#tw: slight crime mentioned
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All My Dreaming
Summary: You came to the Night Court as a fugitive and quickly became a valued member of the Inner Circle. Azriel’s love for you has burned brightly in his chest for nearly two centuries now, but when an unknown force threatens to take you from him, he must fight to keep you at his side.
Pairing: Azriel x Winter Court!Reader
A/N: I don’t use Y/N here just out of personal preference, but the IC do call reader “Little One” because she’s younger than them by like a century or so. Also, slight timeline deviation? I kind of just made the ACOTAR timeline work for me a little bit but the important bits are there mostly. If it’s not totally accurate, please suspend your disbelief and go with it. I also took some serious liberties with Prythian geography and Azriel’s shadows in this. I had to force myself to stop because I could’ve written five more scenes, so let me know if you all want a part two. I got nasty Azriel thots to spare, baby!
WC: 16.1k ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
TW: 18+, Minors DNI, violence, death, descriptive gore, lots of time jumps, torture, smut, p in v, fingering, porn with plot, mating, slow burn, angst, friends to lovers, declarations of love, loving sexy times, miscommunications abound, Azriel being a big ole softie, Azriel being a big ole bitch to bad men, Azriel really going tf thru it emotionally, and Azriel being mouthy as fuck. Just girly things.
Part 2
Azriel hadn’t seen you in four days. Nearly a week had passed since you’d left. Rhys mentioned a mission but no additional details, Cassian avoided the topic, knowing how frustrated his brother got when you were gone, and Feyre was decidedly unhelpful the few times he’d brought you up. His shadows searched aimlessly, they’d found nothing as far south as Winter Court, daring not venture into Autumn, and knowing damn well you’d never step foot into Spring. You were slowly driving him mad; the bond in his chest aching at the loss. Even if you hadn’t recognized the golden thread linking the two of you, he felt it.
Gods, did he feel it. He’d often lay in his bed at night, eyes tracing the intricate foil patterns of the ceiling tiles. When sleep evaded him, as it frequently did, he’d grasp the thread tightly in his minds eye and tug it experimentally, begging you to see, to notice it was him that loved you with a ferocity that rivaled the sun. Try as he might, the responding tug never answered, his call into the void not returning an echo.
The second it snapped for him, Azriel had resolved himself as unworthy, not of someone like you. You were powerful, breathtakingly beautiful, intimidatingly intelligent, and you regularly brought men to their knees, both in political circles and on the battlefield. Rhys relied on you as much he did Cassian and Az, you were a core member of his court, a valuable asset, and the love of Azriel’s life. Azriel avoided the latter subject entirely, choosing instead to silently stoke the ember in chest with unyielding affection; his own private paramour.
When you’d joined the Night Court, you’d been on the run from both Winter and Autumn Courts. Your father was a high fae noble in Winter that had attempted to arrange a marriage to the second youngest Vanserra of Autumn. The family’s brutal reputation was legend and you were terrified. You were young then, barely a century old, and upon your introductory visit to the Autumn Court, Beron sought to make an impression by presenting a welcome gift. That gift? The public torture and execution of a servant he’d deemed traitorous.
His gleaming eyes remained on yours with each cast of the fire whip he’d conjured using his cruel magic. He’d cracked it again and again until blood splattered and the servant was left flayed beyond recognition, flesh searing, and finger tips twitching from the remaining neurons firing in his brain. Only after his death did Beron announce his crimes. He’d stolen a parcel of food from the royal pantry to feed his wife and small child. Your stomach churned at the thought of the now widow and fatherless child waiting at home for the male that would never return.
It had all been a test to see if you were worthy of the most violent and petulant of the broody sons, and you’d passed, holding Beron’s stare and keeping your back straight as you faced his wrath head on. You’d cried yourself dry in your room that night though, sobs wracking your form until your chest ached, grief for the male that was lost. Fear settled into your heart, terror of the family you were set to marry into.
You’d ran at first light, leaving with nothing but the clothes on your back. Your Winter white blonde hair streaking across the red and orange forest as you bolted. Beron sent his dogs after you. You still had the scars lining your calves from where they’d gotten too close, brought you down into the dirt, jaws snapping and tearing at the muscly sinew there. But you’d fought. You’d kicked and clawed like a feral child of the woods, screaming with a sense of self preservation you’d never known you possessed.
Rhysand had found you half dead, starving and a little savage in the mountainous border between the Day and Night Courts. He’d made a bargain with you then; he’d save you, if you worked for him. Word had already spread of the ousted Winter female and spurned Autumn princeling and Rhysand was impressed you’d lasted in the wilds undetected for so long. The small star flecked tattoo of the Velarian night sky that lived on your wrist since was the only evidence of his deal.
You’d long moved past such a bargain. Rhys had offered to lift it half a dozen times in your first hundred years within his court, but you hadn’t minded. A reminder, you’d insisted, a mark of your loyalty to the family that didn’t lead you the wolves with such glee.
You’d settled into a routine in Velaris, training with the Illyrian brothers and charming Amren with your intelligence and wit. But you’d become the closest with Mor, who felt a kinship in your shared traumas. She’d soothed you in those first years, fiercely protecting her friend when Eris Vanserra had shown up in Hewn City as an emissary to inquire on your new position in the Night Court. It was that same night that Azriel realized how fucked he truly was.
Eris smirked at you and your back straightened, face growing cold. He spoke, “My brother was wondering where you’d scampered off to.” A laugh followed, “You couldn’t stomach our court, but found yourself bound to the Court of Nightmares? My my, what a wicked turn of events.”
Rhysand had spoken then, wearing his High Lord mask well, “Watch yourself, Eris. You know not what our Little One can do.” Eris laughed, the sound laced with the dark spark of a threat. “Little One? Fugitive and Night Court whore, I must tell your father. I’m sure he’ll be proud to hear of his daughter’s fate.” Azriel’s wings pricked, then fluttered, he would’ve killed Eris right then for you. Your hand came to rest on Rhys’ arm as you stepped around the throne to level your accuser with a look that should’ve turned him to stone.
“I am no male’s whore and I belong to no court except Night. Report what you wish to my father, to your father, your brother. May you all rot.” You’d spat at his feet then, and the room heated twenty degrees, Eris’ barely kept rage simmering under the surface, fire blooming on the fringes of his figure.
He stepped forward and Cassian, Azriel, and Mor all shifted, prepared to take out the threat. Eris’ eyes tracked their figures, gauging the situation. He knew better. Any attack here would mean war on his court and his father have his hide for that. You stepped forward to meet him, knowing he could make no move without endangering his position. You kept your spine straight and narrowed your gaze at him with such contempt he would’ve been impressed at the show had you been anyone else.
“I will say this once Eris Vanserra,” you held up one long manicured finger, and Azriel traced the action with thinly veiled obsession. “Leave my court or I will be the one to kill you. I’ll rip your spine from your body and I’ll do it with the same glee in which your father,” you’d spat that word, the hatred you held for Beron burning your throat as the words exited your mouth, “killed that male for feeding his family.” You took a step closer, summoning a dagger in your left hand, and rolling it your palm. “Trust that we have no tolerance for your family or your bullshit in these lands.”
Eris had good enough sense to step back then, peering around your form to where Rhysand sat, legs spread, slouched in the throne, smirking at your display of dominance. Azriel to his right looked on in pure male satisfaction, you were a powerful little thing and he was rather fond of you in that moment. Eris spoke up, “Should I note that the Night Court threatens other Courts for sport?” Cassian and Azriel rolled their eyes in synchronous fashion, but it was Mor that spoke with the dark edge of a threat, “Only ones that deserve such brutality.” Her father, Kier, stood in the gathered crowd and sneered at the tone of her voice.
You’d done the unthinkable then, winnowing behind Eris, grasping the male by his red hair and dragging the dagger to his neck, digging in enough to cause the male’s heart to speed, a line of scarlet leaking from the press of your blade. You could feel the heat in his skin, the flame licked at your hand as you released him with a shove.
You brandished your dagger as if it was an extension of your hand, the tip of the silver blade glinting with red from the now healing cut at Eris’ throat. “Come for me again and I’ll kill you.” It was then that Azriel noted the slight tremble in the hand at your right side and he wished on some distant star that he could reach out to you, soothe you, tell you that he was proud and you defended yourself and your court beautifully.
As if his wish was granted, he felt his chest give way to a canyon of emotion, heart stuttering as the bond fluttered and snapped, thrumming with affection for the female standing at the center of the room. He had selfishly allowed himself to hope it would be you, in the dark of the night when he was alone and his shadows whispered to him of your whereabouts. Since he’d met you, he fostered that small romantic notion of soulmates. His most private desire.
Eris whirled on you with a roar, grabbing your throat with hands of fire. Azriel felt the breath leave him, and he took two then three steps forward before he could think, hazel eyes alight with a fierceness you’d not yet witnessed. Your eyes found his and you held up your hand to halt his movements, the one that had trembled seconds earlier, now steady as a stone. You’d looked at Eris then, raising your chin defiantly, a slow smile overtaking your face as you once again spit at the Autumn male before winnowing back to your place in front of the dais. Rhysand raised to his feet then, taking steps down to meet you. His hand grazed your arm this time and his mind reached out, “Very good, Little One, very good.”
“As the lady said, Eris, come to my court in search of her again, and she’ll be the one to kill you.” Rhys circled Eris, tracking like prey. “But not before I sanction it for laying your hands on a member of my house.” Rhysand spoke with such quiet cunning, it was no wonder he excelled as High Lord. Eris snarled then before winnowing out of the Hewn City and Azriel quickly set his shadows to following him, ensuring he was actually gone.
You returned to Mor’s side and the shameless pride that set on your face the rest of the night made Azriel want to kiss you. Gods, he was fucked..
You’d flirted with him constantly in the first century you’d been in Velaris. You had laid it on thick too, dragging a long nail up his arm, your mouth sliding into a smirk after one too many drinks at Rita’s. Azriel had always feigned friendly indifference though, a mask he slipped on that was equal parts protection as it was self soothing. His only crack coming in the form of a slight tremble in his pinky as he tried to gather himself to avoid closing the space between you, touching, grasping, feeling.
He’d worn black leather gloves around you in your first few decades with them. His hands always held the most insecurity for him, the silver scars and warped skin a brutal reminder of his childhood. It was after training one day, as you all packed your small bags and threw towels into bins that you’d asked about it.
“I don’t mean to pry, and feel free to tell me to fuck off, but why the gloves?” You asked quietly leaning against a wall less than ten feet from him. He’d stiffened and breathed tightly, “it helps with the work.” That had always been his excuse, wearing gloves when killing helped reduce the touch memories associated with the act, and it was partially true. But he wasn’t on a mission right now, and you called him on that, “are you spying right now?” Your lips quirked, “should I tell Rhys?” Your words were mirthful, but your eyes held nothing but empathy for the Shadowsinger, sometimes Azriel wondered if that was your Cauldron blessed gift.
You’d reached down then, rolling up the left leg of your training leathers. You’d resumed your full height and rotated your calf outward for his eyes to survey the damage there. Ragged silver keloid scars marked the skin from your ankle to the soft back of your knee— a knee he’d admittedly fantasized about many nights in a row now. He’d selfishly thought about trailing kisses up your leg, pausing to nip playfully at the soft skin at your knee as he made his way north, up your thigh. He breathed deeply banishing those thoughts as he took in the site of your marred skin. Judging by the heavily keratinized markings, the injury had no doubt been painful when incurred originally. Azriel’s fingers twitched again, wanting to touch your face, hold you as he kissed away your grief.
“From Beron’s dogs,” you breathed, rolling you shoulders, as if shaking the memory from your mind. “They wouldn’t heal when I was out there,” you clicked your tongue, “granted I was starving,” you sighed, “but that’s a story for another day.” You looked at him then, and he had to steady himself at the emotions pooling in your eyes.
He’d already planned on killing Beron if the opportunity presented for what had happened with Mor, but for you, he’d make it hurt. He’d drag it out and make it slow. He’d torture him for days, flaying skin from bone, taking fingers then limbs and when at last he begged for death, Azriel would set the dogs on him and laugh as they tore him apart. He felt a long repressed need for vengeance creep up his spine, and he hated to acknowledge what its presence meant in regards to you.
“It’s okay, you know,” you’d said, head lolling to the side as you watched him, eyes swimming with a gentle affection, “I’ll never judge you for something like that.” Azriel squeezed his eyes shut as he turned his head from you and breathed in tightly. How did always manage to be so fucking disarming and vulnerable? That must’ve been a gift too.
He pinched the middle finger of the right glove and pulled it from his hand, grasping his now exposed fingers into a fist, knuckles cracking. He extended that arm out, palm up as he let you view his deepest insecurity, the thing he hated most in his appearance.
You’d stepped forward, looking at his palm. Your hands went to reach but you’d paused, looking to his eyes as you silently asked permission to touch. He nodded stiffly, watching you with the same intensity of an animal being hunted, prey ready to bolt at any moment.
Your fingers touched his hand, and he felt the connection race up his arm and to his chest, settling in his heart. Your eyes studied, and you rotated his hand, fingers gently tracing from his wrist, to knuckle, to fingernail in reverence. You covered his hand with your own, moving your eyes to his hazel ones. “Are they dead?” You’d asked seriously, and he stuttered a shocked laugh. “Yes, Little One, they are,” he answered, a small smile playing at his mouth. The two of you far too similar it seemed. “Good,” you’d said simply before kissing his knuckles and pulling the glove back on for him. The action was quietly intimate, and Azriel should’ve kissed you then. Mother knows he considered it, eyes watching you with rapt attention as his heart sped up and breathing shallowed.
“If you two are done flirting, lunch is ready,” Cassian announced from the doorway, breaking the spell you were both under. You’d jumped and laughed freely at the large male smirking at the entrance. You grasped Azriel’s hand tightly in affection before releasing it to turn on your heel to exit the room, passing by Cass with an eye roll, thumping him square in the chest.
Cassian looked to his brother as he walked into the room and his face split into a shit eating grin. “Let’s go, loverboy,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. Azriel glared, scoffing as he followed behind you, praying to whatever Gods were listening that he’d get you alone again soon.
In your second century with the Night Court, you’d lessened the blatant flirting and settled into loving, easy friendship. You regularly attended balls and galas in Hewn City, fitting into such pomp with practiced ease, but always with a dagger strapped to your thigh, ready to cut a male down in seconds. Those events were almost routine at this point: Azriel would save you a dance, and you’d move together in a slow ritual that you’d both perfected over the years, he’d bow as the violinist played their final note and resume his place on dais at Rhys’ right. His eyes would follow you the rest of the night, as you spoke in an airy manner to various high fae, glaring at any male whose hands ventured too close to his mate.
Nights when the Court held parties at the House of Wind were different though. You were far less rigid, finding it easy to exist without scrutiny. Those were the nights Azriel’s eyes rarely left your form as he watched obsessively from the corners of the room.
“You’re staring,” Rhys chimed from his place next to Azriel, eyes not leaving the crowd as he spoke to the Shadowsinger, mouth smirking. Azriel was staring. You’d worn cobalt blue tonight, a lovely color on your skin. His color on your skin. Mother above, the male possessiveness that crawled up his spine was unreal. Mate, mate, mate, his shadows had sang in his ear. He wanted to pluck the eyes from every male in the room for even glancing in your direction. He wanted so much more than that too. Your breathy sighs as he marked you, your moan as he made you come undone, his name crying from your lips as he ate his come from your cunt after. Azriel had a million and one scenarios running through his head. He yearned to make each one of them come to fruition too.
He hadn’t answered Rhysand, so the High Lord tried again, “you really should tell her, but please,” Rhys closed his eyes with a grimace, “quiet your thoughts first, for Cauldron’s sake.” That got Azriel’s attention, his back straightening and mental shield slamming down. His eyes squeezed shut, almost as if he was in pain. “I cannot burden her with that now,” he said, “not with war at our doorstep.” Indeed, the second war with Hybern creeped ever closer, disappearances of other high fae occurring daily. Whatever they were planning across the sea, it was going to bring Prythian to its knees.
Rhysand sighed then, feeling older than his 500 years. “Be that as it may, we should hold those we love tighter.” Rhysand looked to Feyre at that moment, his eyes meeting his mate’s, as he sent a strum of warm affection down the bond. She smiled and returned it cheerily. He turned back to Azriel, “if it all ends tomorrow, I know my love and she knows me. That’s all we can ask for in this immortal life.” Azriel looked back to you, and your eyes were already on him, tracing the shadows that wound around his chest. You met his eyes and winked, before turning back to Mor and laughing freely.
“I thank the Cauldron daily it was you that found her in those mountains, Rhys.” Azriel spoke quietly, admitting a small secret he’d not told anyone. Rhysand softened, and clapped his friend on the shoulder, “As I am, brother.” Azriel nodded, letting the conversation die between himself and the High Lord as he drained the drink in his hand and moved down the steps in your direction.
You’d been in conversation with Mor when he approached. She was telling you of the seamstress she’d been seeing, and how happy she was. Azriel cleared his throat from behind the two of you and you turned to meet him, taking in his appearance with wide eyes. “Ladies,” he started, bowing to you and Mor, who snorted at the silly formality. “And that note, I’ll be taking my leave. I’ve got a lady to see,” she said with a wink and a flourish of her red dress. You laughed and shook your head before turning back to the Shadowsinger. He’d caught you staring earlier and your heart had nearly jumped into your throat, before Mor mocked you lightly, diffusing the tension.
“Hi Az,” you greeted softly, before dropping your empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray and thanking them. Azriel watched you closely, noting the revealed skin that shifted with each movement, committing every angle and freckle to memory.
“You want to get out of here?” He dared ask, jerking his head toward the private balcony on the House of Wind. You raised a brow, Azriel? Asking you to leave? Together? You heart was back in your throat and you thanked the Mother that you’d taken your time getting ready that evening. Nodding, you grasped his arm as he offered it to you like a proper courtier. He walked the two of you up a round of stairs and away from the eyes he’d threatened earlier in the night. Voices dulled the more space you put between yourselves and them and you couldn’t help but start to sweat a bit at the thought of being alone with Azriel.
You’d been friends for nearly two centuries, but you’d always felt a connection with the male. Your heart thrummed with a warm, golden affection when he got close. It made keeping a clear head during training hard. It made sitting next to him at dinner difficult. And when he’d looked at you like you hung the moon as you danced earlier in the night, it made you want to take him to bed and ride him until he moaned your name. You breathed deeply. ‘Focus,’ you chided yourself, ‘he is your friend, for Cauldron’s sake.’
He led you out onto to the balcony and stopped at the railing before looking up at the star flecked sky. “This is my favorite part of the House,” he said eyes scanning the sky before looking back to you as you watched him. A blush crept up his neck, before he cleared his throat again.
“I’ve always wondered what it was like to be able to fly, you know,” you said quietly, removing your hand from his arm, rolling up onto your toes, leaning against the stone railing, and looking out on Velaris before scanning your eyes up to the three stars that shone brightly overhead. “When I was a child, I met a Peregryn from the Dawn Court and thought she had the most beautiful wings I’d ever seen.” You chanced a glance his way, “I’d not met an Illyrian yet.” You reminded with a smirk, bumping his arm with fondness. Gods, he was in trouble.
“I asked her what it was like and she said it was the purest sense of freedom possible.” You glanced down at your feet, “I spent the next year wishing for wings.” He mulled on your words. He wanted to say something cheesy as Cassian would, like ‘I’ll be your wings’ but he couldn’t, so you continued on.
“When I was a little older, I witnessed a blue skinned lesser fae’s wings ripped from his body as punishment and it was the most gruesome thing I’d seen at that point.” You took a shuddering breath, “I cried for him that night. The lost freedom. How maddening it must’ve been.” You looked at him then and he watched you with furrowed brows. “How does it feel for you?” You asked softly, eyes tracing the shine of his wing. ‘Magnificent things,’ you thought. You remembered seeing his wings for the first time and thinking the Peregryn had finally moved to second place in your mind.
Azriel had to gather himself as he spoke, “It’s… everything.” He said quietly adjusting his body to extend a wing. “My ability to fly came in late,” he said, and your eyes widened, you hadn’t known that. “My childhood was… rough and I didn’t learn to fly until I was nearly grown.” He laughed, scuffing the toe of his boot, wings folding in behind him. “It was a lot of crash landings those first months.” You snorted, mental image of a younger Az, landing in a puddle of mud crossing your mind.
“I was never a proud Illyrian, not like the others,” he continued, “it was hard for me to reconcile my heritage and our traditions.” He looked to the cityscape then, “but the stronger I got, the more I understood why flight was so crucial to my people.” He looked to you, eyes shining, “it’s the closest we can get to the stars.”
You leaned over the railing again, staring wistfully at the night sky, the moon reflecting on your skin. “Will you take me someday? Flying, I mean.” Did you not know Azriel would give you the world? Of course he’d take you flying. He’d give you the moon, the stars, walk through fire and back, anything. He nodded, “you say the word, and I’ll fly you the the ocean and back.” The smile that broke across your face crippled him, his knees threatened to give way.
“Yours are my favorite,” you murmured softly, eyes glancing from his wings to his face. Azriel blushed in full, pink speckling his neck and cheeks as he laughed. “Don’t let Cass hear you say that, he’s got an ego,” he said, a smile remaining at his lips. You liked him like this the most. Loose, smiling, free. You reached up then, cupping his reddened cheek, thumb stroking. “I don’t care,” you said smiling, “it’s the truth.” Azriel swallowed roughly, staring at your eyes swimming with an emotion he knew, but was much too stubborn and scared to name.
Just as your hand went to retreat, he grasped it between his own. “You can touch them,” he offered, knowing damn well the implications, “if you want,” he added. Your eyes widened. Mor had mentioned once that Illyrian’s wings were ‘sensitive,’ was the word she’d used. It was a sign of great intimacy and trust to allow another to touch them. You felt the air shift between you two then, as you nodded.
He extended a wing toward you. This felt so much like the first time he’d shown you his hands all those years ago. Your hand crept forward and gentle fingers met the red gold membrane that stretched between two metacarpals. Your fingers traced the membrane in smooth circles, then traced up to the crest. Azriel felt his breath gutter out of his mouth in a loud, choppy exhale, and he felt himself harden at the sensation of your fingers against the most sensitive portion of his wings. You gasped and jerked away at the sudden noise, before apologizing. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have gotten carried away.”
Azriel shook his head, “It’s not that, they’re sensitive.” There was that word again, only it made you think of how they’d been shredded before the King of Hybern, and you opened your mouth to apologize again, but he stopped you short. “I haven’t allowed another to touch them freely since my mother.” The admission floored you, your gut giving way with a breath.
You looked to his eyes then, the air between you had shifted again and you knew this was it. This was the moment you’d waited for, he was going to kiss you. Mother, it felt you’d waited a millennia, and he felt just the same. But that kiss never came. Instead, Azriel went stock still, his eyes now on the House behind you.
“Azriel?” You questioned. “It’s Rhys,” he said tightly, “he’s summoning me.” You understood then. He looked to you desperately, eyes a little wild and apologetic. “I’m sorry, I have to go to him.” You nodded, you both worked for the High Lord, you’d never get in the way of Azriel’s allegiance to his Court. “Of course,” you said quietly, taking a step back and swallowing down your disappointment.
Azriel took three steps towards the entrance then stopped. “I’ll take you,” he turned around, backing his way to the arched stone, but keeping his eyes on you for a moment longer. “When I get back, I’ll take you flying,” he offered. Another smile etched its way across your face and Azriel took a long moment to memorize it greedily. “It’s a date,” you said confidently. He beamed then, turning on a heel to pick up into a jog, Rhys no doubt shouting to hurry up.
That date hadn’t happened though. The second war with Hybern broke out days later and you both barely made it out alive.
When Feyre had come to Velaris after Amarantha’s defeat, you’d accepted her with easy friendship. You saw Rhysand, your longtime friend, overcome with love for his newly found mate, and you couldn’t help but love her as well. You’d shared your story with her and the two of you bonded deeply over her art. She’d offered to teach you to paint, and you began taking lessons in your off time. Rhys had been Cauldron blessed with her and you reminded him daily.
Later, when Feyre’s sisters joined their little unit, you’d been the first one to break Nesta’s tough exterior. The female saw parts of herself in you and you’d gotten her to crack a smile when you mocked Rhys’ High Lord voice at dinner one night. Elain had been a tougher sell, but you’d tried, along with Azriel, to bring the female out of her shell. The day she joined you in the library to read, you knew progress had been made, even if you two had only sat in silence a few feet apart, a small smile gracing her features.
You left her book recommendations with small notes and she began to do the same. Your friendship playing out in the margins of the library’s tomes. You won her over with silent conversation. Nesta noticed, of course, and she looked to you with gratitude as she saw her sister’s eyes brightened and skin began to return to its normal, healthy color. The night Azriel mentioned it as you walked down the hall toward the dining room for the family meal, you’d shrugged. “I met her where she needed me to,” you’d said quietly, glancing to your feet. Azriel smiled, a Cauldron blessed gift indeed.
Dinners at the House of Wind were by far Azriel’s favorite version of you. You’d laugh with abandon, smile splitting your face, showing every tooth as Mor cracked a joke and leaned against you for support, one too many drinks in her system. The first time he’d seen that smile, it blinded him, and he’d gone a little dazed, staring at you in wonderment. Rhys had interrupted his train of thought with an invasive insertion of “How quickly she reduced you to a puddle, brother.” Azriel had scowled at Rhys then, mental shields firming up, but not before he heard the distinct sound of his High Lord laughing at the Spymaster’s defensiveness.
Indeed Azriel was gone for you. When Cassian finally confronted him last year about the truth of his feelings, Azriel saw no point to avoid it any longer, not after his brothers had also found their mates. “Our souls are one in the same, she’s my mate,” he’d said pensively, as if he was letting his deepest secret breath in the light for the first time in centuries. Maybe he was. He’d made Cassian promise on his life not to tell anyone, and despite being the biggest gossip in the Inner Circle, he kept his promise. He was thrilled for his brother, knowing you were the perfect match.
Little did Azriel know, everyone else was already more than aware of his affections. Amren had figured it out a century prior when Azriel had tended your needs as you’d recovered from an injury sustained during a mission. He’d fretted around you like a mother hen, buying you flowers, sweets, and books while you were bedridden. The female had watched and hummed with a raised eyebrow as Azriel exited your room for the fifth time in one day, wringing his hands with worry despite Madja’s clean bill of health.
Feyre had figured it out the same year she’d returned from the Spring Court, just before the second war with Hybern. She’d seen the way his eyes had followed you in the war room Rhys had created to host strategy meetings. Saw him lean towards you when you spoke, saw his wings flutter when you finally cast your gaze to him, eager for your attention. More than anything, she’d seen his shadows, desperate little things, sneaking across the floor each night, sidling up your ankles and wrists, begging for your affection. You always laughed and nuzzled them as the wound their way to your hair and Azriel went a little soft at the sight.
When she told Mor, the blonde had laughed, “They’ve been circling each for two hundred years now, eventually one of them will cave.” Mor leveled a sardonic look at Feyre then, “and when they do, we’ll all have to relocate to the River House for a year lest we be subject to the frenzy.”
This mission should’ve been simple. Rhys had asked you to check out reports of rogue soldiers spotted making their way towards the border of the Night Court from the Day coastline. The intel he’d received had mentioned three to four maximum, all of them drunken ex-Hybern loyalists. It should’ve been a matter of locating them, spying for a day or two, then winnowing in to neutralize any threat. Gods, this was far from simple.
When you’d arrived in the region, the hairs on your neck rose, the air itself feeling off. As you tracked them, you’d noticed intentional attempts to throw you off course. A carelessly trashed map, crudely laid tracks in the opposite direction, Dawn Court wine bottles that had been emptied and tossed about. They knew you were there, and you quickly realized that a trap had been laid. You backed off them then, staying further than you’d have liked, but trying like hell to make them think you’d given up.
On your fourth night following them, you’d drifted away to an inn two towns over, desperately seeking a place to bathe and rest, even for a few hours. As you bathed, you felt watched in a way that discomfited you to your core, and your dagger stayed within arms reach the rest of the night. Suddenly, the role you’d played for the last two hundred years had left you entirely ill equipped for whatever was happening here.
You’d left out before dawn, refusing to lose an ounce of daylight, but as you hit the tree line, readying yourself to winnow out, you’d noticed it. Hanging from a tree, a hundred yards away was a piece of clothing, your clothing. Clothing that should’ve been in the pack at your back. Your breath shuttered out of you as you opened your mind to Rhys, asking for back up. You were in over your head and you knew when to admit it. There was no pride in getting yourself killed.
As you turned to move back to the inn where you could wait out contact from Rhys in a public location, you were met with a pair of shining blue eyes. You stepped back, keeping your grounding, readying for a fight. “You’ve been following us,” the stranger said calmly, beginning to trek in a slow circle around you. You opened your mind to Rhys again, “Help,” you called. Rhys answered this time, “Where are you?!” It was a frantic response, you never asked for help, Rhys knew this. “Just off the coast, beneath the mountain range, Day court border, 400 hundred paces from the inn” you spoke to Rhys in choppy thoughts, trying to establish a location before all hell broke loose.
“I have,” you finally answered the stranger, whose lips quirked at your voice. He stopped circling and resumed his stance in front of you, blocking passage to the inn. “Why?” He asked and you tried to keep your mind steady as you answered. “You’re trespassers in these lands” you stated simply, shrugging a shoulder up. He grinned then, “had your lot not gotten in the way of our King’s plans, these would be our lands. We were promised them. I was personally promised the Court of Nightmares.”
“Well,” you shrugged feigning indifference, “that’s not how the war played out, so I will have to ask you to leave,” you offered in your most bored political tone. The same tone you’d used with High Fae that ran off at the mouth in Hewn City. The stranger cocked his head the side then, eyes twinkling, “I don’t think I will.” At that moment, one by one, additional soldiers appeared from the forest line. One, then four, then ten, until near twenty stood around you, looking on with hatred.
Shit.
“We’d hoped for the Illyrians, but it seems your High Lord sent us a treat instead,” the stranger said with mirth. You steeled your spine, looking down your nose at the stranger, “They’re going to kill you, you know.” He’d laughed at your threat. “I think not,” he said as as arrow was released from your left, finding purchase in your shoulder. You folded over on yourself at the blow, and looked up baring your teeth, before drawing your dagger and rushing the stranger with a feral sound.
Five more arrows hit you before your blade could find its target. One into your hip, two in your back, a fourth piercing your in your upper thigh, until the last burrowed into the back of your knee, bringing you down in front of him — forcing you to bow to the stranger. The arrows were laced with faebane you realized as you’d begun to feel its effects in your blood. Your power waning quickly, thoughts becoming murky.
You released another shattered thought to Rhys then, “Tell him, please,” you begged raggedly. Rhysand came back with a rushed and tight, “Hold on, Little One, we’re coming.” You shook your head, there wasn’t time. “Tell Azriel I love him if I don’t make it, Rhys, promise me.” He responded but it muddled out, sounding like words shouted through a pool of water, then your brain fell quiet. The line severed.
The stranger lifted your head, hand wrapped around your throat, as he bent to meet your crouched form. “I’ll be sure to savor this,” he smiled and the hilt of his sword came in fierce contact with your forehead.
It was the early morning on your fifth day away when Rhys heard you. “Help,” it had come through so clearly that it startled Rhys awake and set his heart to racing. You’d only asked for help once, during the war when you were overrun and near death. You were in danger.
He’d sat up straight in bed, Feyre still sleeping silently at his side, hand resting on her pregnant stomach. “Where are you?!” He’d asked down the line, a little frantic, remembering the state he and Azriel had found you in last time. Gods, you’d been run through on a Hybern soldier’s sword, the damage was astronomical. Azriel had nearly killed everyone within a mile radius at the sight of you.
You recited your location in short bursts and Rhys focused on the bond of your bargain, using it to locate you with more precision. He reached out to Azriel then, “Get Cassian and meet me downstairs. Be ready to fly.” Azriel responded an affirmative and Rhys rushed around his room, grabbing his dagger lined belt, and using his magic to dress in his leathers quickly. He winnowed to the base of the stairs and was glad to find Cassian and Azriel waiting.
“Tell him, please” you begged into Rhys’ mind then, words growing ragged. Rhys’ eyes slammed shut with a wince and he attempted to reassure you, “Hold on, Little One, we’re coming.” Rhys opened his eyes and looked to Azriel, who was watching him with anticipation. You responded again, words growing murkier, a little warbled. “Tell Azriel I love him if I don’t make it, Rhys, promise me.” Rhysand felt sick. “We will find you and you will tell him yourself,” he spoke but the bond was dead, silent, foreboding. Rhys thought he might vomit.
He looked to Azriel again, “It’s her. She’s in trouble. We have to go.” Azriel’s face darkened with a thunderous ferocity. Mother help the males who’d harmed you. “Where?” He asked, voice deep with the threat of murderous violence. “The wilds on the border, off the coast of Day. I’ll winnow us as close as possible.” Azriel nodded his acquiesce and lifted a trembling hand to his hair, running scarred fingers through the strands. Cassian spoke then, “we will get her back,” he’d said softly as Rhysand put his hands to the two of them, preparing for the jump. “And we will kill every last one of them,” Cassian added darkly as blue-black shadows encased them and they disappeared.
You awoke with a start, gasping like you’d been underwater. Your shoulders ached from your position. You pulled on your hands only to realize you were shackled to a tree somewhere deep in the forest, the same forest you’d been on the outskirts of earlier. You looked up to the sky, trying to find the sun to gauge how much time had passed. The sun had long moved past midday and was sinking towards the evening horizon. Your throat tightened. Where was Rhysand?
“Nice of you to join us,” a voice spoke. It was the stranger again, he emerged from the camp set two hundred paces to your left, hidden by shrubs and underbrush. You got a good look at him this time. He was tall, leanly muscular in a way that reminded you of Lucien Vanserra. His hair was a dishwater blonde and lacked any sheen, falling in choppy dry waves around his shoulders. His face was gaunt, eyes sunken, bruised with a lack of rest, and his cheekbones were sharp, giving his face an angle that made him look harsh and unforgiving. Though he carried himself with confidence, you noticed a slight, barely there limp in his right leg, an old wound perhaps, one that never healed correctly. You noted that for later, if you ever got out of these shackles.
You leveled a glare at him that you hoped looked more fearsome than you felt. Mother, your bones ached and your wounds throbbed. “I left the arrows in, but broke off the shaft. Didn’t want to have you healing too quickly.” He spoke with nonchalance, while polishing a dagger, your dagger, you realized as your eyes focused. You pulled at the shackles above your head, and the stranger chuckled at your attempt.
“What do you want?” Your voice croaked, mouth dry from disuse. The stranger laughed, pointing the blade at you, “I want my fucking court and you’re the key to getting it.” You shook your head then, “I am nothing.” The words sounded foreign on your tongue, a lie on some level, you knew this, but you would be damned before you gave up your family. The stranger clicked his tongue at your response, shaking his head.
“Surely you don’t believe that? The High Lord doesn’t trust easily, you’ve been seen with his entourage. The Shadowsinger’s whore.” He squatted a few feet from you, eyes tracing from your tied hands down to your face, pausing at your breasts, before trekking down your stomach, thighs, and calves. He was sizing up how much fight you had left.
Your brain had short circuited though, the Shadowsinger’s whore. Mother above, you’d never even kissed. How long had this male watched you and your family? How had none of you seen it? A bitter laugh wretched from your lungs, “sorry to disappoint, but the Shadowsinger isn’t mine.” No matter how desperately I’ve wished it so, you added silently.
The stranger grinned then, “if you are truly nothing, then I’ll make this a little sweeter.” He took steps towards you, raising the dagger to rest at your chin, the blade pressing to the underside painfully. “You’re far too pretty to be nothing.” He ran the blade along the column of your throat, resting it against your sternum, between your breasts. You pushed yourself further into the tree, back protesting as the arrows burrowed deeper with the movement. You didn’t like the new angle this interaction had taken and your fight or flight instincts were screaming.
You attempted to reach out to Rhysand, but the bond was dead silent. Your breathing hitched at the realization that you were truly alone in this. The stranger chuckled, dragging the blade down your chest, slicing the leathers, letting the fabric fall open and reveal your undergarments to his greedy view. Your legs moved to kick, but you realized quickly they too were tied. The blade came to rest at your bare stomach, and the stranger dug it in below the navel, causing blood to pool there. You winced, but made no sound.
“Ah, I was hoping you’d be louder than that,” the stranger smirked, “I’ll have to try harder.” He backed up then and pulled a whip from his back pocket, unfurling it with a crack. Your eyes widened and you brain went silent, fear overtaking your senses. “There it is,” his smile gleamed with violent delight, “there’s the reaction I was hoping for.” He reared an arm back before cracking the whip in your direction. The leather made contact with your torso, a stinging slice appearing along your rib cage. You jerked, but bit your tongue.
He cracked it again and again until you were bloody, slices in your leathers, festering wounds along your breasts, ribs, and stomach. You’d counted to 25 lashes before your brain gave out and your vision blurred from the pain. You looked up to the sky wearily. The sun was gone and the stars were slowly appearing. You smiled at them, remembering Azriel’s words from that night all those years ago.
You hoped he’d forgive you for not telling him. You hoped he’d understand your fear in revealing that secret, that the bond had snapped for you during the war. When that Hybern soldier’s sword pierced your armor, running through your body to the hilt, and he’d let out a fearsome bellow from across the field at the sight. You felt it then, the golden strumming taking the form of a fated thread linking you two. You been near death when he and Rhys had found you and the only thing you could do was smile. Such an ironic thing it was to die in the arms of your mate.
Your head lolled to the side as exhaustion threatened to overtake you. “Azriel,” your thoughts ventured, calling down the bond he didn’t even know existed, “I love you.” Darkness swam in the corners of your vision but you swore you felt his responding tug. The Mother was kind for granting that hallucinative mercy in your final hours. Your body gave out, slumping against the shackles and darkness overwhelmed you.
Azriel was furious. No, furious wasn’t the word, he was a walking time bomb. You were gone. His mate was missing and he was going to explode. As he’d arrived with Rhys and Cassian to the location you’d given them, he could smell you. His eyes searched frantically around the scene before him until they zeroed in on an item hanging from a branch a few dozen paces out. Cloth of some sort? He approached and could detect your scent on it, realizing quickly it was your clothing. A ripped cotton blouse. His fists clenched and he vaguely heard Rhysand speaking to his left. “They must’ve captured her here.” Rhys crouched down to the ground, two fingers swiping the dirt there, before bringing them eye level to examine sample. “Blood,” he muttered, rubbing the hand on the leg of his pants, “she was injured.” Azriel’s heart thundered, he was going to fucking explode.
