I will occasionally try to write

Hi! you can call me Elle :) i fully made this account only because sometimes i get in writing moods and need something to work on. send me a request and ill try to get it done ASAP!

[idk-ask-me-yesterday]

Welcome to my little corner of the internet! I'm Elle, a 19-year-old aspiring writer. I've always had stories swirling around in my head, and I'm finally ready to put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard, I guess).

I have never done any writing projects and id like to branch out, starting with fanfics. I've been reading fics for years and i finally feel like I'm ready to try some myself :)

who i write for!

Masterlist!

[stannisbaratheon]

[stannisbaratheon]

i posted this old as balls gifset ten years ago today

[killerplink]

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Female Reader

Words: 1,5k

Plot: Nightwing comes home starving, but it's not the food on his mind ✨

CW: 18+, established relationship, smut, oral sex, overstimulation, teasing

Dick drops to his knees like a man on a mission, eyes burning with hunger as he tugs your panties down and spreads your legs. His hands, still gloved, grip your thighs, keeping you exactly where he wants you—wide open for him.

The dark blue of his Nightwing suit clings to every muscle, every flex of his body a reminder of just how tightly coiled his need is. He doesn't bother with teasing, doesn't waste time—his mouth is on you before you can even take your next breath.

And fuck, he eats like he's been starving for it. Maybe because he has been.

His tongue flicks over your clit, sharp and relentless, before dragging through your slick folds, tasting everything you have to offer. A deep groan rumbles through him as he sucks at your clit, the vibrations making your legs shake. His hands keep you pinned in place, his grip firm but reverent, like he needs this, needs you.

"God, baby—" your head tilts back, thighs trembling against his hold. "Always so fucking good for me."

He hums against you, shoving two fingers inside your greedy cunt, fucking them in deep as his tongue works over your swollen, aching clit. He's got you on edge in minutes, pushing, pressing, curling—like he knows exactly how to pull you apart.

And he does.

The orgasm builds sharp and hot in your core, a coil twisting tight, every flick of his tongue drawing you closer to the edge. His fingers are relentless, fucking you open, stretching you, dragging against that perfect spot until your thighs tense, your back arches, and you break, fingers tighten in his dark, messy hair.

It slams into you, a rush of white-hot pleasure that has your hips rolling against his mouth, chasing every last wave. He loves it, moans like he's the one cumming as he keeps his mouth locked to your clit, working you through it, not stopping, never stopping.

Your mind is spinning, your body too sensitive, too hot, but he doesn't give you a second to catch your breath.

He adds a third finger, stretching you wider, and you feel it—the way he groans against your cunt, how he shifts like his dick is aching inside his suit, straining for relief. He loves you like this, loves making you fall apart, pushing you past what you think you can handle.

The second orgasm crashes over you faster, sharper, your entire body seizing up as pleasure floods your senses. It's overwhelming—so intense that it borders on too much, your nerves sparking like live wires, every muscle tensing as the pleasure crests and breaks over you.

Your breath stutters, coming in ragged gasps as your fingers curl into the sheets, legs trembling, your body unable to do anything but take it—all of it—the pleasure still pulsing through you in hot, unbearable waves. Your voice catches, somewhere between a sob and a moan, utterly wrecked, utterly gone, shaking beneath his hold.

And he still doesn't stop.

"D-Dick, I—"

"You got one more for me, my love," he rasps, voice thick with need, his lips and chin shining with your slick. "C'mon. Give me another."

You whimper as he flicks his tongue over your clit, soft, teasing, while his fingers curl just right, hitting that sweet spot over and over. Your body fights it, too sensitive, too much—but fuck, he makes it feel so good.

His fingers sink deep, fucking into your cunt at a relentless pace, wet and obscene, the slick sounds of it mixing with the lewd slurps of his mouth on you. Every thrust is deliberate, each stroke pressing against that spongy spot inside you, dragging pleasure out of you even as your body trembles from overstimulation. You try to squirm away, to close your legs around his head, the pleasure too much, too sharp—but he won't let you.

His free hand presses against your inner thigh, keeping you wide open for him, holding you still as he works you open, stretching you out with three thick fingers. He groans into your cunt, lips wrapping around your clit as he sucks, flicking his tongue over the swollen, throbbing bud, the sensation shooting straight to your core. Your body shakes, twitching beneath him, teetering on the edge—again.

"Can't, baby," you gasp, your voice breaking, but he doesn't stop.

He hums against your clit, the vibration sending another sharp jolt of pleasure through you. His fingers press deeper, curling, twisting, fucking into you so good you don't know where the pleasure begins or ends. Your walls clench around his fingers, gripping him tight, your body betraying you, giving in even as you try to fight it.

You're going to cum. You know it. He knows it. And fuck, he's going to drag you over that edge whether you think you can take it or not.

Your third orgasm is blinding, a desperate, choked-out cry leaving your lips as pleasure wracks through you, your cunt clenching down hard on his fingers. Wetness drips down, slick and messy, proof of just how wrecked you are, how he's undone you completely.

And fuck, he loves it.

His dick is throbbing, leaking precum like crazy, the tight press of his suit unbearable against the ache. He's painfully hard, desperate for relief, but he doesn't stop, doesn't even think about it—because this?

This is everything. The way your body shudders, overstimulated and twitching, the way your cunt clenches around his fingers like you're trying to milk them, sucking him in, even though you're trembling from how much he's pushed you.

He moans against you, lips still latched onto your swollen, throbbing clit, flicking his tongue in slow, lazy strokes just to watch you squirm. He knows it's too much, knows you're oversensitive, body wracked with aftershocks, but fuck, he could eat you out for hours if you'd let him. If you begged him to. If you grabbed his hair and whimpered please.

His fingers are soaked, glistening in the dim light as he fucks them into you, slow and deep, savoring the way you pulse around him. He groans, rutting his hips against the mattress, chasing even the smallest bit of friction, but it's not enough—not even close.

He wants to be buried inside you, wants to feel your cunt squeeze around his dick just like it is around his fingers, but he holds back because this? This is better. Watching you fall apart, watching your body shake, your breath come in short, broken gasps, your voice hoarse from moaning his name.

Your body shakes, your breath stutters, and all you can do is feel—the way he works you through it, the way he moans like he lives for this, like there's nowhere else he'd rather be.

And he knows—knows you can't take another, not right now. As your body still shudders in the aftermath, you feel it—the hard press of his cock against his suit, straining, leaking, aching for you.

"Need it," you murmur, breathless, reaching for him. "Need your dick so badly, baby. Please."

Dick makes a move to strip, but you stop him, pushing him down onto the bed, straddling his lap. Your fingers work fast, freeing his cock from his suit, letting it slap against his stomach—thick, flushed, soaked with precum, sticky strings of it smearing against his abs. He's so fucking hard, so desperate, twitching in your grasp.

