’d grown older, those chunks had grown with him, his perception of time shifting the more of it he lived through. Soon enough weeks were his days, calculating how much could be done over the period, sleep a small break to be indulged in between work. Then it had shifted to months—twelve to fit everything into, nights morphing into short naps.

Now years feel like days once had, time no longer a steady drip of water from the roof of a dark cell ceiling where he’d been kept locked away from the light, but a steady trickle as it carves its way through stone.

Shadows conceal his absence from the laughter-filled room, removing himself from the uncomfortably bright corner to a place of familiarity, shifting into the darker hallways as he sighs, feet positioned instinctively equidistant, weight spread evenly, fearing one lapse in discipline might bring him back to those days where he knew nothing of fighting, nothing of how to defend himself. To those days where he had to learn relentlessly, practice until his body couldn’t move in desperate attempts to cover the ground he’d lost years to.

Mor enters into the darkness, coming from the yellow-orange light that’s spilling into the blue-purple hallway, heels effortlessly silent upon the floorboards as her nocturnal eyes seek him out. Her features are already serious, easily picking up on his mood despite his efforts to conceal it. The depths of it, at least.

“Az?” Mor asks quietly, expression curious but solemn.

“She’s gone,” he murmurs shortly. Mor’s eyes flash with alarm at the revelation, before her brows tuck together. “What do you mean she’s gone? Where?”

“I don’t know,” he admits grimly. “I paid a visit to one of her friends afternoon yesterday, but he refused to answer anything.”

“What do you mean, she’s gone, Az?” Mor hisses, disbelief sharpening her muffled tone. Azriel grinds his jaw, but relents—this is more important. “I mean, she isn’t at the House of Wind. She left a note saying she would be at Bas’, and would be back but she wasn’t. When I went to get her, she wasn’t there either,” he summarises, expression sombre.

“What else?” Mor asks sternly, the brightness about her having faded faster than a flame extinguished. Azriel licks his lips, bracing himself, before explaining: she has magic but it’s been giving her trouble, she’d wanted to try using it without anyone else knowing and he’d let her, Elain’s vision prophesying his death at her hand.

To Mor’s credit, her features don’t drain entirely of colour, and it takes her no more than a few seconds of heavy silence for her to muster up a response. “What magic?” Mor asks first, keeping her tone quiet but clipped, judgement clear enough she doesn’t need to voice it. And Azriel won’t address it, either. “Her hands could glow a little around the fingertips. We didn’t know what it did, though.”

“And the trouble?”

“It dried her skin out, among other things.” Mor’s lips part, eyes closing briefly as she sighs. “The gloves.” Azriel doesn’t need to provide confirmation for her to have connected the dots.

But then her eyes open, slowly sliding to his, an edge of viciousness underlying their amber cut, one he withstands reluctantly. Mor swallows, jaw tense, watching him. “How long have you known about this?” She asks, lethally softly. Not how long has she had magic, how long has he known. And not told them. “About a fortnight.”

Mor’s eyes gleam with hostility, and his features become stony, walls raising up as she watches him silently. Judgement falling heavy on his shoulders. “Why tell me now?” She asks shortly. She isn’t chewing him out, nor is she outwardly rancorous. Not good a good sign. “Bas won’t tell me where she is,” he replies neutrally, Mor’s eyes flaring as she puts it together. “You want me to ask him.” Azriel nods, despite her already knowing.

She glances at him reproachfully, another look he withstands passively, and then she’s turning sharply on her heel, making back toward the light, back toward the laughter. Silent as a shadow, Azriel catches her upper arm, having to exert surprising force to keep her still. “Where are you going?” He asks coldly.

“Where do you think?” She counters sharply.

“They have enough on their plates,” Azriel mutters. As if on queue, Nyx’s laugher giggles through the halls, a stark contrast to the gloom lurking just beyond the light’s end. Mor snatches her arm away. “You have enough on your plate,” she says lowly, eyes glinting as they cut through him, “we could have made room. You should have told us.” But Azriel stands his ground, not giving an inch. “It was the right call.”

“You have no idea where she is,” Mor counters. “No idea where she is, or what state she might be in. What makes you think that was the right call?”

“You’re questioning my judgement?”

“Yes, I’m fucking questioning your judgement,” she hisses back lowly.

“She told me she didn’t want any of you to know,” he counters coldly, “she’s reclusive anyway, suddenly outing her wouldn’t have done anything helpful.”

The wording seems to strike something in Mor, ire banking, eyes shuttering briefly, before she’s gritting her jaw again. “You should have told us.”

“She barely managed to tell me,” Azriel states, “Elain didn’t even know until the vision that her sister had magic.”

“You know you should have told us.”

“And betrayed her trust when she chose to tell me?” Azriel asks cooly. “You didn’t see how scared she was.”

“Maybe she wasn’t scared of us finding out but of speaking with you.”

Azriel blinks, the only sign of his falter he’ll allow, caught off guard by the accusation. She’s never shown any fear of him before… “She has no reason to be scared of me.” He says finally.

A look of frustration flits through Mor’s amber eyes. “She’s young. This is probably the first time she’s experiencing strong feelings toward someone else,” she says lowly, “surely you can remember what that’s like.” Azriel bristles at the pointed look, the insulting comparison between his past love for Mor and the affection being unwelcomely pushed his way. “She’s infatuated. It happens,” he replies tersely, not taking kindly to the manipulation. “And she went through the war too—she isn’t that unaware. You’re doing her a disservice.��

“The disservice here is you not affording her the care she needs—to the point she’s chosen to run away,” Mor practically spits.

Terse silence stretches between them, sour and resentful.

“We aren’t going to come to an agreement,” Azriel says at last, tone clipped, but both of them know it’s better to move on for now. They can fight it out later, once things are resolved and taken care of. “You speak to Bas first, then we can find out who she’s gone to. She could be anywhere in the Night Court, knowing him.”

“We tell Rhys and Feyre first,” Mor demands lowly. But Azriel shakes his head, “if you want to be the one to tell Feyre her sister is missing and we don’t know where she is, be my guest.”

Silence stretches further, growing tauter by the second, until Mor sighs sharply. “Fine,” she grits out. “Bas first.”

Azriel nods, making to turn around, heading for the door.

“But you are telling Feyre,” Mor hisses lowly. “Whether we find out or not. Tonight.”

Azriel pauses, jaw tightening. But gives a sharp nod.

————

Once again he slinks back to the male’s house, the bright sun lost to winter’s oncoming grip, dark clouds shielding the stars from view.

Despite the silence between them, he can feel Mor’s judgement pressing into him, but he has no time to argue or persuade. After the…discussion, with the male the other day, he’d needed time to plan, regroup his thoughts. Time. Seemingly so sparse, as of late. He could afford little more than twenty-four hours of inaction before a decision would have to be made—he hadn’t come this far by sitting around aimlessly when faced with a hard choice. It seemed the only reasonably way forward would be to acquiesce to the male’s demand, as much as Azriel despised so. It was the smarter option.

The other would have been to lay hands on him, and no matter how urgent the matter was, the male was still a civilian, and untrained for war, at that. Violence was entirely out of the question.

He knocks thrice on the door, sharp and punctuated hits to alert the male of company, before stepping back to allow space for Mor.

Gleaming golden eyes pierce out into the darkness, and Azriel knows he doesn’t miss the hint of smugness in their gilded depths as he marks the presence of another, as he’d requested. To verify his claim that there were indeed urgent matters afoot. Azriel refuses to show even a hint of irritation, keeping his face cold and passive—Bas won’t get the satisfaction of seeing him riled. He’d have to work much harder for that.

“You’re back late,” Bas drawls from the warm glow of his house, once again leaning cockily against the broad wooden frame, ankles crossed, one foot keeping the door held to—away from prying eyes. “And you’ve brought company,” he muses, glancing to Mor at his side. The female steps forward, the yellowy-orange light from inside making her glow as she offers a tight smile. “Bas, correct?” Golden eyes sweep over her analytically, before he nods, shifting slightly. “Mor,” he acknowledges, “she mentioned you, too.” No signs of surprise mar her open expression, kept sealed beneath that deceptive mask she can wear to charm at any time.

“That’s why we came to see you, actually,” Mor begins calmly, straightforward. “I’m of the understanding you know her whereabouts, but are unwilling to disclose them for various reasons.”

“That’s right,” he replies slowly, expression shifting to something more wary. His provocative nature shying away from perceived earnestness. “She doesn’t want any visitors.”

Mor nods her head gently, understanding shimmering faintly in amber eyes, threads of her hair catching the golden glow of inner light, glinting with the motion. “I can understand that, but this is very important,” she says sincerely, worry shining in her face Azriel know she doesn’t have to fake. Still the male remains cautious in the doorway. “Azriel wasn’t lying when he told you this conflicts with Court matters,” Mor begins slowly, and the shadowsinger tamps down on the urge to glance at her warily. Though he knows she won’t reveal anything, there’s no need to offer scraps. “I’m afraid there’s little I can honestly tell you due to their private nature, but nonetheless I would like to speak with you about her. She is a part of our family, and we are deeply concerned about her. I’m sure you can understand our worry.”

Quiet pauses long enough to take a deep breath, before resuming to its consistent noise.

Eventually, Bas nods his head, standing straighter. A grain of tension is released from his shoulders as the male opens his door, yielding to a conversation. He makes to step forward, but sharp golden eyes flick to him, piercing and accusing in their nature. “I’ll speak with Mor, and Mor alone,” he states clearly, an edge of provocation creeping back into his features, though the Shadowsinger doubts its sincerity.