He set his shadows work, surveying the forest with rapid precision. They’d cover more ground this way, an army of three operating like a whole infantry. By the time the sun rose to midday, Azriel was ready to begin screaming. They trekked further into the forest, following a line of smoke that was miles deep, originating at a camp somewhere far into the wilds. His shadows murmured to him of a small band of males there, of you, shackled to a fucking tree, arrows buried in your back. He’d nearly lost the contents of his stomach at the information and set to a run alongside Rhysand and Cassian.
As the three approached the encampment, the sun was nearing dusk. Rhysand had commanded the halt and strategize. There were roughly twenty-five men, all armed. They couldn’t enter this blindly and infuriated, they would lose if they weren’t careful. Azriel hated admitting he was right, his instincts screaming otherwise. Mate, mate, mate, his heart pounded.
They backed off to a thousand paces out, close enough that they could hear if the troop vacated the premises. As Rhysand and Cassian spoke quietly, Azriel felt his heart thrum. The golden thread there had pulled him closer to you and he could tell you were still alive. Though Rhys couldn’t reach out through your bargain, Azriel’s bond was still alight and warm, he stroked it with gentle affection. You might not feel it, but Gods he would try.
As the trio retraced their steps to the camp, stars were just beginning to light overhead and Azriel grasped his daggers tightly, knuckles cracking around the hilt. He was going to kill them. Kill them all brutally for taking you, for touching what was his. When they were within a stones throw from the camp he heard it, heard you. “Azriel,” you whispered into his mind. He went stock still, spine ramrod straight, fingers trembling as they gripped his knives. The golden bond vibrated in his chest, and he felt you reaching out through murky waters, against all odds. “I love you,” you said with a soft exhaustion before your side went dark. Azriel’s breathing guttered and he felt high on mirthroot, sick from fae wine, and enraged to the point of explosion all at once. His blue siphons flared brightly from the surge of power. He closed his eyes and reached out to you through the bond, tugging on the thread connecting your souls. He was coming. He was going to save you.
Rhysand looked to him then, curiosity swimming in his eyes as he took in the Shadowsinger’s sudden stop. Azriel opened eyes, irises alight with fire and shadow, voice grinding with dark threat, “Let’s go.” Rhys nodded and Cassian drew his knives.
They moved with brutal efficiency, killing male after male until none remained alive. Some had begged, others shouted and scattered their belongings as they set into a run. His shadows had caught them, twisting around their ankles and dragging them back to meet their fate, daggers slicing throats from ear to ear until blood poured like a prized hunt being slaughtered, the Illryian’s hands grasping and snapping necks like twigs. It was a practiced routine for the three of them, who’d trained since they were teens.
As they stepped through the shrubs to find you, Cassian gasped and Azriel felt his lungs threaten to collapse at the sight. You’d been shackled to a tree at the wrists and ankles and whipped within an inch your life. Wounds glistened with blood along your thighs, soft stomach, ribs, breasts. There had to be thirty lashes. A knife wound was visible at your exposed navel. Your head hung forward unconscious and Azriel’s heart pounded. He wanted to vomit and his hands shook.
“She said you’d come,” a voice said, emerging from behind the tree you were bound to. The male held a dagger to your throat. This new stranger had to be the leader of this band of idiots. Azriel’s eyes followed the tip of the blade up his arm to the male’s eyes and a growl escaped him as he bared his teeth. The male laughed, “to think she said she was nothing and yet I have both the Shadowsinger and the Lord of Bloodshed before me to save her.”
Azriel’s mind latched on to that piece of information, turning it over in his head. You’d told this male you were nothing? Did you not know Azriel would do anything for you? You were everything. You were his love, light of his life, keeper of his soul, his mate. How alone you must’ve felt, how scared. Azriel’s eyes narrowed, he was going kill him.
Rhysand spoke then, emerging from behind the two Illyrian brothers, “And may I ask why you’ve abducted a member of my court?” He was in High Lord mode, tone bored, fingers picking at his sleeve. The Hybern male’s smile gleamed at the introduction, “just who I was hoping to see!”
“Hybern, the old fool, made a few promises in his last days as King,” the male spoke, digging the blade down to your chest, where it rested over your heart. Azriel stared at the blade, eyes tracing to the the hilt. That was your blade, the one he’d given you when you first arrived in Velaris, the one you wielded against Eris, the one you kept strapped to your thigh. Your own knife had been used against you.
“One of which was that I would inherit these lands after your lot were annihilated.” Azriel wanted to laugh at the male’s words, was he serious? “A dead king cannot honor empty promises,” he ground out eyes shifting to the male’s blue eyes. “A dead and headless king cannot gift you shit,” Azriel spat. The male smiled then, a feline grin growing on his lips. “Precisely Shadowsinger, a dead king cannot give me my due, but this little thing can help.” You’d made a noise then, something akin to a whimper as you came to. Eyes wincing then fluttering open as your irises found Azriel’s immediately, some preternatural magnetism existing between the two of you. Then you looked to Cassian and Rhysand, and your eyes swam with apology.
“She awakens!” The male sang, looking to you. Azriel jumped at the opportunity to send his shadows out while the male’s attention was elsewhere. They traced over the ground to you, circling the tree and working at your binds. He sent two others towards the distracted male. “Who knew the Night Court was so attached to a whore,” the male laughed, “I want my lands,” he fixed Rhysand with a glare, “you can have your plaything back in exchange for my seat, High Lord” he sneered.
Rhysand looked from you to the stranger to the shadow now creeping ever closer to the male. “You must be mistaken,” Rhys said then and Azriel’s shadows wrapped around the male’s neck and wrist simultaneously, whispering violence for touching their mate, forcing the dagger from his grasp and air from his lungs. Azriel tightened them until they heard bones crack in the male’s arm and choked sounds exit his throat, face reddening as oxygen was cut off. “I do not make deals with dim witted cunts,” Rhysand said darkness beginning to surround him, High Lord voice encroaching, “I do not entertain terrorists and I do not take kindly to threats on my family.”
‘Finish him,’ Rhysand said darkly into Azriel’s mind and the Shadowsinger moved with lightening precision, dagger find purchase as the male’s neck was sliced open and his right hand was removed from his body. The male’s body toddled forward with a choked gurgling, before falling to the ground, lifeless, blood pooling.
Azriel’s gaze fell to you and he softened. His shadows finished picking the lock of the shackles that held your arms and they clicked open, allowing your body to fall into his. “Azriel,” you breathed, voice weary with exhaustion, “I didn’t— I—“ you stuttered, pulling a shaking hand to his face. You swallowed, tracing his cheek with trembling fingers, “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” you murmured, your watery eyes searching his face, memorizing the details of his visage.
Azriel picked you up in his arms and unfurled his wings protectively. “I will always come for you,” he said vehemently, eyes watching your face with intensity. You smiled, a weepy trembling smile as you nodded. Rhysand reached the Shadowsinger’s side then and your eyes moved to his violet ones, “Hi Little One, I’m so sorry we’re late.” You let out a single watery laugh before wincing as the sudden expansion of your chest burned the wounds littering your chest and back.
“The arrows,” you gasped, “at my back,” you twisted in Azriel’s hold, “please get them out.” Rhysand leaned down to inspect the wounds. “Faebane,” he surmised, that’s why his connection to you had been severed. “We need to get her to Madja, now.” Azriel nodded, allowing Rhys and Cassian to move closer so the High Lord could winnow them home.
Landing back at the House of Wind had been chaotic. Rhysand shouted immediately to get every healer available and the dining room table had been lined with a sheet, turning the warm family room into a medical ward. You were laid facedown on the table and Azriel took to your side, scarred hands touching your face, keeping you awake as Madja worked to remove the six arrows burrowed in your body.
You’d screamed. The sound would haunt Azriel for centuries. You begged to make it stop and Madja had apologized softly as she worked faster to remove them while minimizing damage. “I’ve got you,” Azriel said softly, “eyes on me, alright?” He rubbed the hollow under your eye with a scarred thumb and you opened your eyes to lock on his. “No gloves,” you said, smiling tightly, before wincing as Madja applied local anesthetic to an arrow wound. Azriel smiled, eyes a little watery. “Not with you,” he whispered shaking his head, “never with you.” You smiled at him and the sight set Azriel’s heart to fluttering.
Later, after the arrows had been removed and wounds bandaged, you’d been given a strong herb tonic for pain that set your head swimming as exhaustion overtook you. Azriel carried you his room, laying you gently onto the mattress and covered you with the duvet. He leaned down then, breathing in your scent as he placed a kiss to your forehead, nuzzling his nose to the Winter white hair there. He would tell you. When you awoke, he would bare his soul to you.
You woke with a groan. Fucking Gods, your body ached with the effort it took to roll over. “Easy,” a voice came from the corner of the room. Your breath gasped out of you as your eyes raced to the figure there. “Azriel,” you breathed. The male smiled warmly at you and stepped forward to rest at the edge of the mattress. You pushed up in the bed, the wound at your shoulder screaming from the exertion. Once in a sitting position, you rested your back on the headboard as you looked at him. “For taking out a small militia, you seemed to be decently uninjured,” you said smiling tightly, memories of the stranger and his whip haunting your mind. He snorted a small laugh, “Yes well,” he looked down then, thumbs fiddling with each other, chest heating, “I had something worth fighting for.”
He looked back to you and your cheeks had grown pink, a small pleased smile at your lips. “I heard you, you know,” he said softly, turning enough to rest a hand on your thigh, thumb drawing small, soothing circles there. The heat generated in the touch sent a spark to your belly. Oh, you were fucked. “I heard you in my head, through the bond,” he said eyes watching his thumb as it traced on your bare skin hypnotically.
“You know then?” You whispered, breath skittering out of you. You were scared to death of the trajectory the conversation was taking, your heart preparing for the best and the worst simultaneously. Azriel’s eyes dragged up your form to your face and a smile broke over his lips, one that caused your heart to ignite. Your Mother had once told you the heart was an organ of fire and you’d laughed, never having cause to believe such a statement. You understood now.
“I—“ Azriel started, before clearing his throat, turning his body to face you in full, a knee pulled up on the mattress, touching yours. “In the whole time I have known you— two centuries, Little One,” he looked at you pointedly, “you have been my dearest friend, my greatest comfort, my confidant, and the person I admire most in this Gods forsaken world.” He breathed deeply, a whoosh exiting his lips as his hand tightened around your thigh. “The times when you were lost to me have been some of the most painful moments I’ve experienced.”
Your eyes began to water, and you moved a hand to rest atop his own, thumb circling the scarred skin at his wrist. He took a breath then and the air shifted between you, his mouth opening and closing, as if he was gathering his confidence for what he was about to say next. “I have loved for you so long that I’d given up all hope of reciprocation.” The words shattered through you as all air escaped your lungs, guts swooping down as heat alighted there. “I felt the bond the night Eris came for you,” he continued, eyes watching your entwined hands. Your body went still and a startled laugh exited your mouth. Azriel’s eyes flew to yours questioningly.
“Sorry,” you chuckled again, “I’m just realizing how fucking stupid we’ve been.” You lolled your to the side, watching him with loving eyes. “I’ve been in love with you for almost two centuries, Azriel,” you smiled, “I thought you wouldn’t want me.” Azriel’s eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing in disbelief, two then three times. You thought for a second to compare him to the guppy fish that swam in schools along the banks of the Sidra but refrained.
He pushed forward then, hands coming to cup your face, pinky and ring fingers resting in the hollow below your ear, thumbs stroking your cheeks. “How could I not? You’re everything,” he whispered, searching your face, conviction showing in his eyes. You couldn’t stop the smile that overtook your mouth as you spoke, “and you’re my mate.” His eyes moved to your lips, glazing before they moved back to your eyes. “As you are mine,” he spoke confidently.
Your eyes watched each other for a long second, “I really hope you’ll kiss me this time,” your hand trailed up his arm, fingers teasing. “Mother knows I’ve been dreaming of it for far too long.” He surged forward, lips meeting yours and you thought you might float away. You gasped and his tongue moved in, claiming your mouth, your taste with his own.
He pulled away minutes later, a little breathless, “Sorry to have kept you waiting, my love,” he spoke, resting his forehead to yours with a smile, watching your dazed expression, pink cheeks, as your lips split into a grin. Your hand moved to the front of his button down, fisting in the material there, giving an experimental tug. “Kiss me like that again and I’ll consider forgiving you.”
The laugh that came out of him was golden, and you pushed yourself to memorize it. Azriel, Lord of Shadows, Spymaster for the Night Court, Rhysand’s right hand and Illyrian warrior was soft for you. He loved you. He was your mate. You’d be giddy about it for the rest of your life.
Your healing had been slower than you would’ve liked. The faebane had done serious damage but with Madja’s help, the scarring was minimized. The lashes at your front took two weeks to heal, the arrow wounds took three. Three fucking weeks. Meanwhile all you could think about was your mate. He hadn’t left your side in the interim. Helping you take steps, applying the wound creams that Madja had left in small glass pots, keeping you fed, making you laugh, telling you how much he loved you daily. Mother above, you were going to ruin this male.
You walked into the kitchen at the end of week three, the only evidence of your wounds now in the slight limp of your right leg and twinge in your left shoulder. The marks at your stomach and chest had diminished into barely there, silver scores. Cassian was sitting at the small table in the corner as you entered. “Hi Cass,” you greeted, “seen my mate around this morning?” It was fun calling him that, a small part of your chest swelling with pride each time.
Cassian smirked, “He’s been…… out.” Your eyes narrowed, he was being evasive. “Out where?” You asked, grabbing an apple and hopping up on the counter to watch the male. He shrugged, “No idea, Little One.” You smirked, “I know where you sleep Cassian,” you started, “is it really wise to lie to me?” Nesta strode into the kitchen, “What’s he done now?” She asked laughing. “Hey! I’ll have you know I’ve done nothing!” The male exclaimed, “She’s interrogating me on the whereabouts of her maaate.” He dragged out the vowel of the last word mockingly. Nesta took her seat next to Cassian and laughed, “Ah, him.” She looked to you then, “he’ll be around to collect you soon.”
You looked between the two, suspicion dripping from your features as you took another bite from the apple in your palm. “You two are being weird,” you stated. Nesta shrugged, nudging Cassian who smiled at her. “Just wait,” she said softly, “maybe cook yourself a meal.” Cassian’s mouth quirked with a laugh he restrained. “Right, I’m leaving, cause whatever this is,” you waved a hand at them, “is deeply odd.” You hopped off the counter and strolled to the exit. You heard them laughing softly once you were out of the room, making you roll your eyes at their antics.
You’d gone to the library after leaving the kitchen and found Elain already there. Her eyes moved to you upon your entrance and she closed her book, middle finger marking her spot. “How are you feeling?” She asked softly, eyes surveying your body for lingering damage. You sighed, falling into the sofa across from her. “I’m better,” you said quietly, “the pain is gone, scars are minimal.” You turned your eyes to her, she looked brighter than the last time you’d seen her. “How are you?” You asked in return. She smiled sweetly. “Better,” she echoed you and you wanted to laugh. “I’ve been exchanging letters with Lucien,” she added and your ears perked up.
“That’s great, Elain,” you rest your chin on a closed fist, watching her. She shifted and sat her book to the side, page forgotten. “I want to tell you something,” she said quietly, fingers twiddling with each other. She looked... nervous? “I’m all ears,” you said softly.
“I had a vision while you were gone,” she started and took a deep breath. “It was so muddled at first, I couldn’t tell who it was, but then I saw you. Your hair was longer, you stood taller, and your belly was round.” The breath left your body in a powerful exhale. She looked to you again, eyes watching yours, “You were pregnant and happy and in love,” she said quietly, as if the words in themselves were fragile. Your hands trembled and you moved them under your thighs, her eyes didn’t miss the action.
“I couldn’t understand why the Mother would send me a vision like that, I saw Feyre’s pregnancy, but we’re sisters, you know?” You nodded. “Then I realized I recognized the tattooed arm I’d seen wrap around you, knew it was Azriel.” Your eyes watered, and you hiccuped out a small laugh. “I’ve known for a while you two were fated, but the Mother was telling me for certain. I hope you know how happy we are for you.” She finished and moved to sit next you, small hand touching your knee.
“When they brought you in that night, I thought the Mother had lied to me, that it was a vision of what could have been, that you wouldn’t make it.” You’d never heard Elain speak at length in this way, and you thought you might stop breathing. “I’ve never been happier to see you than when Azriel brought you in to read days later, my sweet friend.” You surged forward, throwing your arms around the female and she returned the gesture warmly.
You sat back and looked at her then. “Thank you,” you said, voice small, a little watery. She nodded before turning to resume her original spot at the end of the sofa, picking up her book and opening it to the page she’d left off.
In the hours that followed, you’d returned to the kitchen, grateful to find Cassian and Nesta had left. You took Nesta’s advice, gathering the ingredients to build a small berry tart. It had just gone in the oven when your mate appeared in the doorway.
“Hello love,” he said casually, leaning against the door jamb. You startled, turning on your heel to find him smiling at you. “Where have you been?” You asked walking towards him and running your hands around his midsection in a hug, head resting against his chest. His arm came around your shoulders as he pressed a kiss to your hair, breathing in your scent. “That, my dearest one, is a surprise.”
You looked up chin resting against his chest, watching his face. “It’d better be good, I baked for you,” you said, smiling softly at the Spymaster. His eyes moved to the oven then and back to you, irises darkening, as his pupils blew a little wide. “You… baked?” He asked disbelieving, “didn’t know you knew how to bake,” he followed up playfully. You gasped and shoved him, “for that, you can starve, have fun finding another mate to bake for you.” He laughed heartily and caught your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, eyes swimming with warm affection as he pressed a kiss there. Gods, the action made lust swoop in your stomach, heat spreading.
“The fool I’d be to turn away such a female,” he said, voice deepening, lips running across your knuckles with each word. “Azriel” you breathed. “Yes?” He offered in return, still smiling, moving your knuckles back and forth against his hot mouth. “Please tell me this surprise involves you bedding me.” A growl creeped out of his throat, the thought of you under him sending lust racing down his spine and to his groin.
“It might,” he said quietly, lips resuming their exploration, tracking small kisses from your knuckles, to the joint of your thumb, the inside of your wrist where Rhys’ tattoo lingered, up the soft skin of your arm, to your elbow, until he reached the skin of your shoulder. His lips traced over the raised skin there, a small nip above the scar as he traced north to your collarbone. You’d gone to putty in his hands, head rolling to the side to bare your throat. He pressed soft kisses there, pausing at your pulse point to trace the area with his warm tongue, a whimper escaping your mouth.
“If this is going to become a regular thing, I’ll need you two to relocate to the River House,” a voice came from behind you and you jumped in shock, but your mate, he let out a possessive growl before turning on the intruder. Rhysand laughed airily and folded his arms over his chest. “Easy, brother,” he smiled, causing Azriel to roll his eyes. You blinked a little dazed, and pulled away from the Shadowsinger. “You’re gonna make me burn my fucking tart,” you shoved him with an arm and laughed as you turned to resume your place at the oven.
Azriel instructed you to dress comfortably and be ready in a hour as he kissed your knuckles one last time and exited the kitchen. Butterflies roamed freely in your stomach at the thought of what he had planned. You’d returned to your quarters after removing the tart from the oven and portioning it into a small travel sized container. You were going to accept the bond, and your nerves were alight with anxious excitement. After you dressed in a lightweight linen dress, you packed a small bag with your remaining creams, and the boxed tart you’d prepared earlier.
You descended the stairs to find Azriel waiting at the base, his wings standing proudly behind him, shadows skittering around his feet. At the sight of you they raced to meet on the bottom step, running up your legs, around your waist and into your hair. A laugh escaped you as one nuzzled into the space behind your ear. Azriel watched fondly. “They love you,” he said smiling, taking a step to meet you, “ever since the bond snapped, I’ve had the hardest time reining them back from touching you.”
You reached a hand out to meet his, interlacing your fingers. “They’re cute, but you’re cuter,” you said with gentle affection. A shadow pinched at your waist and Azriel’s cheeks went a little pink as he laughed.
“Will you tell me what the surprise is?” You asked as he walked you toward the training balcony. “I’m afraid I’m very poorly dressed for training,” you joked. He snorted, “no, we’re not training.” He came to rest at the railing and then turned to you, running a hand up your arm, fingers moving to hold the back of your neck, warm palm heating the skin there, thumb grazing your jawline. “Amongst many things I’ve been terribly late for recently, I realize I owe you a date.”
Your face went a little puzzled and you looked to his eyes. “A date?” You questioned. He nodded, “I was supposed to take you flying.” Realization dawned on your features and a smile overtook your lips, each tooth shining in the setting sun. “I wanted to kiss you that night too,” you admitted laughing, remembering how desperate you’d been for his touch and attention. He smiled softly, “you have no idea how angry I was with Rhys for calling me away.” Your eyes widened, still in disbelief that this male wanted you return. It seemed both a millennia in the making and still so new and fragile.
Azriel snuck an arm around your waist and brought you up into the stretch of his firm body. His other hand tracing down your hip, then thigh, to curve under your knees as he picked you up. His wings unfurled and he shot into the air. A shaky laugh startled out of you and you gripped him tighter, your arms winding around his neck. His wings flapped in thunderous bursts, taking you higher, until you could see the entirety of Velaris spread below, the Sidra flowing like a snake through the winding city. Your breath left you in awe. “The Peregryn was right,” you said loud enough for him to hear and he smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple.
The flight was short, but it took you to the rural banks of the Sidra on the outskirts of the city, just before it emptied into the sea. You could see ships sailing into the harbor, moonlight beginning to trickle across the water. This was undeniably special, you thought, no one would see you up here and you felt like this was the edge of the world itself. You turned to Azriel, finding his eyes already watching you. “Thank you,” you said softly, leaning into him, his chin meeting your forehead as you moved your body to rest alongside the length of his. His hand came to rest at the small of your back, pinky stretching to graze the curve of your bottom. Wherever this was going, you were very interested.
He turned and grasped your hand, pulling you back up the hill and away from the view, towards a field of wildflowers and grasses. There, in the middle, a blanket had been laid out, small candles lit to illuminate the setting. A basket sat in one corner, a bottle of fae wine held within with an assortment of pastries, breads, and cheeses. You realized quickly that your mate, the male you’d loved for damn near two centuries, was courting you. The thought thrilled you.
He led you to the blanket and motioned for you to sit next him. “I must confess, I never took you for a romantic,” you said looking from the candles, to the basket, and then to him. He was watching you again. He smiled, laughing a bit nervously, “I’m a lot of things,” he said and your eyebrow quirked. “Oh yeah? Like what?” You challenged him and he loved you for it. You made him feel easy to love, you made loving fun and freeing. Azriel had once only thought freedom could be found in fucking and flying, then he’d found you and he knew it was there too. In the smile of your lips, in the thrill of your touch, in the ease of your love.
“Well,” he started, moving his wings to lean into you, pressing a kiss to your exposed shoulder. The action caused you to shiver. “I’m a spymaster.” You snorted, “no shit.” A laugh rumbled in his chest. “I’m a bit shy as you well know, I’m quite fond of dancing, I’m—” he hummed the last letter, pausing his thoughts and moving his lips up your neck. “I’m in love with you,” he said biting into the flesh at the juncture of your collarbone and throat, cock hardening at the sound that rolled out of your mouth. “I’m going to take you right here, on this blanket, under the stars.”
You gasped, your hands moved find purchase in the hair at the back of his head, fingers winding through the strands, nails dragging at his scalp. His nose ran the length of your jawline before his lips found yours. He rumbled a small hum the instant his mouth touched your own. At first it was a gentle press, teasing you as he had done today in the kitchen at the House of Wind. The adrenaline racing up your spine made you feel like you might vibrate out of your skin. His hand reached up then, threading broad fingers into your hair as he took the kiss deeper. Tonguing the bottom of your lip until your mouth opened, his tongue stroking your own. Humming with contentment, he tilted your head, deepening the kiss at a new angle that had heat swooping down to your core.
You brought your left hand to his shoulder, fisting your fingers in the fabric there and pulling him closer. He understood your intention and leaned you back into the blanket, pleasure alighting each nerve as his body pressed into your own. He eased up on your lips and began a slow trek south, pulling the strap of your dress down the curve of your shoulder, leaving a love bite there that had you gasping. He kissed down the bust line of the dress, laving his tongue at the swell of your breast. Your breath was coming in pants and you pressed yourself up on your elbows as he moved further south, fingertips tracing the hem of your dress that had risen to the middle of your thigh.
He looked back to you and smiled, mischief playing in his eyes as he ran his hands up your thighs, the slow drag pulling the dress with it. “I’ve been thinking about your cunt for centuries,” he said, his lips on your knee, pressing insistently as they moved north. “I’ve been dreaming of making you come on my tongue since I met you.”
Your breath leaves you in one fell swoop as you feel his tongue at the juncture of your hip and thigh. His mouth was insistent at skin there, tonguing the lace of your panties before pulling them down your legs and off entirely. He picked up a foot, placing it to his chest as he traced the long line of your body with hungry eyes. You were panting already, dressed rucked up around your waist, straps fallen down your arms and breasts heaving. His gaze flowed south and landed on your pink cunt, glistening, begging for him. His eyes went back to your face then, and his titled his head to the side, “Will you let me eat your pretty little cunt?” He asked fingertips tracing the scars of your calf with reverence. He brought your foot up, kissing the inside of the ankle, then nosing his way over your scarred calf, suckling at the skin there. “Please,” he added, eyes moving back to yours as his mouth continued his ministrations.
“Mother above, Azriel,” you breathed and a laughed startled out of you, “you are mouthy.” He chuckled darkly then, nipping at your knee, taking special care to press a gentle kiss at the new scar there. “Is that a no then?” He said softly and your head fell back with a groan, exposing your neck to his view. “As if,” you said, head pulling back up and lolling to the side to rest on your shoulder. “I’ve thought about it too, and if you back out now I will explode.” He laughed again, freely this time, forehead resting on your thigh.
His eyes find yours again, and he kept them there as he traced his lips north. He nosed the juncture of your cunt and inner thigh, running a tongue along your mound. You gasped and eyes narrowed, watching him with rapt attention. He pressed a kiss to the top of your slit and his hands come up to open you to him, pulling the lips apart and tonguing the collected moisture there. Your head fell back as your elbows gave way, falling flat against the blanket.
“You taste better than I imagined,” he said before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking. The moan that left you had his hips pushing into the ground to find relief as his cock begged for release. His tongue flicked against your clit as he sucked and hummed. He thought this might become his favorite place in all of Prythian. He thought that every bad thing that had happened in his life seemed insignificant now that he was able to worship freely between your thighs. He traced fingers up and paused to wet them on his tongue, before pushing his middle and ring finger in to the second knuckle, pulling them out and scissoring them back in again. His tongue found your sweet little button for a second time that night and he laved at it, listening to your cries as he pushed you to the brink. Azriel’s life had been a nightmare, but between your thighs, mouth on your cunt, walls fluttering around his fingers, he thought he’d been blessed by the Mother herself.
Your hips rocked up in time with his fingers and you cried as your gut twisted, the coil there tightening. “Az-“ you gasped. “Azriel,” you went a little whiny on the vowels of his name, and your hand reached down to thread your fingers into his hair, nails scratching and tugging the strands. He hummed, the vibration sending shocks up your spine. “Azriel, baby,” you gasped, coming up on an elbow again, rutting your hips into his face as he took you higher. He didn’t let up, suckling at your cunt, fingers finding the spongy spot on the backside of your clit that made the world go blank “Azriel!” you gasped again, hips stuttering out, “Fuck, fuck— oh.” In seconds you were reaching your peak, hips faltering, thighs twitching, toes curling into the hard planes of his back.
He pulled his mouth off of you, pressing kisses to your pubic bone as he moved north up your stomach. He eyes were alight with desire, the male was pure want and you were his last meal. He pulled his fingers from your cunt and trailed them up to rest at your neck as he slotted his body between your thighs and kissed you. The hedonism of tasting yourself on his mouth made you wetter, cunt pressing into the hard line of his cock, still restricted in his trousers. He moaned at the contact, mouth leaving yours to rest his head against your chin and gather himself. The sound sent a pleasurable shock directly to your core. You grasped the hand at your throat and brought his fingers up and to your mouth, tongue laving at them before taking them to the knuckle, and pulling back slow, hollowing out your cheeks and sucking, keeping your eyes on his. He bared his teeth the sight and ground his hard cock into you, the friction on your clit making your thighs twitch.
“My sweet little mate,” he cooed. “Love of my life,” he nosed your cheek, his fingers still in your mouth. “All my dreaming has been put to shame it would seem,” he pulled his fingers from your mouth and replaced them with his tongue, his hands flying to his belt. He growled in struggle and you ventured a laugh. His eyes found yours and his jaw ticked, “keep laughing, sweet girl, I’ll fuck your throat next and you won’t come.” Your eyes went a little wide and a feline grin appeared on your face. “Mouthy indeed,” you said with glee as he finally got the buckle undone and pushed the pants down and off.
His shirt went next and your fingers traced up his exposed arms to his shoulders. “I’ve seen you shirtless a dozen times, and you still take my breath away,” you said softly, a hand resting on his pectoral. He laughed and went a little pink, before he pushed your dress up your body and over your head, leaving you bare. “I’ve always been impressed by your ability to so disarming,” he said, mouth finding the space above your breast as his hands came to cup them, fingers toying with the nipples. “It’s my favorite thing about you, you see me in a way I can’t even see myself,” he followed up.
Your eyes watered at the admission and your hands found his face, bringing his mouth back to yours as you kissed him again, tongue entwining with his. Your hands grasped his shoulders, as your leg found his hip and you pushed him over, onto his back. Your hands came to rest on his chest as you settled your weight on his lower abdomen. You could feel his manhood standing to attention, insistent at the curve of your ass and you reached around to grasp it, pushing your chest out for his greedy eyes. Taking him in long strokes, you ran your hand up and down, circling your thumb around the head. His eyes screwed shut as his breathing shallowed.
“Wanna know a secret, baby?” You offered, rocking your hips in time with your strokes. He whined then, the Lord of Shadows keened a little whine for you that had you ready to come right there. “Last time we hosted a gala, that night before Hybern,” you were panting, “all I could think about was taking you to bed.” His eyes opened and hazel was gone blacked out in pure desire. His hands found your hips and his own began to move in time with you. “I thought about riding you,” you said, twisting your hand in a way that had his breath guttering out of him. “I thought you might love me in the way you looked at me.” His eyes softened and he leaned up, hands tracing up your spine as he pressed kisses to your chest.
“I loved you that night and every night since,” he said before tonguing a nipple and sucking it into his mouth. “That dress you wore, my color, had me hard for a week.” You laughed then removing your hand from his cock and bringing both to his face, so you could kiss him. His hands slipped to your ass then, palming the cheeks as his tongue moved in tandem with yours. When you moved back from him, a string of salvia still connected you two, you reached up to comb fingers through his hair gently.
“I brought you something,” you said quietly, looking to the corner of the quilt where your bag had dropped ages ago. His brow furrowed, confusion showing in his features. “You don’t have to, but I brought some of that tart. If you want,” you offered the statement nervously, as if there was still a chance for rejection. Azriel’s heart went soft and his brain turned to mush.
“You want to accept it?” He questioned, hands sliding up your back and to your waist. You smiled and looked at him incredulously, “Of course I want to accept it, it feels like I’ve waited a millennia for you.” You’d laughed a bit and that feeling of home raced through him again. Gods, he was fucked.
You leaned off his lap, pulling the strap of your bag to you and unzipped it. There, packaged in a little glass container, lay a small slice of the berry tart you’d fretted over earlier in the day. “Nesta made some stupid comment about ‘cooking’ when I’d asked where you were,” you laughed in hindsight at the female’s leading words. “She knew because Cassian knew, he helped me with the food and candles,” Azriel murmured pushing your hair up and over your shoulder.
He pulled the container from your grasp then and opened it before picking the pastry up with his fingers, the same fingers that had been inside you minutes ago. Eyes on yours he took the first bite, your heart thrumming as the golden thread of your bond lit up like the sunrise. His eyes never left yours as he consumed the pastry in four bites, swallowing and pulling his fingers into his mouth at the remaining sweetness there.
The bond between you two was shining, strong and thrumming with love. ‘Hi,’ you tried, your thoughts reaching out to him. He smiled, laughing freely, and his voice came through clearly, ‘Hi, Little One.’ You choked out a laugh, eyes watering as you leaned forward to kiss him, tasting the berries on his tongue. ‘Can I make love to my mate now?’ He questioned down the bond and you laughed again. His hands were already tracing your hips as you leaned forward, hand reaching underneath to guide him into your cunt. Lowering yourself down, you rocked forward once then twice in order to take him to the hilt.
Mother above, he was big. His cock was thick and filled you wholly, pushing against your cervix making your eyes flutter in pleasure. You thought of the comment Mor had made about wingspan once decades ago and you heard him laugh, “I’m flattered, truly,” he said playfully, reading your thoughts and nipping at your shoulder.
You rose up again and set to riding him slowly, hips moving in long strokes as his hands traced your ass, pulling at the flesh there in time with your movements. You gave a experimental squeeze of your walls, and he keened a loud moan that had you speeding up your flow. “You keep that up, Little One and I won’t last,” he panted at your throat. “That’s rather the point,” you laughed breathlessly, your own hand moving to cup your breast, the other sliding down to circle your clit. His eyes traced the view greedily, moving down to the point where you connected, watching your cunt take him in full, his cock glistening with your shared wetness. He bared his teeth at the sight, a rumble lighting in his chest.
Just as your walls began to flutter with your impending orgasm, he grasped you and flipped you to your back, pulling your hands from your body and entwining your fingers with his own on each side of your head. He ground his pelvis in deep and your legs hitched higher around his waist. “Azriel, fucking Gods,” you called out at the switch in angle, the tip of his cock grinding into your cervix. He hummed at your throat, teeth marking you there as his hips pulled out and pushed in, grinding each time he bottomed out into you. His wings flared behind him and you thought you’d never seen a more beautiful sight.
“You take me so well, my love,” he panted, “you were made for me.” You whined then, cunt fluttering around him as he bottomed out deep and held it there, grinding his pubic bone into your clitoris. The pleasure raced up your spine and you thought you’d never be able to leave this place, might have to keep him inside you forever. He growled, reading your thoughts. “You want me to fuck this cunt forever?” He asked aloud leaning up, pulling his hands from yours.
You whined at the loss, but the sound died as he pulled your legs up his waist to his shoulders, kissing the scarred calf. He drew his cock out, only to slam back in. “Fuck,” you moaned out, voice going up two octaves. “You want me between your thighs for the rest of my days?” He said again, hips moving faster, your hands moving to your tits as they bounced from the impact. His eyes watched the movement and he bared his teeth again, turning his head to bite into the flesh of your calf.
“Azriel!” You called out again, pleasure zipped up your spine and you felt your stomach tighten. “Az, baby, I’m so close.” He chuckled darkly. “Be a good girl and come on my cock,” he said as his fingers traced down your leg to find your clit, rubbing the bundle in quick, timed circles. “Az- I-,” you barely got the words out before your orgasm overtook you, a long moan exiting your mouth as your cunt tightened around him, he ground into you and worked you through it, before dropping your legs back to his hips and pistoning deeper.
“My sweet mate,” he gasped at the skin of your throat, mouth tracing up to find yours, hands finding purchase on your thighs as he pulled you open, allowing him dive deeper. “My darling love,” he moaned and his tongue moved with yours, your hips pushing up to meet his thrusts, walls fluttering against his velvet length with the remnants of your orgasm.
You ventured your hand up his shoulder to the base of a wing and traced your fingers up the membrane to the bone. His eyes twisted shut, and he keened a low primal whine that had your cunt ready to come again. At the tightening of your walls, he groaned dark and deep, shadows seeping from him, as he pushed in, grinding against the innermost portion of you. His hips pulled out slightly and then pushed back in as his cock kicked, come spurting against your walls. He panted against your throat as his hands released their hold on your thighs and moved up your body before grasping your throat. He moved up to lean over you and his eyes found your own. He gave an experimental thrust of his hips and your eyes widened. Fucking Cauldron, he was still hard.
He laughed then, nuzzling at your mouth as he nipped at your bottom lip. “I’m giving you five,” his voice was deeper than you’d ever heard it, “and then I’m eating my come from your cunt and fucking you until the sun comes up.”
You gasped out a laugh as your arms wrapped around his shoulders. ‘They call it frenzy for a reason,’ you thought, kissing along his cheekbone and to his mouth. Gods, you were fucked.
#acotar fanfiction#acotar x reader#acotar x you#azriel shadowsinger#azriel x reader#azriel x you#azriel acotar#azriel spymaster#azriel supremacy#i love this bat boy sm#azriel fanfic#azriel smut#hoo boy this is nasty#Save a horse ride a bat boy am i right?#bat boys#bat boys x reader#azriel imagine#acotar imagine#acomaf#acowar#acosf#acofas#azriel acomaf#azriel acosf
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TW: nsfw, noncon, poverty & debt, gun violence, organized crime, death threats, arranged marriage
fem reader
Thinking about owing the mob…
Not you specifically, but your family – debt you weren’t aware of before you’re being cashed in to settle it.
You imagined several terrible things before the arrangement was explained to you.
One of the sons needs a wife with a clean reputation.
It’s a simple equation. You’re eligible, and he isn’t picky.
And though it leaves you in mourning for a life yet lived, it still comes with a sense of relief. It’s one of the better deals you could’ve gotten. At least you wouldn’t need to witness or partake in any crimes, nor act as a scapegoat for the likes either.
Besides… though you’ve yet to meet your fiancé, you’ve been explained that he only plans on treating you like a wife on and for the camera – that his tastes otherwise lie in the gentlemen’s lounge.
All you ever have to do is smile. He isn’t interested in anything else.
That’s what you were told, and yet…
“It’s funny.” Your husband says after the wedding ceremony.
You’re back at the mansion you’re meant to call home. The grounds are about twice the size of the block you come from. Marble, gold, and diamonds – it’s so outrageously excessive it’s shameless.