"The suit stays on tonight, baby," you whisper, dragging the head of his cock through your soaked folds, making a mess of him, mixing your slick with his precum.

You roll your hips, teasing, watching the way his jaw clenches, his hands gripping your thighs like he's trying to hold himself back.

He groans, deep and wrecked, his fingers digging into your flesh. "That's fine by me, doll, but you better not tease."

But you do—just a little—pressing the tip inside, feeling the way he throbs for you, desperate, needing more. His breath stutters, hips twitching up, but you keep him there, hovering, stretching you open just enough to feel it.

Then you sink down, taking him all at once, all of him, and the noise he makes is guttural, a deep, broken moan punched out of his chest as your cunt swallows him to the hilt.

"Fucking shit," he groans, head falling back against the pillows, fingers tightening on your ass, spreading you wider, making sure he's balls deep inside your needy cunt.

You gasp, nails biting into his chest through the suit, because fuck—he's thick, stretching you wide, every ridge of his cock dragging against your sensitive walls, sending another sharp pulse of pleasure through you.

His hands flex, hips rolling up, grinding deep. "Feel that, baby? Feel how fucking deep I am?"

You moan, hands gripping his wrists, barely able to breathe. "So full, baby. Feels so good—"

And he's already moving, already pulling you into it, guiding you into a slow, grinding rhythm that has your clit rubbing against the slick, hot mess between you.

He's not gonna last—not after everything, not when you're still soaked, still trembling around him, gripping him like you don't wanna let go. But he's gonna make sure you cum on his cock first.

And the night is just getting started.

[viperify]

oneshots | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Restless Nights.

Short Summary: Tom finds the perfect way to get you to relax after a long study day.

Warnings: 18+ only! clit play, fingering, edging, begging, praise

A/N: In case you were wondering where I have been, here is your answer. (Except the Tom part, ugh.)

wordcount: 1,2k

You sigh as you turn the page of your textbook. It’s been hours since you started studying for your final exams, hours since you last gave your body a break. You know you should call it a day—but there is so much left to do and so little time, you simply can’t afford to stop. Lost in the lines of your book, eyebrows drawn together as you try to concentrate, try to make sense of the written content, you don’t notice Tom shutting his newspaper and getting up from his seat. Only when he stands behind you, resting his hands on your shoulders, do your eyes glance at the empty spot opposite of you. “Let’s go to bed. You have done enough today,” he says, and though his voice is softer than usual, you know he means it. Tom doesn’t like when you overwork yourself—which is blatant hypocrisy in your eyes. “It’s only ten more pages, I- oh—“ his thumbs sink into the aching muscles of your shoulders, massaging with precise ease. “So tense,” he mutters, encouraging you to lean back against the wooden chair. You rest your head against him, humming softly as your eyes slowly flutter closed in exhaustion. His hands work magic on your sore muscles, and for the first time in hours your worries fade, fully focused on your boyfriend’s fingers sinking into your skin so perfectly. “I have been so busy, Tom. I am sorry for neglecting you.” He huffs. “Don’t worry about me. But I do need you to take a break. Now.” Of course, he manages to convince you to go to bed. You could never say no to him—not when he sweet-talks you, not when you are on the brink of exhaustion anyway. So you let him lead you up the stairs, let him kiss you softly as you reach your bedroom, his hands wandering to your waist, pulling you closer to him. You protest weakly as his warm hands slip under the fabric of your shirt, slowly pulling it over your head. “Shhh. Let that pretty head of yours rest.” He mutters, and you close your eyes as his lips trail kisses down your neck, tilting your head to give him better access. His fingers work the zipper of your jeans, the rough material soon dropping to pool at your feet, leaving you in your underwear.  You step out of your trousers as he leads you towards the bed, and before you know it, your head is resting on his chest, one leg draped over his as his hands trail over the bare skin of your tummy. Tom halts as he reaches the waistband of your burgundy lace panties. 

“Okay?” he whispers, his breath ghosting over your cheek as he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the shell of your ear. Only when you nod does he slip under the thin material, brushing over your clit as he slides between your folds. Tom teasingly moves up and down, humming as he feels your arousal coating his finger. 

“So wet for me. You needed this, didn’t you?” “Yes, oh God—“ You nod, your hips bucking into his hands as you search for the friction you so desperately crave. His other hand finds your breast, fingers teasing your hardened peak through the fabric of your matching lace bra. “Go on, tell me what you need, darling.” “Need you to— oh—“ “This?” He drawls, his thumb finally finding your puffy clit, teasingly swiping over the sensitive bud. It isn’t enough—it’s too light, too slow, your body writhing for more. Your skin burns with need, the continuous teasing having you on the edge of sanity, body aching for release of the pent-up frustration inside of you. “Please, Tom, please make me come, I need you.” He groans in approval, and like on command, he presses down, the pad of his thumb rubbing tight circles on your swollen clit. Your hand closes around his wrist as your back arches into the pleasure, soft moans escaping your parted lips. “Why do you have to be so— oh—“ you gasp as one of his fingers pushes into your soaked entrance, easily slipping past the resistance. “—so good at this.” His lips curl into a smile as he places a soft kiss on the top of your head, easing a second finger into you. “I know what my girl needs.”  With his thumb on your swollen bud and his fingertips repeatedly brushing over your most sensitive spot inside your soaked cunt, your mind soon grows hazy with need, hot pleasure rushing through your veins. He’s praising you for how good you are doing for him, how much you deserve to feel this good. Tom knows you are nearing your high—the way you squeeze him even tighter, walls fluttering around his digits as he thrusts harder inside of you. His fingers then curl, stars clouding your vision as you are on the brink of reaching your climax. “Tom— I am going to—“ But before you are able to tip over the edge, he stills. 

“Don’t forget your manners. Be a good girl and ask, darling.”

You whine in frustration, but you know it is no use to protest now. 

“God, please— I need to come. Please, Tom, please make me come.” You know he enjoys this, being in power over your pleasure. And even after an exhausting day—he won’t let you have it that easily. His thumb is now circling around your clit, but never quite touching you where you need him most—it’s driving you close to insanity. “Oh God- Please—“ you whine, desperately bucking your hips against his touch. He knows how much you despise his teasing—but that’s exactly why he loves it so much.

"That's it. So good for me. Let go, sweetheart. Take what you need," he murmurs, his voice low as he sinks back into you, thumb pressing down on your needy clit again. Your pleasure builds rapidly, and before you know it, it overtakes you, crushing you like a tidal wave. Your body convulses around him, thighs trembling, eyes rolling back as you tumble over the edge. Tom works you through your orgasm expertly, only when you whimper in overstimulation does he slowly withdraw his soaked digits from your cunt, accompanied by a low groan. He lets you rest then, fingers softly stroking your hair, lips placing lazy kisses on your bare shoulder. You are more asleep than awake when you remember the ten pages you had left to study, eyes shooting open at the realisation. Slowly, you lift yourself off him, reaching for your sweater on the ground. “I am going back to study,” you say, and he sighs, reaching for your wrist. “No chance. You have barely gotten any sleep these past few days.” Tom reminds you, pulling you back onto the bed. You giggle softly as his arms circle your waist, pressing you snugly against him. “Going to make you come until you can’t even think about leaving me anymore, sweetheart.”