But Mor nods her head, “that’s fine,” she answers, brushing past his side, pulling the cold night air with her, a whisper of icy breath grazing his side as she moves forward, leaving him out in the dark. “Don’t move from here until we’re done,” Mor instructs from over her shoulder once Bas has disappeared from the entrance hall. Azriel nods, understanding the implication.

Listen in from outside.

————

The room she follows Bas into is cozy, well-kept. Clearly lived in.

The pillows of the sofas are slightly worn, slightly faded in colour, waned down to more earthy tones that compliment the pale terracotta of the walls. Fire crackles from the hearth, dried rosemary hung from the ceiling beams, as well as other dried herbs and plants. On the wall are some paintings, mostly stills, but they’re watery around their edges, faded colour bleeding over fine, distinct ink lines.

Bas takes a seat that seems to fit him comfortably, likely one he usually chooses, while Mor opts for one nearby, a quilt thrown over its back, squares of purple, blue, turquoise, and magenta knitted together, and she can make out small patches in the yarn where its been run thin and had to be darned with slightly mismatched thread.

“So,” Bas starts, quieter than she had expected, sitting forward in her chair, attentive. “You’re worried about her. Why?” It’s hard to conceal her frown at such a strange question, but she doesn’t really try to. She doubts she’ll get anywhere through masking her reactions. “She’s part of our family,” Mor replies, “why wouldn’t we be worried about her.” Bas settles deeper into his chair, hands braced on arms, head tilted back into the pillow as he watches her intently. It’s not an expression she’s unfamiliar with, but not one she had expected to encounter here—something wary and deeply protective.

“She doesn’t speak much about any of you,” he hedges slowly, keeping his posture relaxed. “But it’s enough. You aren’t as close knitted as family.” Mor opens her mouth to speak, but he continues. “Even if you try to be,” he says, nodding, “she isn’t easy to get to.” Mor closes her mouth, lips pursing in a tight line. He sighs, shifting in his seat, pushing a thick loc of hair from his face, hooking it over a thoroughly pierced ear. “I believe that you’re concerned about her, and that you truly want to help,” he says heavily, attitude shifted from how he’d been outside, and Mor wonders what Bas might have been told about the Shadowsinger to warrant such ice.

“We do,” she urges sincerely, and Bas nods again, hearing her.

“What I…worry about,” he starts hesitantly, forming the words carefully, considering each one. “I worry you don’t understand her enough to make an informed call,” he settles on, and Mor bristles a little. How long has Bas known her for? Does he know her more than Mor does? “What leads you to that way of thinking?” She asks, keeping the stiffness from her tone.

“I know you don’t see her much,” he replies simply, and again Mor’s lips purse. “She doesn’t enjoy…full, settings. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t care, though.” He sighs, eyes briefly closing, before reopening with a fresh intensity, sitting upright in his chair, forearms braced on his thighs. “Do you know how we met? Me and her?”

Mor’s brow dips, but she answers anyway, curious where he’s going with this. “Through Nesta, right?” Bas nods, something passing through his eyes at the right answer. “Right,” he confirms, “making time to visit those stuffy inns, filled with groping hands—she hates places like that.” Bas sighs again, hand rubbing one side of his face. “I don’t even know if it helped at all, but I know she felt it was all she could do. Even if it was just company, and nothing material. Even if it might not’ve had an overall impact, that was her way of trying to help.”

Mor remains quiet, not seeing what he’s trying to say.

Bas shakes his head, as if telling her to forget about it, again rubbing a hand down his face. “Look, I don’t even know if I can speak on her behalf, and I like to think we’re fairly close with one another,” he admits, sighing heavily. “I don’t want to mislead you.”

“So you’ll let me where she’s gone?” Mor asks, concern heavy in her voice, making no effort to conceal her worry. She watches as the pads of his fingers rub over his eyes wearily, as she wonders if this is straining on him more than he’s letting on. “Try to understand her, when she talks,” he requests quietly, eyes still shut, fingers rubbing faintly. “She still confuses me sometimes, and she never shows if it bothers her, but I can’t imagine someone being okay with being misunderstood.”

“Bas,” Mor urges gently, sensing he’s on the verge of telling her whereabouts. “Please tell us where she’s gone. We don’t want her to feel alone.”

Bas doesn’t look up, face still covered by his hands, but Mor can make out the tightness of his brows, torn between his decisions. So close to cracking open.

“I don’t know,” he whispers.

Mor blinks, eyes locking with gold as he looks at her through his fingers, fatigue obvious beneath his gaze, the lines more pronounced as the flame casts the shadows of his digits across his features, deepening the half circles that have appeared.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Mor asks, biting down on shock, clearing it entirely from her voice. “She didn’t tell me,” he answers quietly.

Silence stretches, and even in the haze and confusion that’s been stirred up she has enough clarity to feel the piercing weight of a glare through a window, heavy and accusing. Tension crackles in her spine, flipping her golden hair over a shoulder, a subtle message to piss off to the shadows that are watching from outside.

She sighs heavily, meeting the golden eyes of the male opposite her, now sat back in his chair as he was before, but his back is slumped, as if containing all that worry had been stretching him taut. Relieved to no longer be the sole barer of her secrets. “Do you—…” Mor eases in a sharp breath, settling the worry and gradually increasing panic that’s tightening around her throat. She swallows, pulling herself together. Recomposing herself. “Do you have any idea where she might have gone?” She asks calmly. “Anything could help.”

But Bas shakes his head, guilt clear in his golden eyes. “She didn’t give me any hints. But she had a bag with her, so I’m guessing she had somewhere in mind and didn’t just aimlessly wander off.”

Mor nods, getting to her feet, golden eyes tracking her movements. “Thank you for telling me,” she says sincerely, before turning for the door.

“I know that leaving in the middle of the night without telling anyone where you’re going seems rash—maybe even a bit stupid,” Bas says after her, voice a little clearer to catch her attention. “But she’s smart. I’d wager it was probably something she’d had in the back of her mind for a while.”

Mor swallows thickly, the possibility not sitting well with her, but nods nonetheless.

“I’ll let you know when we find her.”

————

Azriel waits sullenly in the front garden for Mor to exit the male’s house, darkening the doorstep he’d been instructed to remain in until she was done.

He watches the door open and close, Mor stepping out into the night air, latch clicking softly as it locks behind her, and the two make their way silently at first down the garden path, back into the street before they begin communicating. “That certainly didn’t take long,” he muses lowly, glancing at her sidelong. “I take it you heard everything?” She asks quietly, tension clear in the cold bite of her usually honeyed voice. Azriel gives a brisk nod, and Mor sighs. “What now?”

“There are only so many places she could have gone to,” Azriel replies smoothly, mind already running through the possibilities. Honestly, Bas not knowing almost helps more—it has to be someone she knows. There are only two places she could have possibly run off to, though neither of them seem particularly believable. That being thought, he knows where he’ll check first.

“You have an idea?” Mor asks tightly, a bit of a bite to her question. Azriel nods grimly, “Elain mentioned a fox in her vision,” he explains, “apparently they grow close—enough to make a bargain of some sort, anyway.”

“Elain saw the bargain in her vision?” Mor questions. Azriel nods. “We don’t know if that’s symbolism or not,” she mutters, “we have no idea how accurate they are, either. Nor how soon they’ll come to pass.” Her tone softens toward the end a little, but Azriel isn’t willing to speak about that part of the prophecy yet. That he will be dying. Probably soon, going off how vivid Elain’s descriptions were—as if it were urgent. Impending.

“And you’re sure Elain doesn’t know where she’s gone?” Mor asks, keeping her gaze ahead, brows pulled together in concentration, a glint in her warrior’s eyes. “She might do,” Azriel sighs, “they are close, after all. And the fox…”

“Could be Lucien,” Mor finishes heavily. “You think she’s run to the mortal lands. Back to her home.” Azriel remains silent, keeping pace as they return silently to the River House.

Piercing amber eyes dig into the side of his skull, the intensity of her attention almost startling if he hadn’t had centuries to grow accustomed to it. He senses the question, just as she could sense he was holding something back.

Azriel doesn’t look at her as he speaks, “there’s only one other person the fox might represent.”

Even without visuals, he can hear how her pace nearly falters, then comes to a stop. He pauses with her, at last turning to face the golden haired female. Her skin is paler, even taking the silver of the moon into account. “You think she might have gone to Eris?” She asks, voice thick, but quiet. No more than a breath of wind. “I think it’s one of the two. There’s no one else it could be.”

“She’s only met him once,” Mor snaps lowly, nails digging into her palms. Azriel makes a show of shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. “It’s one or the other,” he says calmly, “if she isn’t in the Mortal lands…”

Mor stares at him, amber eyes drained a little. “You really think there’s a chance he could have…taken her?” She practically spits, unable to keep the hiss out of her voice. Because when it comes to that long ago trauma, her only responses to fall back on are fear, or anger. He doubt she’ll allow the vulnerability of fear right now. Not with the tension between them. “I think it’s better to question Elain first to see if she knows anything. If she doesn’t, I’ll make my way down Prythian.”

Mor blinks, realising the situation. She had demanded Azriel be the one to tell Feyre, regardless of whether they find anything or not. But with the new possibility of her having somehow found herself in the Autumn Court…Mor’s throat rolls heavily. She can’t bring herself to go there. Even now, the thought alone…she pushes against the urge to settle her palm over her abdomen. “We question Elain first,” she manages quietly, and Azriel can see how she’s gathering herself back together.