“I was told your brothers run routes for us to make ends meet.” He continues, looking at you and the expression on your face as you stare up at the chandelier – it’s clear you’ve never seen anything like it. “Fuck, I mean, I can’t imagine risking my life and still end up needing to pick between food or rent at the end of the day.”
Your gaze falls down to him at that.
Clad in lush wedding expense – white gown and silver tiara – you still stick out like a sore thumb. Something in the way it wears you and not the other way around. It’s obvious you’re uncomfortable with it all. It’s probably worth more than your family's ever owned.
He steps closer with a chuckle.
“Then, the poor suckers go and fuck up so bad they end up needing to sell their own sister.”
He spots your fists ball at your sides. But you keep your cool. Only a slight grimace curling your lips along a tiny furrow between your brows. It all smoothens into something else when he reaches out to grab your chin.
“What’s even more funny…” He tilts your face in his hand – jaded eyes assessing you like he’s found a coin on the ground. “You don’t look like street trash like I expected.”
Your frown returns, and you try pulling back – but he grabs your arm before you can.
Tsking, “Ah-ah – Remember,” His smile sharpens. “You’re property now. When I touch you, you let it happen.”
You weren’t that easily convinced. He bet you’ve had to fight off a lot of unwanted attention back where you come from. But he isn’t some back-alley thug. When he wants something, he expects it not only to be served on a silver platter but to be hand-fed to him with a silver spoon.
He pulls the gun out from behind him. Slotted in the band of his dress trousers, it had stayed hidden beneath the coverage of his suit jacket during the ceremony.
Your throat dries up, and any protests you had died of thirst along with it – eyes wide as you stare at the piece.
You can’t believe he’d carry that thing into a church with vows upon his lips – now pointing it at the very same wife he’d made those vows to.
“Make me spend a single bullet, and your family will share the rest.” He taps the barrel’s mouth against the quiver of your lips. “I’d rather not it come to that. It’ll ruin the carpet…”
You quiver, feeling weak with a shudder – your eyes slip closed with a shivering tear.
“Not to mention this…” He strokes the pitiful droplet off your cheek with the weapon while eyeing the way you quake with grinning eyes. “Pretty little body I’ve only just acquired.”
BNHA – Dabi
JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Naoya, Toji
BLLK – Reo
HxH – Illumi
#yandere x reader#yandere#yandere x you#yandere imagines#yandere smut#yancore#smut#yandere my hero academia#yandere boku no hero academia#boku no hero academia smut#mha smut#yandere mha#yandere bnha#my hero smut#my hero academia smut#bnha smut#yandere jujutsu kaisen#yandere jjk#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk smut
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A nice character with a yandere split persona. The Yandere persona was born out of the abandonment of the character by a loved one, maybe mom. Did he kill her just so she could stay? Maybe. Only the Yandere persona knows, the character is oblivious, he just knows his mom left him. But he oddly feels ok about it as though the situation has been reconciled... which is weird to him.
Now he meets and falls in love with yn. She must not leave. It's f around and find out
Btw I love you ❤️❤️❤️ The Yokai series is my fave
Oooh, I’ve been thinking of a context for your idea and I somehow got stuck on a serial killer who is unaware of it most of the time. Since you mentioned abandonment and obsession, my mind wandered to some of the typical habits, such as collecting trophies. I’ve also been wanting to try my hand at writing a serial killer, so hopefully it turns out to your liking. (Sending back the love, always a pleasure to see your comments ❤)
Although let me include a little disclaimer, because I am aware many things in the sphere of true crime are problematic: this in no way glorifies or romanticizes serial killers. Just a reminder that this is a work of fiction and all behaviors displayed are for the sake of an interesting story, not to be admired in real life.
Yandere! Serial Killer x Reader
You're temporarily staying with a kind, quiet man renting out a room in the house he inherited. It's just the two of you, and a locked bedroom he claims to be vacant. Yet as night falls, you hear the whispered arguing of a voice you don't recognize. Is anyone else there?
Content/TW: female reader, mentions of murder, obsessive behavior, horror
You must break the pattern today, or the loop with repeat tomorrow
He stares at the locked drawer of the bureau. The clock ticking in the background fades into an irritating buzz, drumming against his ears at irregular intervals like a swarm of insects. Once again, he cannot remember where the key is. Yet he does not feel compelled to search for it. It cannot be anything of significance, he tells himself. Forgotten knick-knacks, perhaps. Despite the apparent lack of curiosity, he is drawn here every morning. He wakes up, carefully folds the sheets, and goes to sit in the office. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Until, at last, the noon hour strikes, and the hallways are flooded with ghastly chimes.
Lately, however, other sounds have taken over the usual silence that envelops the house. The main door rattles faintly before opening with a creak.
“They were out of our bread rolls. I got a baguette instead.”
It’s you.
He stands up, as if startled from deep slumber, and hurries downstairs to greet you. He takes the grocery bags from your hands, flashing a smile of gratitude. Somehow, the idea of another person living here is still foreign to him. He’s gotten so used to the solitude, the quietness of the house. Time stands still when there’s no one else to remind you of it.
You glance up at the tall man, noticing his slight frown.
“Another brain fog?” You ask, worried.
“Don’t mind me. It’s a morning routine at this point”, he jokes. “More importantly, what would you like for breakfast?”
He always cooks for both of you. Initially, you were rather hesitant to go for his offer. You’d been looking for temporary accommodation and stumbled upon his advertisement. A cozy, vintage house the man had inherited from his lamentably departed mother, with one too many spare rooms. He had no need for all the space, he said in his description. You paid him a visit and were taken aback by his appearance. A massive, muscular frame that did not fit the rest of his mannerisms and features. He was soft-spoken, polite, and terribly shy. His eyes reflected the kind of gloom to be expected from anyone in his situation.
A sweet, gentle soul looking for company. On top of that, if you are to be technical, he’s a housemate difficult to compete against. Well-kept, mannered, organized, and thoughtful. He keeps to himself. You’d learned, soon after moving in, that he suffers from the occasional brain fog and memory loss. He goes for walks at odd hours to clear his mind. Enjoys reading in his office, although you’ve caught him just staring into space many times. Terribly inconvenient for the poor lad, you imagine.
The house itself is also not a bad deal by any means. Old fashioned, littered with trinkets and paintings. “My mother liked to collect many things”, he’d told you. It certainly has personality, to put it mildly. Some belongings are more bizarre than others: portraits of faceless people, with features smudged or distorted, doll heads in pompous, feathered collars hanging in clusters across the musty walls. Peculiar, but manageable.
Only at night does it become unsettling.
“Going for a walk?”
You’re curled in one of the armchairs, flipping through a magazine you found. It’s been hours since your little breakfast together and now the sun is beginning to set. The man is buttoning up his coat, standing in the doorframe and gazing at you with a smile.
“Yeah. I’m starting to detach a little. Maybe some fresh air will help.”
It’s nice, he thinks, having you here. He didn’t expect much when he ventured to rent out a room. He just wanted to hear the murmur of life again. Ever since his mother has passed…when did it happen, again? Better yet, how did it happen? Christ, he can’t remember. The last memory he has of her is not something to cherish. She was angrily shoving him out of the way, visibly annoyed by his cries and pleading. “Please don’t leave me”, he kept croaking in a pathetic tone, dragging his knees like a beggar. Then it’s all black. Black, like the cover they kept over her body at the morgue, to hide the mutilated remains. Black, like the tie he struggled to knot before her funeral. At that time, the sheets of her bed were still scattered, as if she never left. He could almost see her there, reflected onto the mirror’s surface – rather dirty as a matter of fact, he should wipe it soon – sitting melancholically on the edge of the mattress.
To think he’d be hearing footsteps again. A soothing voice. Even if it’s temporary, your presence in the house has been a blessing. Even if you must leave eventually. His lips purse involuntarily.
You hear the door close, followed by the key twisting inside the lock. You’re alone now.
With haste, you get up and sprint upstairs. You pull out a hairpin from your pocket and discreetly insert it in the cylinder. Today you find out if the spare bedroom truly is as vacant as your housemate claims.
When you first viewed the house, he mentioned that only this room will remain locked. It was his mother’s and he’d rather not look at it, he said. Let it gather dust, for all he cares.
Only at night, you’ve been hearing someone else’s voice. It didn’t happen immediately. Weeks after you’d moved in, you woke up thirsty and tiptoed on your way to the kitchen for a glass of water. On your return, you were surprised to see dim light coming from underneath the door of the forbidden bedroom. Visitors of your housemate? You hurried back into your bed, not wanting to intrude. But the following night you jolted up from the same mumbled voice. Strange that he’d invite someone over this late - twice in a row! - without saying a word to you. Even more, they were arguing like this. Curiosity got the better of you, so you snuck out and placed your cupped ear against the wall.
“No, no, no, no. I’m telling you, it’s different. She’s different from the others.” A deep, ragged voice retorted angrily.
Suddenly, there was a loud thud, a fist smashing against something, then glass shattering over exasperated, shouted curses. You ran back to your room, baffled. Who on Earth was there? You could feel your heart throbbing inside your chest.
Morning couldn’t come quick enough. You marched over to your housemate, demanding to know who this stranger was. He stared at you, wide eyed and incredulous. “There’s no one else here, dear. Just you and me.” Nonsense. You knew what you heard. You’d been wide awake! He gently placed the back of his hand against your forehead. “Could it be that you’re sick? Weather has been dreadful lately.” You scanned his face with hitched breath. Was he mocking you? Yet his features betrayed no such intent. The man seemed genuinely worried; face twisted in a caring frown.
Then what? A ghost? An intruder that fancied having a chat in a dead woman’s bedroom?
You fiddle with the pin until you hear the click. Finally. Surely whoever has been frequenting the place must’ve left some clues behind. You carefully open the door and peek inside. A broken mirror and some furniture covered in webs. There’s a lingering rusty smell that tickles your nostrils, and soon enough you find the source. Next to the old bed lays a cloth splattered red. On top of it, a leather folder from which scalpels and other surgical tools fell out haphazardly. Blood? Your mouth curls in disgust. You crouch to the floor to inspect the odd items and notice a jar glistening from underneath the bed. You pull it towards you and give it a rattle. Nothing heavy. You lift the jar into the light for a better look and gasp.
Fingernails.
“Oh, I forgot to put those away.”
It’s the same deep voice you’ve been hearing at night. Your stomach drops and you turn, slowly, towards the entrance. Horror is swiftly replaced by confusion once you realize it’s none other than your housemate.
“Y-you’re back from your walk?” You blurt out.
“Walk?” He inquires. “Ah, that’s what he told you.” He steps towards you and lowers himself to your level with a grin.
“Have you come to say hello?” He points towards the tall, shattered mirror. “This is (Y/N), mother. See, I told you she’s stunning. You didn’t believe me.”
He ruffles your hair with a boldness completely unfamiliar.
Nausea overwhelms you and your ears ring in panic. Whatever is happening right now is beyond your understanding.
“I’d like to go to my room now.”
“I recognize that speech all too well. You want to run away.”
Within seconds, he grabs one of the scalpels and points it towards your throat, poking your skin with its cold tip.
“Now, don’t embarrass me in front of her like that. Do you know how hard it is to convince this bitch of anything? I told her you’re not like them, (Y/N). Don’t prove me wrong.”
“Them?” You whisper, lungs devoid of air.
“Come, let’s put this with the others first.” He pockets the scalpel and lifts you up by the hand, tenderly kissing your fingers in the process. “Then we can talk.”
You follow him into the office, and he unlocks one of the desk drawers. Against your better judgment, you stretch over his shoulder and glance inside. ID cards of various women, jewelry, lipsticks. Teeth. Fingernails.
You want to cry.
He nonchalantly dumps the contents of the jar into the drawer and slams it back shut, then throws himself in the chair and pats his thigh, eyeing you. With a sob, you clumsily climb onto his lap.
“Back to our matters. What were you planning on doing?”
“I just wanted to lay in bed.”
He takes out the scalpel and draws a line across your cheek. It stings.
“Don’t lie, (Y/N). You have nothing to gain from being naughty with me.” He coos, placing a kiss over the fresh wound.
“I wanted to run away.” You confess, petrified.
“Good. Do you now understand what happens if you try to run away?”
You briefly look at the drawer and nod.
“I knew you would. You’re so smart.” He strokes your hair fondly. “Not an easy decision to make, mind you. I love you more than anything in this world. Who’d enjoy killing their one and only?”
The man ponders his next words with a hum.
“Don’t count on getting away while he’s awake, either.” He taps his temple and chuckles. “He has no idea and won’t stop you, but I can easily find you again.”
The eggs sizzle in the pan as you stare at your plate, background sounds melting into shapeless static. After a couple more minutes, the man turns off the stove and places the food on the table with a cheerful whistle.
“Eat up!” He encourages you.
You hold onto your fork with faintly trembling hands.
“This might be the last breakfast I cook for you, after all. You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?” His last sentence trails off and he smiles, dejected.
“Actually, I was wondering if I could…stay here instead.”
He gazes at you in disbelief.
“Truly? I-…That’d be fantastic.” He laughs awkwardly and scratches the back of his head, a deep red blush spreading over his cheeks. “Do excuse my rudeness. To be honest with you, I’ve grown quite fond of our arrangement. I really do like having you here.”
You return the smile without responding.
“Most exciting news. I’ll get the documents from the office after we eat, so we can draft a new lease.”
“That’d be lovely”, you answer curtly.
“Say, have you by any chance stumbled upon a small key around the house? I wanted to finally unlock the drawer upstairs, but I can’t remember where I could’ve left it.”
The knot in your stomach tightens.
“Not at all.”
“Don’t sweat it. I’m sure it’s nothing important, anyways. Old memorabilia, most likely.”
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x darling#yandere x you#yandere fic#yandere imagines#yandere imagine#yandere scenarios#yandere male#yandere killer#yandere male x reader#yandere oc#yandere oc x reader#yandere serial killer#yandere original character#horror#split personality#tw yandere
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Title: Dragon On The Tower Roof.
Pairing: Yandere!Malleus x Reader (TWST).
Word Count: 4.2k.
TW: Fantasy AU, Mentions of Blood/Bruising, Mentions of Injury to Reader, Implied (Consensual) Sex, Possessive Behavior, and Manipulation.
Malleus met you at the base of his tower.
With a single movement of his wings, he descended from his perch and landed in front of you – placing himself between you and the stone behemoth. Had you been a more imposing figure, a knight or a prince or the general of some distant army, he would’ve cut you down the moment you entered his valley, but your only armor was a thin rucksack tunic and your only weapon was a rusted sword – the tip of its chipped blade currently planted in the ground as you struggled to keep yourself on your feet. He could smell blood on you, although he couldn’t be sure if its source was the jagged, poorly bandaged wound on your calf or the dark stains painting your humble clothes. You were clearly not a knight, much less a prince, and if you were a general, your army had abandoned you long ago. Altogether, you were not the most intimidating nuisance he had ever had to dismiss. He might’ve been grateful, had you not been a nuisance at all.
In the past, his visage alone had been enough to make even the bravest adventure abandon their quest, but your weary eyes only glazed over his black-scaled wings, his spiraling horns, the slit pupils of his unnaturally green eyes. You acknowledged him with a slight nod, putting more of your weight on your makeshift aid. “I believe I’m here to slay you, dragon.”
His greeting, likewise, came in the form of a bowed head, a narrowed gaze. “And to rescue the prince, I assume.”
You shrugged, the gesture alone threatening to cost you your balance. “I’m sure they’d prefer if I didn’t. I think they’ve got someone else for that – a lord, or maybe a king. Someone more befitting than a filthy criminal, surely.”
At that, Malleus felt the ghost of a smile tug at the corner of his lips. Novelty was rare, this far into his everlasting life, and he could not say he’d ever had a prisoner sent after his head. “What sort of crime gets you sent to the lair of a monster?”
You brightened at the question. “Thievery,” you answered, pride overshadowing your exhaustion. “I could either face you or let them cut off my hands and, well, I find those to be quite essential to my burgeoning career.”
This time, you earned an airy laugh, a reflexive flick of his tail. He took another moment to evaluate you before speaking. “You are tired, thief.”
It wasn’t a question, but you answered regardless. “It was a long journey. You aren’t an easy monster to reach.”
“And injured, presumably by the fangs of some great beast of legend.”
“Right again.” You paused, then added, “If there are any legends about wolves, I mean.”
“And hungry.” Your smile fell. When you failed to respond, he went on. “May I invite you to share a meal with me before our battle?”
He watched as you swallowed, as you straightened. Your sword was pulled from the ground and allowed to hang limply at your side as you stared up at him with such a hopeful expression – his heart, had it not been so terribly calloused, might’ve broken at the sight alone. “Well,” you started, your humor gone in exchange for pure, unabashed desperation. “I suppose I can’t refuse such a kindly offered invitation.”
With no further conversation, he stepped to the side, raising his staff to the tower. After only a moment, the endless cobblestone pulled away to reveal a simple, wooded door – already open and awaiting his entry. Smiling, he motioned for you to follow him, and without protest, you obeyed.
~
You ate, to put it politely, like a starving animal.
There’d been an attempt at decency when you first sat down at the opposing head of his banquet table, a gallant effort to make use of the flatware arranged into neat, never-ending lines on either side of your plate, but what little energy you had for such pleasantries was depleted quickly as your attention was dedicated entirely to the whims of your empty stomach. Countless other dishes decorated the table – ranging from fine delicacies fit for the pallets of kings to common staples even the lowest of peasantry would’ve been familiar with, but Malleus was content to nurse a goblet of dark, herbed wine as he watched you bask in the feast.
Only after you’d gotten your fill did you seem to remember that you had company, your expression taking on a sheepish note. “This is what they brought me to trial for. Trespassing, I mean,” you began, and Malleus hummed in acknowledgement. “It was a baron’s manor – not quite a castle, but close to it. I heard he had the most beautiful gardens on this continent, and at the time, it seemed unreasonable to have to wait for an invitation just to take a look.”
“I thought you were a thief?”
“You must have the wrong person. I’ve been many things, but never a thief.” You leaned back in your chair. “I’m afraid I’ve always been too tender-hearted for that kind of thing. I could never stand to insult my hosts.”
“Such a considerate guest I have,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “I suppose I won’t have to worry about being robbed blind if I let you stay the night, then.”
You shook your head, feigning ego. “I would never, dear dragon. Your reclusive prince, on the other hand—”
Whatever you might’ve gone on to say was swiftly replaced with a sudden gasp as every torch within sight burst into a pillar of vicious emerald flame, casting the dining room in a blinding, sickly green before dying out just as abruptly as it’d erupted. Malleus let out an exasperated breath, bringing a hand to his temples. “My apologies. My patience has grown—” He cast a wayward glance toward the ash now seared into the stone walls, the ceiling. “—thin, over my time here.”
You allowed a beat to pass by in silence, then another. “Your prince,” you said, finally. “Is he important to you?”
“I can think of nothing I value more.” The answer came easily, even if the intensity of his sentiment surprised him. “An old friend asked me to ensure his safety. I’ve performed my role dutifully ever since.” The taste of blood rose into the back of his throat, but he drowned it out with another long sip from his goblet. “They used to send entire armies to reclaim him, then lone knights, then the occasional adventurer. You might be the first human to come seeking my head in two or three decades.”
Your smile took on a shy lilt, your eyes drifting to the table. “I wasn’t really supposed to come after you, either. Most people just take it as an exile, but they gave me a sword, and…” It was your turn to laugh, now, to be surprised with yourself. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I thought, even if I don’t get to rescue any princes, it could be nice to see how much of the fairy tale is true.”
“And you’re satisfied with what you’ve found?”
“Not entirely,” you admitted. “But I’m glad I met you, dear dragon.”
After some hesitation, he pushed himself to his feet and closed the distance between you. You stiffened, your gaze flitting blatantly toward the sole exit, but you didn’t attempt to flee as he pulled the closest seat in front of you and fell into it. “May I see your leg?”
You were far more than reluctant, but complied. The material of your travel weary trousers was pulled above your knee, the strips of fabric you’d attempted to fashion into bandages cut away with his own pitch-black talons. The wound was worse than he’d assumed, more severe than he assumed. Ragged skin stretched from your knee to your ankle, harsh puncture marks littering what little flesh was still in-tact. The stress of your journey had prevented the brunt of the damage from healing, and even without the use of his advanced senses, he would’ve been able to feel the heat radiating off of your skin, the first signs of infection beginning to set in. You were lucky you’d made it to his tower before the fever spread. His territory was cruel to the most resilient of creatures, and you seemed far from resilient.
“I have a salve in my collection that should aid in your recovery. That, paired with a few days of bed rest, should have you on your feet again in a week’s time.” Not a lie, but not far from one, either. He’d mended worse with a snap of his fingers, but there was no reason you should have to be burdened with such knowledge. “If you can find it within yourself to share a roof with a monster and delay our duel yet again, I can provide room and board while you recover.”
Your laugh was bright and strained. “You’re terribly kind to someone who came here to take your life.”
“And you’re very trusting of a creature who could easily end yours.” He let his pointed claws scrape over your bare skin, prolonging his evaluation. “Think of it as a show of my gratitude. My time here is well-spent, but tends to pass slowly. Visitors, whether benevolent or malicious, help to color my days.”
“Then I will have to be the most colorful visitor you’ve ever had,” you chimed, your grin renewed with fresh vigor. Clearly, you were not the type of mortal who could go long without a task. “I’ll make you wait on me hand and foot and bend to my every whim, until the thought of encountering another human being makes you sick. When I’m done, there might even be a dragon in this tower worth slaying.”
His only response was a steady nod, a low hum. He stood and, in the same motion, hooked one arm under the bend of your knees and another around your waist, lifting you into the air before you had the chance to so much as think to pull away. Instinctually, you attempted to re-balance yourself against him, and Malleus couldn’t help himself – laughing as he pulled you to his chest. “If I am to dote on you to the point of sickness, then let me start now. You’re in no state to walk on your own.”
You opened your mouth as if to complain, but anything you might’ve said was deemed too unimportant to warrant the effort. Your smile softened, your eyes falling shut as you rested your head against his shoulder. You lingered there, quiet and content, as he carried you through the halls of what would come to be your home.
~
Your prescribed period of bed rest came and went. Your bruises healed, then your leg (although you still tended to limp during particularly heavy rainstorms), and your exhaustion was replaced by a buzzing sort of restlessness. He never asked you to leave, and after some time, you seemed to stop expecting him to. You spoke rarely of your past (aside from the ever-changing series of events that led you to his tower, of course) and never of your future. When Malleus was in one of his more indulgent moods, he allowed himself to believe that, when he did catch you looking in his direction with such a glimmering worry in your eyes, you weren’t afraid of him, but of the possibility that he might send you away.
Despite your claims of spoiled houseguests and encumbered hosts, he was only driven to near-madness once while sharing your company. It’d been shortly after you instated yourself as a resident of his tower, rather than a fleeting visitor, and took to exploring your new dwelling without reservation. It’d been his own fault, really. He’d forgotten to warn you away from the upper wing, to resketch the protective runes he’d long-since allowed to fade, but such rationality had escaped him as he stood in the doorway, his mind empty and his eyes trained on your kneeling figure. He watched, paralyzed, as you raised a hand, reaching towards the marble slab, and then he was behind you – the points of his talons grazing the skin of your throat before he managed to restrain himself, curling his fist around the collar of your shirt, instead. Without warning, he hauled you off your feet, ignoring the half-choked shriek you let out in response.
His eyes fell to Silver, searching for any signs of harm, of disruption. Of course, Silver was unchanged. His colorless hair remained fanned over his velvet-cushioned pillow, the silk sheets and hand-stitched quilts still folded neatly at the foot of his bed – waiting to be put to use when the weather turned in autumn. Malleus took a moment to observe the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the gentle movement behind his closed eyes, before letting out a breath of relief and turning to you. “I don’t recall giving you permission to enter this chamber.”
“Sorry, I— I was just looking around, and I saw the flowers on the door—” Silver’s own craftsmanship, preserved from the ravages of time by Malleus’ spell work. He’d painted them as soon as he was old enough to hold a brush, along with matching murals on his bedroom walls that hadn’t survived the passing ages. “—I got curious, that’s all. Is this the prince I was sent after?”
Malleus set his jaw, straightening his hunched posture. “…it is,” he answered, eventually. He let go of your collar and let you stumble onto your feet. “His name is Silver. I never knew him by any titles.”
Malleus’ gaze shifted to you, but your eyes remained fixed on Silver. “He’s beautiful.”
Despite himself, he felt the edge of his lips turn downward. He rested a hand on your shoulder, and you seemed to recover from your daze, turning to face him with a hopeful smile. “Do you know when he’s going to wake up?”
Malleus felt a coil of heat form in the back of the throat. The taste of ash laid heavy over his tongue, but he swallowed back his guilt and forced himself to respond. “In another hundred years, perhaps,” he mused, his tone melodic and detached. “There’s no known cure for a curse like his.”
A phantom of disappointment flickered across your expression, but it was suppressed quickly. Rather, you turned your attention outward – to the heavy, woven curtains draped over each crystalline window. “Will you help me let in some light? I hate to insult your taste, but it’s terribly depressing in here, and—” You brightened, taking him by the sleeve and tugging gingerly. “We don’t want his highness to have any nightmares, do we?”
With some reluctance, Malleus nodded. “Light, but nothing else.” When you failed to acknowledge him, he caught you by the wrist, squeezing with just enough pressure for your smile to falter. “Light, but nothing else. Do you understand?”
Your eyes darted back to Silver, but only for a moment. He was thankful for that – for your restraint. A second longer, and his true nature might’ve overshadowed his better judgement. “Of course, dear dragon. Nothing else.”
He inhaled sharply, then let go of you altogether.
It was a choice that, in the approaching months, he would only come to regret.
~
“This is what they banished me for, you know.”
“This?”
“Yes, this exactly.” You propped your chin on his chest, positioning yourself to more easily card your fingers through his hair. He let his eyes fall shut, basking in the warmth of your affection, of your bare skin pressed into his. Your clothes laid discarded on the grass around you, one of his wings bent and raised to shield you from the harsh light of the setting sun. He would have to get you back to the tower, soon. He’d always been indifferent to the deadly chill of night, but you – in your precious, delicate mortality – were not so durable. “Actually, not quite – I don’t think I ever made it to this part. It was the first time I’d ever attended a royal ball, and I happened to dance with a young lady so breath-taking, I couldn’t help but drop to one knee and dedicate my heart to her the moment our hands touched.” You sighed, feigning remorse. “Little did I know that she was the princess that ball was being thrown for, and so moved by my passion, she refused to let me out of her embrace until I agreed to marry her. Of course, her father – the king, as the fathers of princesses tend to be – couldn’t have that. It’s a shame, really. We would’ve made a gorgeous couple.”
Malleus pursed his lips, fighting back a smile. “And what does that make me? The next scorned lover of a silver-tongued rouge?”
“Oh, no. If you asked me to marry you,” You propped yourself up, pressing a kiss into the curve of his jaw. “There’d be nothing in the world that could stop me, dear dragon.”
Your hand fell to his cheek, and wistfully, you lulled him into a kiss – shallow but lingering, punctuated with a playful nip at his bottom lip. You pulled back with a smile, another quick peck to his cheek. You moved to say something, but he interrupted you, as mournful as he was to cut off such a precious moment so callously. “I found your wildflowers.”
Immediately, your expression fell. “I made sure not to—”
“I know, beloved, I know.” You knew better than to lay a hand on Silver. Your small bouquet had been left on the corner of his bed, another additional chain of asters and lavender braided into one of the longer strands of his waist-length hair. As much as he wished he could say he was only concerned for Silver’s well-being, it wouldn’t have been the truth. Something else, something darker, had accompanied the discovery – something it would be better for you to stay ignorant of. “We’ve talked about this. Silver is vulnerable, in his current condition. Even the simplest luxury is an unspeakable risk.”
Your shoulders dropped, your body going slack against his. You bowed your head, burying your face in the dip of his shoulder, and despite his frustration with you, he didn’t push you away. “I’m sorry. It just feels so cruel to let him suffer alone.”
“He’s never been alone.” His tone was more curt than he’d meant it to be. “He’s always had me.”
“I know, but—” He expected you to raise your hair, to flash him that brilliant grin. Instead, you only settled against him, speaking softly into the crook of his neck. “He just seems so sad.”
Malleus took a deep breath, clenching his eyes shut.
Then, before he could let himself think better of it, he wrapped an arm around your waist. In one fluid motion, he turned you over – leaving you on your back, one of his knees planted on either side of your waist, your form tucked safely underneath his. His kiss was less gentle than your own – that deep, aching sort of hunger overwhelming his cautiousness as his tongue raked over yours, as he groaned unabashedly into your mouth. You returned his affection emphatically; your fingers soon knotted in his hair, your eager touch preventing so much as the thought of distance between your body and his. Because there never would be distance between you and him. Because there was no reason you should ever have to be taken away from him.
Hours later, when the last traces of light had faded and the stars were painted in swirling patterns across the sky, he would carry you back to his tower – unconscious and pliable in his arms. That would be the first night you spent in his bed, and as he laid there with you, he couldn’t help but imagine how wonderful it would be if you never left.
~
The runes carved into Silver’s door were redrawn, Malleus’ enchantments refreshed, and your bittersweet sympathy slowly rotted into a distinctly bland melancholy. You didn’t speak of him (Malleus could only wonder how you ever managed to speak of anyone when so many of his marks so often decorated your skin), but he noticed new scratches around the well-rusted lock on Silver’s door, caught you braiding chains of daisies and crowns of marigolds with no intended recipient in mind, and at night, you tended to slip out of his hold and wander. Sometimes, he waited for you, lying awake as you hunted for whatever solace there was to find in the empty halls of an ancient tower. Most nights, tonight, he chased after you.
He found you in a window near the tower’s highest room, laid across the wooden sill, your back propped against the empty frame. He didn’t ask to join you – wordlessly lowering himself to the floor at your feet. As if by reflex, your hand fell to his horns, your thumb tracing over a particular ridge near the base as you broke the quiet. “Have ever told you why I’m here, dear dragon?”
Countless times, but he still played along. “Who has my heart been stolen by today, beloved?”
“A murderer,” you said, hollowly. “And not a particularly clever one, at that.”
He waited for you to go on, to spin some elaborate tale of love and loss and betrayal and poor humor, but you only lapsed back into silence, your gaze turning back to the pitch-black valley. He watched your vacant expression for a moment, then another before letting his eyes fall shut and resting his cheek against your thigh.
~
Malleus had expected there to be more anger than this.
You were in a similar position to one you’d taken the first time you stumbled into Silver’s chambers – kneeling beside his marble bed, your ever-weary eyes fixed on the unknowing object of your adoration. The only difference was that, today, Silver’s hand was raised to your lips, now slightly parted in shock. He didn’t have to guess at the source of your astonishment. In front of you, Silver was sitting up. His posture was unsteady, his eyes barely open, but the obvious was undeniable.
He was awake.
To think, there was something of merit to Lilia’s stories of true love after all.
Rather than anger, rage, pure and undiluted fury, an odd sort of calm settled over his blank mind as you snapped in his direction. Your astonishment turned to horror in an instant. “Malleus, I didn’t— I was only trying to—”
He put you out of your mercy quickly. He raised his staff and, propelled by some unseen force, you were torn away from Silver’s bedside and thrown against the nearest walls – the force of the collision far from fatal, but enough to leave you limp and unconscious. With your safety ensured, he stepped forward, approaching Silver. He was awake, but only just. So many decades of uninterrupted sleep would not be so willing to release him from their taloned clutches without a struggle, and there was a certain dream-like lull to the way his eyes skirted over the limited scenery before settling on Malleus, his features immediately softening in relief. “Malleus?”
“I’m here.” Malleus allowed himself a small smile before bringing the end of his staff to Silver’s forehead. “You can rest, brother.”
There was just enough time for the edges of Silver’s lips to turn downward before he collapsed back onto the marble slab. Malleus would arrange him later on. For now, his attention turned to you.
He gathered your crumpled form in his arms and carried you through the halls of his lonely tower, before stepping into the clear air and fresh heat of the valley. He laid you in the tall grass and, after taking a moment to appreciate your peaceful expression, brought a hand to your face, cupping your cheek tenderly. The spell came to him instinctually, but he took his time, mourning the loss of your time together with each mumbled word. That was a silver-lining of immortality, though. Infinite time allowed for infinite repetition, and he couldn’t imagine giving up the opportunity to fall in love with you again.
When he was done, your eyes fluttered open, a smile quickly finding its way to your lips. “Hello, dragon.” You gazed darted to either side nervously, your mind struggling to catch up with your clever tongue. “I would love to introduce myself, but it’s the funniest thing – I can’t seem to remember what I’m doing here.”
He bit back a smile. You tried to force yourself into a more dignified position, but barely managed to get an arm underneath you before pausing, wincing, reaching for the back of your head and coming away with blood smeared across your fingertips. Malleus did what he could to hide his delight.
“You’re a thief. You injured yourself attempting to scale my tower. It was an impressive effort, but tragically unnecessary.”
This time, he couldn’t hide the wide, simpering grin that came to rest across his lips.
“I was always going to invite you inside.”
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere imagines#yandere oneshot#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland x reader#twisted wonderland imagines#yandere twisted wonderland#twst x reader#yandere twst#twst imagines#malleus x reader#yandere malleus#yanderecore#yancore
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the lore
sukuna x f!reader
**part of my best friend's (older brother) sukuna fic
previous part linked here
AN: tw/ mentions of SA and manipulation. please read at your own discretion - protect your own peace!!!
--
“okay, well. it was back when-” you start.
sukuna reaches forward and pinches the bridge of your nose.
“are you a nutjob?”
you frown.
“huh?”
sukuna drops his hands from your face, resting them against your waist before he uses them to spin you around. he’s walking behind you, leading your steps to the bedroom and whispering into your neck.
“c’mon. we’ll wash up for bed and then talk. want you to be comfortable and all that, we’re not gonna have a serious conversation in the fucking kitchen.” sukuna murmurs.
you smile, letting his attentive hands lead you to the bathroom as he busies himself with doing nearly everything for you. pulling the clips out of your hair and placing the headband just right to pull your hair back, putting toothpaste on both of your brushes, and busying himself with doing your skincare.
his fingers are soft on your cheeks, the slight tautness of his fingertips massaging the terse of your cheek.
and you can’t help but stare at him. at the arch of his eyebrows, his eyes attentively focused on the task, and how slowly he’s breathing – in full focus.
“quit staring. you're freaking me out with your bug eyes.” sukuna murmurs.
you smile.
“you’re a big acts of service guy.” you state.
“eh?”
“acts of service! it’s a love language.”
sukuna glares at you.
“love language? where the fuck do you come up with this shit?”
you hum in response.
“it’s a book – you can even take a quiz to see which of the five is yours. it’s how you show love, how you like to receive it. and yours is acts of service.”
sukuna rolls his eyes.
“is not.”
“yeah, it is! you always like to do stuff for me. like when you washed all my clothes. took the train back to the apartment for me, making me breakfast. you like to do things for me!”
“you’re my girlfriend. i’m not a fucking asshole that’s going to let you take the train alone at night.”
you roll your eyes.
“but the breakfast.”
“you know, i’m quite attached to my security deposit. can’t exactly have you burning my apartment down every morning.” sukuna complains.
you frown.
“still. you like to do things for me. that’s how you show your love.”
the serum he spreads under your eyes cools your skin, as you instinctively shut your eyes and welcome the tiny sting.
“what’s yours?”
“quality time! and words of affirmation.”
sukuna pauses.
“sounds about right. you’re always lurking around here, like a troll.”
you open your eyes and give him a grin.
“i’ll just be on my way out then.” you state, stepping out of the bathroom.
but sukuna’s too quick with it, wrapping his hands around your waist and resting his chin on top of your head. he tickles at your sides, as you try to squirm out of his touch and smack his arms.
“when did i tell you to leave, huh?”
“quit tickling, i’m-”
“you leave when i tell you to leave.” sukuna states.
sukuna’s tickling subsides, as you heave and turn around to glare at him. sukuna’s delighted at the pink flush in your cheeks, coupled with the murderous glare you’re giving him.
“if you had your way, i’d never leave.” you state.
sukuna leans forward, lips brushing against yours and nose ghosting your skin.
“something wrong with that, huh? is it a crime to want you all to myself?” sukuna whispers.
it’s enough to send an electrifying jolt down to your core, as you look up at his brown eyes – honeyed over with sweetness. you reach forward and cup his cheek.
“no.” you whisper.
sukuna presses a kiss to the top of your head, before locking his hand in with yours and dragging you out. and you both turn around, quickly discarding your dress clothes for your pajamas and settle under the sheets, tangling your legs together, as you rest your head against his bare shoulder – twisting the little charm on his necklace between your fingers.
sukuna’s hands are in your hair, massaging into your temples as you push your cheek harder into the warmth of his shoulder.
“sometimes it’s hard to explain how things were when they…build up over time. when i try to explain it…it all seems so trivial but i-”
“none of this is going to sound trivial to me.” sukuna clarifies.
you smile.
“i know. i just mean, it’ll sound…stupid. petty stuff at first but it–”
“acknowledging that someone treated you so far from what you deserve is never going to be stupid to me.”
the bluntness is enough to catch you off guard. you give him a meek nod, feeling your cheeks head up as you try to remember the order of events, how things escalated so far, and it’s almost like the damper of it all is back in your brain.
sometimes remembering feels like an oversaturated filter. that if you recollect your memories, that underlying feeling of the memories casts over your entire head, that it sucks out your energy even though nothing is really happening – even though you’re far from him and from being treated like that again.
“no one liked me when i was in middle school.” you state.
sukuna fights the urge to correct you. to tell you all about the camping bag, about how he thought about it for years, even mentioning it at his big age of twenty one to all of his coworkers. but he refrains.
“maybe some part of me internalized that. but i’d watch as people all around me would…would have these guys interested in them. and sometimes i’d try to copy them. i’d want the same jewelry, like the same movies…try to change my hair so i’d look like them.”
sukuna presses a kiss to your hair. you get the message and shoot him a halfhearted smile.
“when i went to highschool…i was really hyper aware of what other people wore. talked about, when it came to guys. and sometimes it would really frustrate me – how stupid, how fucking petty people would be in relationships.” you start.