@riddleswhcre my lovely baby thank u for inspiring me. 🤎

[idk-ask-me-yesterday]

"The world doesn't revolve around you" uh im literally the sun according to a tiktok made by a twelve year old???

[rafeandonlyrafe-deactivated2026]

well 🧍‍♀️ as a reminder this blog is NOT a safe space for trump supporters but it IS a safe place for women, queers, trans ppl, people of color, undocumented people, and any marginalized group.

[idk-ask-me-yesterday]

Writing masterlist!

a collection of all my works!

Star wars:

* Anakin Skywalker

-nothing yet

* Padme Amidala

-nothing yet

* Captain Rex

-nothing yet

* Commander Wolffe

-nothing yet

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

DCU:

* Dick Grayson

-nothing yet

* Jason Todd

-nothing yet

* Hal Jordan

-nothing yet

* Roy harper

Lady Luck

* Clark Kent

-nothing yet

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry Potter:

* Tom Riddle

-nothing yet

* Fred Weasley

-nothing yet

* George Weasley

-nothing yet

* Cedric Diggory

-nothing yet

* Lorenzo Berkshire

-nothing yet

* Remus Lupin

-nothing yet

* James potter

-nothing yet

* Siruis Black

-nothing yet

* Lily Evans

-nothing yet

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lockwood and Co:

* Anthony Lockwood

Stolen kisses, pretty lies

Haunted Pt.1

* George Karim

-nothing yet

* Lucy Carlyle

-nothing yet

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Avatar the last airbender:

* Zuko

-nothing yet

* Suki

-nothing yet

* Katara

-nothing yet

* Sokka

-nothing yet

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Acotar:

* Azriel

-nothing yet

* Eris

-nothing yet

* Lucien

-nothing yet

* Feyre

-nothing yet

* Rhysand

-nothing yet

* Kallias

-nothing yet

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shadow and bone:

* Kaz brekker

-nothing yet

* Nina Zenik

-nothing yet

* Alina Starkov

-nothing yet

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Others:

* Dean Winchester

-nothing yet

* Matt Murdock

-nothing yet

* Frank castle

-nothing yet

[idk-ask-me-yesterday]

Can you make Anthony Lockwood where the reader is a spirit who suddenly appear inside on their house and only Lucy can see her and Lockwood and George don't know about and actually the reader is Lockwood girlfriend who is in coma and Lucy tell them about the reader and Lockwood just found out that reader is with him all the time and help the reader to go back to her body.i am sorry about my English but I hope you can make it

Haunted pt.1

Summary: A day Lucy believed would be completely uneventful proved to be anything but when she found her room inhabited by another. A girl her age, who doesn't look quite right?

Puppets: Anthony lockwood x f!reader

Word count: 2,962

Warnings: none

Elle yaps: im so sorry about how long this took me, all the Christmas stuff happened and i got food poisoning right after :/ ive made this a multiple part-er to get me back into the groove of writing, hope you don't mind!

Slightly proofread. No use of Y/N

Lucy began her day following her usual morning routine: she would gently stir from sleep as sunlight filtered through her curtains, take her time getting dressed in her favorite comfortable clothes, and make her way downstairs to enjoy a leisurely breakfast accompanied by a steaming cup of her preferred morning tea. With the entire week moving at an unusually slow pace, her schedule was remarkably empty of pressing commitments or urgent tasks. To make productive use of her free time, she made the decision to engage in some much-needed combat practice, descending the stairs to the basement where she could focus on honing her skills with her new rapier. The day had been progressing in an entirely unremarkable fashion, perhaps even verging on monotonous—that was, until the moment she pushed open the door to her bedroom and found herself face-to-face with an unfamiliar girl who was inexplicably standing in the middle of her bedroom.

Lucy froze in place, her heart pounding as she wrestled with an immediate dilemma - should she attempt to engage the mysterious intruder in conversation, or should she call out for Lockwood and George to come to her aid? Her mind raced through these options as she stood motionless in the doorway. The unexpected visitor appeared to be a young woman approximately Lucy's own age, with a peculiar familiarity about her that lucy simply couldn't place her finger on. When the strange girl finally pivoted to face Lucy directly, her expression displayed an almost amusing mixture of surprise and bewilderment, as though she herself hadn't expected to be perceived by anyone in the room, let alone its rightful occupant.

When the strange girl finally spoke, her voice emerged as a delicate whisper that cracked and wavered, betraying a profound disuse that suggested she hadn't engaged in conversation for an extraordinarily long time. The words that escaped her lips carried both uncertainty and astonishment as she asked, her tone tinged with equal parts hope and disbelief, "You can see me?"

Lucy's breath caught in her throat at the raw vulnerability that resonated through the girl's trembling question. The desperate yearning for connection and recognition in her voice stirred something deep within Lucy's chest, a mixture of compassion and unease that she couldn't quite shake. There was something profoundly unsettling about the way the stranger seemed to flicker and waver in the gentle morning light streaming through the windows, as if she weren't quite solid - her edges appearing to blur and shift with each subtle movement, like a reflection in disturbed water. The sight sent an involuntary shiver down Lucy's spine, despite the warmth of the sun-filled room.

Drawing upon her years of training and experience with the supernatural, Lucy's instincts kicked in, and she found herself automatically reaching for the salt-bomb secured at her belt. Yet something made her hesitate - perhaps it was the raw emotion in the girl's voice, or the way she seemed more lost than malevolent. With practiced caution, Lucy took a single step forward, her voice steady as she replied, "Yes, I can see you. Who are you, and why are you in my room?"

"Your... your room?" the girl asked softly, her voice trembling with a mixture of confusion and what seemed like deep emotional pain, as if the very concept of the space belonging to someone else caused her genuine distress. The words appeared to catch in her throat, and her expression shifted to one of profound disorientation, as if struggling to reconcile some internal conflict that Lucy couldn't quite understand.

Her gaze wandered deliberately across every corner of the room, lingering on each piece of furniture and decoration with an expression of deep, haunting recognition. Her eyes traced the patterns of shadows and light as if following the ghostly outlines of memories, each object in the space seeming to hold fragments of a past life that danced just beyond her grasp. The dresser, the window seat, the old wooden floorboards - every element appeared to evoke some profound emotional response that she struggled to fully comprehend or articulate. When she finally found her voice again, it emerged as barely more than a tremulous whisper, heavy with the weight of lost time and faded memories, "This... this used to be my room. before."