Instinct is the closest it comes to, that feeling she’s somehow run off to the Autumn Court, like a tug toward the unfamiliar land. Surely Elain would have mentioned something to him about a plan for her sister to leave when she’d been telling him about the vision. It’s the option that makes the most sense, for her to have spoken with Elain, and used a tunnel to reach the border quickly. With all the books she’s read in the library…the kind of things they contain, he doesn’t doubt she’d be more than capable of figuring a way to sneak out of the Night Court. To sneak out of Prythian if she set her mind to it.

Mor nods, and Azriel redirects his attention to the street, continuing the pace. “Question Elain,” she murmurs, “then head to Autumn first. If she isn’t there, go to the Lower Lands. Be as quick as possible.” He nods, admittedly relieved he won’t have to yet face Rhys for the mess he’s inadvertently caused.

————

“Eris, I’m tired,” you sigh, hands aching, sitting dejectedly on a tree stump.

As much as you’d protested, he’d dragged you back out into the forest, where everything feels encased in a glass bubble. It’s hard to explain when you think about it, but it’s like being in another world, how easily the trees sweep away and redirect noise. Hairs prickle at the back of your neck as you remember the giant, boar-like creature that had rampaged upon you mere days ago. The sight and smell of steaming blood as skin slid from flesh, melted apart.

“You haven’t even done anything,” he mutters, watching. “Get back up.”

You sigh heavily, reluctantly getting to your feet, then blinking heavily, suddenly crouching down as you press your palms to your eyes, trying to steady yourself from the abrupt dizziness that had ballooned into your head. Lips part as you try to concentrate on your breathing, wishing away the sudden feeling of unevenness beneath your feet. Eventually it passes, a few extra moments spent crouched for good measure, before you slowly stand back up, hand pressing to the side of your head. Cutting whiskey and amber eyes are piercing into you from across the clearing. You scowl back.

“What was that?” He asks, disapprovingly, your scowl deepening at the tone.

“I told you: I’m tired,” you snap, but it lacks the bite you’d wished for, fatigue building into a slow but heavy pulse inside your head, just above and behind your brows. A yawn rises from your chest, and you cover your mouth as it stretches you open, eyes squeezing shut, watering a little before you slump back into your usual posture, no longer pulled taut by your muscles.

His sharp eyes narrow accusingly, and you bristle at the look, trying to summon up the energy to glare at him. “Did you eat breakfast this morning?” He asks sharply, and you grimace, knowing he won’t approve of the answer. But you really don’t have the energy to lie, either. “No, I didn’t,” you sigh, “I was feel sick.” Something flickers behind his eyes, but it’s gone too quickly for you to even attempt to recognise. “You were probably feeling sick from hunger,” he mutters, as if it’s obvious, arms folding over his chest, leaning back against a tree. “Using magic can take up a lot of energy, even if it doesn’t feel like it. You should have—”

“I know the difference,” you hiss, lip twitching up in the beginnings of a snarl, before once again flattening out, and you sit back on the stump, uncaring if it pisses him off. You hope it does.

“Do you?” He muses, a bladed edge to his tone that has your stomach tightening, glancing at him warily from across the clearing. You tense as he pushes off from the tree, then vanishes, and you jump as he appears on your other side, peering down at you, unimpressed. “You know how to tell when your magic is draining you? Because those are some pretty big steps to have made seemingly overnight.” Your lips purse, averting your gaze, sullenly looking away. “That’s what I thought.”

“I know the difference between hungry sickness and—” you falter, but manage to finish the sentence, “…and being unwell.”

Eris pauses, and you want to meet his gaze and glare at him, but your head just feels too heavy on your shoulders, and the general fatigue hasn’t been aided by the light sheen of sweat that’s been layering your body each morning, before you’ve wobbly stumbled to the washroom, clutching your stomach. You’ve yet to actually regurgitate anything though—your one blessing. It’s like those initial months after the Cauldron all over again.

“Look at me,” he instructs, and you glare at the ground, irritation growing in your chest. It wouldn’t hurt him to be a little more gentle with his attitude. His demeanour, in general. A curse sits, unspoken, at the tip of your tongue when he grips your jaw, angling your chin upward so he can examine you. Again your lips twitch in a slight snarl, but the energy fails quickly. Amber eyes sweep over your features, and you avert your gaze when his own settle intensely on yours. He releases you after a too-long moment, allowing you your space again, and you glare at him. “What was that for?”

“You look worse than usual,” he answers flatly.

You glare at him resentfully, unable to muster up the laugh you usually would whenever he makes a comment like that. Instead you just feel irritated. His brows narrow further, “how much have you been sleeping recently?” He pushes. You shrug, briefly glancing away.

“A normal amount. I’m fine, just let me sit down, it’s not that big of an issue if I’m not standing, right?”

“Are you coming up for your cycle?”

The bones in your hands creak, groaning with strain and you hiss as pain flares weakly beneath your gloves at your fingertips. You tuck your hands under your arms, trying to soothe their sting as you glare at him. “Do not ask me that,” you snap, legs crossing on the tree stump. You half expect his lips to quirk at the easily given reaction, but his brow dips a little. “You don’t have to give me a direct answer,” he says at last, a touch gentler than before, but still stern. “Just answer if it could be related.”

You hesitate at the tone, jaw still tight with tension, but you swallow thickly. “No,” you manage quietly, “not for another few months, at least.”

“Then as much as you disagree, it would be a good idea to eat first, then see if you improve,” he replies, back to his usual drawl, laced with distaste. Enough to almost have your lips curving a little at their edges. “So we’ll be going back to have lunch right this second,” you muse, glancing up at him, “and you aren’t going to set some stupid challenge for me to fulfil beforehand. Right? Because that would be very impractical.”

His amber eyes glint with something you’ve decided is the closest he’ll get to open amusement, brow raising slightly. “Why waste a good motive?” He counters, “looks like you’re catching on.” You force a groan, if only in attempts to lighten the mood from whatever dark grave it had settled into, and you reluctantly get to your feet, taking it slow incase your head starts swimming again. “What is it this time?” Eris nods to the tree that looks to have been recently cut down, the counterpart to the trunk you’re sat upon. “I want you to try touching the bark,” he instructs, and you look at him quizzically. Seems easy enough.

You watch him questioningly as you stand and make your way over to the tree, putting your hands down.

“Done?” You say slowly, confusion blatant in the furrow of your brows as you stare at him.

Eris stares at you blankly, before raising his palm to cover the lower portion of his features, concealing his mouth. “Using your magic,” he adds disbelievingly, mouth still covered.

You blink, then flush with embarrassment, hand covering your own mouth as laughter bubbles up from your chest. “Oh,” you manage, shoulders shaking lightly, not helped by the matching amusement reflecting in his amber eyes—amusement he’s struggling to conceal. “I thought—” you break off, a smile stretching wide behind your palm, chest stuttering with mirth. “I thought you meant I just had to touch it.” He shakes his head, seemingly beyond speech. “You want to see how the bark reacts when I touch it with my magic,” you clarify, nodding your head, still trying to tamp down the laughter that’s heating your eyes faintly. He confirms with a slight nod of his head, and you take a deep breath, trying to sober up. “I see,” you nod again, at last recovered enough to lower your hands to remove your gloves, a smile still faintly curving your lips. “I’ll give it a go.”

“Why would I ask you to touch a tree?” Eris asks from somewhere at your back, tone almost settled back to his usual drawl, dripping of disapproval. “I’m tired,” you reply, not nearly as practiced as he is at keeping your tone neutral as you glance at him over your shoulder, “you should have clarified better.” Eris shakes his head, before nodding to the tree trunk.

You take in a breath, returning to look at the bark—what would happen if you touched it?

Closing your eyes briefly, you steady out your breaths, inhaling slow and deep, feeling your shoulders lose their tension before reopening your eyes. Focusing on the bark again now that you’re settled. “What should I do?” You ask, not taking your gaze from the tree or your hands.

“Try thinking about different things, exploring how they make you feel,” he replies steadily. How helpful, you think, but leave the comment unvoiced—you’re trying to concentrate. You think about how the light had appeared before, when he’d gotten you to briefly sustain it. It had hurt at first, you’d had the chance to realise, but after the initial rush of pain, the creak of bones and your groaning carpals, it had faded more into a slight tingle, like your fingers had fallen asleep, wrapped in a vague warmth.

You swallow thickly, thinking about the flat-topped ring in your pocket, the absence of weight in your ears, how they correlate. You don’t regret the decision to sell them off, to your slight surprise. More indifferent to the change, if not slightly excited at your choice. Doing something for yourself, on your own, that nobody knew about. It’s nice, having secrets.

“Now press them to the bark,” Eris instructs, and you look down in surprise to spot the faint greenish-gold glow weaving between your fingers—almost like fish slowly weaving throughout water as they struggle upstream, but less frenetic. Slowly, keeping your breathing steady, you press your palms against the bark, palms shaking slightly as the light flickers, almost flinching slightly as it hesitantly makes contact with the new surface.

You jerk away when something lances up your wrist, stinging pain spearing beneath your skin as the tang of copper bursts in the air. The magic extinguishes in an instant, snuffed out with a single recoiling thought, and your breathing loses its pattern as you glance down at your right palm. What looks like a popped blister sits on the heel of your hand, except the liquid that gleams had a red tint to it, mixed with blood. You sigh heavily, left hand holding your right wrist lightly, thumb pressing the flesh just below the blister, watching as blood rises to the surface. The skin around it is flakier than before, a little discoloured, and you spot a mole at the knuckle of your little finger, poking meekly out from the skin, as if worried over being spotted and pulled away.

Eris walks up to your side, glancing down at the bark, the absence of any sort of change. It looks exactly the same. “I guess nothing happened,” you hedge, glancing warily down at the tree, searching for some kind of change.