“i would have killed to be in their position, sukuna. that if i got to love someone, if…if i could get someone to like me back, i would have done it so right. i’d buy them gifts, i’d tell them i love them, i would never talk to other guys because they were all i wanted.” you finish.
how adamant you were being about sucking his dick an hour ago suddenly makes plain, clear sense to sukuna – confirming his hunch entirely. that you’d do anything to make him happy, and while it’s a noble quality, a part of him knows where this is going – and the fact that someone took advantage of it, such a deep earnestness to love, to please, fills him with an insurmountable amount of disgust.
“when i was in my sophomore year of highschool, i had a crush on this guy named parker.” you state.
“with your weird inappropriate english teacher, i remember.”
you smile.
“yeah. i feel like it was one of those…those cosmic connection type things. where you see someone and you just know you like them. he was doing role on the first day and…and i don’t know what it is but i just found myself being drawn to him. i couldn’t help but stare – at how he smiled at his friends, waved at other people in the class.”
you cringe.
“fuck. i’m sorry. i shouldn’t be talking about other guys like that when–”
sukuna shakes his head, dismissively.
“i want to know the whole story. if this is a part of it, if this is what’s truthful for you, then that’s okay. granted, i already have a leg up on this parker idiot – you’re in my bed, tangled up in my arms right now. not his.”
you smile.
“you jealous?”
“of some pipsqueak little fifteen year old who didn’t see your worth? absolutely not. and we’re the ones with the real cosmic connection, so i’ll live.” sukuna deadpans.
“we have a cosmic connection?” you ask.
“of course. you think i let yuuji play my video games when i was six? i only let you guys play, the first time we met because you were there. i was fully intent on hanging him upside down from his legs but…decided against it.”
you smile, pressing a kiss into the muscle of his shoulder. it takes a second – to reach your train of thought again – and sukuna affords you the time to think, twirling the ends of your hair in his fingers.
“the year after that, i ended up in this big friend group of people, with guys, which i had never had before. it was originally a big group for a school dance, but…we just ended up hanging out after that. and when we all started hanging out as a group, i realized that my best friend and parker would…talk a lot. we’d go on picnics and they’d be trailing behind the group – and i’d never really found myself fitting in with any of them.” you state.
you pause.
“i’m really boring, sukuna. i mean, i know that i’m not boring, that drinking and smoking and going to parties or whatever doesn’t make you cool – but at that time, i felt boring. they’d all smoke and i’d shake them off, they’d all dress a certain type of way and i wouldn’t. and…and it was like everyone knew it too.”
“we’d play these games of truth or dare. and i’d always do dare, just to…get sometime tame. like writing something in marker on the wall.”
sukuna’s eyes widen.
“how is vandalism tame?”
“erasable markers. and compared to everyone else’s dares – to kiss each other on the neck, to wear each other’s clothes or…or take their own clothes off. i’m glad they never asked me to do that stuff, because they knew i wouldn’t or…or i couldn’t…but. made me feel like a sore thumb sometimes.”
you swallow hard.
“there was this guy in the group. his name was mazzy.”
“prick name.” sukuna states.
you laugh.
“you’re funny.”
“what was funny about that? objectively, that is such a prick name. i want him dead.”
you can’t help but look up at him, his angry brown eyes looking down at yours. and slowly but surely, he breaks out into a smile, rubbing into the little smile lines by your eyes.
“i love how i just wished death on another person and you’re smiling at me like i’m the sun.” sukuna states.
you laugh in response, as you rest your head back against his shoulder and trace stars into your shoulder.
and there’s a searing regret when you recall that what comes next was the catalyst for everything that happened – that a seemingly harmless move caused you some of the deepest, gutting pain of your life.
“i sent him a tiktok, based on this inside joke that the entire group had about him. individually, in a chat with just me and him. and after that…we just started talking. everyday, about lots of different things.”
you swallow hard.
“about him, a lot. he’d tell me all about…the girls he liked, what he liked about them. it was always objectifying. and…sometimes he’d make these comments after i asked why he told me. i was…trying to hint that he thought i was really trustworthy, or that we were friends but-”
you frown.
“he’d always say it’s because i’m not a real girl.”
“what?” sukuna asks.
you can feel hot tears in your eyes, remembering the biting sting of being told that in the early hours of the morning, when you’d sacrifice your sleep to hear what he had to say.
“i wasn’t a real girl.” you whisper.
sukuna reaches forward, swiping the lone tear spilling from your eye, his demeanor washed over in concern, in contempt.
“he…he wasn’t a good guy. so, just…don’t judge me for not saying anything about it or the comments he made and-”
“you were sixteen. keep going.” sukuna whispers.
the recognition, or the mere acknowledgement, that sukuna wasn’t going to accost you for not doing the right thing is enough to make your chest ache. because now, at twenty-two, the comments he made – slight jabs at the expense of others – they disgust you.
and sometimes it disgusted you that you had put up with it, that you had brushed it aside, just so that you wouldn’t have to be alone. that you were that desperate for it.
“when i asked what he meant, he said it again. that i don’t count as a real girl, that…which is why he can tell me about how hot other girls are, how horny he is for them all the time. and i know – trust me, i know how fucked up it was of him to say that, of me to not correct him – but…i guess i just internalized it instead. that he had put words to the feeling i had. that i didn’t get dares like the other girls did, that other guys weren’t interested in me, because…”
there’s a block lodged in your throat, vision blurry.
“because i’m not a real girl. i’m not pretty, and i wasn’t smart and – why would someone ever consider me…why did i delude myself into thinking it could be different?”
sukuna’s insurmountable rage is displaced now, from this faceless asshat, to everyone else. to idiots like naobito – who was going to get another beating from him – to yuuji and kugisaki’s seemingly harmless comments, even down to your mother who had affirmed this feeling to you. hundreds of times over.
but he realizes that it's because they don't know. and makes every intention to stop them, in the most discrete way he can.
“a year after that, he started talking to me about more personal stuff. about his parents, how he thought his sister hated him. and i’d always listen – i’d always affirm him that i thought he was great, and that point, i had started liking him…and i’d do anything to make him feel good.” you state.
you bite into your cheek.
“there was this day where he was talking about his parents, about how he felt so frustrated hiding it, and i…i told him that it wasn’t just him who felt like that, that lots of people did. like me. and it was almost like he had flipped a switch – because we went from talking about him to him…wanting to know everything about me.”
sukuna absentmindedly tucks your hair behind your ear, the thoughts floating around his head. that at that time, it must have meant the world to you. that now, you were one of those people. that someone wanted to talk to you, to know about you too.
but it leaves him with a sour taste in his mouth. because it almost feels exploitative to him, that this asshat had talked to you for a year at this point, and had only now thought to ask about you. after you had played therapist for a year.
and the thought of you spilling out your secrets – about your dad, about sammy – just to have it turn around on you alter makes him understand that little concrete wall. and thanks the lords that he was there, a house across from you his entire life.
the regret that sukuna left is deeper. because sukuna couldn’t have prevented it – any of it – but the thought of you suffering alone made his stomach hurt. that he could have at least been here.
“where was yuuji?” sukuna asks.
“you know…no one really knew that we talked. yuuji included. it was almost late into the night and…and when we first got together, we didn’t tell anyone for months. it wasn’t going to be a good idea, because of a fight we had before we were dating, where he called me a bitch in front of everyone and-”
“he called you a bitch?”
“yeah. it was this dumb thing, group plans that i had made that were kind of spontaneous from this volunteering thing. some people felt left out, and…and i had even invited him because he wasn’t there…but later…when it all kind of blew up in my face, he called me a bitch and everyone was just confused as to why we were friends after that. left a bad taste in people’s mouths.”
“why didn’t it? for you?” sukuna whispers.
“he was really good at being apologetic. and if someone was being earnest, i was always going to forgive.” you murmur.
sukuna frowns.
“always loved that about you. that you saw good, even if there wasn’t any.”
you smile.
“yeah. came to bite me in the butt later but…i’m getting ahead of myself.”
sukuna nods, hand warm around your neck, as he pulls you closer.
“when we met up for the first time, we wrote each other these letters. mine was four pages – about all the things i liked about him, memories that i cherished. and he wrote me one too, but…”
you pause.
“it was nice. there was stuff in there that was nice. but..he ended it with some joke about how he wanted to hit it from behind.”
sukuna watches the disgust spread over your face, as you shake your head like you’re trying to get it off of you.
“he also tried to kiss me that day. but i dodged it. he did grab my butt though, which…i don’t know. guess i wasn’t expecting, but maybe should have in hindsight. he had asked me to wear these leggings and this form fitting shirt…”
sukuna tries to think back to the first time the two of you kissed – to see if there were any inclinations of you pulling away. but he remembers it vividly, the way he pulled you into his lap in your bedroom, pressing kisses into your neck while you were begging him to kiss you full on.
it makes him happy.
but it disgusts him, the second part. that he had dictated what you were going to wear, that he had run his hands over you without asking for permission. and it reminds him of that day, where you were purposely trying to dress to impress him, and thanks the heavens he trusted his instincts and asked you to change.
“the second time, i mustered the courage to kiss him back when he leaned in. and he was kind of…aggressive with it. a lot of the things he did were that way, kind of a lot. i’m more into…the softer things i guess but –”
“i love that.” sukuna states.
you smile.
“yeah?”
“i’m not a fan of that – the aggressiveness.”
sukuna brings his fingertips to your face, thumb brushing down from the bridge to the end of your nose.
“i like to savor it. keep it slow, so…so i can feel it all. commit you to my memory.” sukuna whispers.
your shy smile makes sukuna’s heart skip a beat.
“me too. wanna remember it forever.” you whisper.
sukuna gives you a smile, before nodding for you to continue.
“he talked to me a lot about how…horny he was before we were even dating. but now that we were, it was…something he talked about a lot. and while he never…outright forced me to do something, it was almost like he was wearing me down. first, he…he wanted me to send him nudes. i didn’t like the idea of doing that because he could use them against me so he told me that we should just…facetime and do it, if we had to.” you murmur.
there’s an embarrassment that’s blooming over your skin, images of sneaking downstairs – past sammy and your mom – just so you wouldn’t get caught.
“and i said no. but he asked again and i…i guess i caved. then he was talking about he wanted to take screenshots…because…”
you lean your head back, the embarrassment – the realization that you had done something so utterly stupid that it made you keel back. but this time, sukuna fills the silence. the way you were harshly cutting off the circulation to his hand from squeezing signaled to him that he had to – and he wanted to meet you where you were.
“you’re doing so good, you know that?” sukuna whispers.
there’s a film of tears in your eyes. and you shake your head.
his lips are warm on your forehead, brushing away the frown lines.
“doing so good, angel. so proud of you, you know that?”
you scoff.
“for what? being an idiot?” you murmur.
sukuna’s voice is soft, but adamant.
“don’t.”
you sigh.
“sorry. it’s a habit. i…i don’t actually think i’m an idiot. for any of it, because…i was just a kid. i just wanted someone to like me and–”
“and someone took advantage, sweetheart. that doesn't make you an idiot.”
it makes your chest ache. that he understands it.
“yeah.”
you swallow hard. it's enough to keep you going.
“he told me that i made it really hard for him…to jack off. because i didn’t really wear revealing clothes, which is why he needed the picture. that it would take him hours and that…if he had something it would just make it easier.”
sukuna’s eyes have a murderous glint, but you ignore it for the time being.
“it was kind of a slippery slope after that. because how are nudes different from a screenshot? that he’s my boyfriend so i should trust him and let him save them. that i should take my phone in the shower and call him and…”
you trace the outline of sukuna’s tattoos.
“he’d mask it all in compliments. tell me that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me and then ask. say that i was the most beautiful girl that he had ever seen before he asked me to get up and send him a picture after i was already in bed.” you state.
sukuna gets it. words of affirmation. mazzy knew it meant the world to you and used it to his advantage.
“we started meeting up after that. and you remember how strict my mom was with sammy and his parents were too…so we’d kind of just…do stuff in my car.”
you frown.
“i’d fight with my mom about it. about how i wanted to drive myself to hangouts. she thought it wasn’t safe, but i’d just…cry so hard about it…because i knew it would disappoint him and i had to go. she’d give in, but…i’d feel like shit after the fact. and whenever we did stuff, it would be blistering hot in the car and his touch was already so…aggressive that i hated it.”
you sigh.
“i’d feel disgusting afterwards. not only because i was caked in sweat or because i did that, but…he’d always call me names. was really into choking and…and i was always scared that my mom would find out when i’d come home looking disheveled or smelling like him. i’d spend hours in the shower trying to scrub the feeling off till i was clean.”
the obsessiveness. sukuna had watched you do it hundreds of times, pricked and prodded at your skin when you felt like you were at your worst. he cups his cheek in your hand, fingers soft on the little blemish on your cheek – and he can’t help but wonder how many times you had picked at it until it bled, scraped off the healing in the name of feeling like his touch was off of you.
you can see sukuna’s eye watering and before you can even prod as to why, he shakes his head.
“there was one time where the security guards of that mall caught us, because i needed to turn the air on in the car. and it was so humiliating, because i wasn’t wearing a shirt and…and they flashed a light on me and started yelling at me. i…i found it hard to take my shirt off after that and…i don’t know. he’d do stuff like that all the time. grope me in public when we were standing against the wall or…at the prom after he didn’t ask me.” you state.
you shake your head.
“anyways, we told people at some point. and people stopped talking to me. he wasn’t a nice guy, he…he had even bullied some of my friends which i found out about later, but…they just didn’t want to associate with him or me by proxy. yuuji was one of the only friends i had during that time, but he was really confused about what was happening too. and he’d ask but…i couldn’t bring myself to tell him because he’d want me to end it then and there. and i would have but–”
you lean your head back.
“he was really unstable. every time he fought with people, he would tell me that he…he'd get so upset and...and punch walls and stuff. and…i felt like it was on me, that his life was in my hands if i didn’t say the right thing. so if i ended things, i’d be leaving him alone – without a lifeline.”
sukuna breaks the silence.
“that’s a big burden to carry at seventeen. feeling like you’re responsible for someone’s wellbeing.”
the recognition makes you cry.
“yeah. it…it is, isn’t it? and-and it was so scary, sukuna. i really thought something bad was going to happen…so i did what i knew would make him feel better.”
sukuna understands. that you were able to give it up and do the one thing you hated doing just to make him feel good, to satiate his needs.
you shake your head.
“anyways, it went on like that for the rest of the year. almost all of the memories from that year are colored dark – because he either did something bad or was mad at me. my eighteenth birthday, my graduation. and around july, i…i had found something bad.”
sukuna tilts his head to the side.
“i was curious one day, so…so i decided to look my dad up. it had been years since he had gone but i just wanted to see. and i found a yelp review for his company and just searched that woman’s name up who left it.”
“sukuna…my dad had been cheating on my mom. for a really long time. there were pictures and…vacations and all this stuff while my mom was like…taking loans from your mom just to buy us clothes and–”
sukuna’s perceptive. and you’re endlessly thankful about it in this moment, just because you don't have to say it.
“he cheated on you, didn’t he? just like your dad did on your mom?” sukuna whispers.
“yeah. i had asked him not to, begged him even, and i-i found out the same way. when he left for college, he’d been so distant that i had started stalking all his followers, just to see what he was up to. and he was…commenting pick up lines on this girl's account.”
you tuck your head into his neck.
“when he came back for break, he told me that he was confused but…but we still did stuff. he broke up with me two days after that.”
sukuna brings his hands up around your waist, pulling you up till you’re straddling him and secured in his lap. you’re stifling your sobs into his neck, his hands warm on your back as he leans his head against yours.
“our anniversary was on december first. i had sent him a gift, this custom made expensive necklace he wanted, and…and two days after the fact i found out that while i was ordering that online, paying same day shipping, he was on a date with her.” you state.
sukuna sighs, pulling you in closer.
“he sent me pictures of their date. because we were still friends. he’d tell me how i was going to be important to him forever, and…tell me all about her. how perfect her family was, how smart she was…that she even matched his sex drive more and–”
you sigh.
“we talked on and off for that year. whenever he came home for break, we’d basically talk all the time – but i figured out later that it was only because of the time difference and that his girlfriend was asleep. and the time that we did spend talking, it was him talking about how he felt like such a dick for how he treated me. and every time, i’d-i’d reassure him that it was okay, that i didn’t mind it.”
“still using you to make himself feel good, huh?”
“yeah. isn’t that….so fucking stupid?”
sukuna sighs.
“that’s very cruel, y/n.”
you pull back, the full depth of the word hitting you as you look at his eyes, brown and washed over in hurt. not pity – because you had seen that droop hundreds of times, but…in recognition. you reach forward, cupping his face.
“very cruel.” you whisper back.
“that’s heartbreaking. you’re a very earnest person and for someone to take advantage of this –”
sukuna reaches forward, pointing at your chest, before he crosses on it again – like the promise he made earlier – and continues talking.
“– of your beautiful heart is brutal, y/n. of course, you felt the way you did about it. anyone would.”
you nod, reaching forward to press a kiss to his cheek.
“i hope you know i’ll spend a lifetime trying to mend this with you, whatever that looks like.” sukuna whispers.
“sukuna–” you whisper.
“i’ve always seen you as what you are – a girl. in fact, the only girl for me.”
it’s almost painful. that sukuna’s repeating every word back to you, but the other way. in the way you had wanted when you were seventeen, when you were so desperate to love someone.
“you’re the only person that i’ve ever considered, for something this serious. i know i’ve dated other girls and slept around but…i’ve never felt this way about anyone.”
sukuna reaches forward, taking your hand into his and placing it flat against his chest, over his beating heart.
“s’yours. all yours, for as long as you want it.”
you cross on his heart, which has him breaking out into a smile.
“there’s my pretty girl…come here, yeah?” he whispers, gesturing for you to scoot closer, till you’re faces are only a few feet apart.
and the way he scans his eyes over your face makes your chest hurt – with such attentiveness, with such adoration as he continues murmuring his sweet nothings.
“i’ve always loved your style. i think you’re the most beautiful girl i’ve ever seen – i love when you frown at me and pretend to be mad and when you sleep with your mouth open.”
you roll your eyes, sparing him a teary laugh.
“i do not.”
“yes, you do. but anyways–”
“no i don’t!”
“baby, i’ve watched you sleep. your mouth is wide open, like you’re going to catch flies.”
“okay, edward cullen. why are you watching me sleep?”
sukuna smiles.
“you look at peace. i love it.”
you shake your head, as he continues.
“you…you drive me crazy.”
he drops his hands down your back, the touch making you shiver.
“but you’re going to call the shots. we’re...we’re going to do what you like. when you’re ready for it and –”
“i meant what i said earlier. i’m ready.” you state.
“i’d wait years if you needed me to.”
you smile.
“i know. but i want you too. and– you…you’re everything to me.”
sukuna smiles back.
“never want you to put your own needs to the side for me, ‘kay? i’d never expect you to do that. you don’t need to sit in sweltering cars or…or get up from bed for me. i’ll always be there after – washing your hair and tucking you into bed and –”
you lean forward, cupping his face, as you press a kiss to his lips. it’s warm and sweet, mixed with a mess of your tears – and him murmuring against your lips.
“angel–” he whispers.
“what?” you murmur back, whispering onto his lips.
“i’ll write you hundreds of letters. i’ll buy you nice gifts on our anniversary and it’ll be just you and me. make you a playlist with all my favorite songs, listen to all of yours. i'll even get a shitty cat if you want one that bad.”
you pull back, shifting your gaze from his left eye to the right and then back to the left. it’s the jump again – the same one you made last time.
when you promise someone your heart, when you begin to cross your heart on someone else’s.
"cat? really?"
sukuna glares.
"of course that's what you fixate on."
you smile.
“do you really mean it?”
sukuna reaches forward, crossing on your chest. you return the gesture.
“always. you’re everything to me.”
you poke at his dimples. you’ll leap – for him.
“does this change things?” you ask.
sukuna pulls you closer.
“it helps me understand you better. makes me love you more, because you’re the strongest person i know. has me filled with pride because you won’t let bad things, or experiences, change how good your heart is.”
you lean forward, cupping his face in your hands.
“don’t flatter me. you’re going to make it impossible for me to leave, ryomen.”
you can see it – the glint in his eyes when you use his given name. and the ear splitting smile that follows makes you ache as he leans forward and closes the gap.
“that sounds like the perfect scenario to me.”
--
the following morning, sukuna leaves early for work. but you find a perfectly plated breakfast and a letter sitting on the counter.
seven pages worth of sukuna and his sweet words – and an embarrassingly cute story about the camping trip you took years ago.
(you ask satoru to corroborate the story after. and he spells it out in full detail, about how in his drunkenness, sukuna told the group of them about your night together in the camping bag.)
--
next part linked here
an: anyways. lore. no one look at me - and big fluff chapter after this one, trust.
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#seeingivywrites!#bsfs older brother sukuna!#tw sa implied#tw sa mention#tw sa#sukuna#sukuna x you#sukuna x reader#sukuna x y/n#sukuna fluff#ryomen sukuna#ryomen sukuna x reader#ryomen sukuna x you#ryomen sukuna x y/n#ryomen sukuna fluff#ryomen#ryomen x you#ryomen x reader#ryomen x y/n#ryomen fluff#sukuna ryomen#sukuna ryomen x you#sukuna ryomen x reader#sukuna ryomen x y/n#sukuna ryomen fluff#jjk#jjk x you#jjk x reader#jjk x y/n#jjk fluff
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Ties That Bind Part 2
Pairing: Yandere!Anakin Skywalker x Fem Jedi!Reader
TW: General Yandere Behavior, Kidnapping, Mentions of Murder, Angst, Arguing.
A/N: I hope everyone enjoys the second installment of Ties That Bind! I really enjoyed writing this with the amazing @britany1997! She is just so pleasant to work with and made this collab fun and exciting! Please, make sure to support both writers by reblogging both versions. Both writers put equal amount of work into this collab and both deserve equal treatment. Reblogs are always appreciated!
Word Count: 2.1k
When you regained consciousness, your eyes began to flutter open. The momentary confusion was evident in your gaze, and the surroundings around you felt hazy. However, the darkness was something you easily recognized. Your brows furrowed in slight pain, and you felt a severe headache pounding against your skull. Your Jedi senses appeared dull, leaving you feeling a touch jaded. While your mind was trying to catch up, you laid there for a brief period of time, letting your fingertips feel the silk sheets of a strange bed.
Slowly, you sat up in bed, wincing slightly as the movement worsened the ache in your head. Your eyes finally began to adjust as you took in your surroundings. Your brows furrowed as you tried to make sense of your surroundings, scanning the room with a mixture of curiosity and bewilderment. The fog of unconsciousness slowly lifted, allowing you to regain a basic awareness of your immediate environment. It was dark; the walls and floor were painted black, which matched the furniture within, and the blinds of the window shielded the outside world. The room looked extravagant yet simple, which reminded you of your home back in the temple-
The temple.
There was a subtle shift in your facial expression—a flicker of recognition—as your mind grappled with a dark realization. Your eyes widened as you proceeded to throw off the sheets, trying to hastily spring from the strange bed. You yelped when you almost stumbled, and your legs were tangled in the sheets due to haste. Your mind was in shambles as you continued your way to the window, blocking out any source of light. Despite your headache and the panic surging through you, you pressed the button on the wall to remove the blinds. You couldn't help but gasp at the sight, wishing that you had stayed unconscious.
You were surrounded by land that had been burned by fire, molten from lava, and much more. This gave you the impression that you were in an inferno or inside a volcano that destroyed everything around it. There are many tales of a planet like this that you have heard over the years.
Mustafar.
Your heart began to race as your mind whirled. ‘No, no, no,’ you repeated to yourself over and over again. You begged to be awoken from your slumber, surely this could be nothing but a bad dream.
But as much as you pleaded, you would never wake. Your nightmares had turned to reality.
Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and you fought a losing battle to stay calm. You fell against the door, pounding it with your fists and sobbing as you called for Anakin.
When no one answered your pleas, and the door remained firmly shut, you pressed your back against it and slid down. With your knees to your chest and your head in your hands, you wept.
You wept for all the lives lost in the temple massacre as every face you would never see again passed through your memory. You wept for Anakin and whatever sickness had overtaken him to act with such carelessness for life. But most of all, you wept for yourself.
What had you done wrong? What atrocity had you committed to be deserving of such a harsh fate?
You were a prisoner who’d committed no crime, and you fought to resign yourself to an unknown future. You were at the mercy of a man you’d once thought more virtuous than any other. He’d taken everything from you.
After a few hours of weeping, you began to hear the distinct sounds of approaching footsteps from the hallway, heading towards your room. Your mind switched into defensive mode, quickly bringing yourself to your feet and facing the closed metal door. Your heart pounded against your chest, with anxiety and adrenaline rushing through your veins. You feared not what you would see on the other side.
But rather who.
It was at this point that the footsteps halted in front of the metal door, after which it automatically opened. The sliding of the door revealed the last person you had ever wanted to see, as your heart would no longer be able to withstand it. You couldn't bear to see him.
Anakin stood in the doorway, dressed in his previous robes. Your eyes darted over the fabric, looking for any hints of blood, that horrific shade of red that used to appear across the floor of the temple and in the cauterized wounds of your fellow Jedi. However, those hints were nonexistent, and you felt sick to realize that there was a glimmer of relief you possessed within. Perhaps he didn’t want to upset you more.
He moved towards you, kneeling to your level, his hand outstretched to cup your cheek. You recoiled out of instinct, turning your head to avoid the caress of your captor.
A look of pain crossed Anakin’s face before he quickly masked it. This was what he’d been afraid of. He’d let the whole galaxy think he was cruel, but not you. He’d never hurt you. He loved you. Why couldn’t you understand that?
“My love…” Anakin began, but you cut him off with a humorless laugh.
“Love?” you scoffed, “is that what this is to you?”
You turned to meet his gaze and your heart clenched inside your chest. His eyes looked into yours with longing and desperation. But their yellow tone confirmed your fears and reminded you of what he was. He was not your Anakin, not anymore.
“This is not love,” you whispered, “love should never come at such a high and terrible price.”
Though he hid it well, frustration ran through Anakin. He had to make you see.
He caught your wrist in his hand and brought it to his chest, holding your palm over his heart. You gasped and tried to pull back, but he would never let you go.
“Please listen,” he begged.
You sighed, if only to understand why he had done what he’d done, you would listen.
“I’ve spent my whole life loving you,” he confessed, “I couldn’t let some code keep us apart my love. You are my world, my whole universe, without you there is no reason to breathe. I could not stand another night pretending that I don’t want you, that I don’t need you. I’d sooner destroy every planet than live only loving you from a distance. I couldn’t keep denying what was true in my heart.” His grip tightened gently on your hand that was still pressed to his chest.
“I would do anything for you baby,” he leaned forward until his lips were pressed to the shell of your ear, “I already have.”
Your eyes brimmed with tears once more; the sick affection lacing his words made your heart skip a beat, and if the situation had been different, you would have returned his passion. However, the haunting images of those people who’d once walked among you, now dead in the hallways, couldn’t leave your thoughts.
“Anakin…” You began, your tears threatening to fall down your face once more as your body became rigid from the way his forehead pressed against your temple, his lips brushing against your skin. “You killed innocent people, our people; I would have never agreed to this!”
You pulled away from him slightly, making Anakin reluctantly follow suit as your eyes met once more, his yellow irises seeming to pierce your entire being. His grip on your hand pressed against his chest was strong, refusing the notion of losing your sacred touch.
“I know you wouldn’t, my love,” He replied, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. “You’re so sweet and innocent, but that’s why I had to take you baby, don’t you understand?” Anakin brushed a piece of hair behind your ear, “every night I’d be plagued by visions of your corpse my love, I needed to protect you but the high council never would have let us be together. I did this for you. I refuse to lose you over some code; I’ll destroy the entire galaxy if it means making you mine and safe.”
His golden gaze darkened for a moment, which you almost didn’t catch. The idea of his visions coming true caused a sick feeling that threatened to overtake him.
“You’ll understand that one day.” He concluded.
Your jaw dropped. You were sure Anakin had had his fair share of girls falling at his feet, and maybe one of them would have envied your position.
But you were a Jedi Knight. You were once a youngling, chosen to be a Padawan, eventually advancing to your station now. You’d earned your place alongside Anakin and all those who had fought to maintain order and justice for the peace and freedom of the galaxy.
You may be sweet, but you were not innocent, and you certainly didn’t need anyone else’s protection.
The fear that had crept into your heart was replaced by a burning anger. It wasn’t up to anyone but yourself to decide what was best for you. Anakin wasn’t the master of your fate, you were.
“Anakin,” you began, maintaining your calm demeanor so as not to upset your captor, “you have to let me go. Nothing will hurt me Ani, I’m going to be fine, but you must atone for your crimes.”
You gathered your courage, “what you did was wrong, no matter if you think you did it for the right reasons. You have to turn yourself in, and you have to let me go.”
Anakin’s eyes widened, his heart racing from the words he was hearing fall from your precious lips. This wasn’t what he was expecting at all. In his mind, he thought you would have been happy for what he did—fall into his arms and return his feelings. He didn’t expect you to retaliate and say such horrible things. You’ve never spoken against him before, ever.
“Turn myself in?” He repeated as his eye gave a subtle twitch, his yellow orbs darkening as he tried to swallow his anger. “Don’t you turn against me now; nothing is going to harm you because I’m here, without the code getting in my way. You're safe because of me. You would do well to remember that, my love.”
"No Anakin..." You whispered, pulling yourself out of his grasp once more, the storm in your eyes growing stronger yet the breaking of your heart was undeniable. "I'm imprisoned by a monster and I would rather die than return your feelings."
"W-What?" He whispered, feeling like his heart was being ripped from his chest. It was like he could barely breathe. as panic began to course through him for the first time in a long while. "Don't you ever say that to me."
"I love you, my sweet girl..." Anakin continued, trying to step closer to you but you continued backing away. He felt like he could die at this moment, being refused your affection and love. "I know you feel the same way..."
"I did once..." You answered, sitting on the edge of the bed and crossing your arms, ignoring the tears threatening to escape you once more. "But I will never love a monster, the Anakin I loved is gone."
Anakin fought to keep tears from rolling down his cheeks, your words cut deeper than any swipe of a lightsaber he’d ever received. You were his everything, yet here you were, treating him as if he were nothing.
“Then the Anakin you loved was a lie,” he whispered, “I am who I’ve always been.”
He grasped your wrist firmly, careful not to hurt you but desperate to remind you that he was a powerful man. “All I want,” he ran a hand down your cheek causing you to flinch away, making his heart clench, “all I’ve ever wanted…was you.”
You pulled your wrist from his grasp. He sighed as he let you. “Now that I have you, I’m not letting you go, not ever.”
You lip quivered as you fought back tears of your own.
“I’ll be back when you’ve learned to accept that,” he told you, his voice breaking. The door closed behind him, sealing you into your room that might as well have been a cell.
“No! Wait!” you rushed to pound on the door but to no avail.
“Let me go Anakin,” you sobbed, “you have to let me go. Please, please let me go.” Your body shook and you choked as your tears flowed, forming a puddle on the ground.
Anakin leaned on the other side of the sealed door, head in his hands as his own tears fell. He hated to hear you so upset. He longed to pull you into his lap and wrap his arms around your cute, tiny frame. He imagined how he’d hum to you and dry your tears as he rocked you back and forth.
Yet he knew that you’d only reject his comforting embrace. He wept, your desperate cries too much for him to bear. He’d do anything for your love.
Anything but let you go.
Spam Liking W/O Reblogging = Blocked
Tagging: Comment to be added!!
@prettywhenibleed @leiasolo77 @britany1997 @misslavenderlady @arianamhm @rottent33th @slaasherslut @vampirefilmlover
#anakin skywalker#anakin#yandere anakin skywalker#yandere!anakin skywalker#anakin skywalker x reader#anakin skywalker x fem!reader#yandere anakin skywalker x reader#yandere!anakin skywalker x reader#anakin skywalker fanfiction#anakin skywalker fanfic#anakin skywalker fic#star wars x reader#star wars fanfiction#star wars fanfic#anakin skywalker angst#star wars fandom#star wars community#jedi reader#fem reader#yandere#male yandere#writing collab#writing collaboration#fanfiction collab
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Hello!! I am absolutely loving your R&R fic so far!! If you’re taking requests for more Jordan fics could you do one with a genderfluid reader who is so happy to meet another genderqueer character and they’re just so happy together and supportive? Maybe a cute coming out scene? I completely understand if that’s not something you’re comfortable writing though!! Have a nice day <33
Time and Space
pairing: jordan li x reader (sort of platonic)
tw: nothing really? slight mentions of homophobia, mentions of death, swearing - that's it i think
description: it's your first day at campus and something unexpected happens when you're trying to sort out your schedule.
a/n: ok so i'm not genderqueer myself (even if i do have my own gender things going on atm) so i genuinely hope this is written ok and respectfully. pls lmk if it isn't and i will change anything that needs to be changed. this is also more of a drabble than a one-shot but i hope you enjoy <333
You started picking your way through all the other freshmen that were joining God U. Your suitcase hit different little bumps in the path but you kept trying to make your way to your dorm. Your powers would be incredibly helpful right now but you really didn’t want to accidentally kill someone with how busy everything was.
Supposedly you hadn’t gotten a roommate this year since your application was accepted a little later than usual, a shiver travelled through your spine as you remembered that kid had to die just for you to have a place at this school.
Shaking off the remaining anxiety you finally got to the door that was meant to open your dorm. Clutching your hand on the handle and pushing, your room was opened up to you. It was huge. It probably wouldn’t have been as huge if there was another person living with you but holy shit.
You started going through the motions of unpacking your things and changing into much more comfortable clothes. The 4-hour flight had left your clothes itchy and slightly sticky. Smoothing down the leather of your trench coat, you walked back into the fray of students.
You heard a chime from your phone and pulling it out you realized it was your schedule. You hadn’t really decided between Crime Fighting and Performing Arts but your powers dictated that the first one was probably the better option. You had the ability to distort or rather bend space, which wouldn’t really do much if you were doing performing arts. Plus you had the worst stage fright. A little note at the end read that you should go check in with Professor Brink’s TA as soon as possible so you had all the books ready.
Taking a deep breath you put up your hands and a second later you were standing in front of the Crime Fighting school. Your face twisted into a smirk as some people ducked away from your sudden appearance before you closed your eyes again and transported. This time you appeared in the little entry room outside of Brink’s office.
Sitting at the desk was the person you assumed was Professor Brink’s TA. They had short black hair and she was wearing a long sleeve shirt. They must not have realized you had arrived in the little space because she was still typing away at her computer.
“Uh hi?” You said, breaking the complete silence of the room. The person jumped and looked up at you with a frown.
“Sorry, didn’t see you there. Can I help you with something?”
“Oh right, yes. My schedule said I should come check with you about Professor Brink’s class.”
“Hmm let me see that. I’m Jordan by the way.”
“Y/N. Wait… you’re Jordan Li?” Your mouth dropped, this was the person who had literally made you confident enough to actually come out to your parents. They were like the coolest person ever.
“Yes…” Jordan said tentatively as they looked up at you.
“Sorry, I just had a minor freak out. Holy shit, you’re just- you are a fucking inspiration is all.” You stuttered out, the obvious star struck look on your face had Jordan slightly chuckling.
“I don’t get that a lot but thanks. Oh ok yes, Y/N L/N… oh what pronouns do you prefer today?” Jordan asked as a brilliant smile crossed their face.
“Uh just they/them, I think today? It’s subject to change though.” You said as you laughed slightly.
“Totally understand that, it’s fucking awesome isn’t it? Also your powers sound incredible. How much control do you have over them?” Jordan asked hurriedly as she stood up and motioned you to sit over at the couch.
“Enough, so I’m not exactly at an expert level but I’m slowly building up to it. Your powers are so fucking cool as well. The way you just have a million different powers is spectacular.”
“Aww thank you, most people don’t look past the whole gender thing so…”
“Honestly fuck them, it’s a huge part of us sure but it’s no different than being like any other human being.” You said as you stretched out your arms and smiled. “Oh shit I totally forgot to ask but what are your pronouns today?”
“Uh they/she but… subject to change.” Jordan said lightly, slightly mocking your words with a smile.
“Oh fuck you.”
You spent the next hour discussing everything and anything, finding people who actually accepted and had similar beliefs to you was hard in recent years. Especially with being a supe as well. Jordan also helped you figure out your schedule and got you some extra books that would help with classes. By the end of the conversation, you felt like you had gained your first real friend at school.
ahhh ok lmk ur thoughts <3 also the reader's powers are called spatial manipulation (this is a link to the superpower wiki page if anyone is interested in reading more about it). also me actually being active wow.
#gen v#gen v fanfic#gen v amazon#gen v spoilers#andre anderson#jordan li#marie moreau#luke riordan#golden boy#the boys#the boys fanfic#the boys tv#gen v tv#maria writes#the boys series#the boys amazon#jordan li x reader#jordan x reader#gen v x reader#jordan li x you#jordan li x y/n
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you are not alone | one shot
pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader
story based on a request by a lovely anon: Steve works as a nurse and lives in a two bedroom apartment. He decided to put out an ad for a roommate and the reader finds it. She’s in desperate need of a place to stay after her father dies. It was just the two of them and she has to use almost all the money she makes working to pay off remaining medical bills.
The reader and Steve have a falling out within the first month of her living there but he keeps her around because she pays her part of the rent and keeps to herself. The two of them are usually throwing digs at one another.
Steve doesn’t realize the reader is going through so much financial stress and the loss of her father. She works two jobs (diner and bar) and is gone a lot. However, Steve starts to notice she hardly eats and sleeps and it’s taking a toll on her health.
One night when Steve gets home from his shift at the hospital he finds the reader fell asleep sitting at the bar in the kitchen. He goes up and puts his hand on her back to wake her and she gets startled. Steve steadies her and tries to calm her down. She’s still disoriented and dizzy. Steve carries her to the sofa and tries to check her vitals but she pushes him away. He lectures her for not eating and makes her eat something before letting her go to bed.
A few weeks later the reader gets sick and is really weak, so Steve takes care of her even though she tells him to leave her alone. In her vulnerable state she finally tells Steve what’s been going on.
An enemies to friends type of story with a soft and caring Steve once he realizes she needs help.
angst, slight enemies to lovers, and they were roommates trope, fluff in the end, modern!AU
7 830 words
the one shot is also avaliable on ao3
TW: mentions of: death, family member loss
Dear anon, thank you for your request and I really hope you won't be disappointed!