Lucy's mind raced frantically as she processed this extraordinary revelation, her years of rigorous training as a professional agent engaging in an internal struggle with the unexpected and powerful wave of sympathy that suddenly washed over her. The weight of her professional experience urged caution and skepticism, while her emotional instincts responded to the raw authenticity of the moment. The girl's words carried such profound and unmistakable loss, such genuine confusion and yearning, that it seemed almost impossible to dismiss them as mere spectral manipulation or supernatural deception. The depth of emotion in her voice, the way she connected with the space - it all spoke to something far more complex than typical ghostly behavior. Still, Lucy maintained her cautious stance, her fingers hovering near her equipment, knowing all too well from countless encounters and bitter experience how even the most seemingly innocent supernatural encounters could transform into dangerous situations in the blink of an eye. Years of training had taught her that appearances could be deceiving, and that compassion, while admirable, needed to be tempered with vigilance.

Suddenly, a powerful realization struck Lucy like a bolt of lightning, illuminating the mysterious connection that had been nagging at the edges of her consciousness. The strange girl's features, though ethereal and faded now, matched perfectly with an image that had been burned into Lucy's memory from months ago. "I know who you are," Lucy breathed out, her voice barely above a whisper, "You're the girl from Lockwood's photograph." The memory surfaced with crystal clarity - during one of the rare occasions when Lucy had ventured into Lockwood's private bedroom, rushing to wake him for an early morning case, her attention had been caught by a photograph prominently displayed on his nightstand. It was an intimate glimpse into what seemed like another lifetime - the same girl who now stood before her as a spectral presence, but in the photograph she had been vibrantly alive, her face lit up with an infectious smile that suggested complete freedom from worry or care. The contrast between that captured moment of joy and the current apparition before her was stark and heartbreaking.

In the photograph, she had been standing in this very room, though it had looked quite different then - filled with the vibrant touches of her own personality and life. Lucy found herself wondering about the story behind this mysterious girl's connection to Lockwood, and what tragic circumstances had led to her current spectral state. The weight of these questions hung heavy in the air between them as Lucy carefully considered her next move.

The girl's ghostly form seemed to flicker more intensely now, as if the recognition of her connection to Lockwood had disturbed something deep within her spectral essence. Lucy noticed how the temperature in the room had dropped significantly, and she could see her own breath forming small clouds in the increasingly chilly air. With growing concern, she observed how the ghost's previously lost expression was slowly transforming into something more focused and intense, though whether this change signaled danger or breakthrough remained unclear.

"We were on a case together, Anthony and I," the ghost began, her voice carrying traces of both nostalgia and deep sadness. "Most of the details are lost to me now, like scattered fragments of a dream that slip away upon waking. But there's one moment that remains crystal clear in my memory - that terrible sensation of emptiness as I plummeted from the third story window. I can still feel the cold night air rushing past me, hear the whistle of the wind in my ears, and experience that endless moment of suspended time before..." The ghost's voice trailed off as she sighed softly, the weight of the memory seeming to make her form flicker and fade slightly.

"You're not like any other ghost I've encountered before," Lucy whispered thoughtfully, her voice carrying a mixture of professional assessment and genuine wonder. The words emerged slowly and deliberately as she carefully considered the unique nature of this particular spectral visitor. Unlike the typically aggressive or disoriented spirits she regularly encountered in her line of work, this apparition displayed a remarkable level of self-awareness and emotional complexity. Her coherence and depth of memory seemed to defy everything Lucy had learned about ghost behavior during her years as an agent. The ghost's ability to maintain such a clear sense of identity and to articulate her experiences with such vivid detail was unprecedented in Lucy's extensive experience dealing with supernatural entities. This wasn't the confused, echoing presence of a typical ghost, but something far more intricate and thought-provoking - a revelation that both fascinated and unsettled Lucy as she continued to observe the apparition before her.

"The doctors told Anthony I'm not actually dead, though being in this state certainly makes it feel that way," the girl explained, her voice carrying a mix of confusion and resignation. "They say I'm trapped in some kind of coma, suspended between life and death. The strangest part is that I have no idea where my physical body is being kept - which hospital, which room, or even which city. I just drift here, anchored to this place by memories, while my body lies somewhere unknown, neither fully alive nor truly dead."

Lucy found herself grappling with the profound implications of this extraordinary revelation, her mind racing to reconcile this unprecedented situation with her extensive training and experience. The very concept of someone existing in this mysterious intermediate state - neither fully present in the world of the living nor completely crossed over into death - fundamentally challenged every principle and understanding she had developed about ghosts and the supernatural realm. This wasn't just another haunting or spiritual manifestation; it represented an entirely new category of paranormal phenomenon that defied conventional classification. As she carefully processed this information, weighing its significance against her years of accumulated knowledge, a determined glint appeared in her eye, accompanied by a surge of professional curiosity and human compassion. The unique circumstances of this case presented both an intellectual puzzle and a moral imperative - perhaps, she thought with growing conviction, there existed a way to help this lost soul navigate back to her physical form, to bridge the inexplicable gap between her spectral presence and her dormant body.

Lucy's gaze drifted to the window where the afternoon sun was streaming in, and a plan began to take shape in her mind. If there was even the slightest chance of tracking down this girl's physical body and reuniting her consciousness with it, Lucy knew she had to try. After all, this was precisely the kind of unique challenge that Lockwood & Co. had built their reputation on - taking on the cases that others deemed impossible or incomprehensible.

With renewed determination, Lucy rose from her contemplative position by the window and strode purposefully toward her desk, her footsteps echoing softly against the wooden floorboards. She pulled out her leather-bound notebook from the top drawer, its worn edges testament to countless previous investigations, and settled into her chair with practiced efficiency. Opening to a fresh page, she began methodically jotting down everything she knew about the mysterious girl's case - physical descriptions, temporal details, emotional observations, and possible connections to Lockwood's past - determined to piece together this unprecedented supernatural puzzle. The familiar scratch of pen against paper filled the room as she worked, her hand moving swiftly across the pages as she documented every potentially relevant detail, from the ghost's unusual level of awareness to the peculiar circumstances of her suspended state between life and death. From her position near the bedroom door, the ghost watched Lucy's focused efforts with a complex mixture of emotions playing across her translucent features - curiosity about this methodical approach to her situation, cautious hope that this determined young agent might actually be able to help her, and a touching vulnerability that seemed to make her spectral form flicker in response to each new line of notes being written.

Suddenly, the ghost girl inhaled sharply, the sound cutting through the comfortable silence that had settled over the room like a delicate veil. Her ethereal form seemed to flicker more intensely than before, and a look of urgent distress crossed her translucent features. "I need to go," she announced with unexpected urgency, her voice carrying notes of both reluctance and necessity. The words seemed to echo slightly in the still air of the bedroom, hanging between them with an almost tangible weight that spoke of unfinished business and untold stories.