Eris is quiet, and you at last turn to peer up at him, wondering what he’s thinking. His silence is waring. Amber eyes latch with your own, narrowed and slightly impatient, before the emotion is swiftly wrapped away. “I had hoped to make more progress,” he muses lowly, and you regard him with caution at the hushed tone. His eyes gleam with something you can’t figure out, wariness intensifying as he pulls something from his pocket—a small silk pouch.

You tilt your head, brows furrowed, “what is that?”

His lips sharpen at the edges, and tension coils beneath your skin—that type of expression is never good. “Open it,” he instructs simply, and you cautiously take it from his fingers, eyeing him again before carefully pulling the strings open, tipping the contents out into your palm. You blink as you take in the smooth band of metal, silver and gleaming against the flaws of your skin. “A…ring?” You ask, peering up at him questioningly. He nods, and you suppress your jolt when his fingers brush over your knuckles, plucking the band up and watching you intently as he smoothly slides it down to the base of the pointer finger on your left hand.

His demeanour has noticeably shifted, and your brows narrow further, suspicion roiling in your gut.

“It’ll help with keeping your magic calmer,” he explains lowly, secretively, and you manage a nod, confusion running rampant in your blood stream. “How so?” You ask, glancing down at the band, his fingers still wrapped around your wrist to keep you from moving. “You have a habit of straining yourself to keep the full force of your power from coming out,” he answers, thumb brushing your knuckle, and this time you glare up at him. His mouth only sharpens, amber eyes glinting with something that has the hairs raising at the nape of your neck. “I’m sure you’re familiar with how the Illyrians use siphons—so their raw type of magic doesn’t destroy everything around them?” You nod, tension lessening, again glancing down to the band. “Think of it like that—now you don’t have to waste concentration on keeping it all in check.”

He releases your hand, and you pull it closer to look at the silver, angling your head a little, understanding this must have been what that exchange had been about, when he’d gone down that dim, dark alleyway into the hidden chamber. “So it’s…a magic ring?” You ask, brows scrunched together as you look up at him. He raises a brow, “how astute of you.” You glare, lips curving faintly at the familiar intonation.

You swallow, stepping back a little, nodding your head. “I guess…” you breathe deeply, “as good a time as any.” You pull the flat-topped ring from your own pocket, and extend it toward him. “I saw this the other day in the market,” you say honestly, watching as his expression shifts, brow raising as he opens his palm. “It reminded me of you a little, and I probably won’t see you over the solstice anyway, so might as well give it to you now.”

Eris takes the ring, examining it, the small carving of the fox set in sterling silver. “A rather unique gift,” he muses, making the edges of your mouth curve.

“If you hate it, you don’t have to wear it,” you say, smiling lightly, “I just wanted to get it.” Though to your surprise, he doesn’t seem to despise it, sliding it over the thumb of his right hand—it seems to actually fit.

That viper’s smile returns to his sharpened mouth, eyes glinting again. “I don’t think your family would approve of a gift like this,” he drawls, more clearly than before, causing you to cock your head in question.

Lips fashion themselves into a razor-sharp grin, the expression more vulpine than fae.

“Isn’t that right, Shadowsinger?”

————

Eris raises his gaze to the forest, how the trees had whispered to him, calling out about the figure stalking their movements. Really, the shadowsinger should know not to hunt outside his own territory. The hulking, shadowy figure steps silently out into the clearing, with a quiet that’s been well-earned by the Spymaster of the Night Court.

Powerful wings are pulled to his body in traditional Illyrian fashion, save for the darkness wreathing the gleaming talons at their peaks, cold hazel eyes clashing with Eris’ own. Marking what the Spymaster has come for. It’s proximity to the male he hates viciously, bloodily, gruesomely.

“Shouldn’t you know not to sneak around in the shadows by now?” Eris drawls, hands settling around its shoulders, feeling stone-tight tension beneath his palms. Its magic fading, unable to winnow two people away, so left trapped in the clearing as the male prowls closer.

“Eris,” the Spymaster greets coldly, darkness unspooling upon the ground he treads, coming to a stop at the edge of the clearing. Not close enough for hand-to-hand combat, but too nearby for a proper display of magic. At least he’s smart enough to recognise he’s at a disadvantage in a foreign court—uninvited, at that. “Shouldn’t you know the consequences of displacing a member of Rhys’ court?” The Spymaster questions, lethally quiet.

Tremors flutter beneath Eris’ hands, still gripping her shoulders to keep her in place, and he glances down, only to find her already watching him. If it weren’t for the tremors, she would be as still as death. Her brows lifted and slightly curved, mouth pointed down at the edges. Betrayal stark in her normally bright eyes.

“You’re clearly uninformed,” Eris muses, pulling away from her scared eyes to meet cutting hazel. “This is a perfectly amicable meeting, isn’t it, cygnet?”

The Spymaster’s canines flash at the pet-name, the blatant taunt, the insinuation he’s made that she would choose himself over the Spymaster. That well-concealed wrath suffers a blow when she raises her hands to grip his wrists, nothing demanding about the touch—it’s a weak hold. As if asking for attention.

“Amicable or not,” the Spymaster says, expression stony, “you’ll return her. Unless you want Rhys to know about this abduction?” Eris shrugs, amusement sharpening his mouth as he selects his words carefully, “I’m not her keeper. She will return when she likes.” By the looks of it, the arrow lands, pupils constricting as the Spymaster takes a menacing step closer.

————

Your ears have hollowed out, stomach swallowing your heart. A quiet kind of panic tightening through your chest, pulse spiking. Dread sluicing through the rope holding you taut.

You’re staring up at him, holding on with as much strength as you can manage as a strange emotion rushes through your blood, softening your muscles until you’re struggling to stand, pushing every pleading word you’ve ever read into your eyes, silently begging for him to do something. To keep you from facing him on your own.

You know how easy it is for him to shatter you.

Amber eyes lower to yours, walls risen against Azriel’s presence, and your fingers stutter over the cuffs of his tunic, before the last of your strength drains. They’re glinting again with that challenge, and in the very back of your mind you can understand he’s using this as just another training exercise, but it’s hard to focus on through the ringing in your ears, that strange quiet that’s so loud it drowns out every other thought, like a thousand whispers hissing instructions too swiftly, too viciously for you to make them out, coming together in a swirling spiral that’s pulling you under.

Eris’ mouth is moving, eyes peering at something behind you, but you’re fine not hearing. Would prefer to fade from the world, to slip away quietly, unnoticed and un-missed. But then amber again returns to you, and with it sound comes crashing in too. “Pack up,” Eris orders, and you blink, his hands tightening on your shoulders as he feels the slight sway of your body.

“She’ll take a while,” Eris drawls, glancing back at the Shadowsinger—your stomach lurches—who remains a heavy presence at your back. “You may be unwelcome, but let’s not waste this opportunity. Using your General’s absence as an excuse not to meet has lost its worth. You will suffice.”

————

You feel half-awake as you pack your things, watching from some far away place as you fold clothes meticulously, with much more care than you usually would, taking your time gathering the few items you brought.

Clothes, an empty blue box, the thickly bound volume. A thin wooden box about the length of your arm, a note attached atop.

Use it wisely.

You pack the box in your bag, recognising the elegant script.

————

Azriel had followed silently, concealed within Eris’s shadow as he’d strode through the stretching hallways, leading the way to his own chambers, where they will be able to speak freely and most importantly, privately. Tension had simmered beneath his war-roughened skin the entire time, disliking even having to blend his shadows with the heirling’s, but it’s an intimacy he’s forced to yield.

The room Eris takes him to is big, to say the least, and open, with a large bed against a wall, a wooden chest at its foot, his desk adjacent so natural light fills the cavernous room—one that’s above ground. It’s here he emerges from shadow, filling space just beside the large wooden chest, an unlit fire quite a way to his left. Eris takes his time walking around the desk, sitting down comfortably, having the nerve to look relaxed—prick.

“So,” Eris begins, and Azriel bites against the urge to grind his teeth at the smug tone. “She ran away from you. Took her long enough.”

“How long have you been planning this?” Azriel asks coldly, completing a triple check of the room, making sure there’s no one else around. “You act like it was my idea,” the autumn heir drawls, successfully snaring his attention, something foul rising at the back of his throat at the implication. Likely the confirmation he needs that she had indeed left of her own volition. A muscle ticks in his jaw.

“You want me to believe she came all this way on a hope that you’d provide temporary asylum?” Azriel asks, rooting deeper. “She has a smart head on her shoulders,” Eris drawls, amusement glinting in sharp, amber eyes, “she knows how to bargain.”

His blood ices over, skin turning cold at the wording, demeanour plunging as his shadows deepen. “You made a bargain with her?” Azriel growls, pulse spiking. If a bargain has already been made… But Eris waves his hand, enough of a light dismissal for Azriel to figure she hasn’t mentioned Elain’s vision to him. One small ray of light amongst the storming thunder clouds she’s already brought upon herself.

“Do you find it so unbelievable that she might be capable of making arrangements on her own? Why do you assume I had any hand in it?” Eris drawls, making that glittering rage sharpen into razor-tipped icicles, poised to carve and slice. “You’re a conniving bastard,” Azriel says lowly, violence glinting in his hazel eyes, “she wouldn’t have come to you without some prompting.”

“You think I tricked her?” Eris muses, a trace of humour in his tone, Azriel’s brows narrowing with detestation. “What would I get out of that, unless she was complicit? I have no way of forcing her magic out of her, she has to want that on her own—as much as that might irritate Rhys.”

Loathing simmers in Azriel’s chest, but he remains quiet, allowing Eris to talk so he can gather as much information as he can from both sides. So he can compare her side with his later.