(I know you requested enemies to friends but I made it lovers instead, because the hopeless romantic inside me is desperate, I'm sorry)
steve harrington masterlist | general masterlist
"Aaand here's for another failed date." Eddie smirked and tilted the shot into his mouth, immediately followed by Robin, Steve and Chrissy.
"I'm so damn tired of this, man." Steve said and slumped helplessly on a soft chair in the corner of the living room. "Everything looks the same, movie, dinner, after dinner we go to my place, have sex and the magic is gone, she sneaks out in the middle of the night and the next day she doesn't answer any messages."
"Maybe you're too desperate?" Robin asked, he sent her a questioning look. "Think about it, it is said that true love comes suddenly and unexpectedly, while you, on the contrary, catch on to anything that moves."
"Robin!" Chrissy jabbed her in the arm.
"What!"
"Be nice!" the blonde rolled her eyes. "Maybe Steve has already met someone who will turn out to be more than a hook-up, and he doesn't know it? Look at us, all through high school we didn't exchange a word with each other, and now I can't imagine a day without your voice." She kissed her girlfriend on the forehead.
"You guys are disgusting." Steve scoffed.
"And you're jealous." replied Robin pulling Chrissy to her and kissing her deeply.
"Ah, ladies! Please spare poor Harrington tonight!" laughed Eddie, filling the glasses anew.
"Thank you, Eddie!" exclaimed the brunette immediately reaching for one. "Can we change the subject?"
"How's your roommate? Doesn't she mind your guests?" asked the metalhead.
"Nope." He waved his free hand and after a moment he brought up a shot. "She's practically not at home at all, and when she comes back it's at night and she sleeps, but when we see each other, exceptionally, she annoys me to the core."
"Why?"
"She constantly walks around fuming, looking at me as if I've committed a crime and getting any word out of her verges on the most miraculous."
"Maybe you made a bad first impression?"
"Then why didn't she refuse when I said she could move in?"
"I don't know, you said she looked desperate."
"It's like I'm living with a ghost who wakes up once every few days and slithers around the apartment in misery."
"Why does it bother you so much that she's quiet?" asked Chrissy suddenly.
"Yeah, blondie is right, I think it's better to have a quiet roommate than to have her be loud, insufferable and pick on everything. Especially the fact that you bring a different girl into your apartment every now and then." Eddie added.
"Oh my God, he's so annoyed because he wants her to talk to him, he wants more than just conversation!" Robin jumped up on the couch as if she had made the discovery of the year. "He likes her!"
"Oh fuck you! All of you!" the other three didn't miss the fact that he didn't deny Robin's theory, but decided to leave the subject for now.
The first month in the new apartment passed extremely quickly. Actually, you didn't quite feel the effects of moving out. Everything seemed to be behind a fog, and the days flew through your fingers turning into nights, and so on and so forth. The only thing that seemed painfully real was the longing and pain. These were the only things that reminded you that you were alive.
As you danced with a tray between tables at a nearby diner from early morning, and later in the evening served drinks to enamored couples at the bar, you didn't have much time to mourn. But that didn't change the fact that the void left in your life was heavy. As heavy as your eyelids, which began to close at the mere sight of your bed. Usually you don't even remember the moment you fall asleep, but today it wasn't so easy.
When you saw that the beginning nurse was looking for a roommate you thought you had managed to find someone calm and quiet. Unfortunately, reality turned out to be different. The frequent sounds of pleasure coming from his bedroom were not usually a problem for you, you quickly learned to simply ignore them or drown them out with music or a podcast. Nor were you bothered by the frequent visits of his friends, who brought chaos and disorder every time, not caring about the silence. Most of the time you weren't in the apartment at all because you were at work, but today they decided to have a movie night, which started with an argument about the choice of movie. Knowing that you wouldn't fall asleep with such entertainment, you exasperatedly got out of bed pulling on your sweatpants.
When you left the room everyone went silent and looked at you. You could see from their faces that they were just waiting for you to start shouting at them, but even though you really wanted to do it at that moment, you didn't have the strength. Exhausted after several hours of hard work as always, you didn't have the strength to do anything, so you passed them without a word, ignoring their attempts to say hello and offers to join them, and left the apartment. With a quick step, you went to the pharmacy located near your apartment, stocked up on a new pack of sleeping pills and went back to your place.
"Hey, y/n!" called out one of the younger boys, from what you associated was probably named Dustin. "Can you help us choose? Iron Man or the Amazing Spider-Man?"
You just rolled your eyes and, leaving him without an answer, went back to your room slamming the door behind you. Taking your pills you started getting ready for sleep again.
Lying in the darkness you listened to the conversation of Steve and his friends.
"See? She can't even say one word, I honestly can barely remember what her voice sounds like!" he said irritated.
"Come on, she looked tired." replied a female voice.
"Tired or not, she could at least answer! Out of politeness!"
"Let's just start the movie."
Then the voices quieted, and your thoughts grew louder. You thought about yourself from a few months ago.
The former you would have answered Dustin's question without hesitation and gladly accepted the invitation to join.
The former you would have been able to chat for hours with Steve from the very beginning and not push away every possible interaction on his part.
You knew it irritated him, he couldn't hide it. Every attempt to have any kind of conversation with you ended in failure, every attempt to get to know you better - spurned. You were not surprised by it. You were sure that the former you and your new roommate would get along very well. It's even possible that the former you would have noticed how his honey-colored eyes curiously followed you when you left the room, maybe she would have noticed the charming smile he sent you during the first days of your living together, and would have appreciated his willingness and interest in you. It is likely that the former you would also have taken an interest in Steve's person, in many ways. However, the former you no longer existed.
The present you was overtired and there was not a shred of energy in her.
The present you had far bigger worries than the handsome boy sitting behind the wall, whose sweet smiles turned into grimaces of annoyance and disgust.
Holding back the tears that rushed to your eyes, you looked at your phone. Six hours of sleep. You snuggled your face into your pillow hoping to fall asleep as soon as possible thanks to the pills. Lately, every minute of sleep was at a premium for you.
Days passed and the tension between you and Steve grew. He was irritated by the lack of willingness to communicate on your part, and you were irritated by the fact that he was irritated. Without actually saying too many words to each other, sometimes one unpleasant glance was enough for one or both of you to feel a strange surge of negative emotions. The climax turned out to be Saturday, when you were getting ready for your evening shift at the bar.
You were walking through the living room holding a glass of Coke in your hand when you tripped over one of the nursing textbooks scattered on the floor. A moment later, all that was heard was the sound of glass on the floor and a rather hard fall.
"What the fuck Steve?!" you exclaimed, looking down at your soaked clothes.
"What happened?" he ran out of the bathroom.
"I tripped over your stupid book! Is it so hard to clean up after yourself?"
"I'm studying, I just went to the bathroom for a moment!"
"And leaving your books on the floor was a great idea!" you said standing up.
"If you had watched where you were going nothing would have happened!" he tried to defend himself.
"If you had kept things in order then nothing would have happened!"
"How could I have known that just now you would mercifully leave the room?! I'm used to you not leaving it for a second!"
"Go to Hell Harrington!" you yelled.
"Feels like I am already in it!" he yelled back, grabbed his books and went to his room.
Angry, you changed your clothes and picked up the glass, then quickly mopped the floor after the spilled drink.
Despite the fact that you had already left the apartment and left him alone in it, Steve felt bad about this whole situation. He didn't know quite whether he was angry, disappointed or tired. Sitting over textbooks for several hours never worked well for him, and arguing with you made him even more upset.
Sighing deeply, he grabbed his phone, where a Tinder notification popped up on the screen. The beautiful long-haired blonde on the screen was smiling broadly at him, he didn't even remember when he swiped her to the right. Each successive match on the app was more and more meaningless to him, despite the fact that he could spend hours there looking for "the one". Eventually everything started to blend together, he could no longer remember what he was saying to whom and what he wasn't, remembering names wasn't his advantage either. He looked at the girl's profile for a while longer, but he decided that he definitely didn't feel like going on a date tonight. Instead he went to the kitchen and took out a full bottle of rum from the refrigerator. Putting it by his face, he took a picture and sent it to the group chat.
Steve the Stupidest: wanna join?
Eddie the Dumbest: my place in 20 minutes?
Chrissy the Sweetest: count us in!
Robin the Smartest: do we need to bring something?
Eddie the Dumbest: your asses to my house lol
Eddie the Dumbest: and snacks
Eddie the Dumbest: I won't let you in without snacks
"You told her that living with her is like living in hell?" Chrissy asked shocked.
"I didn't say it directly! I just said it felt that way!" Steve tried to defend himself. The bottle of rum was emptied in no time and, as standard, Steve brought the tracks back to you.
"Which is exactly the same as if you literally said 'Life with you is like hell." Robin rolled her eyes and threw popcorn at him.
"The real question is do you really feel that way?" asked Eddie.
"No." he answered without thinking. "But it's not heaven either! I don't know what it is, no one gets on my nerves like she does, but I on the other hand..." he didn't finish the sentence.
"I'm still of the opinion that you like her but for some strange reason you're acting like an eight-year-old and instead of admitting it, you're telling yourself that all you feel is annoyance." Robin said.
"I think you two would make an adorable couple." interjected Chrissy.
"Until she would kill me with a single stare." If the relationship between you two was better and more friendly, maybe he wouldn't even try to deny Robin's words.
"You're not in Heaven or Hell, so you could say you're roommates from Purgatory," laughed Eddie. "The only question is which way you'll go, up or down?"
"I have a strange feeling it's going dooown."
Even if the disagreement between you was still present, Steve had no plans to kick you out of the apartment. You always paid everything on time, did not interfere in his life, and, apart from occasional exchanges of words, did not cause any major problems. Over time, however, the atmosphere of irritation began to fade and was replaced by an acceptance of the fact that there would not even be a friendship between you. Not wanting to get in each other's way, you communicated with one another only on necessary matters.
That didn't change the fact that Steve was still observing you, and what he saw was beginning to worry him. Your pale face, blackened eyes and hunched posture betrayed your physical exhaustion. He also noticed that you weren't preparing any meals for yourself at all. In fact, he probably hadn't seen you cook anything once yet since you moved in. Sometimes when he prepared food for himself he would specifically make more to see if you would take what was left, but you never did a single time.
The autumn weather was not one of the best, it was definitely the type of weather during which the only thing to do was to wrap up in a warm blanket, turn on a favorite TV series and drink a big mug of hot chocolate. That was the plan that popped into Steve's head when he walked into the apartment after a long and tiring shift at the hospital.
Putting down his rain-wet umbrella in the hallway, he pulled off his jacket and hung it on a hanger. To his surprise, your jacket was also hanging there. This surprised him because you were always still at work at this hour. Walking deeper into the apartment he saw you sitting at the kitchen counter, your hands and head were resting on its surface. Without saying hello, he entered the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, thinking only about the chicken salad he had made yesterday. When out of the corner of his eye he didn't notice any movement on your part he turned to look at you. Only from this perspective could he see that you were asleep. In your numb hand thete was a mug of tea.
"Y/n?" he asked quietly. You didn't respond. He slowly took the mug out of your hand. The tea in it was already cold. How long had you been sitting there like this? Concerned, he placed his hand on your back and repeated your name several more times.
Awakened, you jumped up on the bar stool almost falling off it, fortunately your roommate reacted quickly enough to prevent this and hold you up.
"Hey, it's just me, just Steve." he said, and furrowed his brow. His voice was calm and a little quieter than usual. "Are you all right? Are you feeling sick?" he asked, and instinctively began to bring his hand closer to your forehead to check for signs of fever, but you, seeing this, immediately pulled away and jumped off the stool. This, unfortunately, was not the best idea, as you were still disoriented by your sudden awakening, and prolonged fatigue and irregular, not very hearty meals definitely weakened your body causing dizziness, which you also felt now and lost your balance.
"Woah!" the brunette once again grabbed your shoulders protecting you from falling. "Come on, sit down on the couch." this time without objection you moved towards the couch which stood nearby, due to the fact that your living room was connected to the kitchen. Steve followed you step by step supporting you. He kept one hand on your back and the other on your arm. "Are you sick? dizzy?" he began to ask when you sat down.
"I'm fine, Steve, just tired." you said, hoping he would give you a break. Meanwhile, a gurgling sound came from your stomach.
"And probably hungry." he raised one eyebrow.
"Just want to go to sleep." you scoffed.
"I have some chicken salad left over, I won't be able to eat it all myself, and it would be a shame to throw it away, maybe you'd like some?" he offered, carefully watching your reaction. He was increasingly convinced that during the day you either eat nothing, or so little that your body can barely manage to provide you with any energy to function. However, given your distant relationship, he couldn't just bombard you with questions and force you to eat like he would have done with Robin or Dustin. He had to do it slowly and calmly.
"Yeah, okay." you said quietly as the gurgling of your stomach resounded a second time.
He immediately went back to the fridge and quickly put the food on plates hoping you wouldn't notice that you got a larger portion. Handing you a plate, he sat down next to you and turned on the TV, the sound of which filled the silence between you.
"That was really good, thank you." you said quietly.
"No problem, I'm glad I didn't have to throw it away." he smiled slightly. "Feeling better?" he asked.
In response, you only nodded your head. You got up from the couch and picked up the plates to wash them, his eyes were following your movements to the kitchen.
Watching you, he thought about the fact that this was your first meal together since you moved in. Satisfied with the result that it didn't end in an argument or that you didn't reject his offer, he felt a little more confident. This small success pushed him forward, so when you started washing the dishes, he decided to take a chance.
"What did you eat at work today?" the question knocked you out a bit.
"Why do you ask?"
"I'm just curious." He shrugged his shoulders, but you didn't see it because you were standing with your back turned.
"A sandwich." you replied not thinking much. You felt strange with the fact that this was your first conversation not about bills or household chores. The first one you had actually allowed him to have.
"Only?"
"I didn't have time at work to eat."
"One sandwich all day? Are you crazy? You need to eat more!" And so much for calmness and slowness. He knew he shouldn't get carried away and didn't want it to sound like an attack, but unfortunately it was too late. Why did he care this much about you awnyway? All the walls that you lowered down for that brief moment rose again.
"I'm fine." you said dryly clenching your teeth.
"I found you sleeping on the kitchen counter, it's obvious that you're overtired and hardly eat anything at all, do you even take care of yourself in any way?"
"It's none of your business." Suddenly all the fatigue is gone from you, replaced, by anger, instead. Who did he think he was to lecture you?
"You are irresponsible." he concluded and got up from the couch.
"Just shut up, Steve, you're not my father to lecture me." You replied in an overtired voice.
"Then maybe you should call him and make him realize that his daughter can't take care of herself!" He was already heading towards his room, but suddenly, he was stopped by the clatter of dishes. He noticed how your shoulders were moving faster and faster, picking up the pace of your breathing. You turned off the water and, without a word, walked away from the sink, standing straight in front of him. Your eyes were big and full of tears, looking at him with a condemning gaze.
"You have no right to say that." You said through your teeth and, without waiting for an answer, disappeared into your room, leaving him alone in a big shock.
That night, instead of his favorite TV series, all he could focus on were the quiet sobs coming from behind the wall and the guilt they caused. He had no idea which of his actions made you cry, and it didn't really matter which. Despite the fact that, in his opinion, he didn't say anything awful in your direction, he felt awful.
Steve the Stupidest: I made her cry
Chrissy the Sweetest: what???? what happened?
Steve the Stupidest: I don't know, we were eating salad together, I asked her what she had eaten at work, she said that only a sandwich, so I got a little carried away and told her that she can't take care of herself, and now I can hear her crying
Robin the Smartest: oh damn
Steve the Stupidest: should I go to her?
Eddie the Dumbest: I don't think she wants to see you now, dude
Robin the Smartest: Eddie is right, let her calm down
Robin the Smartest: and tell everything that happened with details
Autumn brings with itself many changes, one of which may be unexpected illness. The first thing you felt this morning was an unpleasant itching in your throat, the second was a terrible cold, which made you decide to dress a little warmer for work today. Unfortunately, you felt worse and worse by the minute, but adult life can be brutal and you couldn't just not go to work today.
Around noon Steve came home from the hospital, but before he could open the door to the apartment his phone vibrated in his pocket.
"Hello?"
"Come to Benny's, quick." Robin said in a serious voice.
When he arrived in front of the diner, Chrissy was waiting for him with a worried expression on her face.
"What happened?" he asked running up to the girl.
"y/n fainted, Robin and I came in for lunch and when she was carrying our order she just fainted, she said there was no one to help her so Robin said we'll call you-" the words left her mouth at the speed of light.
"Hey, take it easy." he grabbed her by the shoulders. "Where is she?"
"In the back room with Robin and Benny."
With a quick step he walked inside and moments later he was already at your side watching you with a worried face. You looked even worse than last time, which caused him alarmed. Sitting leaning against the white wall, you were almost as pale as it was.
"Let's get you home, okay?" he asked crouching down in front of you.
"I don't have a home." you muttered while burying your face in your hands. "I can't leave, my shift hasn't ended."
"It has ended and the next one won't start until you feel better." said Benny in a harsh tone.
"Benny please." you whined.
"No discussion, get her out of here Steve."
Reluctantly, you walked back to his BMW feeling the gaze of the other three on you all the time, but now you didn't even have the strength to be annoyed with them. Despite the fact that your shift at the diner ended a few hours sooner, you still had to go to your evening shift at the bar, so you wanted to be in your room as soon as possible so you could take a nap before that.
You didn't even remember when you fell asleep, you were pulled out of the darkness by the sound of your alarm clock, which announced that it was time to start getting ready for your shift at the bar. The worst part of it all was that you didn't feel any better.
Slowly and lifelessly you walked out of the room, Steve was standing in the kitchen over a big pot of soup. When he heard the sound of the door opening he turned toward you and smiled slightly.
"I made the soup, the best for a cold, I got the recipe from Robin's grandmother, I'm sure you'll like it, it just needs to boil for a while," he said.
"I'm not hungry." you lied, at the very smell you were drooling but you didn't have time to eat anymore.
"Come on, at least try."
"I don't have time Steve, I have to get ready and go to work." you sighed.
"You're kidding right?" He stood motionless and looked at you in disbelief, and you looked at him with a questioning expression. "A few hours ago you blacked out and now you want to go to work, are you crazy?"
"Don't dramatize."
"Dramatize? Listen to yourself, what's wrong with you?"
"Everything!" you snapped. "Not everyone has a wonderful life full of friends and and rich parents who transfer dollars to your account every month! Do you think life makes me happy? Some people have to work two shifts to make their own living! Some people have other expenses besides just living!" your outburst of anger made you feel increasingly weak, but your voice was still loud. Loud enough for every word to reach him without interference. "You work in a hospital, so you know how much medical bills cost! So I'm sorry Steve, but I won't eat your soup, I have to go to work so I can afford to pay your rent next month!"
Shaken up, you walked into the bathroom and slammed the door behind you. Why does it all have to be so difficult? Clenching your eyes tightly, a loud sob came from your mouth. Much louder than you wanted. Helplessly you slumped to the floor and just let the tears flow. You were sick, tired, sad, angry and lost, everything was against you.
After a while, the bathroom door opened and Steve appeared in it with a broken look on his face.
"I'm sorry." He said, kneeling beside you.
"It's not your fault." you said while wiping away tears. "Everything is just too much."
"I didn't know anything about the hospital bills, are you ill? do you need funding for treatment?" honey eyes studied your face carefully, the warmth that emanated from him made you want to cling to him.
"They are not mine."
"Are you paying for someone?" he asked puzzled.
"My dad was very sick-" you said quietly.
"Was?"
Nothing was your answer. The pain in your eyes spoke for itself.
"Jesus, y/n…" before he could think what he was doing his arms had already begun to embrace you, and you let him. You felt as if he was keeping you from falling apart. After a while, your breathing slowed down, and your body was no longer shaken by waves of crying. "I'm so fucking sorry, I didn't know anything." he muttered into your hair.
"I really have to go to work, Steve." you replied weakly, already a bit calmer.
"You can't go there like this, you're all burned up."
"If I don't go I won't be able to pay you on time." You sighed and extricated yourself from his grasp.
"You'll pay me later, it won't be a problem." he replied without thinking. "Stay, please." he said seeing your uncertain reaction. "I swear that if you pay later, nothing will happen. It won't be a problem."
"Thank you." you replied. "I'll go call that I won't be there."
"And I'll get us some soup." he beamed. His smile was contagious as it also appeared on your face despite your nasty mood.
When you returned to the living room there were two large bowls filled to the brim on the coffee table.
"Fancy a movie?" he asked.
"Yeah, okay." you replied surprised, you weren't expecting this proposal. Although he was probably even more surprised and didn't expect you to agree. "What are we going to watch?"
"I don't know, what do you like?"
"And you?" you asked, not wanting to impose something of your own.
"Star Wars?"
"I've never watched, it can be."
"Wait, what? Seriously, it's a classic!"
"Such a film connoisseur of you?" you laughed.
"You still haven't answered my question about what you like."
"Disney is definitely my definition of comfort movies."
"for example?"
"Beauty and the Beast, Princess and the Frog, Tangled, Coco…"
"I haven't watched any of them." he shrugged his shoulders.
"And who's talking about not knowing the classics?!" you pretended to be disgusted.
"I propose a compromise, one part of Star Wars for one Disney movie, I think we both have a lot of catching up to do."
"Deal."
Steve Harrington was a ray of sunshine. From the moment you decided to stop fencing yourself off with thick curtains your life became much warmer and brighter. Your life together changed completely, even though you still had to work two shifts and felt physically tired, your mental state was definitely relieved. When your roommate got to know your situation and understood what you were struggling with, his attitude also changed. This time, all the quiet days and sad looks were not perceived as an attack. Instead, whenever you returned tired after work there was a warm meal waiting for you and an even warmer smile that caused a strange tingling in your stomach.
The more you got to know each other, the more you couldn't hold back the feeling of attraction to him. He was a person from whom a safe warmth radiated, a warmth that not only warmed your cold hands when they accidentally touched his, but also your soul. A soul that had long been a cold and empty hollow. He lit the first tiny sparks in it that made life and emotions awaken in you anew.
By opening up to his presence in your life, you found the courage to grieve. He was the perfect friend. Funny, caring and trustworthy. Day by day you got to know each other better and better, telling him about what happened with your dad you allowed in the feelings that you had kept locked up for an awfully long time.
One day was especially difficult when your dad's birthday arrived. All day the weight of your heart was unbearable, people at work gave you an extremely hard time, so as soon as you closed the apartment door behind you, you burst into tears. Some time ago you would have held it in until you disappeared into your room, but you couldn't help how Steve made the house become home. A home where you didn't have to be afraid to show your feelings.
Hearing you groggy in the hallway he immediately came out to greet you, wanting to show off the new dish he had managed to prepare today. Unfortunately, seeing your condition, all his enthusiasm disappeared.
"What happened?" he asked quietly. His eyes scanned your entire body in search of any apparent reason for crying, but he immediately understood that what was hurting you was not a physical issue at all.
Not having the strength to respond you moved quickly in front of him and he simply followed you. You sat down on the bed clenching your face in your hands, after a while the mattress bent under his weight.
"Hey, it's okay." he whispered placing a hand on your shoulder. "Come." He pulled you gently back.
Leaning against the headrest of the bed, he pulled you close, and you fell right into his arms. You cuddled your face into the soft sweater sobbing like a small child. Large hands gently traced paths of comfort on your back and arms. He stroked you as if you were a small, wounded and helpless animal, and he wanted at all costs not to hurt you even more. Your pain was breaking his heart, but he knew the feeling when crying is the only thing that can bring relief, so he didn't interrupt you.
Over the past time, he got to know you much better than he ever would have expected. He saw in you something more than a silent energy filled with fatigue and perpetual irritation. He saw in you a beautiful but broken soul. He saw a heart of gold that was shattered to pieces. He saw how funny you were and what a great conversation companion you could be. He was surprised by your sensitivity, which you initially hid under a mask of oppressiveness. When you broke down the armored wall you surrounded yourself with at the beginning of your acquaintance, Steve met a completely different person, someone in whom he was beginning to see more than just a roommate. With each step you continued to become friends, but he couldn't ignore the thought that he wanted something more.
From people who avoided each other like fire you became a team. You did everything together as much as possible when you both happened to find some free time. Meals together, cleaning together and going shopping together. Movie marathons and evenings spent talking all added up to the beauty of domestication. But-
What if you could lay cuddled up together while watching movies?
What if he could kiss every tear from your cheeks that fall when you get emotional at a Disney movie?
What if you could come up from behind and snuggled into his back while he was preparing dinner for you?
What if while shopping he could hold a shopping bag in one hand and your hand in the other one?
What if seeking comfort in his arms after a hard day at work was the first thing you would do when you got home?
All the what ifs in his head had been swirling around for a long time and were incredibly overwhelming, especially when you were close, yet he couldn't muster the courage to do more.
For the moment, you had more serious things on your mind, and he didn't know how to help you, despite his great desire to do so. Lost in his thoughts and focused to give you as much comfort as possible, he didn't notice when you calmed down. Your breathing was now even and your eyes closed. Thinking you had fallen asleep he settled down a bit and rested his cheek against the top of your head. With the hand that he used to embrace your back he pressed you even tighter against him, and with the other he grabbed the hand that lay on his chest.
"Today is his birthday." you said weakly.
Not expecting you to be awake for a moment panic swept through him, he quickly drew in air and tensed all over waiting for your reaction. Seeing that you still remained motionless, he relaxed, and you continued speaking. "Every year we used to spend this whole day with his best friend and his family. They invited me to join them today to continue the tradition, but I can't- It hurts too much."
"You don't have to go there if you don't feel ready, it's understandable to feel that way." he replied.
"What if I'm never ready? What if it will always hurt like this?"
"Even if time doesn't heal the wounds, you will learn to live with them. And even though moments like now will happen from time to time, you won't be alone with them. You are not alone."
His words went straight to your heart, they were something you needed at that moment.
"Thank you." You said hugging him even tighter.
"Always here for you." he muttered.
The silence that surrounded you and the last rays of the setting sun coming through the window were soothing. Your hearts began to beat out the same calm and steady rhythm that you could feel under your hand. Focusing on the gentle beats, a peace began to envelop you that you hadn't felt since your dad became ill. As the orange glow of the ending day slowly turned into blanketing darkness neither of you wanted to move so as not to scare away such a beautiful and peaceful moment. Desperately clinging to the closeness that existed between you both fell asleep, not worrying about the awkwardness that would come with the morning.
Unfortunately, the night passed all too quickly. When you woke up you were lying in bed alone. Trying to run away from the feeling of disappointment about this, you reluctantly pushed the quilt aside and focused on preparing for work. Entering the living room, you were greeted by a platter of warm scrambled eggs and a mug of coffee.
"I'm going on the night shift tonight, so I thought maybe we could at least have breakfast together." he said sitting down at the table.
"Sounds like a great plan." You replied with a smile.
Over the course of the meal you lost yourself in pleasant conversation about everyday life. Steve also talked about his plans for the weekend, where he wanted to take Dustin to a concert by his favorite band.
"And uh- I have something for you." he said when you finished eating. He walked over to his backpack and took out some documents from it, which he slipped to you. "You don't have to do anything with this, but I thought you might want to think about it. I talked to some people at the hospital and they said your situation qualifies for a subsidy on your dad's medical bills." You looked at him with your eyes wide open, he couldn't make out much emotion from your expression, which made him start to get nervous, fearing that you were about to explode with anger. "I know, I'm sorry I talked to strangers about you, you have the right to be angry with me, but I really just wanted to help, this subsidy will cover most of the bills, of course if you need help to figure it all out, I can help you with everything, but I understand if you don't want-"
His rant was interrupted by your arms tightening around his stomach. When the moment of surprise passed he reciprocated the hug.
"Thank you." you said.
"You are welcome." He beamed.
"Let's talk about it tomorrow after we're both off work?""
"Sure." The smile didn't leave his face.
"I have to go now, thank you for breakfast. Have a good day, Steve."
"You too, y/n."
For him, it was the win of the day.
When taking on the job as a nurse, Steve was aware that some moments would be extremely hard in the job. However, he did not expect them to come so quickly and suddenly. Nor did he expect that the first such moment would be so drastic.
Road accidents were the order of the day, so when he got the call to assist in the operation of one of the injured he approached it with composure as always. What he didn't expect, however, was to find a teenage girl lying on the table in critical condition. Despite the best efforts of the entire rescue team, the injuries sustained in the accident were too extensive and she died during the operation. On his way out of the room, all he could hear was the shrill cry of despair of a mother who would never hug her own daughter again. That sound refused to leave his head until the end of his shift.
After returning home, exhausted by today's experiences, he fell asleep on the couch. Unfortunately, even in sleep his psyche was not merciful. His brain replayed nightmares over and over again, which, instead of resting, tormented him even more.
When you returned to the apartment the first thing you noticed was Steve sleeping on the couch. Today, for the first time in a very long time, he was not waiting for you with a meal ready. Determining that he was probably too tired, you quietly walked over to the couch and covered him with a blanket. Your attention did not miss the furrowed brow and the anxious expression on his face. Hesitating for a moment, you decided not to intervene and went to the kitchen, stating that today it was your turn to cook something. In the middle of cutting vegetables, Steve suddenly jumped on the couch breathing heavily.
"Hey, what's going on?" you quickly walked over to him and crouched down across from him. He was in shock, his eyes in a panic trying to recognize the environment he was in, and his breathing was speeding up instead of slowing down. "Steve, hey." you tried to get his attention.
"My phone. Where's my phone?" he sprang to his feet and began a frantic search for the device. He found it in his jacket pocket and immediately started dialing a number. "Dustin? Dustin are you okay?" he asked after a few beeps.
"Yes, why?" replied the confused boy.
"I just- I'm sorry. Glad you are okay."
"What the hell Steve?"
"I have to go, bye." He hung up and clasped his hand around the phone while leaning his head against the wall.
"Steve?" approached him slowly. "What's going on?"
"It's just a hard day at work…" He sighed.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
He nodded and together you went to sit on the couch. There he told you about the situation. The longer he spoke, the more his voice broke down and words struggled to pass through his throat.
"When I was sleeping, I had-I had a nightmare. Instead of this girl, there was Dustin. I had to make sure he was okay-" it was his breaking point.
The sight was painful. It was hard to look at a person who can bring so much warmth, light and joy into someone's life in a state of sadness. Steve was like sunshine to you, sunshine that was now covered by dark clouds and raindrops that dripped down his cheeks.
Before you had time to think your body reacted faster, and you were already halfway to hugging him. He accepted this form of reassurance without hesitation, and, drawing you closer to him, you landed in his lap, while he snuggled his face into the bend of your neck.
"I'm so sorry you had to go through all this." you said quietly stroking his hair. "And Dustin is fine, he is fine, you are not gonna lose him."
"I can't lose him-"
"And you won't." You didn't let him finish his sentence. You moved him away from you so that you could look at each other and took his face in your hands, wiping away the tear tracks with your thumbs. "And remember that you are not alone with your problems Steve Harrington, and you will not be alone."
Honey-colored irises looked right through your soul. However, after a while they began to take a different course. Slowly and uncertainly they went along your nose to stop at your lips. Suddenly his hands, which were now on the indentation of your waist, began to burn. Yet it was not a painful burning. The warmth was addictive, you wanted to feel more of it, you wanted to feel it all over your body. Your foreheads rested against each other and your noses brushed, lips were separated by millimeters when the magic was interrupted by his phone.
Like a burnt woman, you jumped off his lap, and he went to his room with the phone, not knowing how to deal with what had just happened between you.
Would you let him kiss you?
This thought focused all his attention, and all he understood from his conversation with his supervisor was that tomorrow was his day off.
"Would you mind going for a walk?" you asked when he returned to the living room.
"Sure."
The autumn air was not the hottest, but the warm sweaters you were wearing adequately protected you from it. The setting sun was a beautiful orange color quite like the leaves quietly crunching under your shoes. Steve wordlessly followed you, not even focusing on the road. Walking in your company seemed to be a good cure for shattered nerves, especially since the scenery was equally soothingly beautiful. On the way to your destination, you made a brief stop at a flower shop, not far from the cemetery. At that moment he knew what your destination was.
"It's okay if you don't feel like going there." You said stopping in front of the gate.
"No, it's fine." he replied and moved ahead.
"This place…I found a weird peace in here for the first few days after my dad died." you explained as you approached the grave. You placed a flower on it.
Steve did not respond. But you were right, the place was surrounded by a strange atmosphere of calm. The falling nightfall sharpened the burning candles. Their rays were small but warm, and together they created a solemn scenery. He associated the flames with the emotions you stirred in his heart. Emotions that were bubbling up inside him and begging him to let them out. Emotions that he no longer had the strength to keep inside, and despite the fact that the cemetery was the last place to confess love, he decided to do so.
"Thank you." he said finally.
"For what?" you asked turning your face toward him.
"Letting me in."
"Thank you for being patient enough." The smile with which you answered this was also as warm as the lights burning in front of you.
"I think I'm falling in love with you."
He expected shock, anger, laughter on your part. He expected each of the worst reactions. However, he did not expect the calmness with which you accepted what he said. He didn't expect your hand intertwining your fingers and the other landing gently on his cheek.
"I think I'm falling in love with you too, Steve." you whispered.
That was enough for him to lean in and bring your lips together. The kiss, at first shy and gentle, deepened into something passionate and filled with relief that something that was supposed to have happened a long time ago was finally happening. It was as if everything had suddenly found its rightful place in the universe.
As you pulled away from each other, he spun you around so that your back rested against his chest and your arms locked in a bear hug. With a wide smile and tears of happiness in your eyes, you looked at your father's grave.
"Thank you." you said quietly.
"It's me who thanks you." he whispered in your ear.
"It wasn't to you." you giggled, and he made a confused sound. "It was to Dad."
"Oh."
"He placed a real angel in my path." You didn't have to wait long for a response. After a while, you were face to face again giving each other kisses interrupted by smiles.
"Let's go home." you whispered between kisses.
"Home?" he asked with hope in his voice.
"Home." You confirmed by kissing him again.
taglist: @i-me-mine @phantypurple @tlclick73
#steve harrington#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington x female reader#steve harrington x y/n#steve stranger things#stranger things fanfic#stranger things#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington x you#stranger things steve#fanfiction#fanfic#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington imagines#steve harrington stranger things#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington angst#corrodedseraphine#corrodedseraphine fanfiction#ao3 fanfiction#ao3 fanfic#corrodedseraphine purgatory roomies#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington enemies to lovers#4th request
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Wally and a Puppeteer Reader (part 10)
Angela goes oof, but non in a lethal way.
TW: Obsessive Behaviors, Injury/Gore, Idol Worshipping, Slight Mentions of Derealization
🍎 Wally doesn't like this. Everything feels so warm! The blanket is too tight! It's smothering him! He feels like he is melting! He still feels sore after falling down the stairs! He wants you! He wants you to comfort him and tell him he will feel better soon! Why did you just tie him up and leave him here, no comfort after that long fall? He feels so betrayed...
🍎 No... no... there must be a reason for why you did this! Did he do something wrong? Is this a punishment for something bad he did? If so, tell him what you did so he can learn from his mistakes! From his crime... his crime against you! Anything he does wrong that upsets you should be seen as a crime against you! If that is the case, he will accept this punishment.
🍎... This does feel really bad, though. It makes him a bit dizzy from how hot it is. It's odd. Whenever he is in your world, everything just feels... more. Everything that hurts him hurts more. Everything that is soft feels more soft. Everything that is warm feels more warm. He guesses it must be the same with this blanket around him. The fact that he is wearing a thick, long sleeve cardigan and long pants isn't helping with it. How long has it been? It's getting dark out. He knows he shouldn't question you, but this punishment feels a bit overboard.
🍎 Then, he hears it. The sound of a door opening upstairs. He can see the stairs from his seat on the couch. Is it you? Have you come to spare him? Oh, please let him go! He'll do anything to make it up to you!
🍎 Wait... no. He was wrong. It is just Angela, Henry's 'mama'. She is dressed in what looks to be a waitress outfit. Is that what her job is? It doesn't matter. He'll take what he can get. She may be cruel and evil - her dropping him from the second floor and making Henry cry proves it - but Wally is desperate. He cries out, trying to get her attention, saying "Help me! Please! Help!"
🍎 He certainly has gotten her attention. Just as she takes her first two steps downstairs, her head snaps over in his direction. Her tired eyes widen, filled with a rush of... something. She is a bit too far for him to tell. She let's out a short shriek, which is only short due to it being cut off by her tripping over her own feel in shock, then falling down the stairs! She tumbles all the way down, landing at the bottom in a heap. She isn't moving, but she is making an odd, whining noise.
🍎 Oh no! This isn't what Wally wanted at all! She may be mean and evil, but she didn't hurt his (Y/N)! He didn't want her to be hurt! Well, maybe a very, very SMALL part of him wished her harm for dropping him, but he knows that it is wrong! The only time it is right to hurt someone is when it is for (Y/N). Anything for (Y/N)...
🍎 He decides to go and check on Angela. He flops over, then rolls of the couch. After landing on the floor with a small "oof!" escaping him, he inches over to where she is lying. She's on her side and just so happens to be facing towards him. Her eyes are closed, though, so he can't really be sure if she knows he's there.
🍎 He is tired by the time he gets close enough to her. "Close enough" meaning "right in front of her face". He tries to think of something to ask... Usually people ask something to see if someone is alright, right? She is clearly not okay, though, so that would be stupid. He decides to just ask the first thing that comes to mind. He widens his eyes to make sure she knows that he's speaking to her, eye contact is the best way to ensure that, before asking "Did that hurt bad?"
🍎 Her eyes snap open. There is silence for a moment, before she goes right back to screaming. "Get away! Stay back! (Y/N)! (Y/N)!! Help me!!!" Wally flinches as the upstairs door opens. Oh no, (Y/N) is going to know he did something bad, again! He didn't mean to! He never means to! Don't hurt him, please...
🍎 Before he knows it, he sees you standing at the top of the stairs. It looks like you were sleeping, since you are dressed in a set of nightclothes. Your pretty eyes widen in horror as they set themselves on Angela's crumpled form, making a deep pit set where Wally's stomach would be if he were real. You cry out "Oh my God, Angela!" Then, your eyes slowly move over to Wally.