Lucy felt an inexplicable tug at her heart as she watched the spectral form begin to fade, her form dissolving like morning mist in sunlight. The sight stirred a complex mixture of emotions within her - professional curiosity intermingled with a deeply personal concern for this unusual spirit who had shared such intimate revelations. "Wait," she called out softly, her carefully maintained professional demeanor momentarily giving way to genuine concern and an almost desperate desire to maintain this extraordinary connection, "Will you come back?"

The ghost's response floated through the air like autumn leaves on a gentle breeze, carried on the last wisps of her fading presence. Her voice, though barely more substantial than a whisper, held an unmistakable note of certainty and what might have been affection: "I always do." The words seemed to linger in the air even as their speaker disappeared entirely, leaving behind only the faintest trace of supernatural energy that made the hairs on Lucy's arms stand on end.

Not a moment after the spectral figure had completely faded from view, the sharp sound of knuckles against wood broke through the lingering atmosphere of otherworldly encounter. A familiar voice called through her bedroom door, tinged with unmistakable concern: "Luce? you alright in there? i heard you talking"

Lucy's heart skipped a beat at the sound of Lockwood's voice, her mind still whirling with the implications of the extraordinary encounter she'd just experienced. Her pulse quickened as she considered the weight of what had just transpired in this very room - a paranormal encounter unlike any she'd documented in her years as an agent. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she glanced around the now-empty room, noting how quickly it had returned to its normal temperature, as if the supernatural presence had never been there at all. The familiar furnishings and mundane shadows seemed almost surreal after such an otherworldly interaction. She knew she would have to make a decision, one that carried significant consequences for both her professional relationships and personal loyalties: whether to share this incredible discovery with her colleagues immediately, potentially disrupting the delicate dynamics of their team, or keep it to herself until she better understood the mysterious girl's connection to Lockwood and the profound implications it might have for everyone involved.

Her hand hovered uncertainly over the doorknob, fingers trembling slightly as she felt Lockwood's continued presence on the other side of the door, patiently waiting for her response. The weight of this extraordinary secret pressed heavily against her chest, creating an almost physical sensation of pressure that made it difficult to breathe normally. This moment of decision challenged her long-held commitment to complete transparency with her closest friend and colleague, a principle that had been a cornerstone of their professional relationship and personal bond. Her mind raced through potential consequences, imagining various scenarios of revelation and concealment, each path seeming to branch into countless possible outcomes. After what felt like an eternity of internal struggle, though it was merely moments, she made her decision - a choice that carried with it the heavy knowledge that whatever path she chose would fundamentally and irrevocably alter the delicate balance of trust, understanding, and unspoken expectations that had defined their relationship since the beginning of their partnership.

Taking a steadying breath, Lucy called out with carefully measured casualness, "Everything's fine - just talking to myself while working through some case notes." The response felt hollow in her throat, the weight of concealment already settling uncomfortably in her chest. As she finally turned the doorknob, Lucy silently promised herself that she would find the right moment to share this discovery - but only after she had gathered more information about this mysterious connection between the ghost and her closest friend.

Her fingers traced absently over the leather cover of her notebook as she settled onto her bed, mind churning with questions about the extraordinary encounter. The weight of this new secret felt both exhilarating and burdensome, like a delicate glass orb she needed to protect. Through her window, she could see the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across Portland Row, marking the beginning of what she knew would be a long night of careful contemplation and strategic planning.

She ended up staying awake through the entire night, moving quietly down to the kitchen after everyone else had retired to their beds. In the dim light of the kitchen, she meticulously poured over her detailed notes, occasionally reaching for comfort in the form of shortbread biscuits from the tin (admittedly helping herself to far more than just one or two). The hours slipped by unnoticed as she remained absorbed in her work, her tea growing cold beside her as she scribbled additional observations in the margins of her journal. However, this extended late-night research session proved to be an unfortunate decision - she was startled awake by the sharp sound of shattering porcelain, only to find Lockwood standing above her with her journal clasped firmly in his hands, fragments of her fallen teacup scattered across the kitchen floor.

[idk-ask-me-yesterday]

Im so sorry ive been so inactive ive just gotten so busy recently. I promise i see your requests and will be getting to them ASAP!!

[thebrokentreehouse]

I love how lockwood had the ABSOLUTE AUDACITY to ask "who" when flo told him to "save his kisses for what's her face" and then a couple minutes later proceed to go colour match his socks to Lucy's dress

[idk-ask-me-yesterday]

Omg I am completely in love with your Roy Harper mechanic fic, your writing is so good!

AHH I'm so happy you liked it!! <3

[cocoscabin]

Reblog if you will answer LITERALLY ANY anon questions.

[due-fantasmi]

BRING IT ON

challenge accepted 

[imaginebeingmentallystable]

Cause You're Not My Baby

· ·─────── ·𖥸·─────── · ·

Sunlight streamed through the large windows, falling across your face in a band of gold. You groaned, eyes burning, and head pounding. A sharp contrast to the idyllic setting showing through the curtains. It was your first day back in the Outer Banks, and already, you had a hangover, neck cramps and sand in your bed. While the situation was familiar, it wasn’t entirely pleasant.

After a quick shower and change of sheets, you sat on the bed and flipped through your journal. You’d been trying to make it a habit to plan your days, but most nights the journal lay forgotten on your desk. Last night was one of those nights, which is why you were surprised to see that Sarah Cameron was calling you, and before noon. You accepted the call and put her on speaker.

"Hello?" 

You hadn't realised how much her voice had changed in the last few years, and the thought made your smile drop.

"Y/N? Hello?" You swore quietly and took the phone off speaker.

" Hi. Sorry, I was just putting something away - What's up?" There was a small patch of silence before the reply came; "Where are you? I thought we were meeting at the Wreck for breakfast?”

Oh. Shit.

"... Y/N?"

"Yeah! Um, yeah I'm just leaving the house. Bye!" You practically throw your phone down and leap towards the suitcase still lying on the floor. Shuffling through the piles of clothes, you pick the least wrinkled top you can find and grab last night's shorts off of the floor. 

Of course, you’d forgotten. You'd called and asked Sarah to breakfast before your flight and she had suggested the Wreck so that you could surprise Kie. But you’d been so exhausted after the flight and the party that it had slipped your mind completely. Twisting your hair into a clip, you checked your reflection in the mirror. 

Acceptable… save for the obvious reddish marks on your collarbone. Shit!

· ·─────── ·𖥸·─────── · ·

JJ woke up feeling like someone was setting off fireworks in his skull. The amount of drinks he downed last night had smashed any previous records he'd had, and he was paying for it now. 