“I’m sure after Nesta Archeron, Rhys would be eager to find out what other weapons he might have at his disposal.”

“She isn’t a weapon,” Azriel snarls lowly, fury held back by straining iron manacles.

“But she could become one,” Eris counters, tone shifting to something more serious, and Azriel stiffens. “The timing’s a bit strange, don’t you think? Her magic only now coming through? After two years?”

“That’s not for you to speculate on.”

“Even without an alliance, it is a matter of concern,” Eris growls, brows narrowing as ire blazes in his eyes, glowing like freshly forged steel. “Why doesn’t she know anything?”

Azriel growls in warning, violence itching at his fingers, fists aching to slam down. Sparks crackle in the air, his own intentions seemingly reflected in the male before him. “You don’t have the luxury to ignore this pathway,” Eris growls lowly, “choosing to turn a blind eye would be damning.”

“She has her own problems to deal with,” Azriel snarls lowly, “you do not get to make that call.”

“I will make the call if Rhys doesn’t,” Eris snarls back, canines flashing viciously, “she could use some toughening up.”

“You don’t know enough to make an informed choice,” Azriel mutters coldly.

“Then Rhys had better hurry up. It’s not as though he’s unaccustomed to having to make decisions like this. What’s taking him so long?”

Azriel keeps still, features neutral, refusing to let even a hint of emotion appear in his blank expression.

Eris’ eyes narrow, sensing he’s being denied information. Vulpine senses picking up on a weak spot. Unnervingly keen. Then he blinks, leaning back in his chair, torso losing tension. “You haven’t told him.” Despite the utter neutrality, Azriel knows he’s figured it out. The heirling nods, a cynical curve to his sharpened mouth. “She didn’t give the impression she’d willingly display her failures to you.”

“They aren’t failures,” Azriel mutters, ice burning in his eyes as he watches Eris with a glacial look.

“No? Because the control over her magic was pretty pathetic to me,” Eris replies lowly.

Azriel snarls, low and threatening, shadows concentrating into a darkness worthy of the Night Court’s Spymaster, deep and deadly as they writhe in warning. “I didn’t realise she had you so tightly wrapped around her flaky little finger,” Eris croons, and darkness rears back, preparing to strike, when three quiet taps are landed to the door, meagre and unimposing.

————

You peek your head into his chambers, bag slung over your shoulder as you pause on the threshold.

Tension is blatant in Azriel’s shoulders, wings slightly flared, an icy emotion tucked between the stern set of his brows, shadows darker—more frenetic—than they usually are. Looking over to Eris, you can see how he’s leaned back in his chair, that taunting glint in his naturally piercing gaze, and you can guess fairly easily the conversation they were having was not a friendly one—even without the aid of body language.

Maybe they were discussing Court matters.

“I—…Should I wait out—”

“Come in,” Eris orders, cutting you off, and your brows narrow a little at the tone, before softening out again, remembering who else is present. You shut the door behind yourself, turning your back to them to make sure it clicks shut quietly, then walking further into the room, stood a little distance from Azriel, not wanting to encroach on his space while he’s surely furious with you. At the very least immensely disappointed.

“Took you long enough,” Eris drawls, bringing your attention away from Azriel to meet his cutting gaze. Well, your eyes meet his. It’s practically impossible to not focus on the male at your right. You’re not sure if you're imagining the displeasure rippling from him, but you can only hope Eris hasn’t intentionally stirred things up. You know you won’t be able to protect yourself against whatever words he has for you after your abrupt departure.

“You haven’t left any tatters behind?” Eris asks, and a slight scowl dips your brows.

“I have everything,” you reply, readjusting the strap of the bag on your shoulder.

“Excellent. Then you can leave.”

You blink at the abrupt dismissal, glancing at him warily. “Weren’t you discussing something?” You ask Eris hesitantly, cautious about prodding where you aren’t welcome. “We were,” Eris replies, a viper’s smile on his sharp lips, amber eyes cutting to the male at your right. “But it appears your Spymaster doesn’t think you’re trustworthy enough.” It’s obviously a manipulation of truth, but that doesn’t make it easy to hear, heart hollowing out, spine losing a bit of rigidity.

“And who could blame him,” Eris continues, “you haven’t exactly been particularly honest with him, have you, cygnet?”

Your lips purse, averting your eyes from both of them, peering at the floorboards to your left, shame tightening around your throat. “Seems logical enough,” you say quietly, managing to keep your voice steady. You’d rather vanish right then and there, wiped clean from memory and existence than allow a tremor into your voice.

You’ve gotten yourself into this situation. Self-pity won’t fix anything.

“Then that is that,” Eris muses, pulling you from your thoughts. Azriel shifts, not saying another word to either of you as he makes for the door, and you glance at Eris a little longer, searching for a way back. He quirks a taunting brow, resting his jaw on his right hand, the flat-topped band of sterling silver catching the light with the motion. Your thumb brushes the ring on your own finger, before you turn, making for the door where Azriel’s waiting to take you back.

Back to the Night Court.

Back to Velaris.

Back to your family.

Back to be judged.

————

It was unnerving how alone you’d felt on the way out of the palace. Even knowing he was present, slipping through shadows, you couldn’t sense a single thing, and on more than one occasion had glanced around, worriedly trying to find him—but nothing.

It wasn’t until you passed the walls, heading out into the forest again that he emerged—silent and looming—unable to hear his footsteps even when he was right beside you. Unnervingly ghost-like.

You wait for him to speak, to say whatever it is that’ll inevitably bring tears to your skin, but he’s completely silent, leading the way. Knowing you’ll follow behind. Knowing you won’t speak to him until he initiates.

You’d been brought here by winnowing, but he makes no move to wrap either of you in his shadows, and a small part of you whispers that he wouldn’t want you to contaminate them. You try to ignore that part, but even the quietest voice will be heard over silence. Instead the tales spin deeper, that he hadn’t even wanted to retrieve you, content to have you out of the way, out of the Night Court, away from his home. At least that way there’d be no chance of his prophesied death coming to pass.

He’d be safe, and you wouldn’t be bothering him.

Wouldn’t be bothering any of them.

He walks deeper into the forest, silent and steadfast, while you watch as his boots tread through the fallen leaves, not daring to look any higher in case it disgusts him further. You have no concept of how long you follow after him for—long enough your feet begin to ache lightly, but you push through it—silently waiting for the conversation to start. For the first question to be asked. For the first blow to be landed.

Azriel doesn’t stop when you try to shift your bag to the other shoulder, your right one aching, and something in your stomach drops when your pace slows but his remains constant, so you hurriedly finish the switch, and make an effort to catch up, careful not to trip. Hunger gnaws at your bones, but you keep quiet, not wanting to interrupt his pace. It’s not until your stomach audibly protests that he comes to a pause, glancing over his shoulder to you, and you swiftly duck your head, averting your eyes from his painfully familiar hazel set. Breaths deepening as you come to a stop with him.

“When did you eat last?” He asks. The first words he’s said to you.

“Yesterday,” you answer quietly, pressure tight across your chest as you try to keep your breaths quiet but even. “Do you have food on you?” He asks. You nod. You’d wrapped up a pastry from breakfast, it being the only thing you’d be able to savour. Even years later, the habit of not wasting food still remains prominent.

His boots shift, turning to face forward as he begins walking again. You follow silently, seeing no point in nodding or replying. It’s not like you’re going to do anything else. “There’s a clearing up here. You can eat there.”

Azriel pauses beside a particularly large oak tree, and you swallow, and you habitually consider where the least offensive place to sit would be. So you’re nicely out of his way. The ground is muddy, so you’re forced to follow beside his footsteps to the oak, setting as silently as you can on one large branch that’s gnarled and shoved through the earth to curl into a large seat.

Your pulse spikes, wondering if this will be where you have the one-sided discussion, perching the bag on your legs, searching through for the little pastry. It’s made harder by your bare hands, how every piece of fabric seems to bite at your skin with each brush, piercing painfully as you search, until you spot the orange scarf, pulling it out to find the pastry wrapped in a napkin.

He doesn’t say anything, but you feel like you’re wasting time.

You peer at the pastry in your hands, not particularly keen on eating it. You’re close enough to nausea as is, and don’t want to tempt fate with giving your stomach something to regurgitate. But it would be weird to put it away now, so you’ll just have to take small bites. Hope that you can stomach it. A few minutes pass, but you’ve hardly made a noticeable dent in the food, guilt weighing on your bones, pausing between each mouthful to peer around the clearing dully.

Your fingers fumble a little when Azriel moves, settling on the root beside you, your muscles stitching themselves taut, and you hastily shift yourself tighter so he has his space. Almost dropping the pastry in your stuttering movements.

He’s quiet for a bit, and you swallow thickly, attempting to focus on the food before you so as not to stare, but internally you can feel the beats passing, heart ticking tighter…tighter…

“Why did you leave?” He asks quietly.

You still, able to feel the narrow wooden box digging into your thighs. Pausing as the tension abates a little, like how you imagine it would feel to watch an arrow loose from a bow, watching it arc in the sky, then slowly plummet down, seeking out its target. The breath that would breathe out in relief once it embedded itself in flesh, those few, stretching moments at last having come to an end, and one can relax into the clarity of the pain. The certainty of the wound.

“I wanted to get out,” you mumble thickly, keeping the shake from your voice.

“So you went to him?” Azriel asks. You head lowers a little in sorrow.

Where else were you supposed to go?