🍎 He decides to try to ditch it. Well, more like move out of your sight, as he tries to wiggle himself somewhere where the shadows will hide him. He would never leave you, after all. This is probably the one time he DOESN'T want to be seen by you. Is this what real fear is like? He's felt fake fear in his little fictional world, but this feels much stronger than that.
🍎"Mama, (Y/N), what's going on?" "Henry, call 911! Angela fell down the stairs! She needs an ambulance! I need to go get something! Hurry!" Oh no... you saw him! You're after him! He's gotta hurry! Faster, Wally, faster!
🍎 He hears the thudding of your footsteps down the stairs. Oh, it's hopeless. He hasn't even gotten a foot away from where he was and you are already at the bottom of the steps. He still tries until the end, though, when you scoop him up from the floor. Your grip on him is so tight, he feels like he's going to explode from this fear he's feeling.
🍎"I got you, now, rascal!" Oh no, you're angry! Really, really angry! He's too scared to speak! You poke his chest roughly, causing him to let out a squeak and squirm in your grasp. "You are lucky you aren't human, because nobody will believe me if I told them what you've done. On the other hand, that means you have to answer to me, and oh boy... You have a lot to answer for."
🍎 The pit sinks even deeper in Wally. His puppeteer... his savior is angry with him! He's upset the one being that he shouldn't have! The one person who can make his fictional life a nightmare... Well, more than it had already become when he last left it. He's doomed...
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Truss
Woohoo Malleus woohoo! I'm making the trigger list a bit bigger because I keep thinking about how people will totally skip reading it if it's too small and then blame the writer for their own mistake. That shit is clown behavior but I don't want to be held responsible for someone else's case of stupid, so sorry to those of you who think this looks clunky. Line divider found here: @/cafekitsune. This is also a fic that is wildly self-indulgent, in that I mean that while writing I visualized my own physical form and quirks.
That being said, this fic is written with afab (assigned female at birth) readers in mind. No pronouns other than you are used for the reader, but the reader does possess a womb. Reader's chest is not described in the least, just the lower bits, and even then it's not at length. Malleus also refers to the reader as "beauty," but masculine people can be beautiful too so idk but here's a warning anyways.
This fic is DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT. TW for noncon, fae interaction rules used for said noncon, slight bullying if you squint, one (1) mention of blood (I'm beginning to think I have a problem.) Stay safe while reading. Possible OOC Malleus, I haven't read any of book 7 and if you spoil it I'll block you temporarily.
This is absolutely not your fault, and you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing. It’s awful. Crewel was for sure his namesake, because this whole thing was a steaming pile of-
Alright, from the top, just to organize your thoughts: you are the only non-magic student in a school of mages. The teachers are mages. Your best friend/roommate/monster friend is a mage. The plants here can do magic, but you? No. Thanks homeworld. Love the gift of nothing.
Thus, the faculty have seemingly created a game of “how to piss off and challenge the magicless student,” in which they give you various tasks to just make you lose sleep. Vargas had you running laps until your legs felt like jelly, doing pushups until your shoulders started sounding like glowsticks. Trein had you learning completely off the wall trivia, such as what type of fabric the Queen of Heart’s favorite bathrobe was made of and why it made her more powerful. That’s nothing, it’s easy because you apparently have so much free time in their eyes. But Crewel? Fuck that man.
When you got the assignment, it sounded fun and exciting. He gave you seeds for a fast-growing rose thing. Honestly you weren’t paying attention to the name of it, but you retained what you needed to know. The plant only grew in moonlight, so you needed to cover it before you went inside at night. It needed a minimum of two hours of moonlight to grow per night. If the basket was overturned and it was exposed to the sun, then the plants would die. Moderate watering, no fertilizer, the usual.
Once the plants bloomed, you were supposed to take the flowers and make some kind of glamour potion, so here you are, failing at doing so. You only had four flowers, and you’re down to the last one. You wasted three tries and you still have no idea what the hell you’re doing wrong and it’s due next alchemy class and you’re breaking curfew on top of all of it. You glare into your cauldron with your latest failed attempt and hunker down to shoulder against the side so you can dump it out and try again.
“Oh, it’s you.”
The voice makes you jump out of your skin. You turn around and you almost want to cry tears of joy, because if anyone can help you, it’s him.
“When I saw a little head duck down, I thought that something strange was happening. A crime, perhaps.” Malleus smiles, and it’s not a kind smile, but you’ll take anything remotely positive at this point, “What are you doing on the floor, child of man?”
“Oh, I have to empty the cauldron.” You puff out, still trying to throw your weight to push the cauldron. You did it twice earlier, so this must be the effects of mental and physical fatigue.
“Oh, that’s right. Allow me.” Rather than waving a hand or anything, Malleus strolls on over and uncrosses his arms, taking one hand and pressing his fingertips against the lip of the cauldron. The whole damn thing tips, the failed mixture pouring out into the nearby drain. With the same ease, he tilts it back and turns to you.
When he looks at you, it’s… weird. You know he’s lizard-like, as dragons evidently are, but even Sebek’s eyes aren’t this jarring. They aren’t soulless or cold or unfeeling, but it feels like he is looking through you. His emotions don’t reflect in his eyes properly. That’s what it feels like. They reflect, but it’s wrong. Fractured. His lips quirk into a smile and you blink.
“Uh… wait, what are you doing out here, Tsunotaro?” You ask, turning to gather more materials, following the transcript of your recording from class.
His smile grows, “Just on a walk. Will you tell me what you’re trying to make?”
“Uh, yeah. This glamour potion? I don’t know. Remember how I was growing those flowers?”
“Of course. And what happened to the rest?”
“I… uh… I messed up the other potions. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong here.”
“No?”
“No. Do… do you think you could maybe… help me?”
“Of course.” Malleus plucks the flower up, twirling it thoughtfully, “Why don’t you gather the other ingredients?”
That was simple enough. Petals from your tediously grown blooms, some kind of floral oil with tiny white flowers inked on the label, a ball of clay no bigger than a pea, something that really resembled a severed finger, something that was hopefully just someone’s baby tooth, a handful of crystals in a rainbow of colors, and water. Lots of water. Malleus watches as you put all your ingredients on the nearby table and hums thoughtfully before dimming the lights and turning back to you.
“And where did you hear that you needed these things?” He asks. It’s not something that he says with any indication that you’re right or wrong. The tone is bland but the words say enough.
He has essentially told you before that he believes you inept, a babe in the woods when it comes to this sort of thing, but it doesn’t stop you from looking as hurt as you feel, “The headmage visited class and gave me some pointers?”
“You personally or the entire class? I don’t personally recall concocting anything like this when I was in your grade.” He says.
You suppose you’re grateful that he’s so blunt, but his flat tone makes the sting of your failure that much sharper. You thought he’d be nicer, since you two are sort of friends, and Lilia has told you that Malleus is fond of you, but it also makes just as much sense for him to refrain from easing up in his flatness because he supposedly thinks so much of you. He thinks you’re an idiot, but he’s not willing to treat you as such.
“The whole class. And no one else in my grade is doing this.” You mutter, staring at your assortment of items on the table.
He approaches the table and plucks up the beaker of water, twisting it in his hand, “Did you distill this?”
“What?”
“Tap water often has various minerals in it. If you haven’t been using distilled water, you’ve been adding an extra ingredient. Typically, most potions are much more forgiving and you can use tap water with little issue, but this particular potion is known to be disagreeable.” He murmurs, crossing the room with your beaker of water and setting it up to distill with a practiced ease. “That’s why it’s typically saved for fourth year students’ aptitude testing.”
The revelation hit you like a ton of bricks. You’d like to protest but it unfortunately makes sense. Malleus looks over at you, somewhat blandly, then turns around to face you, looking half concerned.
You answer his question before he can ask, “I didn’t… know that. I guess it’s my fault for being from a different world…”
His lips twitch into a smile, and for a moment you can see amusement in his eyes, fractured with the underlying coldness, “Oh, it isn’t. It may be your fault for failing to ask questions, but having someone who is unused to this type of work take on an advanced project is cruel.”
“You think so?” You ask, voice lilting with hope.
“Of course I do. Why you’re expected to make a potion of this caliber is beyond me.” Malleus states blankly.
“Uh, yeah. I- I don’t know either. But thank you for helping me!”
His expression flinches. It lasts for less than a second before it smooths into an odd grin. You’re not quite sure what that means, but you’re too happy to stop and think about it. The water finishes distilling and you carefully begin crafting, using the tips Malleus occasionally mumbles towards you. Don’t put that ingredient in yet, stir clockwise, you need to grind that up with the oil, don’t rush you have time, et cetera, et cetera, and then you have a gorgeous violet mixture, glimmering with a pearlescent golden sheen.
Your jaw drops. Somehow the few ingredients you threw together is enough to fill several bottles. Malleus is making a smug face as you rush to the shelves of empty bottles and choose several fluted bottles, quickly using a ladle to deposit the final, successful potion into the bottles. You’re so giddy with your success that you hardly notice as Malleus walks towards the door and locks it. But only hardly.
“What was that for?” You ask, not actually caring. You’re too happy to be worried.
“Oh, we’ll need privacy.” He responds.
That part confuses you enough into caring. You turn around from where you’ve safely wrapped the bottles and slipped them into your bag and shoot Malleus a frown, “Privacy? For what?”
Malleus doesn’t say anything. He walks over to the table and you feel your body stand up, void of your control, and stagger over to stand in front of him. If you were concerned before, you’re frightened now. Malleus looks down at you with his strange gaze and folds his arms.
“Wh-what’s happening?! Why can’t I move?”
“You really don’t know?” He asks. Something about his tone sounds mocking, but you’re certain he doesn’t mean it to be. It’s his version of sarcasm, he’s spoken to you like this before.
Your body hops up on the table, taking a seat, and Malleus turns to stand before you, looking down at you with a soft smile. You shift your hips- what the fuck is going on- and Malleus very gently hooks his hands in the pants of your dorm uniform.
Your dorm uniform is legit whatever the hell you want it to be, so it would change on the daily. Today it was a pair of jeans and a hooded jacket. He kneels to remove your shoes and stands back up, leaning close as he tilts your chin up. His breath fans over your lips.
“You didn’t tell me that you were so lovely beneath your clothes.” His hand on your chin shifted to your cheek, and his other hand laid flat on the table. “And… your smell is much stronger. Are you aroused?”
“You can’t just ask me that! I don’t know what you did but you’ve got to let me go.”
“I didn’t do anything. This is your doing.” He retorts, pecking your lips very chastely.
“What are you talking about?” When he didn’t respond, instead pressing the tips of his hand that was on the table against your exposed sex, your heart jumps but your body doesn’t move. You can’t, “Don’t do that!”
“Lilia informed me that making someone climax is similar to binding someone to you.” He mumbles, kissing you again as his fingers slowly slip inside. “It makes them fall in love with you. Isn’t that the most binding contract of all?”
You don’t know why he isn’t listening, but even less than that, you don’t know why he thought you could handle two fingers, much larger than your own, penetrating you. You squeal, but your body is incapable of tensing. Malleus pulls back, looking at you in a soft confusion.
“What’s the matter with you?”
“With me? What’s wrong with you? That’s too many- it’s uncomfortable!”
He blinks at you and withdraws a finger, which feels much better. You sigh. If you’re going to be forced to do this, you may as well not get hurt in the process. You close your eyes and Malleus hums.
“Is this better? You’ll have to forgive me. I haven’t had a dalliance with a human before.”
“I- I don’t think I’ll be able to… to forgive you for this.”
“No?” You can hear his smirk and the squelching noise as he pumps his finger gets louder. He slips the second finger in again and the burn isn’t so bad as last time, “Well, maybe you can decide that for certain after the wedding.”
“The wedd-” You have to bite your tongue to keep from moaning. Your body leans back, laying on the table, and your gentle assailant curls his fingers, leaning forward to mouth at your neck, “There’s not gonna be a motherfucking wedding. You’re-”
You can hear his horn scraping against the table, “Hmm. I didn’t think you were so entitled. You’re squeezing around my fingers. Are you close?”
“No!” You’re a liar. A ragged gasp leaves your throat and you feel the drop in the pit of your stomach, the burst of euphoria traveling up your spine as his thumb presses against your clit.
Malleus laughs, then leans up off of you. The sound of clothing hitting the ground is the first and only warning you get, but you can’t move, so it might as well have been silent. You feel something on your stomach, coming up about a half inch below your belly button. It’s… almost cool to the touch. You would think it would be warmer, but it’s not. Your eyes round as you stare at the ceiling, and Malleus’s face leans into view, his eyes boring into yours as though he’s reading your thoughts.
“You’re very warm. I’ve always thought this. You must be boiling inside.”
“I- what?”
He doesn’t respond, leaning back up. You feel the velvety head of his cock press against your entrance and as much as you want to jolt away, you can’t move your body. You can’t even look down to see what he’s doing. Your lashes flutter as the stretch sets in, the pressure worse than his two fingers. It burns, especially along the bottom, where his weight lays heavy thanks to gravity. You’re capable of wincing and letting out a whine, but nothing else.
“H-hey, that- that hurts.” You babble.
“Does it? You are squeezing me like a vice. I’ll stay still for a moment so you can relax some. Let me know when it stops hurting.” It’s very peculiar. Although he speaks with an animated tone, his voice is often detached. You would think he’d have more emotion since he’s inside of you.
You blink rapidly and decide that now is as good a time as any to ask, “What the hell is happening?”
“Must you tease me so?” He responds, his voice tense.
“What? I’m not teasing you. I can’t move!”
“Of course you can’t. You only just bound yourself to my will.”
“I what?” You shout.
“What, did you think I enslaved you? I could have, when we first met. You’re too free, giving people your name, thanking them, taking gifts freely… it drives me mad.” You feel a flash of heat, something warm rolling against your skin, like standing too close to a gas stove, “And now I find that you didn’t even know? I didn’t think you were such a fool.”
“That’s just called being polite!” You protest. “Oh my god-”
“I suppose I can’t blame you, really. Relax, lest I harm you.” He murmurs, rolling his hips further as though he can slide in deeper.
You squeak, “N-no, that’s-”
“Too much, yes. Tell me, in your world, do faefolk exist?”
“I- I mean, if they do, most people don’t believe in them.” The oddity of the situation felt like a blanket. Having a semi-conversation while your friend- not after this- used you as a dick holster. It was almost comforting. “I don’t- I don’t understand.”
His voice was deeper than normal, an underlying rasp to his voice, as though it was coming from somewhere deep in his throat, “I will explain. I’ll tell you anything you’d like to know. But after I explain, I will begin to move.”
“H-hey, no-”
His voice sounded choked, half strangled as he stifled a groan, “I apologize for not being clear earlier. Among the fae, verbal contracts are common and binding. You do not give someone your name. You wonder why I never directly gave you mine? It is a way to bind someone to your will. You do not accept gifts. Invitations are fine, but a gift is a sign that you owe someone something. My help- a boon- is a gift. Typically it is repaid with another kind turn. And, most importantly, you do not thank someone without the sufficient power to break their hold.”
You felt him draw back, that wave of heat rolling over you again, and then he slammed forward. The slick noise and dull smack were muffled by your squeal, his cockhead punching your cervix like it stole from him.
“Foolish little thing. I suppose it makes you cute.” He sneers, and your body sits up, arms wrapping around his shoulders.
The angle makes his motion a bit less painful. He’s no longer bumping against your cervix, thank the Seven, but the stretch remains. Your eyes flinch shut and Malleus tilts your chin up to kiss you again.
“St-stop- stop!” You whimper, “You’re hurting me!”
“If you would relax, beauty, that would not be a problem.” His chuckle is dark, the squelching from your coupling making a wicked duet that makes you feel dizzy, “And you said it to me so easily as well. Thank me again.”
“Wh-” One of his hands slipped under your hips, holding your bottom just under the split in your cheeks, and nipped your neck as a flat thumping echoed from where your bodies met, your legs bouncing with the motion. His member had gone back to bullying your cervix, and you wailed in the hopes that he would stop, “Thank you!”
“Heh… it escapes your lips so freely. Tell me, beauty-” He cut himself off with a grunt, panting against the column of your throat. “Tell me, what is it that you’d like? I would give you the world on a platter, should you want it.”
“I- ow! Y-you’re hurting me!”
There was a possibility that he was getting off on the pain he was causing you, just as much as there was a possibility of him not understanding that he was hurting you. With every motion of his hips against yours, despite the wicked pain, you felt that ever evil tug in your gut, like a stone growing heavier and heavier.
You tried again, because if this had to happen, if you were under his control now, you may as well not get injured. You would not be pissing blood if you could help it, “It’s too deep!”
He listened. It was odd, but he listened, his voice warming as he slid back a bit and continued ramming into you, but no longer beating the hell out of your internal organs.
“I didn’t realize. Is that better?” His voice sounded warmer, echoey against your shoulder. His teeth grazed over your skin again when you didn’t respond. He choked out your name and you sort of came back to yourself.
“U-uh- I guess?”
“Wonderful.” He mumbled, his free hand reaching between your bodies and slicked with your sweat, to tweak your clit.
It should be embarrassing, how quickly you reached your height. Whoever he had been with in the past couldn’t have been so sensitive, since you felt his body jerk against you, an uncontrolled undercurrent to his motions. You let out a quiet, squealing moan and barely even felt the break when Malleus bit you to muffle his own groan. You didn’t feel him climaxing inside of you. You felt the control return to your body and flopped backward onto the table, your hoodie damp with sweat. Malleus took a step back, then carefully redressed you, then himself. You looked up at him and saw nothing but adoration in his eyes, not the fractured appearance of such. It was like he was actually looking at you.
When he spoke to you, leaning forward to cup your cheek, his voice was warm, warmer than ever, “Now, let’s start planning for the wedding, my beauty.”
#twisted wonderland#tw: dark content#disney twst#tw: dark themes#tw: yandere#twst#malleus draconia#yandere malleus draconia x reader#tw noncon#tw bullying#fair folk#tw blood#dead dove fic#dead dove do not eat#yandere male x reader#cervix bruising#you cannot convince me that getting your cervix penetrated doesn't hurt like hell#Because getting it touched is just about the worst feeling i can think of next to getting stabbed#equal pain my friend
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Cool thanks for answering! In that case, can I ask for some headcanons about Leon and a younger sibling reader that has to work as an agent with him? Poor guy needs a bit of company in his misery.
Leon Headcanons on working with his agent sibling…
Any version of Leon + GN!Youngersibling (3 year gap)
(TW : Mentions of alcoholism and smoking)
Had you not followed your older sibling into Raccoon City, desperately trying to get him from going in there after hearing reports of a mysterious yet lethal outbreak only to get tangled in this mess, you wouldn’t be standing in the dark office of the president of the United States, standing alongside your older brother.
You were just 19, like the other girl you and Leon came across in the city. Nineteen with big dreams of becoming a nurse and helping people take better care of their health, just like how Leon wanted to help people and keep them safe when he joined the police academy. Neither of you expected your lives to turn out this way, as lap dogs for the government’s fight against bioterrorism.
For missions, you and Leon were usually separated because they deemed him better than you. Of course, you wanted to be with your brother and same went for him but he had missions he couldn’t say no to or else Sherry and Claire would be in danger. You trained hard and proved yourself to the bigwigs of USSTRATCOM but they continued to send you on missions different from Leon’s. Leon felt slight relief at that; his missions were far more taxing and demanding and getting you endangered would be too much for him to handle.
Leon would usually frequent nearby bars to drink after a particularly harsh mission, often falling drunk inside the bars and needing to be picked up by you. It broke your heart to see him like this, getting drunk and relying on bottles of alcohol to escape whatever was plaguing his mind. Most nights involved you taking care of him, tucking him in and placing medicine along with a glass of water for his hangover the next morning.
You would quietly cry to yourself when you saw Leon this way because it reminded you of how Leon took care of you when you were sick, your older sibling doing his best to make you feel better and get back to full health back in the orphanage. You rarely got to express what you truly felt since your line of work required you to appear strong and unbreaking. You knew how exhausted and miserable Leon is so you usually kept thoughts and feelings to yourself.
Leon didn’t mind eating anything that was edible but not nutritious; as long as he had something to eat in order to sustain himself for the next few days in the mission, he considered himself lucky. Seeing you eat what he usually ate made him feel horrible; you were trying not to gag on the snake meat, not even chewing the raw meat and just straight up swallowing it to avoid having the taste in your mouth. He tried his best to make sure you had better food so you wouldn’t look even more miserable than you already are.
You were who Leon first thought of when Shen Mei refused to leave her younger brother as her mansion blew up and slowly crumbled down to the ground. As much as he wanted to save Jun See and her, all of his efforts would be futile so he had no choice but to rush her out. He saw the state Jun See was in and that further strengthened his resolve on making sure that nothing ever happens to you.
Your and his early life was difficult, usually having to move and end friendships with schoolmates and neighbors because your family had connections to crime syndicates. You don’t remember much about the death of your parents, except that Leon refused to have you look at them until they were ready for a burial and made sure that they looked less unsettling with their lifeless eyes and pale skin tainted with blood. From then on, he took on a parental role in your life.
When he asked Hunnigan if she could fake his and Helena’s deaths, he also requested that she tell him the exact way you reacted. Of course, you didn’t take it well; you had just gotten off of a physically-demanding mission in Serbia and badly needed sleep.
“Y/N. There’s something I have to tell you,” Hunnigan’s voice came from the other end of the line.
Adjusting the phone to your other hand and tucking the one that previously held the phone into the pocket of your trousers, you leaned against the wall. Your tired gaze drifted over to the wall-mounted TV, playing the news. Suddenly, the broadcast was interrupted and news of the President’s death was publicised. There were also other deaths reported, specifically deaths of agents close to the President, one of those names being your older brother’s.
“Your brother’s dead.” Hunnigan somberly disclosed. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
The phone almost slips from your hands, your grip faltering as they tremor. The room is spinning and even breathing feels like a chore, tears wetting your eyes before they leave salty trails on your bruised cheeks.
“No he’s not,” you assert in denial. “No, Hunnigan. He’s not– they just misidentified a body, right?”
Hunnigan’s silence spoke volumes. In a culmination of the lack of sleep, the flurry of emotions, and the denial of the fact that the last person keeping you connected to your family is dead, you ended up snapping and losing your composure, screaming into the television and crying.
In order to cope with his death, you picked up a habit of his: drinking. Worse, you tried smoking. The smoke tasted horrible but the tar drying up your throat felt better compared to the dryness caused by endless crying and screaming at God for taking him away from you– if there even was one to begin with.
Despite having practically begged your superiors to not be placed in a mission because you couldn’t do it, they didn’t heed your requests and still sent you to missions overseas. Many times you contemplated not returning home, just going MIA or dying in a country unknown to you– foreign blood on foreign soil. Leon wasn’t alive anymore, there was no one to live for, and the government wants you to keep working for them until a BOW eventually snuffs the life out of you so what was the point of even living?
Six months later, Leon managed to come back to you in one piece. You thought that it was a cruel hallucination induced by the ungodly lack of sleep and the drunken state you were in after having finished a myriad of bitter drinks. Heavy footfalls neared you before stopping at your side, a warm and very much alive Leon giving you a tight hug. Of course, you slowly snapped out of the habit and started taking care of yourself again, even if it was hard to stem a vice.
After a certain mission and being laid off for a little bit, you attempted to knock some sense back into him. You tried to get him to stop drinking, though it was no use. It upset you to see him do the same things you did when you thought that he died, knowing how self-destructive this can get if no one is there to get him out of it. Luckily for you, Chris and Rebecca managed to help you get him back on his feet and start his journey towards sobriety.
Fortunately, you and him were transferred under the DSO and have been sent on missions together, much to your relief. Though it was still a misery doing these things with no definite end in sight, it felt comforting to be with your brother. The latest mission in Alcatraz was a partial success: Dylan Blake being dead but Antonio Taylor, the man you two were sent to retrieve, is also dead.
Leon groans as he rolls his shoulder, a hand coming up to where the bullet scar in his shoulder to ease the tension in his muscles.
“God, we’re getting too old for this,” he jokingly mumbles as he continues to stretch his limbs on the way to the helicopter that will pick everyone up.
“Who’s ‘we’? That’s just you, pops. I’m still relatively young,” you cockily respond with a mischievous smirk. He just rolls his eyes and scoffs, walking in silence to the elevator. You see Claire in front of you and you wave with a small smile, Leon averting his gaze to elsewhere and Claire following suit.
“You should seriously set things right with her again,” you softly suggest. You knew about the falling out between her and Leon, the two never having spoken to each other in a long time due to their differences. Claire had her reasons to be upset but Leon didn’t act on it because he wanted to keep defending the government and their questionable stances regarding the war against BOWs; he simply wanted to keep Claire safe, make sure that the government wouldn’t hurt her.
“Yeah. I’ll… I’ll think about it,” Leon quietly mutters.
You give him a small pat, adding an encouraging squeeze to his shoulder (more like giving the shoulder strap of his compact bullet-proof vest a squeeze).
NOTE - I finally managed to do this request!!!! A bunch of requests have been marinating in my inbox so to be able to accomplish this one feels heavenly. I hope that the anon who requested this headcanons (that sorta turned into drabbles... sorry I got carried away) would like this :)) Anyways, I got a weird ass request but declined to write it (i replied to it) and I came across another blog who also got a request where the reader is also itchy so this is... interesting... Be careful out there, there's weirdos lurking :/ Umm that's it, I hope you enjoyed this and TYSMMM for reading my works!!!!!!!! I <33333 UUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!
The hanging star divider is made by @benkeibear , the images are from Pinterest.
#resident evil#leon kennedy#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy fluff#leon s kennedy#fluff#leon scott kennedy#leon s kennedy fluff#biohazard#resident evil headcanons#leon kennedy headcanons#slight angst
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Yandere Machi Komacine General Profile
Yandere! Machi Komacine x fem! reader
Tw: kidnapping, stalking, violence, decapitation, murder, slight infantilization/Machi thinks you're incapable but it's more frustrating than creepy, Machi has some emotional issues processing and she can't regulate her feelings well, mentions of assault, mentions of non-con, Chrollo plays a major role in your kidnapping because he's a nasty man, threats, explicit depictions of torture, fem reader, MDNI
I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!
WC: 10K
Shy
In general, Machi likes the idea of being a protector.
There’s something endearing about the idea of having a sweet little thing to call her own and to keep hers, and having a darling who isn’t as prone to interacting with others is ideal for her. It helps quell her possessiveness, acting as an additional comfort to know that they don’t willingly start interactions with most people.
Plus, this is helpful for her, specifically, because it means that her darling won’t be constantly trying to talk to her.
It’s not that Machi doesn’t want to speak with them – she does, desperately – but rather that it’s so difficult for her to be vulnerable that a darling that isn’t excessively talkative to strangers helps bar her from saying something embarrassing or weird or scary.
It helps calm her nerves, knowing that her darling is more withdrawn and struggles to effectively communicate with strangers, and in a lot of ways it makes Machi’s heart warm.
Because in some ways, they’re similar – Machi isn’t shy, per se, but she’s not the most talkative, and a darling who shares this trait is adorable to her, someone she wants to wrap up in her arms and keep protected from the world.
(And keep the world from seeing them, of course, but that doesn’t sound quite as poetic or romantic.)
She just likes the idea of a shier darling, not only because their easily flustered state in social situations is endearing, but also because it makes her job much, much easier.
Optimistic
In a lot of ways, Machi wants someone who is the opposite of her.
She needs someone who is soft, warm, fuzzy, and – above all else – not nearly as pessimistic as her.
Machi has good reason to be so negative – a tumultuous childhood coupled with a life of crime hardens a person and makes them expect the worst case scenario, but even she can admit that there’s something endearing about a darling who sees the world with rose colored glasses.
It’s refreshing, something she’s utterly unfamiliar with given her lifestyle and companions, but it’s sweet in a way.
Perhaps a bit naïve of them – something that makes Machi silently scold them for – but cute nonetheless.
It’s like her darling is a ray of sunshine, one she desperately needs to keep her from falling into a void of negative thoughts, death, and theft.
And really, it’s this trait above all else that prompts her infatuation to form – her darling is just so damn positive, always trying to make the best of situations, even to a degree of irritation.
It makes Machi want to throttle them, anger growing in her veins because they need to be more realistic about others’ intentions, if only for their own safety.
But it also makes her want to envelope them in the tightest hug, keeping them firmly against her chest and hearing their soft breaths and warm voice, her skin prickling pleasantly because it feels so good to have someone so happy in her arms.
It makes her happy, too – no easy feat.
Homebody
Similarly to her ideal darling being shy, Machi really likes the idea of a darling who isn’t constantly out on the town.
She has no inherent issues with women who like to club or party or even frequently go out for a meal or drinks with friends, but for her darling, a homebody is preferable.
It’s simply a matter of Machi feeling confident that her darling is being safe – if they’re at home, the chances of them being assaulted or killed or mugged is significantly lower, and it helps quell the constant paranoia that eats at her regarding her darling’s wellbeing.
It means they’ll probably be wrapped up in a warm blanket with their phone perched in their hands, or the TV on, or a good book holding their attention rather than meeting someone, potentially speaking with them, dancing with them, or – god forbid – touching them.
(It hurts her deeply to imagine someone touching her darling, of course, but there’s something worse about the idea of her darling touching someone else – a sense of foreboding and anger over their safety, of course, but also a sense of rejection, a feeling of deep-seated and buried insecurity washing over her.)
And this just makes life easier once she eventually steals them away; it’s much easier to mitigate any sort of escape attempt or desire to return to the outside world if her darling is naturally not especially eager to be in crowded spaces.
Besides, Machi doesn’t mind the idea of spending time at home with them – give her time, but eventually she’ll be more than happy to sit beside them on the couch, a few inches of space between her body and her darling’s, enjoying the quiet atmosphere and the feeling of simply being together.
It’s cheesy and cliché and she knows it, but she doesn’t care – her darling turns her into a sap anyways, so what’s another addition to that sentiment?
Capable
Of course, as Machi’s darling, you’d never, ever have to worry about any sort of personal care.
She’ll do absolutely everything for her beloved; she’s already got their favorite foods stocked in the cabinets (but only the healthier ones – her darling can’t be having too much sugar or salt, no matter how much they like it), enough menstrual supplies to last the rest of her darling’s life, and more blankets and fans than imaginable to keep her darling at a comfortable temperature and not overheat or freeze.
She likes the idea of taking care of her darling, and while they’ll never be able to escape this aspect of being the object of her affections, Machi does like the idea that her darling is somewhat able to take care of themselves.
She likes the idea that they aren’t utterly incapable, that they’re able to do the bare minimum to make sure they stay healthy and in reasonably good physical health, with minimal scratches and injuries marring their pretty skin.
It calms her slightly when she’s still initially just stalking them, her worries and anxieties calming slightly every time she sees them drinking water or stepping into the shower.
It just makes her feel good, and while she’ll still oversee all their care once they’re under her captivity, it almost makes a small swell of pride bloom in her chest because yes, they know how to take care of themselves, and yes, that’s wildly attractive to her.
A capable darling is her ideal – and likely a major part of what attracts her to her darling in the first place.
GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:
Distant
In general, Machi has an incredibly difficult time being vulnerable.
She’s grown up under the impression that to show any sort of love or softness is a weakness, something that can be exploited and will ultimately be her downfall. It’s led to her being closed off, holding her emotions so close to her chest that sometimes she doesn’t even realize what she’s feeling, becoming so blinded by the need to hide her emotions that they almost disappear.
And where romance is concerned is certainly no different – though, there’s certainly no way to mistake or miss the emotions you spark within her, coming up and rising up the back of her throat and demanding her attention all the fucking time.
She’s completely floored by how intensely you make her feel, how fast her heart races around you, how her palms grow sweaty and her nen spikes ever so slightly in your presence, and to be honest Machi hates it at first. She hates how weak you make her feel, how her every sense is heightened the second you walk into a room, and while she knows it’s stupid to blame you for the way her body just seems to react to you, she can’t help it.
She’s never been the best at displaying emotion or really even reconciling how she feels at any given moment, and for a long time she pushes off her feelings for you, playing them off as nothing more than a passing interest, a few ‘she’s cute and that’s it’s being pounded into her mind.
(All the while she tries to ignore the way she wants nothing more than to make you laugh and smile, to see your eyes light up and hear that lovely chiming voice you have directed solely at her.)
(The whole time she’s trying to pretend like her eyes don’t automatically wander to you, focusing in on your hair, face, figure, and oh, when you wear that certain top with the low neckline… It’s embarrassing how strongly such a simple article of clothing can affect her, and it’ll often make her huff and desperately try to stop staring, glaring at anyone nearby just as a distraction from her racing heart and pink cheeks.)
And even once she eventually realizes that repressing those urges and emotions for you only make them stronger, she does no better at letting herself really succumb to them – she’s fighting tooth and nail, terrified of the way you make her feel, of the depth and intensity of the feelings that you give her without you even trying.
She’s honestly afraid of herself in moments where her desire for you grows stronger – every part of herself seems foreign once you step into the picture, even her most basic emotional responses to things like blankets (would you like this blanket? It’s soft, and she knows you like the color – you’d look stupid all wrapped up in it, though. Stupid. Cute. But stupid.), or even frying pans (would you let her cook for you? She’s decently talented in the kitchen, and while she’d be too embaressed to watch you eat something she herself made you, the pride that would swell in her chest makes looking at the nice, black, shiny frying pan in the store a little flustering.)
She’s afraid of her urges to care for you and protect you because you’re so fucking weak compared to her. She’s never been this nice before, this caring or genuinely invested in the wellbeing of someone outside of possibly Chrollo or a few other members of the Troupe, and the realization that hits her late one night as she’s staring aimlessly up at the ceiling (her mind running in circles around you as it so often does) startled her to her very core.
You bring out the side of Machi that she’d buried down so many years ago, that was only alive when she was very young, stupidly foolish and naively willing to hope against hope that someday she’d find someone to love, someone to be happy with and live a full, perfect life.
You make a piece of her that’s long been lost return, and once she understands that she has to face this new part of her head on, that she can’t keep turning a blind eye because it’s literally killing her to not give into the urges and feelings this new part of her is impressing, Machi is pulling back even further, trying to wade through the thick waters of her own feelings and wants.
And poor, poor you will be left to wonder why she always seems so angry, why she always seems to be glaring at you, one step away from killing you. She must hate you, you rationalize, and when you begin trying to act more colloquial and not as friendly or sweet as before, it’ll only further Machi’s confusion and the swirling of emotions brewing inside her.
It will only further her internal battle about whether it’s okay to let herself be vulnerable (as long as it’s for you, there’s a large part of Machi that thinks she could be anything and everything so long as it makes you happy), or only further her distant behavior.
It’s a miscommunication that Machi isn’t sure how to fix, and while she’ll eventually grow warmer towards you, let herself get more and more vulnerable around you, it’s a slow process – one that can only happen in the context of her being around you constantly, something that sounds simultaneously terrifying and wonderful beyond belief.
Selfless
Despite her internal wavering on whether it’s really okay to embrace the sick dependency she’s developed on you and against everything she’s ever tried to be, there is one thing that Machi is absolutely sure about.
That is, she will be making sure that you live the easiest life you possibly can.
She genuinely cares about you, and Machi is fiercely protective of the very few that she holds near and dear to her heart – and you, being the one who very much holds her heart, become the apple of her eye, her main focus in her day-to-day life outside of Troupe work.
She knows that as a member of the Troupe, she’s putting you in danger simply by existing in your presence, and with her feelings towards you being so strong, so painfully obvious?
Well, it’s a worry constantly eating at the back of her mind that someday you’ll be used against her, that you’ll be leverage or that someone will hurt you (or, god forbid kill you) just to get back at her and the rest of the organization.
There’s a constant sense of paranoia Machi feels when she thinks about all of the horrible, unforgiveable acts she’s committed, because while her conscience doesn’t harbor any guilt, she does harbor guilt towards you, because she’s now made you a target. She’s effectively placed a bulls eye on your back, and while it may be difficult for everyday strangers to tell that Machi harbors feelings for you, those committed to the downfall of the organization will be able to tell.
(Her longing looks and the way her nen gets a bit unpredictable around you are dead giveaways – you don’t notice, bless sweet little you, but the Hunter that’s been trailing the Troupe’s activities for the last few months will. And despite all the moral high ground the Hunters seem to tout about having, Machi knows for a fact that your death would be a welcome sacrifice in order to hurt the Spider.)
She’s painfully aware of all your flaws in terms of defending yourself in the position she’s placed you in, and the thought honest to god terrifies Machi. The guilt at knowing you’re constantly in danger because of her is almost too much to bear, and the only way she can help alleviate some of it is by becoming your guardian angel of sorts.
(It’s ironic, truly, and it’s something that she would rather die than admit, but despite her criminal status she’s actually a good force for you – at least, she hopes so.)
She does a lot for you behind your back.
Some are large favors, things that take up a decent amount of her time and effort, but she doesn’t mind because it’s for you.
(That group of men who’d been eyeing you up on your walk home from the subway station? Well, they aren’t exactly smart, are they, when they so blindly and naively follow Machi into a dark alleyway, their leering gazes and hands poised to grope making their deaths a much slower and more painful process than she’d normally bother with. After all, she knows exactly what they were planning on doing; the crude whistling and licking of their lips not hiding their intentions especially well. And although she’d never touch you without your eager consent – and perhaps not even then – she’s well aware of their intentions because she wants to touch you and fuck that cute cunt of yours, too.)
Some are smaller favors, things that aren’t too big of a deal but make Machi feel better about endangering your life, because at least she’s trying to better it, too.
(It takes hardly any time or effort at all to slip a vitamin or two into your drinks or food, just because she’s noticed you’ve looked a bit more tired these last few days, that there’s bags starting to form under your eyes, and how could she possibly live with herself if you were being neglected under her care? Besides, she knows you wouldn’t go out and buy these things for yourself – or at least not with the consistency you really should have.)
You likely won’t notice anything at first – Machi is a part of the Troupe for a reason, and though she doesn’t possess Shizuku’s abilities, she’s most definitely able to not leave a trace. So by the time you start noticing how there seems to be a steady supply of vegetables in your refrigerator that you don’t remember buying (only your favorites, of course), or when your bottles of shampoo and conditioner never seem to run out, Machi will have already been at her job of making sure that you’re well taken care of for months.