Somewhere in the haze of music, beer and smoke, the wafting scent of coffee reached JJ’s side of the living room. Rolling off the tattered couch, he stumbled over to where John B was making instant coffee. He handed JJ a mug, giving him a pat on the shoulder as a greeting. They stood there, silently, until John B put down his empty cup and made to leave. He stopped in the doorway.

"Sarah said we gotta meet them at the Wreck for breakfast.

JJ looked at him, unbothered.

"So? Gimme 5 minutes.”

John B sighed. 'Nevermind. See you in 5.”

JJ offered a mock salute as his friend left to change.

20 minutes later (only 5 of which were spent driving), the Pogues shared a bowl of chips as they waited for their food. Sarah had yet to arrive (meaning John B was checking his phone constantly), while JJ was half-asleep on the tabletop. Meanwhile, Pope chatted with Kiara, taking occasional jabs at his friend about his girlfriend. A comfortable hum of conversation filled the background, adding to the peaceful atmosphere.

“Food’s here! JJ, move.” Kiara nudged the blond awake, setting down the food where his head had been. He slowly raised his head, groggy and disoriented.

"Huh?... oh, food."

He yawned loudly, arms stretching behind him.

As Kiara sat back down, she couldn't help but notice the small mark on JJ's neck.

"So, who's the lucky girl?" she teased. Pope leaned forward to get a better look at the hickey.

"Hm, looks like someone had a fun night.” 

JJ frowned at John B, who shrugged.

“Didn’t think you cared.”

JJ brushed it off. "It’s nothing, just some touron." 

No sooner had he said those words, did the sound of the door closing ring through the restaurant.

"Just some touron, huh?"

A voice spoke up behind him, and JJ turned around to see Sarah, with a girl. She looked so different that he almost didn’t recognise her from last night. She was smiling, but it was strained.

The words replayed through his head. ‘Just some touron.’ 

Shit.

[heirofnight]

it's the shadows, pt. 2

pairing: azriel x reader

word count: 4.9k

summary: after a drunken night with your bffs rhys, cassian, and azriel - one where you'd admitted to thinking azriel would be the most capable in bed (and az admitted to using his shadows on his partners lol) - the inner circle takes a vacation to a secluded cabin in the woods. and azriel's main goal is to show you what his shadows can actually do in the bedroom. part two of it's the shadows.

warnings: this is smut ok. pure smut. p in v smut. shadow smut. read at your own risk, ok.

a/n: OK highly requested part 2 to this series. first time publishing smut, pls be nice. but let me know what you think!!! enjoy <3

read part one here

azriel had a deep, dark secret.

a tidbit of information that he'd tried his best to ignore for the first several years after initially meeting you. now, he was far passed the point of acting as though it didn't exist - like it didn't drive him insane.

how could he? when you looked at him like that, when you made him laugh like that, when you'd outwardly flirt with him like that, when you'd all but crawled into his lap in the sitting room after he'd admitted to utilizing his shadows in less than innocent ways.

no, azriel was truly fucked, and his dirty little secret was threatening to crawl its way up his throat and launch itself from his lips.

he wanted you, bad.

since that drunken night a couple of weeks ago, azriel's want need for you had multiplied, had split in half and quadrupled and was now flowing through his veins as if it were his own blood. his brain was foggy, he was distracted, and all he could think about was you: your voice, your smile, your laughter, your lips, your scent. gods, your scent.

he felt like a lost puppy, trailing after you as though you'd lead him to salvation.

that salvation just happened to be between your thighs.

he'd become more in tune with you, your daily routine. he somehow was now able to pick up on your lingering scent, even if you'd left your preoccupied space hours earlier. he'd known you were there. and he'd sought you out in every situation he could. he longed to be next to you. during breakfast, dinner. during any meeting rhysand held that involved the entire family. while you baked in the kitchen alongside nuala and cerridwen - he was there. glued to your side.

he'd wondered if you'd noticed. the two of you were close to begin with, so perhaps you hadn't picked up on his increased attachment. regardless, you didn't seem to mind.

he'd picked up on your heartbeat changing when he drew near, and one time, he'd made a risky move - grazing your knee under the dinner table with a firm, scarred hand. he'd definitely noticed the change in your scent then - the aroma of your sweet arousal enveloped him almost immediately. he'd had to excuse himself from the meal earlier than normal after that.

he'd almost lost his shit and devoured you on the dinner table in front of his entire family, instead.

so when rhysand had declared that the entire family would be taking a weekend vacation, azriel's heart had almost torn through his chest. he'd get to be even closer to you, in a secluded location, with uninterrupted proximity.

rhys had recently purchased a gorgeous cabin on the opposite side of the city - it was perched on a high hill within the forest, and boasted views of the snowy mountain ranges that stood proudly alongside velaris.

the term cabin was a stretch - while the vacation home was a wooden structure, immensely cozy, and had cabin-like interior design, it was definitely on the more luxurious side. which came to no surprise, since it was rhysand's purchase, and the male loved extravagant things.

regardless, it was perfect. and azriel couldn't wait to take advantage of this much-needed vacation - one that included you, and an opportunity to get you alone.

you were obviously interested, he knew that. you'd alluded to it for years. and after he let it slip that he often let his shadows loose while bedding his partners, you'd fought to reign in your composure.

what he didn't know, though, was whether or not you were interested in him. beyond a sexual escapade. beyond two friends who were attracted to each other acting on impulse. actually interested - in loving him, all of him, and allowing him to do the same.

because that was azriel's deep, dark secret: he was in too deep, was falling over himself for you.

however, if sex was all you wanted, azriel would comply. he'd have you in any way that you'd allow, and he'd be damned sure to worship you in ways that would leave you absolutely ruined.

you'd all arrived to the cabin as dusk was painting the sky in pinks and oranges. his family shuffled through the large wooden front doors, and azriel felt the tension and stress escaping from each of his friend's tightly-wound muscles as though they'd left the qualms of reality outside in the snow.

not azriel's, though. his pent-up tension could only be released in one way in particular.

you'd set your bags down in the threshold of the designated living space, your head on a swivel as you peered upward - taking in the surroundings of the opulent cabin.

"this is why i'm friends with you, rhys," you'd joked, pushing your hair over your shoulders, "the perks are just too spectacular to pass up," you laughed this breathy little laugh, and azriel felt his spine tingle at the sound.

rhys chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest as he regarded you, "careful, y/n," he tutted, his violet eyes watching cassian as he began to fumble with the large fireplace in the corner of the room, "before i use my other high lord perks to order you to sleep in a tent outside," he bantered, raising his eyebrows in silent challenge.

you placed a dainty hand to your chest in mock offense, shuffling closer to azriel for protection. "you would never," you balked, spine straightening, "az would never let that happen, right, az?," you turned towards the shadowsinger, giving him a look of pure innocence.

azriel faltered for a moment as he met your gaze, but he caught himself quickly. "right, sweet," he almost cooed, using that nickname that set your heart running at full-speed. he reached out to place a hand on your shoulder in solidarity, turning towards rhys. the high lord was watching you both with a look of pure, knowing amusement.