“You could have asked to be taken somewhere,” he says quietly, and guilt tightens itself around your throat. Is there any way to explain to him why you’d left when you hardly understand it yourself? It had been a crescendo of nerves, of bottled up worries tightening with pressure, like air being blown into a brown paper bag until it burst. Is there any way to tell him you’d like to be able to ask things of him, but in truth you’d rather be slowly pulled apart by pressure than worry him with pointless tasks that only serve your benefit? How can you ever hope to speak with him honestly, when your very heart seems to be the thing warning you away—that same heart that wants to press into him, to beg and cry for forgiveness and reassurance.

“At least have the decency to answer,” he says quietly when you don’t respond, and you feel the small tremor that shudders up your throat, fearing the oncoming disaster. “I wanted to go on my own,” you get out, words softer than a whisper.

He’s quiet, and you wonder if that’s the end of the discussion for now.

But, “did you think at all about what the consequences would be from going to him?” He asks, gaze ahead, but attention pressing down on you. “Or did you forget you have people around you, that your actions impact.”

Your grip loosens on the pastry, choosing to wrap it back up in the napkin, fingers shaking slightly. A lump rising in your throat.

“Answer,” he murmurs, promptingly.

“I just wanted to go,” you whisper hoarsely, fingers wringing together. “I thought—… I thought it would be better if I was fur—… If I was gone.”

“Are you going to tell Mor where you went?” He questions softly. “Or did you not think about that part either?”

“I made progress,” you try, raising your gaze to his. “I can summon it, if I concentrate.”

His lips remain unmoving, but his eyes…gods, his eyes. You betrayed her, you know. All of them.

Breath catches in your throat, and you have to look away. Unable to face him. It. Any of it.

“Why is it so bad?” You ask quietly. “All I did was leave for a little under a week. I was trying to get better.”

“Stop. Lying,” he mutters lowly, blood freezing in your veins, fingers wringing together. Silence ticks by, and you wonder if he can hear the humiliatingly loud pulse of your heart, erratic and stumbling as it usually does around him. You don’t think he’s ever so obviously shown what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling.

Why is this the first way you see it?

Why is this the first time he allows it?

“Just tell me what you want,” you ask quietly, voice faltering as you stare at him helplessly. “You’re never happy with anything I do,” you manage, trembling with growing turmoil, “so please, just tell me what you want, and put me out of my misery.”

He exhales harshly, leaning back into the trunk, lips tugged down at the corners, reproach tucked between his brows, so rarely softened by charm anymore. At least not while you’re around. Almost never when you’re around.

“I don’t feel I should have to tell you how you fucked up here,” he replies lowly, and you push back on the flinch at the crude wording. “You made a bad choice.”

“Imagine how much worse the others were,” you reply lowly, a hint of resentment—not directed at him—present in your tone. He stiffens at your side, then his gaze slides slowly over to you, lethal and condemning, but it’s like you can’t look away. You physically can’t duck your head, or shy away. “You’re really joking at a time like this?”

You meet his eyes fully, presently, taking him in against the darkening sky, winter sun already on the way out for the day, the chill more than prominent, but you don’t dare reach for the scarf in your bag. “Tell me what you want,” you repeat softly, no louder than a last breath on dying lips.

“I want you to be honest,” he replies, brows narrowing, “for once, apparently.”

“About what?”

“Why you went to him.” He nearly spits, unable to entirely keep his ire at bay, something passing behind his eyes.

You’re quiet. Silent.

Then you lean back into the trunk of the tree, head tilting back into the rough bark, hands settling numbly in your lap. Shoulders slope, and you peer up into the grey sky, gloomy and heavy with unshed tears. Thick and thunderous. Fitting for the storm that’s on its way.

“Please don’t be angry,” you whisper, hardly a breath from your lips, a prayer whisked away by the static air. He’s silent, and your throat closes up. “Azriel,” your murmur, swallowing thickly. “Please.”

Moments tick by, stretching and warping as your heart thumps heavily in your chest, utterly bewitched, utterly at his mercy. It’s exhausting.

He sighs, and you try not to stiffen as he glances over to you, feeling that familiar prickle of skin as lovely hazel settles on you. A few warm rays making it through the dim clouds before being frozen off by the icy breeze. Winter’s most definitely on its way.

“I won’t be angry,” he murmurs softly. “Just…talk to me. Like you used to.”

Your arms fold over your chest, closing in on yourself, feet pressing together as you hunch over the bag in your lap, peering at the muddy ground. The smell of parchment rises from your memories, dusty and familiar, but lacking the warmth of nostalgia. Like the bitterness of a tea left to steep for too long, so it dries out your throat, eyes watering from its ticklish bite.

“I couldn’t do it on my own,” you admit quietly. Fingers brushing your knuckles. Raw and flaky.

The thoughts swirl in the back of your mind, ready to roar and rage, becoming so loud they’re deafening, suddenly cutting quiet so fast you have no desire to understand what it means when the waters draw back. What it means when the sea itself shrinks away, leaving a barren and washed-up beach.

“But, the idea of trying in front of you…any of you…and then falling flat at such a small hurdle…” You look to your left, away from him, pulling tighter into yourself. Can anything good come of this kind of honestly? With him?

“I don’t have much anymore, Azriel,” you breathe lowly, struggling silently with the humiliating vulnerability. How bare you are, just waiting for steel to pierce your skin. Like tossing yourself over a cliff and hoping the jagged rocks far below will soften your fall.

“I just wanted to keep my dignity. The scraps left of it after…what happened…”

Your toes curl in your shoes, feet crossed, feeling as though your heart is trying to cave in on itself, swallowed by a vacuum suctioning you back down with the force of a flooded spring river.

“So it was better to fail in front of Eris?”

“But I don’t owe him success,” you argue uselessly, eyes squeezing shut in attempts to keep the tears at bay as your head falls into your hands. “I don’t—…I don’t owe him anything.”

“You don’t owe us anything either,” he replies.

“I owe my entire life to you,” you nearly hiss, spine curving in as your brows cramp together, jaw wound so tight you feel like a tooth might crack beneath the intense pressure, nails pressing into the soft skin of your brow.

“Feyre was the one who saved the three of you,” he reminds quietly, slowly, but you’re shaking your head. Staring down into your lap, tension rippling so clearly from your bunched up form Azriel considers laying a hand on your trembling shoulder as if to pull you from a trance. “No. I know, but…” Your fingers press into your eyes, unable to articulate what you can feel in your stomach. “If she hadn’t gone to Night,” you breathe heavily, shakily, “if she hadn’t gone here, we’d still be back there, entirely human, and I—… I wasn’t going to last much longer there.”

Azriel pauses at your side, taking on the information silently. “You were ill?” He asks softly—he’d had no idea about that. Your shoulders shake, and he can’t tell if it’s with laughter or muffled sobs. Maybe a little of both.

“Maybe,” you whisper, “I don’t know enough about medicine to say, but I…” You shake your head again, and he’s able to sense that’s as much as he’ll get. It’s been over two years, and this is the first he’s hearing of it even in vague detail—he knows this isn’t something he can press.

“It doesn’t matter now,” you say with rueful conviction, palms pushing wetness from your cheeks, spine straightening before collapsing back against the trunk. Tired and exhausted. “We’re out. I don’t need to do anything now.”

Azriel’s brow furrows. “You’re content to stay in your room and rot away?”

You rest your head in your hands, leaning over the bag, staring down into its contents. What else is there?

“You could spend time with your family, for starters,” he replies and you aren’t sure if you imagine the note of impatience in his voice. “Your sisters worry about you a lot. It’s not good for you to be up in that room all the time.”

“Well it seems every time I come out of that room I somehow end up getting in your way.”

“Is that what this is about?” He asks abruptly, and your lips press together, lower one curving over. “I thought we sorted that out,” he says quietly, calming the sharpness of his tone, hearing it even in his own ears, glancing over your hunched figure. “We did,” you reply, muffled by your arms, voice turning watery as you ease in a short breath. “We did.”

A beat passes, then tension stutters in your chest as he gently lays his palm over your shoulder. “Please just talk to me,” he says softly, and you struggle to keep your breaths even as your lungs shudder beneath that touch. After spending so long wanting it…craving it…convinced feeling how gentle his touch could be over and against your skin would fix everything…even temporarily… You try to swallow the lump in your throat. “If not me, then Elain, or Feyre, or Nesta,” he pauses, “…Bas.”

You aren’t paying much attention, though, thankful for the way your mind melts beneath the warmth of his palm. How heat is sinking into your skin, slowly spreading through your shoulder as your muscles thaw. Pressure is lessened, and the tension that had been stitching the tendon taut loosens, allowing breath the ease in and out of your lungs with tiring relief. You could deflate with fatigue. Just turn limp and boneless, better for absorbing impact than having it crack against you.

“Just talk with us some more so this doesn’t happen again,” he urges quietly. “Come down to the river house—you know Feyre keeps your room open—or join us for dinner. At least try. If that doesn’t work, we can find something else.”

You don’t reply. Just remain tucked away from the world. Content to remain within your small shell as long as you can keep that warmth on your shoulder.

The pressure lightens, and your heart hides away as his hand slips from your shoulder, leaving your skin starkly cold with the absence of his presence.

“I’m sorry for what I…for how things transpired. Between…us,” Azriel murmurs, unsure how much to say, to not bring up past pains, especially if they aren’t as healed as you’ve led him to believe. He’s starting to become unsure what to believe about you—he hadn’t ever considered you might run from them. How bad things might have become to force you into that position. Are things that bad?

“I’m sorry, too,” you mumble, voice a little hoarse, and Azriel listens attentively. “I shouldn’t have told you how I felt, in the library. I shouldn’t have made my feelings your problem.”

“They aren’t,” he says softly, but you shake your head as if you haven’t heard him.

“I’m sorry.”