She doesn’t particularly want you to know that she’s the one so diligently taking care of you, if only because she’s still so afraid of the intensity of her feelings for you, and she’s scared that if you were to know how deeply she feels for you, how much she absolutely fucking loves you, you would run for it and never step foot in her life again.
You would reject her, something that she’s never had to face in her life, and something she hopes she never will have to – especially not from you.
She doesn’t want you to have any inkling for the way that she feels for you, at least rationally.
(Internally, however, she can’t deny how wonderful it would be to have you safe and sound in a shared home with her, protected and well fed, happy and comfortable and being oh so cute while you greet her at the door, welcoming her home from work and telling her how much you love her… It’s a guilty pleasure thought, one that often hits her as she goes about getting her hands dirty all for you, and as she stares at the lifeless corpse of the man who’d made a joke that he’d ‘hit that’ in regards to you to his friends, she can’t help but smile a bit.)
You make her happy – nervous, yes, and paranoid, true, but also this warm, burrowing feeling she knows is happiness. It’s a foreign thing that she isn’t completely sure she’ll ever get used to, but fuck it all if she doesn’t want to try.
So really, isn’t it only fair that she gives you something in return for everything you give her, even if you don’t know it?
Possessive
Despite the cloudiness that rests in Machi’s mind about how exactly she feels about you, one thing she is sure about is the anger that flares up in her chest when she thinks of another person interacting with you.
There’s something about the idea that makes her jaw get tight, her teeth pushing tightly together and her shoulders getting stiff because you should not be speaking with someone else.
She loves you in her own twisted, obsessive way, but in many ways Machi finds you irritating. You’re weak, you’re naïve, and god, how can you take your own safety and health so casually?
You’re incapable, if she’s being honest, because you’re simply unaware of how truly cruel the world can be. You live in your own glass cage, under the false assumption that the glass will never crack or splinter, that nothing will ever hurt you or affect you in a negative way – and while Machi takes as many precautions to keep this fantasy alive, it doesn’t negate the fact that you’re wrong.
You think you’re safe, sure, but you really need her, don’t you? If it wasn’t for her, you’d probably be dead by now, either by some wayward criminal, a magical beast, a Hunter, an accident, a stranger with nefarious intentions, or your own stupidity.
It’s cynical and mean and frankly not true, but Machi firmly believes that the only thing standing between you and certain death is herself. And while she still doesn’t want you to be aware that she’s the one protecting you and keeping you safe and healthy, she does start to grow a bit antsy when other people enter the picture.
In her perfect world, she would simply be caring for you and taking care of you from the shadows for the rest of your lives – your silent savior, content with the knowledge that you need her, and being needed is enough for her. At least, she thinks so.
But the world isn’t perfect, and you aren’t aware of her feelings – so of course, there are people who try to take advantage of your kindness, of your beauty and charity and naivety.
And when this happens, Machi finds herself very, very upset. Jealousy roils deep within her, making her fists clench and her eye twitch and narrow. It makes her nen spike and her aura become oppressive, her rage struggling to stay under control when she sees anyone looking at you, speaking with you, or just being near you.
It’s about your safety, more than anything – she does genuinely fear that every person you interact with has bad intentions towards you, and that in itself is neither particular delusional nor particularly surprising. Surely some of them want something more than just a polite greeting from you – hell, Machi’s been pursued by more men than she can count that most definitely wanted more and weren’t afraid to force what they wanted.
But can Machi really be blamed for being possessive over you? She’s grown up with absolutely nothing to her name – scavenging for food, living in dismal conditions, dealing with very real adult issues, and surviving against terrible odds. She’s turned towards the path of power and materialistic gain, and while she doesn’t explicitly see herself as owning you, there’s a certain allure to the idea of calling you hers.
You’re her partner – her woman, hers to care for, hers to love, hers hers hers.
And so yes, it’s about your safety, and yes, it’s understandable why she would grow attached to you in response to her origins, but there’s also a small part of her that grows horribly jealous every time someone interacts with you because it’s them, not her.
How come they have the confidence to speak with you, but she doesn’t?
(Of course, she’s interacted with you a few times before – back when her obsession had taken root, the very interactions that led her to her current state – but it’s different when it’s purposeful interaction, when she’s looking at you and your attention is on her. Why is it so hard to speak to you? Why do you make her so nervous, her fingers not visibly shaking but still having the same affect? Why do her words always sound harsh, demanding, blunt when she’s speaking with you, not a hint of the warmth or longing she feels for you? Why do you always seem to jump a bit and sheepishly nod at her commands, looking terrified and anxious and scared? Why can’t she just talk to you like normal, dammit?
How come they can so casually get you to laugh, but she can’t?
(She’s never been funny, even when she’s not feeling like her tongue is swelled up and her heart is on fire. She tries so hard to keep her cool around you and not give away anything about how she’s feeling for you, and that doesn’t exactly translate into being funny. And yet, she does find herself wishing that she’d thought of the joke the stranger on the bus had told you about the weather this morning, because while it was stupid and you’d only laughed a polite amount, why won’t you do that for her?)
How come they can so easily and organically reach out to brush your cheek or tap your arm, but she can’t?
(She’s petrified of touching you, despite wanting to so badly, and the most you’ll get from her for a long, long time is just quick, phantom touches of her fingers against your clothed back when you’re busy doing something, her skin barely even brushing the fabric of your shirt. It’s just too hard, too scary to let herself be in a position where you could reject something as intimate and loving as a touch – it leaves her too vulnerable, so what does she do? Repress it.)
It's a certain amount of insecurity that fuels her possessiveness, which simultaneously frustrates and scares her. She’s never been unconfident – she can kill dozens of fully grown men in mere seconds, can heal impossible wounds, and is an integral member of an elite criminal organization.
But you – you make her insecure. And it’s stupid and makes her scoff and cross her arms, but she can’t deny it. Despite her numerous, numerous attempts.
So really, Machi’s possessiveness is not to be overlooked – whether it’s paranoia, greed, or insecurity fueling it, it can have disastrous consequences. She will kill those she feels threatened by, and she does not care if that person holds value to you.
She’s your guardian angel, sure, but some angels fall – whether from heaven or for you is arbitrary.
DEALING WITH RIVALS:
Her jealousy is nothing to sneeze at, despite the fact that she isn’t as obvious and in your face as some of her fellow Troupemates.
She won’t yell and punch like Phinks, nor will she threaten and coddle like Nobunaga. Rather, she’ll let her jealousy simmer, slowly growing stronger and stronger, making her feel hotter and hotter until she explodes, unable to take another second of you being looked at by another person.
And so while Machi generally is of the mindset of ‘if it doesn’t involve me, then I don’t care’, where you’re concerned her entire philosophy is uprooted, if only because she absolutely believes that everything involving you involves her as well.
It’s her duty as your protector, as your loving partner – even if you aren’t aware – and she intends to hold up her end of the deal, to make sure that no one and nothing can ever touch you or harm you.
And so, she takes every precaution she can to make sure that no one ever gets to chance to spark her jealousy.
She watches each and every interaction of yours that she possibly can, often trailing behind you with those sharp eyes alternating between staring at you and sizing up all the people around you to catch anyone in their tracks who may cause problems.
(Shalnark had been quite generous in giving Machi a specially designed tracker just for you, already calibrated to your minimal nen aura so that it would stay true to you no matter where you went. She’d been grateful, though the blond hadn’t let her get away without a bit of teasing about how oooh, you’ve got a crush, don’t you Machi! She’s embarrassed to admit that she very faintly blushed at his words, swatting him down with a roll of her eyes and hissed fuck off, but the excitement of having a way to know where you are at all times even during Troupe work outweighed the irritation coursing through her veins).
She’s using her nen threads to keep your clothing in place while you’re out and about – making sure your skirt stays put or your top stays up, anything and everything to make sure that not a sliver of skin is shown to the prying eyes of those around you.
(Of course, a small part of her wishes your skirt would flip just a bit or the top of your areola would be just barely visible, if only for her viewing pleasure, but it’s more important that the men you walk by on the street don’t see anything. Much more important.)
She just feels responsible to make sure that you don’t have any negative contact with anyone (though ideally there’d be no contact of any kind, including positive), and she takes her duties very seriously, even going so far as to spend nearly every waking moment she has outside of Troupe work a good ten feet behind you, her eyes fixed on you like prey.
And after all, isn’t that a little representative of your relationship? You, the naïve, cute little thing being stalked and followed and wanted by something bigger, stronger, more dangerous and much, much more adept at simply taking what they want.
When she spots the man chatting you up in the local park you’d been walking through as a means to clear your head, immediately her nen is spiking up, her eyes narrowing as she stays hidden behind a nearby tree and watches the two of you speak.
He’s nothing special by any counts – generic, a simple pair of shorts and a t-shirt appropriate for the hot summer weather. His face is fine, all things considered, but there’s nothing particularly special about him – you wouldn’t look twice, she’s sure.
Except, you must have looked twice, because he’s standing in front of you, that irritating, ugly smile plastered on his face that makes her own lips tug into a deep frown, her teeth clenched tightly together.
And on top of that, you don’t seem to be mad at all. In fact, she can see the smile on your own face – much, much prettier, endearing, beautiful, something that momentarily traps her focus.
She’s not sure why you’re acting so happy – what could possibly be that funny about the terrible jokes this stranger is telling you?
What could this boring, useless waste of space be to you that makes you grin like you’re the happiest woman on Earth?
(Why didn’t you look like that when she first randomly met you on the street? Was this man better?)
Machi doesn’t get it, but she knows that it’s making her more than a little upset - more than a little pissed, really, as the man takes a small step forward, beginning to close the space between the two of you.
Her eye twitches as she watches you make no move to step back, and though her heart sinks like a stone when she realizes that maybe you want him to be that close to you, she briefly shakes her head, pink hair whipping her in the face as she wills herself to concentrate, to have enough patience to wait until you’re done talking to do what her fingers are aching for.
It’s torture, simply watching this interaction play out, her whole body begging for her to move and every muscle tensing in anticipation of physically breaking up your conversation, but she wills herself to stay put, closing her eyes and taking a few deep, unsteady breaths through her nose.
Fantasies and thoughts of how she could end the man’s life flash through her mind, helping kill a bit of time.
And the second that you walk off, throwing a small smile the man’s way along with a shy little wave that Machi would give fucking anything to be aimed at her, she’s making her move.
The man smirks and tucks his hands into his pocket, looking thoroughly pleased with himself as Machi murmurs curses under her breath, promises of death and words of hate tumbling past her lips as she tracks the man down past a bundle of trees on the opposite side of the park, well hidden from the view of the other patrons and – most importantly – yourself.
Once the man steps into the little forest and leans against a tree, she’s springing into action, her movements so quick that even she herself is shocked.
She charges at the man and has him tied up in less than three seconds flat, her hand placed firmly over the man’s mouth with a glare harsh enough to paralyze directed right into his brown eyes. Her aura’s crushing, the man’s body physically pushed against the tree hard enough to leave a slight dent in the bark.
His whimpers of pain make something in her gut twist pleasantly.
You’re disgusting, she growls, threads tightening more and more as she lets her anger begin to consume her.
Flashes of the way you’d smiled and laughed at the man come rushing through her mind, fueling the rage and hurt simmering in her chest.
Disgusting, worthless, don’t you know that some girls don’t want you? Couldn’t you see that she’s too fucking perfect for someone like you?
She knows she’s probably talking more than she should, more than this man deserves, but there’s something about the look of pure terror in the man’s eyes and the way he struggles against her threads that makes the blood rush to her head.
When he doesn’t respond, only wiggling harder and harder, Machi only clicks her tongue and, with a flick of her wrist, tightens the thread around the man’s neck enough that it slices it clean off.
The dull thump of his head landing on the ground next to her has her wiping her hands against her tunic in irritation, a small amount of his blood having sprayed onto her pale fingers, but she can’t deny the satisfaction of seeing the man who was so openly flirting with you dead and bloody now – just as he should be, for ever thinking he’d have a chance at getting at you while Machi’s around.
She gives a firm kick to the man’s groin, now slumped down onto the ground alongside the rest of his decapitated body, before spitting onto it.
And so, after shooting a quick text to Shizuku to ask her to come clean up a body (Shizuku’s response of why would I do that? had the pink haired girl rolling her eyes), Machi makes quick work of locating you via the tracker, making sure to follow you home and ensure that no other creeps try anything with you, lest they meet the fate of Machi and Blinky.
Chrollo can scold her all he wants for the body she leaves behind – it’s worth it, the satisfaction simmering in her veins making her feet carry herself faster and faster, the tracker slowly beeping faster as she gets closer to you.
TAKING HER DARLING AWAY:
In most regards, Machi values the idea of you being your own, semi-independent person.
She does a whole hell of a lot for you in the shadows, but she isn’t particularly fixated on stealing you away or kidnapping you. Part of the reason why she fell for you in the first place was because of who you are, and there’s a worry eating at the back of her mind that if she were to force you into a relationship or take you away from your life, you would no longer be the person she’s come to love, the person she’s come to live solely for.
It’s scary, the concept that you could just be gone, that her selfishness could be the reason why the glimmer in your eyes fades, or why you no longer smile and laugh so hard you snort a bit.
So while the idea of stealing you away and making sure that you’re constantly protected, safe from the outside world and the horrible people inhabiting it (people like her and the Troupe, she’ll admit) is appealing, she won’t ever make a move to imprison you with her unless an outside force comes into play.
She’s just too nervous and hesitant, because although what she currently has now with you isn’t ideal (the fact that you aren’t under her constant supervision or just within reach to touch – if she ever got brave enough to do so, that is – is certainly not her dream), it’d be even less ideal to have you a shell of your former self.
And those outside forces rally could be just about anything – if it threatens you in some way, she’ll begrudgingly decide that stealing you away is the only possible option.
For example, if someone were to figure out her connection to you; she’s worked tirelessly to make sure that any trace of her obsession with her and her feelings is invisible, to the point where not even anyone in the Troupe is aware of your identity.
(Some, like Shizuku and Shalnark, are aware that there’s someone that’s got Machi all up in knots, that she’s willing killing for and wants to keep constant surveillance on. Otherwise, Machi wouldn’t have just asked Shalnark about the best quality cameras that can be easily concealed available on the market – and she’d been blushing, even, a very light pink on her cheeks that made him stare for a moment, gaping like a fish because who the hell could you possibly be to affect Machi so much? Shizuku, for her part, just knows there’s something a little different about her fellow member – Machi’s smiling more, and while Shizuku is forgetful, she remembers the little things about her friend – and when she’d brought it up Machi, she’d only huffed and firmly told Shizuku to be quiet, her voice still snippy but just slightly wobbling.)
There’s a few cracks in her careful hiding of you, but for the most part Machi is frighteningly good at making sure that no one will ever know about you.
But the impossible has a way of happening, and if by some stroke of ill luck someone does find out about you and tries to attack you, torture you, kill you or use you for leverage?
The moment that she gets you back, safe from the threat of death, immediately she’s putting you under her care, locking you up tight in a small home in a small town where you’ll be utterly, completely safe.
However, the more likely scenario of an outside factor forcing her hand is that Machi will be approached by Chrollo himself – his words are simple, an are you alright? You seem to be a bit off your game, Machi. Whatever it is, please don’t let your duties to the Spider slide.
And when Machi takes a deep breath, she can’t help herself from spilling it all to her boss – the words come out fast, splutters of her feelings for you and how she can’t get you off her mind, how the constant worry over your safety eats away at her every moment she’s away from you, but Chrollo listens diligently, nodding every once in a while.
And when she finishes, her breathing slightly ragged, he can only place a comforting hand on her shoulder, asking her if she’s considered keeping you in a secure location, in which you’ll always have the comfort of knowing she’s alright?
And while she had in fact considered – and immediately discarded – the idea, something in that moment clicks; her life is dedicated to the Troupe, and maybe it really would make things easier to keep you locked up, to keep you safe and sound and completely protected.
Chrollo’s words are enough to have her agreeing, slipping into your room late one night and gently hitting a pressure point, only to leave you snuggled up in your new bed in a collection of the warmest, newest blankets that she could find.
You’re so cute, and while there’s a small amount of guilt eating away at her, Machi can’t deny how right it feels to have you completely aware of how dependent you are on her. Just as it should be.
As a captor, Machi’s air of distance and emotional invulnerability doesn’t simply disappear. Habits can’t be unlearned that quickly, after all, and while every glance at you leaves her stomach feeling weightless and her heart hammering in her chest, she’s too overwhelmed to really be able to talk to you normally – much less touch you as a means of expressing what she’s feeling.
She’s still so used to not really expressing herself, and while you’re quite literally in front of her, looking as precious and pretty and sweet as you always do, she can’t quite find it in her to openly admit how deeply the love swirling in her chest for you runs.
The possibility of you rejecting her is something that scares her to her core, and while the idea of you lovingly hugging her, kissing her and telling her in that flustered, sweet voice that you love her is something that actually makes her blush, the anxiety that you won’t return her feelings eats away at her.
There’s a constant war happening in her mind, really – she’ll dream about holding you at night, her eyes flicking under her eyelids as she imagines how warm you’d be, how good it would feel to press a kiss against the crown of your head, your hair tickling her lips as she whispers an I love you, only to wake up and immediately scoot away from you on the bed, hopeful that you hadn’t awoken during the night and seen the way she’d crawled in beside you.
She’s still distant and impossible to read, and for a good portion of your time under her care, you’ll have absolutely no idea why she’s stolen you.
She obviously doesn’t want to hurt you – she’s threatened you once or twice, sure, but never once has she actually laid a hand on you with violent intent.
(The threats even seem to be accidental, really – as soon as the words slip from her mouth, her eyes widen almost imperceptibly, as if she’s shocked by what she’s said. She’ll always be a little skittish afterwards, avoiding you more than normal and struggling to maintain eye contact, but you’ll always end up with a small, token gift by your nightstand that makes you wonder just how much she seems to know about what you like and dislike – the gifts may be unnerving, but they’re always things you love. Even if you don’t recall having mentioned it to her.)
She doesn’t want to hurt you, and you’ve pretty much ruled out the possibility that you’re being held as a hostage with some larger goal in mind.
After all, why would she bother to make sure you’re comfortable and taken care of if she was just planning on using you?
Why would she invest in buying such high quality sheets for your bed (your preferred blend/texture, of course), or such nice clothing for you?
(It’s all in shades of dark reds and pinks, a mixture of loungewear that fits you perfectly, and a frilly, lace nightgown that only comes down to the mid-thigh and makes you look positively angelic – if it weren’t for the way the sheer fabric does nothing to mask your nipples or the curve of your ass. Don’t ask Machi about the nightgown – she’d stolen it late one night, back when her obsession with you was in full throttle and she was constantly wanting, not quite having you kidnapped yet but still needing to be around you more and more. It was a split second decision, and a part of her hoped you wouldn’t even find the thing in your closet – but the moment she sees you for the first time, that thought disappears and she’s only left with the wonderful, explicit image of you standing in it, her eyes examining every inch of your body.)
You’ve considered everything from a ransom to becoming a future murder statistic, and yet nothing quite seems to fit the situation.
Because Machi’s not affectionate, either – in fact, she hardly ever touches you unless she absolutely has to.
When she’s patching you up after you fall and scrape your knee on the edge of the chair, her fingers almost recoil the moment your skin and hers meet. She avoids any hand you reach out with to grab at her wrist or tap her shoulder, jumping nearly out of her skin and whipping around to face you, this look crossing her face that seems like anger and yearning. It’s confusing, and after a while you’ll stop trying to initiate any form of physical contact, and Machi notices.
It frustrates her, this nagging feeling in her chest begging her to do something, to just reach out and place her hand on your shoulder or wipe away a few crumbs of food from your lips when you’re eating (she made the food, of course, after having watched you cook yourself dinner countless times through your kitchen window).
She won’t do it though, too embarrassed and scared you’ll reject her – so you’ll be left to wonder exactly what the hell her goal is. She doesn’t want to hurt or kill you, and she doesn’t seem to want to assault you or use your body either – what does she want?
You won’t know for a very, very long time – potentially even years, if Machi is left to her own devices. She’s just too scared to come clean; the chance of your rejection or your disgust makes her anxious in a way that has her picking at her nails and pulling out pieces of hair, the anxiety of it all just too much. But as time passes, things will get better.
She’ll slowly – very slowly – begin coming out of her shell, letting herself stand just a hair closer to you or let her gaze linger on your for just a moment longer than before. Eventually she’ll get to the point where she’ll sit directly next to you on the couch, your thighs pressing against each other’s and both of your faces looking straight ahead, both of you unwilling to broach the subject of exactly what’s happening. (Machi’s too nervous, and you’re too confused.)
It’ll take her a long time to admit that she cares about you, but she expresses that sentiment in different ways – she’s a woman of action, and you can tell that she holds just a sliver of fondness for you from the way she provides for you.
Instead of sleeping on a cement floor in some dark, wet, cold basement, she’s outfitted a modest, simple room for you, with a nice twin bed in the corner and a fully stocked closet, along with some art supplies to keep you entertained and a few others items corresponding to your hobbies.
Instead of restricting your meals or feeding you expired, questionable food, she’s always arriving at your doorway with a steaming bowl of soup (she didn’t make it – she can’t cook, but she did personally pick it out from the takeout place or pick it up at the store), her eyes meeting yours for a brief moment before they flick away.
Instead of invading every inch of your privacy like you’d expected, she’s respectful when you have to change (turning away, though the throbbing that forms between her legs begs her to turn around because you’re five feet away from her and you’re naked and fuck fuck fuck -).
She won’t force you into any kind of affection (no unwanted kissing or sexual touching, not even any comments about how attractive you are or how much she desires your body (because the thoughts are there, oh yes, and it’s difficult to keep them at bay, but she tries her best).
She’s even able to predict what you want before you know you want it – she’s spent so long stalking you and paying attention to every small habit in your daily life that she knows exactly how much body wash you lather yourself with in the shower, or how heavy your menstrual flow is, or even
PUNISHMENTS:
Doesn’t like seeing you in pain, and generally you’ll be too afraid to act up because she’s so cold and distant most of the time. She also has no problem intimidating you, whether it be by having a conversation with Feitan in the same room and playing up hearing him talk about new torture methods, even though she hates putting scary ideas into your head (she would never let Feitan touch you or anyone hurt you, but she figures that if you’re scared or have the idea that you will be hurt if you try anything, you’ll probably behave)
Generally speaking, Machi honestly does not enjoy causing you any sort of discomfort or harm.
She’s overbearingly protective, anxious at just the slightest fraction of a possibility that something could hurt you (the amount of times she’s jumped into action and harshly snatched the semi-sharp pencil you were using out of your hands has told you exactly how deeply her paranoia regarding your safety really runs), and she doesn’t have a moral compass that allows her to genuinely believe that any harm she does to you is somehow different than the danger she’s always trying to protect you from.
She doesn’t see herself as being a disciplining force; rather, Machi more wants to keep you safe and pristine, and though she knows it’s a bit of an impossibility, at least towards the beginning of your captivity, she wants you to be as happy as possible as well – she didn’t kidnap you just for the hell of it, and she didn’t uproot your whole life just for shits and giggles.
She wants you to behave, to be safe and sound and still enjoying what little life you have in her clutches, and frankly, punishing you is something that probably won’t happen too often. Machi is scary as a captor at first, if only because she’s just so cryptic, so unwilling to admit to anything regarding her feelings or obsession with you that could be used against her, your smarts coming in to play to manipulate her into letting you go or allowing you to be hurt.
She’s terrifying, cold, calculated and incredibly impersonal, so while the urge to try and escape, to fight her, to do anything to stand up for yourself is incredibly strong, you’ll likely be extremely hesitant to do so.
Because really, while she tries not to show any blood in front of you or explicitly talk about her job, you’ll be able to see the signs – she’s not the best at washing the blood off of her shirt before she returns home from particularly difficult or gruesome jobs, nor is she good at keeping the irritated mumblings under breath about Shalnark being so damn happy, he kills like it’s candy especially quiet.
She’s not subtle, so don’t act out – because while she knows that she’ll never, ever hurt you, you don’t, and do you really want to test that?
When she changes in front of you (something that takes her a while to have the confidence to do, if only because the idea of you seeing something as vulnerable as her body makes her flush lightly and avert her eyes), the spider tattoo is glaringly obvious, and you’ll be left to face the reality – there’s absolutely nothing you can do to her to get her to leave you alone, and there’s nothing you can do against her in order to leave.
So if you’re stuck, why make the situation any more of a living hell than it already is?
That being said, you are only human – Machi works so damn hard to keep you safe, healthy and vital, to give you as good of a life under her care as she feasibly can, and the moment that you do something to threaten that sense of safety she works so hard to upkeep?
Well, Machi may not like seeing you upset, but there’s only so much patience a mass criminal can have, only so much leniency and exceptionalism she can exercise towards you – which is why, as she sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose when you refuse to stop going near the oven (even though she makes a point to turn the breaker off and cover the oven in such a strong field of nen that there’s no way you could even try to put your hand inside), she decides that difficult situations call for unfortunate measures, that she’ll have to go to the extremes to get you complacent, pliant, behaving.
She still will never purposefully physically hurt you, if only because she genuinely can’t stomach the thought of being the cause for any of your blood to be drawn, but your mind is still oh so vulnerable, oh so exposed for her liking, pliant and susceptible to a bit of manipulation, to a bit of rerouting.
And so, while she doesn’t feel good about it, it’s not difficult to get a troupe member to come to her place, to speak about the latest or newest job, what Chrollo wants stolen, how many people can be killed or in the body count, asking them (with a well hidden wince and a sinking feeling in her gut) to be as explicit and specific as possible, to speak loudly enough that you’ll hear from the next room over.
She does this to prove to you without physical pain that she is still more than capable of shutting you down, that while she may have not done anything to you besides stealing you away, she could kill you at the drop of a pin, and you should really listen to her if you know what’s best for you.
It feels dirty and Machi honestly hates doing it, but it’s the only way – and so, when Feitan reluctantly agrees to swing by (after Machi’s promise of a few million Jenny for his trouble), Machi’s setting him up close to the wall separating the kitchen from the bedroom, asking him to face the plaster and tell him about the latest torture method he’s been experimenting with.
Feitan doesn’t like pointless talking or really helping Machi out at all, but as he begins talking, narrowing his eyes as Machi silently pumps her palm up to show he should speak louder, you’ll be sitting in the next room over, the slightly muffled words chilling you to the core.
First locate the spine, take the long knife and cut from neck to tail bone, should wait five to ten minutes for enough blood. Take oven and heat to 500 degrees…
You’ll be traumatized for all thirty minutes of the conversation, and while Machi fucking hates that she’s filling such gruesome and violent ideas in your head, it’ll get the point across, and get you listening to her again.
After she bids him goodbye (a clipped next month, see you then and a slammed door in his face), she’ll take a deep breath and adjust her ponytail lightly, closing her eyes and preparing to face you.
She’s not surprised to see you curled in on yourself on your bed, eyes wide and your fingers trembling, but it still doesn’t make her feel good, a sick feeling settling in her stomach as she bites her lip and leans against the doorframe, hurting inside knowing that she’ll never, ever let Feitan anywhere near you to enact the torture he was detailing, but knowing that she can’t tell you that.
She’s noticeably silent after every ‘punishment’, letting you stew over the information on your own time, but she’s pleased to see that you begin avoiding the oven like the plague, not a single glance spared at the appliance without copious amounts of mumbled apologies and nervously twiddling fingers.
Of course, Machi doesn’t enjoy breaking you down like this, scaring you into submission, but in her mind it’s the only way – she won’t slap you or bruise you, but don’t mental punishments work better, anyways?
Isn’t it more effective to make you afraid, so that the only thing you feel is safe and dependable is her?
OVERALL DANGER:
7/10
The thing that makes Machi so dangerous is genuinely that she’s absolutely, thoroughly and scarily committed to making absolute sure that you’re taken care of, that not a single thing can hurt you or otherwise affect you.
She’s terrified of the idea of you being hurt, because now that she has someone she actually cares about, a connection that makes her chest feel warm and her cheeks feel flush, she is absolutely not willing to let anything happen to fuck it up.
She’s paranoid, overprotective to a fault, and so painfully detached from being able to properly express herself, to properly showcase just how deeply and horribly her obsession and love for you runs.
She’s terrified of being emotionally vulnerable, of letting you in for fear that you’ll somehow use it against her, and so Machi becomes a bit like your guardian angel – only much, much bloodier, and one that will eventually lock you up and treat you like you’re made of the finest china, able to break at even the slightest poke.
Honestly, if you can deal with her being essentially emotionally unavailable (until at least a year or so into your captivity, if all goes well) and not letting you do much of anything for yourself, life with Machi won’t be so bad – you’ll get adequate, homecooked food (though it tends to a bit bland for nutritional reasons), a clean space to live in (one that she honestly won’t intrude on too much, if only because the concept of sleeping in the same bed as you makes her feel pathetic and weird for being so excited and nervous about it), and a protector who considers your safety to be the most important thing on Earth.
If you can deal with it, Machi isn’t too bad – just remember that ice takes time to melt, and can freeze up again at any moment’s notice, if you’re not careful enough.
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Title: Final Girl.
Pairing: Yandere!Chrollo x Reader (HxH).
Word Count: 1.4k.
TW: 'Girl' Is In The Title But Reader Is Gender Neutral, Death and Blood, Mentions of Guns, Manipulation, Implied Kidnapping, and Spoilers for the Ninteenth-Century Novel Dracula.
The night you met him was, by no coincidence, also the night you learned what it meant to feel your blood run cold.
‘Met’ might’ve been an exaggeration. You didn’t meet him so much as you stood still and stared at him – lumbering down the hallway, clutching a gore-splattered butcher's knife, his suit disheveled and stained with a dark, blotting substance you couldn’t bring yourself to put a name to, in your fear-induced paralysis. With the manor's high ceilings and dim lighting, he seemed impossibly tall, his black eyes blank and terrible, his smile manic in a way that sent a chill up your spine, that left you frozen where you stood and unable to run as he came to stand in front of you, as he raised a hand and—
And pointed to the book tucked under your arm, a yellowed paperback beaten to hell and back from weeks of loving abuse. You’d spent hours wondering if you should bring it with you, if there was anyone else on the face of the planet who’d be stupid enough to bring a book to a mascarade ball, but you figured you’d have to step out for a breath of fresh air at some point, tonight, and phones weren’t really an option at this kind of thing. Looking back on it, you struggled to remember why you’d spent so much time agonizing over something so inconsequential, especially when whoever found your body likely wouldn’t pay it a second glance. “Is that—” He started, pausing to wet his lips before correcting himself. “Is that Bram Stoker’s Dracula?”
You blinked several times, shifting your weight. “It is,” you managed, eventually, just before the point of no return. “I… I’m only a few chapters in, though. They’re only on the second blood transfusion.”
His smile widened. “I’m reading it for the second time, now. That’s one of the best passages - you can practically feel the dread mounting in the prose.” While he spoke, you stole another glance at his attire. With your shock beginning to fade and your nerves given a few seconds to cool, you could see that he clearly hadn’t just walked out of a crime scene. His clothes were wrinkled, but not torn, not displaced the way they would’ve been if he’d been in a real fight, and he was covered in a cartoonish amount of (presumably fake) blood. He couldn’t have meant for it to be realistic, not unless you were supposed to believe he’d bled twenty people dry on his own.
He must’ve noticed you staring. His rambling trailed off into an airy chuckle, his free hand drifting to his blood-soaked shirt. “I’m afraid I might’ve misread my invitation,” he admitted, with a slight shrug. You were almost in awe of his nonchalance. Showing up to a masquerade ball in a costume fit for a b-rated haunted house would’ve left you catatonic for… god, the rest of the year, at least. “That’s how I found my way back here, actually. You can understand why I wouldn’t want to stay in the ballroom for very long, considering I’m dressed for a very different party.”
“No, no, that makes a lot of sense! I mean, a costume party would be more in-season.” You felt like an idiot. You could only hope you hadn’t looked as scared as you felt. “Honestly, I’m just surprised they let you in with a prop.”
He glanced to his ‘knife’, too, as if he’d forgotten he was holding it. “Oh, this little thing?” He took the blade in his free hand, bending it downward. Unceremoniously, it snapped into two pieces as easily as if it’d been made of little more than tin foil and plastic - which, to be fair, it probably was. “Most people struggle to see me as a threat, for whatever reason.”
“The doormen probably just felt bad for the strange man who showed up to a charity gala covered in blood.” You spared a small smile, then genuinely brightened, taking up your novel and fishing out the spare mask you’d shoved between the pages while you were getting ready. He should’ve counted himself lucky that you could never be bothered to find a real bookmark. “Mine came in a set of two,” you explained, signaling for him to bend down. A little too easily, he obeyed, stooping just low enough for you to work your spare mask over his head. It was cheaper than anything you would usually like to show off – the base simple black cloth, the embroidery meaninglessly gaudy, the main body kept in place by little more than a simple white ribbon that never seemed to sit just right, but he accepted your offering with a grateful hum. “It’s not much, but—” You paused, buttoning his suit jacket, doing your best to make it look a little less like he’d just walked out of a bad slasher movie and a little more like a tragically color-blind, but ultimately well-dressed party-goer. “It should get you through the door.”
He straightened his back, and you thought you might’ve seen something spark in his dark eyes. Then again, it could’ve just been the moonlight. “I don’t think I ever got your name.”
Oh, right – that was something most people did before offering to fix a stranger’s clothes, wasn’t it? You rushed to introduce yourself, and he did the same. “Chrollo Lucilfer.” And then, offering you his hand, “Perhaps I’d be more warmly received with a plus one?”
As hesitant as you were to slip back into the ballroom on the arm of a disheveled stranger who’d already made an impression of his own, it would’ve broken your heart to turn him down. That, and you might’ve had a weakness for disheveled strangers who fell on the more handsome side of the spectrum.
You laughed as you threaded your arm through his, letting Chrollo guide you back to the main event. A second passed with only the sound of your footsteps and distance music to fill the quiet, then another. Eventually, you broke the silence. “It’s very well-written,” you started, trying to fight the urge to fidget. “But… I don’t think I’m the right audience. I care too much about Lucy. Seeing her go through so much and knowing she’s not going to make it is just—” You sighed, shook your head. “It’s agony. Especially when the villain is literally in the title. I mean, I know the characters don’t know that, but still.”
“The benefit of a voyeur's perspective.” For all his glowing praise, he didn’t seem very offended. “I think the dramatic irony is part of the appeal. By the time the tension breaks, it’s nearly too painful to keep going.”
“Which is exactly why it hurts to read,” you groaned, slumping into his side. “I get why it’s happening, but I just can’t stand spending so long on the build-up knowing how it’s going to end. It probably doesn’t help that Lucy’s one of my favorites, either. Well, aside from Mina, but it wouldn’t be fair to compare her to the author’s self-insert.”
The two of you came to a pair of rounded oak doors. There’d been a pair of attendants stationed outside when you left, but Chrollo didn’t seem to mind shouldering it open himself, ushering you inside with a smile and an idle gesture. You took a second to steel your nerves, still not entirely prepared to throw yourself into a very crowded room filled with very loud music and very eager socialites, then crossed the threshold, coming face to face with—
Carnage. Pure, unadulterated carnage.
There were bodies everywhere, each corpse mangled and bruised and broken in every possible way. Dark blood and broken glass covered the formerly pristine ivory floor, and the walls were painted with the remnants of gunfire. A few people were still standing – the murderers, you figured, judging by the blood on their outlandish clothes, the weapons in their hands, the indifferent agitation written across their expressions as you stared at them in horror, as your heart threatened to give out for the second time that night. The tallest man you’d ever seen pointed a hand-held machine gun in your direction, but Chrollo found his way back to your side, resting a hand on your shoulder as he spoke. “Hold your fire,” he said, casually, as if you weren’t standing at the edge of a bloodbath. As if he’d known what he was leading you into. “I think I’m going to keep this one.”
You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. The air hitched in your throat as he brought a hand up to your chin, tilting your head back and forcing you to meet his unblinking stare. You’d been right the first time. There was never anything his eyes could’ve been but terrible. “I always did like Mina.”
There was never anything he could’ve been but a monster, prowling for his next kill.
“I guess I just have a soft spot for survivors.”
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere imagines#yandere oneshot#yandere hunter x hunter#hunter x hunter#hunter x hunter imagines#yandere hxh#hxh imagines#yandere chrollo lucilfer#chrollo x reader#yanderecore#yancore
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No Body, No Crime
Satosugu x reader
Prompt: You know in your soul that he did it, but there are no ways for you to prove a feeling. But you can play this game he started, and you won’t give up until the day he dies.
Words count: 6.3k
Tags: Satosugu x reader established, Fluff, angst, murder, Slightly suggestive, crime. TW: death, murder, dismemberment, disturbing actions, infidelity, manipulation, and revenge mdni.
Rambling: I was on the verge of tears when I finished this fic, idek if I like it anymore lmao, so if you don't like it, idk what to tell you lmao. I honestly don’t know what to tag this fic as. Just like beware that it’s inspired by: “no body, no crime” by Taylor Swift (of course), The Glory K-drama, and the countless murder podcast I listen to while driving. I hope yall enjoy.
/////////
Odd. Shoko is late, 2 hours late to be exact. She’s not exactly the most punctual person you know but she has never been this late. Especially not on the monthly dinner with you, Suguru, and Satoru. After graduating college together, the 4 of you have made a point to have dinner together at least once a month.
This monthly dinner is something none of you would ever miss. All of you have been making it work for years, through the career changes, through your shitty ex-relationship, through the time when you were confused about how you feel toward Satoru and Suguru. Even after Shoko decided to get married to this Neonatologist named Andrew she met at the hospital she works at, the 4 of you still keep up the routine.
The three of you took turns calling her the past 2 hours and nothing. Straight to voicemail. Not even a text saying she can’t make it today and to reschedule. Odd. you can’t get rid of this nauseating feeling in your stomach.
“Let’s go” you stand up abruptly and begin to walk out of the restaurant toward the parking lot.
“Where are we going?” Satoru asked. Both him and Suguru hurried after you. Satoru unlocked the car, and Suguru opened the door for you to get in. Ever since you joined the relationship, they made a point to never let you drive or touch the car door, ‘you’re our treasure, you will be treated like one’.