"well, lucky for you two lovebirds," rhys began, pointer finger gesturing to the snowy evening beyond the large glass windows, "the tent in question is big enough for two," he waggled his dark eyebrows, huffing out a laugh.

azriel's cheeks tinted only slightly at his words, his mind immediately overcome with visions of all the compromising positions the two of you could end up in. alone. in a tent.

before az could fully recover from that revelation, you'd stunned him with your next statement.

"perfect, i'm sure az and i would have no issues keeping each other warm," you mused, voice low and playfully suggestive. you wrapped your hand around his large bicep then, hmphing quietly to drive your point home.

rhys barked out a laugh at your words, shaking his head before retreating to help a grumbling cassian with the fireplace.

azriel felt warm. too warm for the snowy environment you'd found yourselves in. your words set an inferno blazing within his chest and limbs. his instincts screamed at him to carry you to the nearest bed and have his way with you, once and for all. but instead, he cleared his throat, looking down at you with pink cheeks and ears.

you looked up at him expectantly, a sweet grin splitting your cheeks.

he heard you mention something about going to find your rooms, and he dazedly watched you grab your belongings before sauntering up the stairs. but azriel was frozen in place as if cassian had superglued his boots to the wooden floor.

he would not survive this trip.

feyre and elain had provided dinner for all of you, and after taking your seats at the cozy dining table that looked over the snow-capped mountain range in the distance, you all began to eat. it was a peaceful, warm family dinner. everyone was so relaxed, so happy to be amongst the company of loved ones.

azriel had taken his usual place next to you, just as he always did. different environment, same habits. you'd smiled up at him as he took his seat, and he'd silently begun to fill your plate with food before worrying over his own.

you'd reached over as you realized what he was doing, placing a hand on his muscular thigh. "hey," you whispered affectionately, so only he could hear. "you don't have to do that," you smiled, meeting his gentle eyes with a sweet gaze of your own.

his skin was on fire at the contact you'd graced him with, and he gave you a small smirk.

"i want to," his deep, rough voice rasped. and you felt your stomach lurch at the tone.

and so, he served you. and you let him.

as dinner progressed, you'd found yourself absent-mindedly moving closer to azriel's side. at one point, you all giggled endlessly at an overly-animated cassian as he told a story from the past - and when you leaned into azriel in a fit of laughter, your head resting on his shoulder, he'd made a move. he'd wrapped his left arm around the back of your chair, around you. he'd pulled you further into his warm side. and then he'd reached down, pressing his lips to the crown of your head. you'd peered up at him then, eyes full of adoration.

he met your eyes, and although he couldn't see himself, he knew his honey gaze was reflecting the very same feeling.

his lips lowered then, whispering right against the shell of your ear, voice low, "which rooms did you choose?," he questioned, nodding his chin towards the floor above the both of you.

you smiled softly, whispering back, "the one right next to yours," he watched as your stare traveled between both of his eyes, down to his full lips, and back up to his steady gaze. his heart rammed against his ribs.

he reached over to your lap, rubbing a thumb along the back of your hand tenderly.

"just so you're aware, i always sleep with my door unlocked," he spoke against your ear once more, the statement laced with undertones you quickly picked up on.

you hummed against his cheek, pulling back to catch his eyes, "noted," you said pointedly, sending him a flirtatious wink through your long lashes.

he was sure, in that moment, that he needed you more than he needed his next breath of oxygen.

hours later, azriel was sprawled on top of his bedding, eyes cast towards the ceiling.

the entire house had since made their way to their own rooms, settling in for the evening, and he briefly glanced over to the large windows that made up the entire left wall of his space.

the onyx sky looked like velvet, and azriel lost himself for a moment as he stared out at the smattering of stars that looked as though they'd been placed with precise care throughout the heavens.

the sound of a door clicking shut, followed by slippered feet tiptoeing from the next room over, broke through his distracted thoughts.

he immediately tensed up - it was you. this was actually happening.

the doorknob began to twist, the sound so quiet, he had to focus his eyes on the fixture to make sure he wasn't imagining things.

slowly, the door creaked open, and there you stood: in a black lace, silky nightgown that hit the tops of your thighs, your hair unbound and cascading down your chest, and a matching robe haphazardly falling from your shoulders.

you looked ethereal.

azriel audibly swallowed, and he didn't even remember standing up and crossing the room in long strides, but when he blinked, you were standing right before him - all twinkling eyes and rosy cheeks.

you smirked up at him - you were so confident, so sure. he huffed out a small laugh, raking his eyes down your body in a way that was absolutely not subtle.

"well," you spoke quietly, cocking your head as you studied his expression curiously, "i have to say, azriel. it took you long enough," you scoffed playfully, stepping closer to him.

he hummed, placing scarred hands on your shoulders before slowly sliding them down your arms, your robe dropping to the floor as he did so.

"if you've been wanting this as badly as i have, why didn't you just tell me?," he whispered, voice sultry as his hands traveled down your skin.

you pursed your lips, standing on your tiptoes to wrap your arms around his neck. it all felt so familiar, so normal. as if you'd both done this song and dance countless times before. the way the both of you intertwined and came together so effortlessly had azriel's head spinning.

finally, you spoke, "maybe i wanted to refrain long enough to see if you felt the same way," you considered, playing with the curls at the nape of his neck, "maybe i wanted to make you work for it," your voice lowered, looking up at him from under your lashes.

azriel felt his knees threaten to buckle, and he closed his eyes before releasing a long, slow breath. he had to take his time with you, he refused to lose control this quickly.

but gods, you were making it hard.

and you knew it, too. you'd set your sights on breaking him down bit by bit, thrilled by the prospect of seeing cold, stoic azriel shadowsinger lose every bit of his composure at the hands of lust.

you preened, nipping and kitten-licking along his jaw so slowly, azriel began to feel dizzy.

"enough," he commanded, voice hoarse. he removed your hands from where they were hooked around his neck, holding your wrists together with one large hand.

"enough," he repeated, eyes darkening. "you've driven me absolutely insane for years, y/n," he spoke, voice made of gravel. "how amusing was it, hm?," he pushed you towards his bed slowly, each step punctuating his words, "to drive me mad the way you have, on purpose," he spat.

your knees hit the back of his mattress, and before you knew it, you were spread out on top of his soft sheets. you let out the tiniest whimper, a noise so obscene, azriel almost groaned out loud.

he sent a tendril of shadows darting towards your body, watching closely as they bound your hands together, resembling handcuffs made of smoke.

you grinned unabashedly at the sight, your eyes flicking from your hands and back up to his hardened gaze, "you really do use them, then," you stated, referring to the inky strands that were engulfing his body.

he looked like the angel of death coming to claim you.

he grinned at this, a sight that would be terrifying if it weren't so damned sexy.