————

He tries speaking twice more on the way back, but the conversations lead nowhere, no longer flourishing as they had, once upon a time. So long in the past they feel coloured by age. Turned stiff and yellow at the edges.

He tries slowing his pace so she’ll walk at his side, but she just drops further back, silently pressing between his footsteps as she trails, head kept down to remain focused on taking one step at a time. The shadow that is cast across her face from the down-tilted angle of her head is deeper than he would have expected.

When he hears her shifting the bag across her shoulders for the third time, he quietly plies the straps from her hands, relieving her of the physical weight. She makes no obvious protest, aside from the stiffening of her body at his approach, but he can spot the relief when he takes the bag. Moving it to his own shoulder, he can make out what feels like a wooden box, the kind made to keep a weapon from being damaged. The thought gives rise to instinctive alarm.

Why might she have a weapon in her bag?

His shadows subtly shift at his back, rising secretively to examine her. Questions begin rising to his mind: unkind, unfair questions that are habitual in his line of work. He tries to shake them off, but they remain firmly rooted in his mind, burrowing deeper with each stride that has the narrow box digging into his side, as if already trying to burrow into his flesh.

How did she know Eris would take her in? How could she possibly guarantee making the trek across Prythian over night would pay off? It’s an absurd risk to take, regardless of circumstance. He can think of answers to those questions, but they don’t sit well with him. An answer to why she might be so familiar with Eris supposing they’ve spoken less than a handful of times. A certainty she must have possessed to take the risk that isn’t one she would have from that little contact. And if she’s hiding how much contact she might’ve had with him…

She was already hiding her magic from them…then there’s the prophecy too. Bas, and the illness. Why were these things she hadn’t mentioned? He can understand the recent silence, but why not before…? Regardless of immediate relevance, it shows she’s prone to secret-keeping.

Azriel eases in a steadying breath, descending into a calm, cold mental state. Sinking into indifferent objectivity.

She isn’t stupid. Far from it, having spent so much time in the library, where there’s all kinds of information just ripe for the picking. And Eris isn’t stupid, either. If he saw a weak spot, he’d go for it. And if Eris went for her, would she be able to resist something she was unable to see for what it truly was?

Azriel’s skin goes a little cold, reminded of the prophecy.

He will die, and it will be by her hand.

He supposes he can only control how much impact it will have on those around him. If Eris has managed to wrap her up in some slow-moving scheme…but that’s just speculation. Still, his instincts are telling him something is wrong with the narrow wooden box, one that must have come from Eris. A box fashioned like those to hold weapons. From Eris. To the female who will kill him.

He should ask her what it is.

Azriel would’ve shaken his head if those habits hadn’t been crushed out of him centuries ago. He can’t just ask her if she’s planning to kill him.

But it would allow a chance for her to explain what’s in the weapon case.

But it would alert her to his knowing about the blade inside her bag. She’d wanted to hide her magic from the start, and earlier she’d mentioned she’d gotten further…how much further? If it’s magic any similar to Nesta’s, it would be unwise to have a confrontation here, alone. Still within Autumn Court territory.

But it would be more dangerous to bring her back to Velaris. To bring her back into the beating heart of the Night Court where her detonation would be fatal.

Azriel blinks, and returns back into the waning light of day—it’ll soon be night.

What can he do, really? If he’s destined to die….who is he to try and get in the way of the Mother? Would he kill her to save his own life? Is that what he would do in order to live a little longer, before a new threat looms to end him? He wants to kill her no more than he desires his own death.

But if it came down to it…what would he choose?

His shadows observe her silently, as they had been throughout his internal struggle. He focuses on what he can see, discarding the lens of suspicion that’s been embedded in him as Spymaster, centuries of limited trust having an impact on his mind.

All he sees is a young woman walking through a dark forest, following him off the pathway.

Internally, he sighs—there always seems to be a constant flow of problems as of late, and peace seems to be persistently remaining just out of reach. A few more years, and then there will be peace; a few more political aggressions to navigate, and then they can rest; just one more person to heal, and then they can be happy. When will the peace truly arrive, though? Is it all wishful thinking? An imagined utopia that will make every sin he’s committed acceptable? Is it just his mind finding more excuses to justify the things he’s done in the name of protecting his family and court?

She’s just one more disturbance, keeping peace from settling.

Azriel swallows, thinking heavily. Even if she was out of the way, there would still be everything else to deal with. Will this problem be the last one, or will a new threat fall in to fill the space of the old one? Hasn’t it been long enough, by now? Hasn’t he done enough?

Shadows check on her again, her head hanging silently, those once bright eyes dull and dark as they follow numbly in his footsteps. The female with whom he’d spent so many afternoons with discussing things in the library…where is she? Is he at fault for her disappearance?

Closing his eyes briefly to relieve the ache that’s been slowly building just below his brows, he allows himself to ponder.

Is it pointless to try and salvage their relationship?

Would it be better if she did kill him?

————

The storm clouds have gathered, full and swollen with rain and thunder. No lightening though. Lightening would suggest some kind of magnificence, and there’s nothing magnificent about the cool temperature of your blood, nor the dull buzz in the back of your mind. The overwhelming grey of your surroundings as you emerge from the tunnel.

The air is drier in the Night Court, you vaguely realise. No dampness nor humidity that you’d grown subconsciously accustomed to from less than a week’s stay in Autumn. A small break of sunshine between the dismay grey you’d all grown so accustomed to for the first few months of the year, back when you were human. Weak, fallible humans, but simpler. Quiet and peaceful, even if that silence was from the constant prowl of starvation. It had been easier to bear.

You don’t wait to see if Azriel will try to speak again once he’s flown the both of you back up to the House of Wind, silently turning your back to trace the familiar halls of the House, moving without awareness, muscle memory guiding you down the corridors, past the tables littered with napkins and cutlery, past the shelves displaying pale crockery and silver chalices, past the chest with a few discarded daggers atop, arrowheads littered haphazardly across the surface as if someone had cast them down carelessly.

The room is greyer than you remember, too tidy to be a lived in space, but it has those reminders—the gifts you were given, and you absently touch your earlobe, squeezing it between your finger and thumb.

Azriel pauses at the threshold, taking the bag off his shoulder. Does he know you sold the earrings? Those pretty, pretty earrings? Probably some of the nicest things you could have believed to be your own.

They must be getting tired by now. All of them.

Blonde hair and sparkling eyes pass dully through your mind, and your heart dies a little more, understanding how you’ve ruined the small blessing. There’s no coming back from what you’ve done—not without significant work, at least, and you’re so tired. In your bones, in your eyes, in your mind. You’ve lived through a lot, but thanks to immortality, you have no choice but to live through more. A body being dragged through the mud, carried towards a grave that was never dug.

Azriel’s mouth is moving, has been moving since he removed the bag from his shoulder, but you haven’t been hearing. Mind too tired and numb to manage focus, grasping only basic colours and lines.

He’s looking at you, and you’re looking back, but not into his eyes. His words pass through your mind meaninglessly, and you wonder if you’re real. A strange pressure is wrapping its tingling fingers around your skull, squeezing like you’re wearing a hat that’s a little too tight. It will take a lot of work to fix what you’ve done. A lot of work you can’t manage. A debt that deepens faster than you can repay it. A sink draining faster than you can fill it. Blood cooling faster than you can stop it.

Maybe it would be better to let it cool, for a while.

————

Azriel doesn’t feel comfortable leaving her in the House alone, with that dull look in her eyes.

He had planned to fly back down to the River House, to let Rhys and Feyre know she was back, and she was safe, to give her some space maybe for an hour or so to let her get her bearings again. Not too long alone, though. That look hadn’t been bright. Instead he ends up slumping into one of the boney, wooden chairs in the kitchen, the House already brewing two cups of tea. He reaches out for Rhys, mentally feeling for the hidden bridge kept open. He finds it almost immediately, and an icy wind slams into him in greeting. Cold, swift, and perfectly telling to his brother’s current temperament.

You’re back.

Azriel bites back on the cringe at the ice in his High Lord’s voice—belying fury. He should have put together Rhys would be furious for Feyre, too, for stirring up this kind of stress for his mate.

She’s with me. How is Feyre?

More furious than I am, though I doubt she’ll show you.

There’s a pause, and Azriel steadies himself.

How is she?

It would be good for her to have company. Preferably in the River House, but if not, then having people up here. This time Azriel pauses, before adding, I think the ward on her room should be removed. So she’ll be able to hear that people are around, should she need them.

He’s met with silence, and Azriel wonders if Rhys is repeating the message back to Feyre, or if he’s simply that furious. A small part of him feels resentment at the constant speculation, that if the matter had been left between him and her then it wouldn’t have gotten so blown out of proportion.

We’ll be up in ten minutes, comes the clipped reply, before the mental bridge is severed. Leaving Azriel no choice but to wait in silence. It will likely be Rhys and Feyre coming up then—knowing she isn’t ready to see all of them so suddenly, though they’ve yet to learn where she’s been.

Feyre will go and speak to her sister.

And Rhys will be the one to speak to him.

What a mess.

The tea has a few minutes left of brewing, and he wonders if the House will demand he be the one to take the mug to her, or if it will be delivered on its own. He’s not sure she would appreciate being disturbed right now.

As if his thoughts summoned her however, he hears quiet footsteps out in one of the hallways, reaching his sharp ears even through the closed doors and secure walls. He listens carefully, but she seems to just be pacing around, not coming toward him, or even really going in any particular direction. They pause, the silence heavy, and Azriel pays full attention. Another minute passes, then another, and another, but he couldn’t have missed those familiar footfalls.

After a fourth minute, he hears them again, ever so slightly heavier than before, and then they cut off abruptly. Sound sliced in two as she closes the door to her room.