“I want to drop by Shoko’s place, maybe she’s got tired from her night shift and overslept or something, I don't know, I just want to make sure nothing is wrong.” You’re panicking, they can see that. During college, if Satoru and Suguru were attached by the hips, you and Shoko were never one without the other. You can’t simply just shake off this anxiety you feel when it comes to your best friend.
They nodded and got into the front seats. They don’t question you. They know how much Shoko means to you, not to mention she’s their friend too. Satoru drives the three of you to Shoko’s place while Suguru tries to calm your anxiety.
“It’s okay, Sweet. You’re probably right about her being deep asleep due to her night shift. She seems pretty stressed and tired lately from her text.” Suguru reasoned.
Satoru gives a slight nod and adds, “Her phone could be dead, and she missed the alarm that would wake her up for our dinner”.
“Yeah… I hope you’re right.” You feel slightly better from the reasonable and likely scenarios they proposed. Still, it couldn't get rid of this sinking feeling you feel in your stomach..
After a short drive, you three reach Shoko’s house. You notice that her husband's truck is in front of the driveway, the tires are brand new, it looks like he just got them replaced today. Odd. Very rarely do people replace all their tires at once. You chalk it up to just coincidence. You walk toward her door and ring the doorbell, Andrew answers the door.
“Hey man, is Shoko home? She was supposed to meet us for dinner around 2 hours ago.” Satoru greeted
“No. She’s not home. I don't know where she is.” Andrew answered abruptly.
“Well, did something happen? Did some emergency come up with her family? She’s your wife, out of everyone she would at least tell you where she is.” Suguru pressed him for more information. It doesn’t make sense for him to not know where his wife is at this hour.
“I told you! I don’t know where she is! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a night shift to get ready for.” With that, Andrew slammed the door to your faces.
Odd. He sounded agitated, and anxious. Like he’s trying to hide something… deny something. Your whole body is shaken in fear with the thoughts of the worst. Nothing makes sense. Shoko would never just vanish without telling anyone. She literally messaged the group chat yesterday saying she’ll see you three at dinner and she has something to tell you all. Nothing makes sense.
Satoru noticed how pale your face had gone and immediately pulled you in for a hug, “It’s going to be okay, Love. She’s going to be okay. We’ll wait till tomorrow and see if she’ll contact us. Then we’ll figure out what to do from there okay?” he said in a hush tone.
“Everything is going to be okay, Sweet. We’ll figure it out together.” Suguru gives your temple a long kiss as he runs his hand up and down your back in a soothing motion.
The three of you drove home in silence. You didn’t dare to leave your phone for one second, you went to sleep with your phone unmuted. Suguru and Satoru make sure at least one of them is by your side at all times. They worry about Shoko too, but they know you need them to be there and keep you grounded. They make sure to hold you extra close that night, you fall asleep in their comforting arms, hoping for the best, but the sinking feeling makes you expect the worst.
/////////
The worst did come. At 6AM, 2 days since you last heard from Shoko, you were woken up by the loud banging on your door.
You groggily lift up the two arms that’s trapping you in bed, then reposition their arm so your boyfriends can cuddle each other instead, you gently close the bedroom door behind you. You walk toward the front door, silently cursing whoever knocked on your door at this crack of dawn hour. When you opened the door, your heart dropped to your stomach.
“Good morning. We recently got a missing person report on Miss Shoko from her husband. Is it okay if we come in to ask you a few questions that could be helpful toward our investigation?” One of the two police officers standing outside your door politely requested.
“Yes…” you answer barely above a whisper, open the door wider for the officers to come in, you call out for Satoru and Suguru for them to wake up and come down to the living room. You lead the officers toward the living room and invite them to sit while you get them water and wait for your boyfriends to come down.
You don't remember much after that. It felt as if time had stopped and the world was crumbling apart. Satoru and Suguru answer the majority of the question, you seem to only be able to answer in ‘yes’ and ‘no’ when the officers specifically address you. You were on autopilot. Your best friend, missing without a trace. Not a single hint on whether she’s dead or alive.
You closed the door after the officers. The moment you hear the ‘click’ of the lock, your legs give out and tears begin to fall from your eyes. You sob uncontrollably, gasping for air. Your shoulders shake violently. This can’t be real. No. you refuse to believe this is reality. Shoko, the person you just talked to on the phone 2 days ago, vanished completely leaving no trace behind.
Satoru and Suguru immediately rush to your side, they wrap their arms around you and hold you tight. They place soft kisses all over you and rub your back in a soothing motion.
“I promise you, Sweet. I’ll make sure to find her for us, okay?” Suguru whispered. Never in a million years did Suguru think he would ever have to find his own missing friend as a detective.
You, Satoru, and Suguru sat there, right in front of the door for hours. Just sitting in each other's embrace and comfort as you three mourn your friend, who you do not know is dead or alive.
/////////
After crying to the point your body can no longer produce anymore tears. You get started on breakfast. Well, not you, you’re too out of it for anything, Suguru is the one cooking, you tried to set up the table but Satoru just guide you to the table and told you to not worry about it.
With nothing to do, you decide to scroll through old messages between you and Shoko. Most of them are about how useless her husband is.
“He can’t even wash the dishes that he used! He ate from them, and then just left them in the sink!”
“This fucker think the laundry magically fold itself! Oh god I want to kill him...” this one makes you giggle a little.
“He said he’s going to work but the nurse just called me cuz they couldn’t reach him and there’s a car accident with a baby in it, where the fuck is he?”
“I just found a big purchase for an expensive bracelet, a month ago in our joint account, he said he thought I bought it. lol maybe he’s cheating on me.” This one caught your attention. It was from 3 weeks ago, you thought Shoko was just joking, you didn’t think too much of it since Shoko said it so casually, unlike the other times she vented about her husband.
No. No. No. No. It can’t be. But the brand new tires, 4 of them, his attitude and response, this message that Shoko sent to you. God, you feel like throwing up.
“He did it…” you breathe out
“What was that, Love?”
“He did it! Andrew killed her! He killed Shoko!” you scream out, throwing your phone across the table so they can see the text message.
“I know he did it! All 4 of his tires are brand new and his attitude when we ask where she was and- and this text from Shoko, he killed her!” Your speech becomes frantic as you explain your reasoning. You rest your head on your hands, trying to just process it all.
Satoru’s eyes widen as they read Shoko’s text. He did it. Satoru feels his stomach sinking as he connects the dots. Everything is as you say, it all points to Shoko’s husband as the culprit. Andrew killed Shoko.
“But we have no proof, until we can find evidence or Shoko’s body, he is innocent” Suguru pointed out. Coming around to the table with the french toasts he was making for breakfast. He placed 2 on your plate. You push your plate away, not feeling like eating with everything you have to take in. Suguru grabs your hand and places a kiss on your finger to make you look at him.
“Sweet, you need to eat, at least half, you’ll only feel worse if you don’t eat. We’ll think about this some more after breakfast okay?” Suguru tries to reason with you. He understands how distress you're feeling right now. He looks over at Satoru, his boyfriend's grip on your phone is making his hand turn white.
Suguru walks over to Satoru, he wraps his arm around Satoru, hugging him tightly from behind to snap him out of it, he then takes your phone away from Satoru’s hand. “You too, ‘Toru, let’s eat first, we’ll figure out what to do after, okay?”
If you and Satoru didn’t know Suguru like part of your soul, you would mistake his calmness for indifference. But that couldn’t be farther from the truth, Suguru is like the calm before the storm, you won’t notice his anger until after it’s all said and done.
You three eat in silence. Suguru is an amazing cook, the french toasts are far from being mediocre. Yet, none of you seem to find the appetite to eat with all the information you need to process.
After breakfast, you tell the boys you’ll clean up and wash the dishes since they cook and set up. Though they agree to not argue with you about it, they end up helping you with washing the dishes anyway.
“What do you want to do, Sweet?” Suguru decided to be the one to talk about the issues that have been weighing yours and their minds.
“I’m not sure, Suguru. There is nothing I can do but hope that they'll be able to find some evidence, or at least her whereabouts.” you said softly, defeatedly. There is truly nothing you can do in this situation.
“Alright then, I’ll ask my boss to put me on the case. Just like I promised you.” Suguru smiled at you.
You feel a pair of arms snake around your torso. Satoru gave Suguru a peck on the lips then rested his head on your shoulder, “We’ll find her, Love. We’ll use whatever means we have and find her.”
You can’t help but smile at their words. Sometimes you ask yourself how you are so lucky to find 2 of your soulmates. You’re so incredibly lucky to be able to love and be loved by them. They make the fickleness of life much easier to navigate. Despite your storm of emotions due to Shoko’s disappearance, you find yourself still able to let go and feel grounded around them. They’re your rocks. You trust their words. You trust them.
/////////
Everything is easier said than done. It has been 6 months since Shoko’s disappearance. Suguru did become head detective of the case just like he promised, but every lead he got resulted in a deadend. At this point the case is considered cold, but Suguru refuses to let it go and continues to investigate by himself. Satoru used his company’s along with his own influence to get the case into headlines in the media, in hope that someone would be able to give Suguru more intel to work with. Satoru even hired someone to spy on Andrew and report back to him once a week.
But with all the walls you've been facing, you’re starting to gaslight yourself into thinking that Andrew is actually innocent, and your intuition is just plain wrong. That is, until the spy on Andrew sent Satoru the weekly report while the three of you were cuddling on the couch watching Barbie.
When Satoru’s phone rings, you don't bother pausing the movie, thinking it’s just gonna be mundane like the other reports the past 6 months. Satoru got up to grab his phone along with some water from the kitchen. His knuckles turn white when he sees what the spy sent him.
“Suguru, Love, you guys need to see this.” Satoru calls out to you two with gritted teeth.
You pause the movie and quickly go to the kitchen, Suguru following you.
“What’s wrong?” Suguru before you could.
“The rat bastard actually brought home his mistress.” Satoru hands you the phone, he’s fuming now, his other hand balled up tightly. Suguru immediately notices and takes Satoru’s hand, holding onto it so Satoru won’t dig his nails into his palm and hurt himself.
You look at the pictures on Satoru’s phone. Andrew holding hands with the mistress. Them carrying boxes from his truck. Her wearing Shoko’s favorite designer dress, a silver bracelet on her left hand. They were going out for dinner. Bastards.
You can feel your gut burn, your heart aching, and tears of anger threaten to spill from your eyes. Suguru’s face is grim, his hand squeezing Satoru just as hard as Satoru squeezing his. All the 3 of you can see is red. Boiling pit of lava in your stomachs. This nuclear waste of a human, not only killed your best friend, but brought his mistress into the house that your best friend bought, let his mistress wear your best friend’s favorite dress, and slept with his mistress in your best friend’s bed.
“I’m going to kill him.” Satoru said with conviction.
“No.” Your tone is scarily calm, “simply killing him won’t be enough.”
Suguru grabs your hand without letting go of Satoru’s hand, brings it to his lips and places a gentle kiss. “What are you thinking, Sweet? We’re ready to be your executioner.”
Satoru nodded in agreement. The red in their eyes can’t be missed. They’re just as furious as you are.
Looking into their resolute gazes, you pulled both Satoru and Suguru into an embrace. They return your feelings by wrapping their arms around you. You always know this, but now more than ever, you truly believe that even if the entire world were to condemn you, these two would burn the world down for you; and so would you for them.
You all know in your souls that he did it, but there are no ways for you to prove a feeling. But you can play this game he started, and you won’t give up until the day he dies. Together with your executioners, You will make the two rats pay for their action.
/////////
Good thing your boyfriend, Gojo Satoru, is filthy rich. The private spy he hired gives you a lot of information about the mistress. Her name is Maruka, she’s 10 years younger than Andrew, clearly a sugar-baby. She used to work as a cosmetologist but quitted around 3 months ago. From the words of the people that used to be in her life, her biggest love is money. They can’t fault her for it though, she was one of those orphan kids that was passed around in the foster system, she grew up with her whole life stuffed inside a single garbage bag.
You pitied her life for a bit. Thinking maybe she’s just an innocent bystander that also got rope into Andrew’s scheme. Unfortunately, giving people the benefit of the doubt hasn't been working out for you lately.
You first interact with her at the luxury spa she often frequent after moving in with Andrew. You have the spy let you know when she’s going to the spa so you can join and strike up a friendship with her. When you spot her entering the spa’s sauna, you quickly prepare yourself while reciting the script you have in your head.
You enter the sauna, sit directly in front of Maruka. You wait for a few minutes before striking up a conversation.
“Hi, I’m Ina, do you go to his spa often? I haven’t seen you around before.” You lied, a fake name in case she recognizes your real one.
“I’m Maruka, and yeah, I’m pretty new to this spa. It's been getting pretty serious between me and my boyfriend recently, I even moved in with him so I want to take care of myself for him.” she giggles.
“Aww, that’s cute. How did you meet?” Your inquiries.
“Oh we met at a bar, he bought me a drink and we started talking and we just hit it off, he was so charming.”
“You must be very happy then.” you give her a slight smile, “the way you talk about him, it seem like your relationship is full of sunshine and flower”
“You would think so, but unfortunately he had a wife, so we have to date in secret. But he promised me that he would divorce her for me” she laughs. That pisses you off but you hold down your anger.
“You said you moved in recently, did he finally divorce his wife recently?”
“Oh. My. God. That’s the best part. She disappeared! 6 months ago! She might be dead for all we know so he gets to keep the fancy house. It’s as if we’re destined to be and god was helping us out!” you squeal in excitement.
If Suguru and Satoru were here, they would nominate you for the Oscar for how well you’re able to hold back your anger and continue to be friendly with this piece of work. This shameless woman considers someone’s misfortune as her blessing. Disgusting.
“Wow, that’s impressively lucky, maybe you are being watched over by god.” you said in feint amazement. “We should grab lunch together, you’re fun to talk to, it'll be on me. And I’ll bring you to a nice place where we can test your blessing”
She giggled in happiness, “Sure!”.
You know she would agree as soon as you invite her, this is a luxury spa after all, only those with money and membership can enter. She won’t let go of an opportunity to form connections with someone who is wealthy enough to be in this spa.
/////////
Just as you proposed, you bring her to the most expensive restaurant in town, you have to show your wealth (by using Satoru’s card) so she would want to stick to you even closer. Afterward you bring her to Toji’s horse racing ring.
Toji used to be Shoko’s and Suguru’s smoke and drink buddy in college. He wasn’t necessarily close to your group, but you consider each other friends. So when you come asking him for a favor to avenge Shoko, along with the money to reimburse him. He told you to keep the money and to use his horse racing ring however you please.
“Where are we?” Maruka asked in confusion.
“A horse racing ring, owned by my friend, you should place some bet to test out your blessing.” you giggle.
“If you lose, the ring will only take half of what you bet. But if you win, you’ll win twice the amount you bet, and the ring will only take 10% of what you win. It’s a win-win scenario for everyone. People who play will gain more than they lose, and the ring gains a small revenue to keep it going.” You entice her further.
“Oh, I have never placed a bet before…” She hesitated a little, but clearly still interested.
“Here,” you hand her a slip of paper “Just write down your name, the amount you're betting, and the number on the horse you think will win, then put it in that box at the front.”
She takes the slip, she looks at it, contemplating for a moment. She then put down her name, $50, and horse number 3. She places it into the box at the front and you nod at the worker standing next to it, giving him the signal.
“Now what?” she ask nervously
“Now we watch!”
You two sit down in one of the seats in the VIP area. You glance at her, she’s anxious, first time gamblers always feel anxious at their first bet, but this adrenaline is what keeps them hooked. You watch as the horses race each other. Number 3 won. You watch as Maruka jumps up in joy and you smile at her.
“Would you look at that! You truly are blessed!” You feint excitement, hyping her up even more. This is the adrenaline you want her to feel, the high you want her to feel.
“Oh my gosh oh my gosh!! Ina!! I won!!” she said excitedly
“Yes you did! You're now $90 richer.” you smile, handing her another slip of paper “Want to go again?”
She took the paper from your hand immediately without hesitation this time. She excitedly wrote down her next bet again, $200 this time. You can’t help the grin being formed on your face. You got her hook, line, and sinker.
/////////
Good thing that your other boyfriend, Getou Suguru, is a famous detective. He knows the in and out of the law well, knows what evidence is crucial and what is useless. He’s the person that composes files on Maruka and Andrew that would help with your plan. In fact, Suguru is in his office filing out the new updates and pictures Satoru’s spy sent him.
You walk into his office to see him sitting at his desk with papers and pictures all over the table. You slide your hands on his shoulders and give him a small massage, you kiss his temple then rest your head on his shoulder.
“I love you.” you whisper softly
“I love you too” Suguru replies, turning his head slightly to give you a quick kiss on your lips.
You look at the pictures scattered on the table. The spy has been documenting Mamuka and Andrew’s day. Andrew’s day tends to be pretty boring now that he got what he wanted, he just went to work, went home, took Maruka out for dinner, nothing special. Maruka on the other hand, with no work to occupy and her new addiction to gambling on horse races, has been blowing through her money like water.
You made sure that the workers at Toji’s ring would let her win frequently at first, building her confidence in her luck. Then, you make sure she’ll start to lose. Of course, she will win when the worker notices she’s getting frustrated and about to give up. To give her that high. To keep her hook.
From what Shoko’s work friend, a nurse, at Andrew’s hospital has been telling you, he has been more and more agitated lately. Looks like Maruka’s spending habits are slowly affecting their relationship. You made sure to decline every single one of her invites to dinner with her and Andrew. You can’t risk them finding out you and Shoko’s best friend, and you as Ina are the same person.
“How is everything going on your side?” Suguru ask softly
“Oh, you know, just occasional lunch and dinner with the bitch, keep the ‘friendship’ going. The way she talks pisses me off though, she talks like a child. Sitting with her makes me miss Shoko even more. That should be Shoko’s place at the table with me, not her.” you complain with a sign, making Suguru chuckle.
“I miss her too, Sweet” He reached his hand up to pat your head, “What about Satoru? How’s his task going?”
“Magnificent actually, this whole life insurance company plan actually brings in money for the company, so it’s like killing two birds with one stone.” Satoru chimes in from behind you two, he leans down to give both you and Suguru a soft kiss.
“Seems like everything is going smoothly as planned then.” Suguru stands up from his chair to go to his vinyl shelf, he picks one and puts it on his new record player that you got him last Christmas. Lovers by Taylor swift come on and he reaches his hand out to both you and Satoru.
“How about a small celebratory dance? We can go for a celebratory dinner tonight” Suguru suggested.
You giggle and walk over to take his hand and so did Satoru. You spend the next few minutes twirling between them and watching them dance with each other. You’re genuinely happy, the happiest you have felt since Shoko’s disappearance. Revenge tastes oh so sweet, but it tastes addictingly sweet with your lovers around.
/////////
“Ugh, my boyfriend refused to give me an allowance today. Something about that he needed to save up for my ring. He’s bullshitting, I know it.” Maruka complained to you during your lunch with her. “I need money so I can win, I need to win so I can pay back my loan, this is so annoying!”
“That does sound annoying. I hate seeing you so upset like this. Is there any way I can help?” you asked in a concerned tone.
“I don’t know, Ina. I feel like the only way to solve any of my problems lately is money.” Maruka sighs. You smirk, pulling out a wad of cash from your purse.
“Here, $2000, for you.” You hand the stack of money to her. Smiling slightly.
“Wha- why? Thank you but…” Maruka start
“Oh don’t mention it, I recently invested in this new Insurance company owned by Gojo Corp. Their life insurance policy is pretty interesting. You can file for policies under someone else's name as long as you have their paperwork such as birth certificate, citizenship, social security number, things like that” You lied with the nonchalant attitude
“I recently filed one under my boyfriend’s name after finding out he was cheating on me and planning on buying a one way ticket to disappear to Russa.” You shrug. “Good thing the insurance company reimburse you double the amount you invest for disappearance cases, something about the owner having a friend that disappeared without a trace.”
You know it sounds too much like a lie. You know this lie sounds too good to be true. But you don’t need Maruka to believe you right now. You just need her to take the bait. After all, she ran out of money, in debt, with a gambling addiction. It shouldn’t take long for her to crawl to the insurance company from the prospect of easy money.
“Huh, interesting. Anyway, thank you.” She take the wad of cash
“No problem, just a small gift.” you reply. You can already see the cogwheel in her head spinning.
You parted ways with Maruka after eating and returned home. You send a text to your boyfriends before submerging yourself in your hot tub, “bait placed”. You enjoy the warmth of the hot tub and the water massage from it. You reminisce about your times with Shoko.
She would often tease you for how dense you were. “Everyone and their mother could tell that Satoru and Suguru have a thing for you, everyone but you apparently”.
Everytime you’re sad about another failed relationship, she would drag you out to go shopping or to the bar with her. Then you two would go to 3 different fast-food places, order an ungodly amount of food, and eat away your pain.
When you told her, you think you might like Satoru and Suguru more than friends, she said “fucking finally. go tell them that, I can’t handle those two being sad little puppies every time you get into a relationship with someone else anymore.”
You were maid-of-honor at her wedding. You can still remember how she looked in her wedding dress so clearly. You two went to pick it out together. You held her hand before she walk down the aisle, “anytime during the wedding, if you don’t wanna the do this anymore, I have the car readied”
She just laughed and said, “it’s just a marriage, I can handle myself, I don’t need you to worry about me.”
You should’ve grabbed her hand and dragged her to the car. That’s your biggest regret.
Your phone rings and snaps you out of your memory lane. A message from Satoru that said “she took the bait”. You smile at the text and step out of the hot tub. You’re thinking about making Satoru’s favorite dessert and Suguru's favorite food for dinner. Your boys have been working so hard for you. You should reward your favorite executioners tonight.
/////////
Good thing Satoru’s dad made him get a boating license during the summer of his 15. It’s a reason you three get to enjoy the weekend on a private yacht, in the middle of the ocean. You're currently enjoying a glass of champagne with some chocolate covered strawberry, sun-bathing in the lounge chair as your boys race each other in the water.
It's been a week since Maruka last contacted you to hangout. And according to Shoko’s nurse friend, it's been 3 days since Andrew came in for work. How interesting. Maybe you should give her a call.
You pick up our phone and click on Maruka’s contact, it rings 3 times before she pick up.
“Ina! Hi! What are you calling for?” She sounds panicky. She sounds like a kid doing something they shouldn’t be doing.
“Hey, I just wanna call to check up on you, haven't heard from you in a minute. What cha up to?”
“Oh nothing, just cooking… for my boyfriend! Yeah.”
“Oooh, what are you making?” you ask casually
“Just a beef stew, nothing special, just plain ol’ beef stew” Maruka answered rapidly, her attitude reminding you of Andrew’s attitude on the day of Shoko’s disappearance.
“Well, I’m just checking in, I would invite you out shopping with me but I’m on vacation right now. I’ll let you know when I’m back.”
With that, you and Maruka say bye to each other. You get up from your relaxed position and walk over to the railing on the yacht to call out to your boyfriends, who are trying to drown each other in their water splashing war.
“My loves,” You shout out to them, mischief in your voice. They stop what they were doing to look at you, enjoying the view quite a bit with the minimal amount of fabric you have on you, “it’s time for the anonymous tip and the wellness check don’t you think?”
A smirk grew on both of their faces as they swim back to the yacht to make some important phone calls. You lean on the railing to enjoy the sight of you boys. Their muscles flex in the most delicious way as they make their way through the water.
Your eyes didn’t leave their body as they climbed back up to the yacht. You're still staring as they both grab their phone to make some phone calls. You can’t help it, the way their skin glistens in the sun due to that water. The fact that they’re half naked right now with the short they’re wearing clinging onto their skin, giving you the sight of their defined thighs. Ah… it’s not as if you have never seen them in nothing but their birthday suit before, but still… your boys are just too attractive for their own good.
“If you stare any harder, you’ll burn a hole through us.” Satoru tease, you were too busy staring to notice he’s already finished with his phone call.
“I blame you two.” I joke, leaning into his body as he wraps his hand around you. Your smile gets wider when you feel another body pushing you closer to Satoru’s from behind.
“Oh? Please, do tell us how it’s our fault…” Suguru whispers into your ears, he nibbles on your ears a little before looking up to kiss Satoru.
Oh… you already know you’re gonna be in heaven for the next few hours. It’s a good day today.
/////////
Sunlight peeked through the blind of your shared room, waking you up. You look over to see Satoru and Suguru cuddling, you can’t pinpoint where one begins and where the other ends. You grab your phone to check the time, it’s 10am too early for lunch but too late for breakfast. You three just got back from your vacation in the middle of the ocean so you’re taking it slow before going back to work.
You get out of bed to go brush your teeth and get started on making brunch for yourself and your boys. You have a feeling it’s going to be a good day today. Eggs and bacon for brunch sound oddly enticing right now.
You take out the bacon from the fridge and place them slice by slice on a metal tray. You put them in the oven and get started on frying the eggs. Satoru likes his egg scramble, while Suguru likes sunny side up.
“Good morning” two voices greet you, not quite in sync because they’re not fully awake yet.
“Good morning, My Loves” you greet them back, “you could’ve slept in some more.”
“Nah, you weren’t in bed with us.” Suguru replies, he walks into the kitchen to help you cook. Satoru decides to go to the Living room to turn on the TV to a news channel before going to set up the table.
The TV in the living room drones on about the weather, politics, and current events as you guys eat. You three discuss how you are gonna spend the rest of your day as you finish up your brunch.
“Breaking news: Woman murders her boyfriend with the intention of cashing in on his life insurance policy to support her addiction.” The new anchor announces as the three of you wash the dishes and clean up the kitchen table.
“This morning, the police conducted a wellness check on Mr. Andrew, the husband of Ms. Shoko, who vanished without a trace a year ago. This check was prompted by an anonymous tip reporting his absence from work for three consecutive days, during which no one at his workplace could reach him. However, upon their arrival, law enforcement discovered only Ms. Maruka, Andrew's current girlfriend, present at the residence. Subsequent investigation of the home led to the unsettling discovery of fragments representing approximately 20% of Mr. Andrew's body, alongside three pots of meat stew. Analysis of the DNA extracted from the bones within the stew suggested the disturbing possibility that Mr. Andrew may have been used as an ingredient in this unsettling concoction.” The news anchor further elaborated on the case.
“Gross.” The three of you cringe at gruesome action.
“What was her plan with those stews? She isn’t thinking of eating it right?” Satoru commented, grimacing at the thought.
“Who knows, maybe she plans on feeding it to the stray dogs.” Suguru entertains Satoru’s thoughts.
“Ew. Even dogs wouldn’t want to eat that human waste.” you laugh, joining their antic.
“Based on an alternative anonymous tip, it appears that Ms. Maruka might be struggling with a gambling addiction and substantial debt. Additionally, she recently acquired a substantial life insurance policy in Mr. Andrew's name just one week ago. At present, all the available evidence strongly indicates that Ms. Maruka is the primary and sole individual under suspicion in connection with Mr. Andrew's demise.” The law enforcement officer being interviewed said with conviction.
You can help the wide grind forming on your lips as you wipe the dishes dry, “I can’t wait to tell Shoko about this.”
“I can already hear how much she's gonna enjoy this.” Sugar commented, chuckling at the thought, handing you another plate he just cleaned.
“We’ll tell her about this together. All three of us” Satoru said as he leaned down to place a kiss on your shoulder.
Yeah, the four of you will have the dinner you missed again. You, Satoru, and Suguru will tell Shoko all the mischief she missed. It won’t be now, or anytime soon. But you’ll tell her all about it, all three of you.
#gojo x reader x geto#geto x gojo x reader#satosugu x reader#satosugu fluff#gojo satoru x reader#geto suguru x reader#getou suguru x reader#gojo x reader#geto x reader#gojo satoru#geto suguru#gojo fanfic#geto fanfic#jujutsu kaisen#gojo fluff#geto#jjk geto#getou suguru#getou x reader#gojo satoru fluff#jjk gojo#satoru gojo#jjk x you#jjk fanfic
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What ab Eddie sucking f!readers tits when she’s sitting on his lap while brushing the hair🤭🥰
Midnight affection, cravin attention
tw : slight lactation kink, brief mentions of pregnancy
Eddie leans the back of his head even further into your head as you absentmindedly scratch at his scalp. Focused on the shitty horror movie he picked for the two of you, you don't notice the way he peers up at you from where his head rests on your chest. Wide eyes looking at you softly, full of love.
He rubs his cheek against the soft fabric of your shirt, an old flimsy thing that practically swallows you whole, as if he's a cat. It's one of your favorite shirts to wear when you stay over at Eddie's trailer, especially during summer when it's too hot for proper clothes. His hands rest on your hips, drawing small circles on your soft skin. It's times like this that Eddie wishes he could be somehow closer to you. An idea pops into his head, not a major difference between the current affection he's giving you but enough that it should bring your focus to him.
His hands creep up to your ribs, now slowly and softly running his fingers up the length of your side. Your shirt bunching up around your stomach due to the angle of his arm as you squirm slightly at the new touch, but keep your eyes on the tv. Eddie huffs lightly as he realizes his plan to get your attention without asking for it was short of success. Wondering what he would have to do to pull your focus from the gore that passed as a movie, he swiftly decides to go a much more direct route of getting closer to you whilst occupying your attention he so desperately craves.
He slowly climbs under your shirt completely, rogue hairs that have escaped his low bun tickling your chest as he slides the arm that was stroking your ribs under you. Pressing his warm cheeks against you, quickly kissing the area. You peer down at him, now a lump under your shirt that's wrapped itself around you. Your hands being forced out of his hair as he wormed his way under the soft fabric, now resting on his back.
"Is it comfy in there?" You ask with a teasing lilt to your voice, a smile spreading across your face when you realize Eddie probably was just being a bit needier than usual.
"Just visiting my girls, I know they missed me." He mumbles into your skin, almost too low for you to hear. His hair rubs against your skin as he nods.
Continuously kissing the skin of your chest, slowly moving towards the swells of your tits and your slowly pebbling nipples. Waiting with bated breath for you to pull him back by his hair and ask what exactly he's doing, as if he's committing some sort of crime by loving on your chest as he always does but just not in this kind of setting.
His reply and the way his hair tickles your sensitive skin makes you laugh, rolling your eyes at his words but not pushing him off of you. You don't mind his need for skin to skin contact, as it's nothing new. He always had the urge to be as close as possible, even when the two of you first started dating. Sliding his hand up your shirt to rub your back, softly stroking the back of your hand whenever he could, always peppering kisses wherever you'd let him.
Eddie gently kisses over your nipples and chest, the soft clicking sounds of his mouth getting drowned out by the TV. Slowly going from one side to the other before starting to lap at your right nipple with small licks. Blowing cool air and giggling whenever it hardens even more. His hand comes up to push the soft fabric of your shirt so he can see the pretty bud, pooling it up by your collarbone and finally revealing himself to you once again. Wide eyes peer up at you with wonder as you push all of his hair to rest over one shoulder. Tucking the stray fly aways behind his ear and starting to scratch gingerly at his scalp.
He takes your nipple into his mouth, dragging his tongue on it while he starts to suck. The feeling makes you smile down at him and close your eyes, reaching to the back of his head to toy with the hairs at the nape of his neck. Eddie's own eyes start to drift shut, still sucking lazily on your chest as a comforting warmth spreads through him.
"So pretty…" He tries to say but it comes out muffled and slightly garbled once again as he tries to wiggle close to you. Huffing when he realizes he's as close as he can get without being inside you. The warm breath causes goose bumps to rise on your chest as he stays latched onto you.
"I think you could stay there for hours happily, always have been obsessed with my tits. You practically died the first time I stayed the night and you saw me without my bra." The memory pulls a small laugh from you while Eddie whines, slightly embarrassed about how much he focuses on your chest at times. Even when you've told him, time and time again, that you don't mind his eyes that seem to always drift when the two of you talk.
He can't help it, something in him always drawing him into the comfort of your chest. Tugging on them and putting them into his mouth while you ride him. Squeezing them when the two of you are going to sleep, or even sucking on them if you pull him to lay on you. But he's always a good boy…..usually, asking permission before latching onto them greedily. He even wonders if one day, you'd let him taste your milk when he eventually gets you pregnant.
With the thought of your swollen tits leaking into his mouth, as drool starts to slowly go down the side of your chest, Eddie drifts off with your hand still in his hair and the TV changing to a different movie
#eddie munson#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson headcannon#eddie munson imagine#stranger things blurb#stranger things vol 1#stranger things hc#stranger things x reader#stranger things#stranger things x y/n#stranger things imagine#stranger things headcanons#sub eddie munson#sub!eddie munson#eddie munson smut
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Darkened Desires
Prologue and Chapter 1: The sun || Chapter 2: The moon || Chapter 3: The moon || Chapter 4: The sun || Chapter 5: The sun || Chapter 6: The moon || Chapter 7: The moon || Chapter 8: The sun || Chapter 9: The sun
Pairings: Mafia!Scaramouche × Barista!Reader
Word count: 1,032
Tw: praise kink, degradation, kidnapping, tourture, dub/non-con, forced breeding, dismembering, gore, deaths, age-gap, corruption, use of force, trauma, use of drugs, stalking, mentions of human trafficking on the near chapters, slowburn.
Warning: This fanfiction may contain kidnapping, torture, dub/non-con, forced breeding, dismembering, age-gap, corruption, vigilante Scaramouche, use of force, trauma, use of drugs, stalking, and more. This fiction will continue grow darker as chapters goes by.
Your mental health matters.
CHAPTER 10:
THE OUTSIDER
He didn’t gave me a choice but to do this, I thought we were a team but I guess not. He doesn’t understand that we needed that girl, well—that was what the Tsaritsa said, and so I did what I have to do. It’s not a crime to follow someone’s order, was it?
I was pretty much delighted when she had fallen asleep, it was as easy as Scara said to hack cameras and manipulate them, so I did. Took her away from home and kept her in the basement, well—probably more of a torture room, I love to see his reaction when he marks to himself that the Tsaritsa isn’t playing games.
All he needed to do was deliver the goods and have a lovely conversation with the client, but no—he was too busy talking to his darling sunshine and saving children and women, not that it was a bad idea.
It was nice of him to use his position and power to save the poor who couldn’t protect themselves. But the Tsaritsa said that time is ticking, she doesn’t have all day now, does she?
Now here I am, stuck with his mess with his own client—not mine.
My head throbs as his client ramble to me, I could only maintain a friendly smile—showing not even a slight of irritation even though I want to put a bullet and slit his throat up.
“Yes, I understand your frustration.” I nod and folded my arms, leaning my back to the soft cushion of my seat “what about m—” I interrupt him, “No need to get concern about your… goods.” I let out a soft chuckle and rest my chin to my palm, “I’ll be sure to confiscate you and give you your goods.” I added and took a sip of my glass of red wine.
He opened his mouth but shut it again, “seems like a good deal, no? I’ll even add a discount for you.” I rest my arms wide from the back of my seat, “not only I’m doing something ‘good’ but also…” I mutter the last words, “benefitting the Tsaritsa some informations…”
“what was that?”
“It’s beneficial for the both of us.” I cover up with a lie and smiled, leaning forward and resting my elbow to my knees,
“What do you say, mister Xy?” I look at him in the eye, he’s hesitant but agreed anyway, “great!” I stood and clap my hands together and look at my men, “I’ll be sure to contact you,” I say as I turn to look at him, with his expression remains a hint of doubt.
“Report.” I mumble next to my men as he lean to whisper in my ear, I nodded as I listen to his words. “Very good,” I pat his shoulder and turn around and walk towards the exit, as if on cue—my men had followed me out. The car has been ready and I step inside, adjusting and making myself feel comfortable inside.
Crossed my legs and lean my head against the window, “Let’s go back to little miss sunshine.”
The driver nod and drove off.
As I entered in my own home, I hear voices from below—it must’ve been someone accompanying her with the door slightly open, I sigh and took off my coat and give it to my servant.
I walked down the stairs and saw one of my men arguing with the miss, I decided to eavesdrop before interrupting their fun.
“You can’t just push the remote whenever you please because you’re that hungry!” he argued, she just looks at him with her eyes squint, “why not?” she innocently asked, “because you’re eating every often, you literally asked for food three fucking times in a row!”
“because I’m hungry.”
“And we’re gonna run out of ingredients to feed to you! The fuck kind of stomach you have, woman!?”
I snicker, holding back my laugh as I let the scene play out.
“then y’all shouldn’t have left me with the remote then.” She frowns, “can’t do that. That’s against our boss’s order.” He clears his throat as he spoke, I heard him take a deep breath before continuing.
I heard a bell ring upstairs, I’m gonna burst but I can’t.
“Come on! What now?!”
“I want desserts.”
I couldn’t hold it in anymore, I burst out laughing—my arm on my stomach. I couldn’t believe this girl, it’s either this is the reason why Scara chose her or another but this is beyond hilarious.
“B-Boss!” he stammer and fixes himself in front of me, I dismiss it, trying to calm myself down. I breath in and out as I slowly got my cool back, I couldn’t hold it in anymore, I burst out laughing—my arm on my stomach. I couldn’t believe this girl, it’s either this is the reason why Scara chose her or another but this is beyond hilarious.
I look at him as I see his skin jump, “what are you waiting for? Get her desserts.”
“but sir.”
“No excuses, don’t want her get hungry now, do you? Would you like a demonstration when Scara’s little sunshine get starved?” the corner of my lips tug a small but sinister smile, “no sir.” He answered and left with his head looking at the ground.
I let myself see him out then turn to look down at her, my figure towering her down in her ground, “does this frighten you?” I asked, she shakes her head and nod a little, “only a bit.”
“Why?”
“there’s no warmth in the darkness.”
I suck my cheeks in and nodded, “but it also makes me feel safe too, sometimes.” She mumbled the word sometimes as she fidgets with her fingers.
“Will you let me go now?”
I chuckle and shakes my head, “not until your hubby give me something that I want.”
“what is it?”
“It’s classified, only belonged to his stepmother.”
Her eyes speaks curiosity and an itch to dig into it more, I smiled and shift my weight to my left, “don’t want you snooping around to his personal life now, curiosity does kill the cat.” I warned and turn around and leave her behind.
I can feel her eyes burn at the back of my neck.
It’ll be fun playing with her for a while…
Link:
Chapter 11: THE MOON
#genshin impact#dark romance#darkened desires series#scara x reader#scaramouche fanfic#scaramouche x reader#scaramouche#genshin scara#mafia!scaramouche#mafia!scara#chapter with Ajax aka Childe !! :3#childe#childe tartaglia ajax#ajax#childe tartagalia
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