Azriel glances over to the brewing tea, then blinks when he realises the House has set it on the table within reach. Just one cup, made with milk and sugar—not the way he likes it.

Looking over to the countertop, his mug remains steeping, steam trailing up from the hot liquid. The House seems to be demanding he take her the tea now.

Azriel shifts in his chair. It isn’t a good idea to disturb her again. He’s trying to give her at least these few minutes to herself, before Feyre arrives with Rhys—and that’s a conversation that might very well stretch hours. There’s a lot to discuss, after all. She’ll need her energy, and he’s probably the last person she wants to—

The mug slams down on the table before him, hot liquid spilling over with the force that it was dropped onto the surface.

He stiffens, watching the mug tensely as if the House might spill it onto his lap. The liquid ripples in the mug, splashing from side to side for longer than it should, before reluctantly calming.

Blowing out a breath, Azriel wraps his hand around the mug’s handle, reluctantly standing from the kitchen table.

If the House is being so adamant about giving her the cup, then he supposes he’ll just have to follow.

He still finds it a little strange, how the House came alive after Nesta lived inside it.

————

Silence hums in your ears, so quiet.

You’ve caused them so much trouble. Irreparably ruined your ties to the people you hadn’t wanted to hinder.

Silently, quietly, you move the bag to your bed, able to even hear the stretch of fabric as you raise it from the unnaturally clean floorboards. Opening it, you begin pulling the first thing you see out—the orange scarf form Autumn that has some small crumbs tucked between its folds, smelling faintly of pastry and something damp. One piece at a time, you make the slow trek to and form the wardrobe, feet unfeeling as they tread numbly across the smooth grain of the wood, mindlessly repeating the to and fro, the mechanical movements of unaware motion, folding fabric and hiding it away.

Your fingers bump the box, surprised by the hard collision, having expected to find more fabric, but are instead confronted by the narrow, wooden box. Use it wisely, written on the note in a neat and elegant script. Raising it from the bag, you sit down, hands resting over the surface before slipping your fingers into the indentations for ease of opening, cracking it open to find what’s inside. Eyes ease across the narrow length of wood tucked inside, the softly flared end for it to whistle through the sky.

The world disappears around you as you fall into thought, suctioned inwards by a gentle riptide as you dissolve into your mind. Imagining the blank look in Mor’s eyes when she finds out what you’ve done to her, the wall that will rise up as she sections you off from her life, rightly so, brings a quiet kind of sadness into your chest. A longing that has been numbed and dulled, desaturated by hopelessness. Imagining the dinners, voices chatting merrily around you but never at you, the way she won’t look at you. They are all immortal, and their disgust will reflect their lifespan.

You’ll be stuck. Endlessly dragging you feet after them in attempts to make amends. Stumbling and fumbling carelessly trying to make reparations, but smashing more pieces in your frantic hurry to clean the mess you’ve made. Gazing up from the pit of a well as the icy water slowly drains in, the small pin-prick of daylight so far above there’s no hope even trying to scale the wall. It would be more honourable to drown.

To wipe yourself from memory.

It would be better, you understand. To snuff out your own dwindling light, than force the trouble on them of bearing your sputtering flame.

You walk out into the hallway, quietly, silently. Passing the table with napkins and cutlery set, past the shelves with crockery and cups, past the chest with dull steel and blunt arrowheads. Passing further along, until you pause before the large mirror that’s mounted on the wall. You peer dully into the reflection, deciding to look upon and assign shape to name for what’s been causing all these problems. To see what they think of when burdens are mentioned, to understand where the impatience is directed.

You peer higher, the reflection skewed as you meet your own eyes in the blade’s polished steel, held above the mirror’s frame.

Time warps, and you look through the drawers. A few daggers, some unused sketchbooks, a piece of yellow wool, a ball of string. You check the second draw. Some folded napkins, more arrowheads, a shard of porcelain, a thimble, a discarded marble. You check the third draw. Some salts, spices, dried leaves, matching Illyrian blades, pots of ink, a copper coin. You check the fourth draw. Crisp bedsheets, off-white pillowcases, a dented metal mug, a small container of some kind, one arrowhead, a crossbow.

You return to your room with the ball of string and the empty crossbow.

Swallowed in the silence of the bedroom, hidden behind the wards.

The snare is easy to set up, directions still vivid in your mind and for a few short moments, you allow yourself to settle into the certainty of following through with those instructions. Encountering a bit of trouble with how to keep the tension of the string with no earth, but your mind works quickly, weighing the string taut with the one book from your shelf, and a square box containing a mechanical universe. Making sure the string is just tight enough so the faintest touch will snap the tension loose.

You glance at the string on the floor, eyes catching on the small painting on your desk.

You slot the arrow into the crossbow with a satisfying click.

The ash stings your fingertips.

You stand with your back to the door, facing the crossbow head on. Your heart bleeds a little, tears at last dripping slowly down your cheeks, but it will be better this way. Easing in a deep breath, you relax into that feeling deep in your chest that’s telling you this is the right thing to do. It was always going to happen, there was never a path you could have taken that wouldn’t have lead you to this one way or another. It’s a feeling almost like relief: there’s finally a way out.

One perfect, swift, execution. An ash arrow to your heart, splitting the muscle and ending its relentless beat. Your breathing increases to a stuttering pulse before calming, and you swallow, glancing to the windows. You know you’ll cause a mess.

Fingers open the latch to the window, fresh air gently rolling in, and your breathing stutters again. You’ll be irrevocably gone.

Peering about the bedroom, one you hadn’t felt was truly your own, but had stayed long enough to begin putting down roots—the bookmark laying beneath the pendant on the desk beside the painting, the jigsaw still wrapped in a bow beneath the bed, the sealed nail polish and briefly used lip tint within the cupboard. Sobs shudder through your chest strangely.

A part of you doesn’t want to leave yet.

A small, human part, that still fears solitude despite your chosen loneliness.

You step toward the book, body caving in, heart collapsing in on itself, the emotive feeling similar to the convulsions you’ve experienced after vomiting. A vacuum hidden inside of your chest, finally imploding. You should end it now.

The door creaks behind you, and you flinch from terror at someone witnessing your vulnerability.

Hazel eyes meet your own, at once scanning the room out of habit, and those lovely eyes widen as you recoil on instinct, foot knocking into the book.

————

Given the pleasure of time, he had been allowed to ponder the impossible question: to choose between his death and her own, each equally impossible. How is anyone to make a choice like that?

But, caught in between precious moments, there’s no time for thought or debate. It’s easy to declare gallantry, to flippantly comfort a companion with those easy words—I’d take an arrow for you.—but it’s an entirely different matter when the arrow is whistling straight toward them.

And yet before the mug has even hit the floor, he feels the familiar, burning pain as the arrow pierces through his flesh, slicing him open as the wrongness bleeds into him, swiftly poisoning his blood, draining the inherent magic from his body.

————

You stare up into wide hazel eyes, agony etched across his delicate features, the very tip of the arrow lightly piercing your skin from where it’s shot straight through him, caught in his flesh.

He groans lowly, his weight falling more heavily on your shoulders where his hands had grabbed you to switch your positions, and you’re helpless as his knees give out from pain, dragging you down with him as he collides with the ground.

Horror pounds through your body, heart beating a thousand times a second until it’s risen into your throat, hands shaking violently as you try to hold him steady, stinging with the burning heat of blood from his side.

Mother murder you.

“Az,” you stammer hoarsely, staring at his twisted features, brow furrowed deeply, breathing ragged as it puffs against your skin. The familiar scent of blood filtrates through your system, undiluted and metallic, and he’s dying he’s dying he’s dying—

His hand weakly grasps the back of your neck, grabbing your attention as your hands fumble, trembling with uncertainty and despair, fingertips beginning to sizzle as panic floods your veins, tossed into the rapids, utterly out of control as your mind unravels, regret stabbing through your heart.

His lips are moving but your ears are ringing, itches burning at your skin, a streaking noise piercing through your head like the screaming from those bloody fields. He’s speaking and you try to read his lips, but your eyes aren’t focusing, tears blurring your vision as sobs heave in and out of your chest, burning at your throat and lungs. You had tried to stop it! You were so close to preventing it!

Your hand settles on his cheek, already feeling cool beneath your burning, burning, glowing—

Feyre and Rhys, his lips form, and you shake. Eyes scanning his features frenetically. His own flick to the door, and you understand them to be here? You stare at him helplessly, hopelessly—it won’t matter how you scream or cry for them, not even if you bled your throat raw. The ward against noise that you’d been so thankful for, that Feyre had given in attempts to help, to remedy a wrong.

Something so small, yet so immoveable. Impossible to defeat. Felled by your own, stupid need—

He’s going to die.

Neither you nor Azriel have a second to prepare as the power wells up inside of you with the force of a damn broken loose, that internal wall shattering entirely, blown to bits as you feel the staggering pressure swallow your brain, crushing in intensity at the rapid division of cells, splitting atoms colliding as the explosion blows you apart.

Brilliant green light detonates, silence settling for a second before the noise crushes back down, the room blown to pieces.

The ground shakes beneath you, floorboards cracking and splintering as a hole is torn through the side of the House, tearing through the wards as the noise thunders above the city, sweeping across Prythian with the force of the Cauldron that had torn down the Wall.

One final surge of magic before the life is taken from his body.

Pain lacerates through your figure as something fundamental cracks open inside of you, all at once draining the agony that had beens steadily building up, all of it gushing out, skin resplendent with a sickening golden-green light, radiating your flesh.

Then you collapse, falling into the pool of steadily cooling blood surrounding Azriel’s body.

The prophecy having come to fulfilment.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

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