"oh, sweet," he ground out, lowering himself over you so that his hands were braced on each side of your head, "you have no idea," his voice was low and full of carnal promise.

your breath hitched as his words, and you watched as he sent another tendril towards your throat. it wrapped around your neck effortlessly, much like it had that one drunken night several weeks ago. but this time, you knew the circumstances were different.

"i cannot wait to worship you," he drawled, eyes dragging down your lithe body. you could see the lust swirling within his gaze - his pupils were blown, his breathing was ragged.

you breathed out a moan of pure need, and his eyes snapped back up to your face. another shadow darted from his side, slowly working the straps of your nightgown down your shoulders. the same shadow pulled the silken garment down until your breasts were fully revealed to him - your nipples already painfully hard.

you needed him to touch you. somewhere, anywhere.

he let out a quiet grunt at the sight of you, reveling in you being laid bare for him.

"fuck," he grumbled, voice already hoarse with need.

leaning down, he wasted no time in sucking your left breast into his warm mouth, lavishing your nipple with licks, and sucks, and small bites. you began to writhe beneath him, and that's when azriel learned just how much you loved to have your nipples played with. breathy moans tumbled from your lips, and azriel almost lost his shit at the sound.

he began to slowly grind his still-clothed lower half against the edge of the mattress, low, erotic groans trickling up his throat and falling from his mouth as his tongue continued its ministrations. he'd glance up at you every now and then, and every time he caught the look on your face - mouth agape and eyes twisted shut in pleasure, he'd have to drag his aching cock even harder against the bed beneath him.

just when you thought it couldn't possibly get any better than his mouth against your aching breast, azriel upped the ante.

you'd felt another strand of shadow dart towards your right nipple, it's cool, ghosted touch swirling around the sensitive skin.

"oh, gods", you moaned, your hips beginning to buck and grind against his lower stomach. the scent of your arousal had overtaken his senses, and his eyes rolled back each time he inhaled greedily - he couldn't get enough. you were everything, everywhere.

the shadow continued to flick and dance across your right nipple, pinching and twirling around and around, back and forth. you'd tilted your head back, and you knew you could climax from this feeling alone if azriel kept it up for much longer.

"now, now, sweet," he abruptly pulled back from your chest, halting his actions. the other shadow that was swirling across your nipple had darted back to its master's side, too.

you whined quietly, jerking your head forward to meet his stare in utter disappointment.

"don't be a brat," he tutted, biting at your nipple once more in reprimand. you arched your chest to meet his mouth eagerly, and he grinned wickedly at the action, a devastating dimple peeking through as he did so.

"i said i was going to worship you, my love," his deep voice sounded like pure sex, "and i intend to do so," he pulled your nightgown completely down your legs as he spoke, discarding it to the floor.

he returned to hovering over you, tugging your lower lip into your mouth greedily. he hummed at the taste of you, before he began pressing kisses down your throat, your chest, your stomach, and down to your thighs.

you moaned quietly, spreading your legs open for him, giving him space to ravish you as he pleased.

but azriel had other plans.

he pulled his shirt off over his head, wasting no time in completely discarding his own clothing.

his thick cock sprung proudly from the confines of his pants, already leaking from the tip. your eyes darkened at the sight, and you felt your pupils dilate as he absentmindedly wrapped his large hand around his length, squeezing once to offer himself some relief.

he let out a groan from deep in his throat as he did so, and he couldn't stop himself from pumping his fist once, twice.

"i won't be able to hold myself back from you for much longer," he confessed, his voice strained.

"then don't," you whispered, the feeling of pure lust so strong, it almost made you tremble.

"i want to watch for awhile first," he grunted, eyes traveling over the length of your naked body before him. he granted himself one more rough stroke of his cock, large veins bulging along the shaft.

your eyebrows knitted together, head spinning.

"watch?," you asked, eyes glued to the hand he'd wrapped around himself.

he smirked knowingly, watching as a lone tendril of shadow darted from his side to between your legs.

you barely had time to react, barely had time to catch your breath before azriel's shadow began absolutely torturing you, in the best way possible.

it swirled between your legs, running along your clit in counterclockwise motions that felt so good, you couldn't control the sound that left your mouth in response.

your head was thrown back against the mattress once more, breathy moans growing louder as you felt it slide inside of you, fucking into you as it continued to tease your clit. its cool sensation against the heat of your center made your thighs shake uncontrollably.

you felt your hands slide towards your chest, needing to touch yourself, play with your nipples. you longed for azriel's mouth to return to your skin, missing the feeling of his warm tongue against you.

you heard azriel tsk from where he stood in front of you, practicing as much restraint as he could muster. he'd continued to tease himself every now and then, when he absolutely couldn't help himself. he'd grip his cock firmly, squeezing once. or he'd slide a hand down his shaft roughly, his hand slick from his own precum.

before you could open your eyes to see why azriel had reprimanded you, you'd felt the cool brush of shadows against your wrists once more. they'd bound your arms together, holding them above your head.

you whined, writhing as the shadow between your legs continued to drive you to the edge. and azriel stood, watching, eyes heavy and cock throbbing.

"az, i can't-", you moaned out, breathing ragged. "i'm going to cu-", you started, but were cut off.

"no, you aren't," he spoke, stepping closer to you, "because you aren't allowed to," he strained, voice cold and rough.

a moan tumbled from deep in your throat, and you finally looked up to find his eyes once more. he stood right next to the edge of the bed, watching the shadow between your legs with such intensity, it forced a shiver to wrack through you.

"look at you," he mused, voice taking on a softer tone, "i haven't even touched you yet, fucked you yet," he grunted, squeezing his cock once more. "you've already made such a mess," he drawled, awestruck.

"i can't wait to feel you," he met your eyes as he spoke, and you felt yourself careening straight for the edge you were warned to stay away from.

"az," you moaned, trying to clench your thighs shut, but his strong hand reached down to force them apart. "you have to make it stop, i can't-," you whined helplessly.

he abruptly called his shadow back to his side once more, and you cried out in frustration at the absence of touch where you needed it the most.

"come here, sweet," he commanded, voice gentle. you sat up slowly, the shadow he'd adorned your neck with tightening ever-so-slightly as you did. it made you dizzy, but you did as you were told.

"put the tip in your mouth," he demanded, pushing his throbbing cock in your direction.

you did as instructed, wrapping your lips around the leaking tip eagerly. you gazed up at him from under your eyelashes, and a groan from deep within his chest tumbled from his lips.

"lick," he strained out, grabbing a fistful of your hair, tugging your mouth back.

you slowly stuck your tongue out, making a show of swirling your tongue around the head of his cock. your eyes rolled back erotically at the taste of him, and you flicked the tip of your tongue against him several times - trying your best to push the male to the point of losing his restraint.

it worked. azriel snapped.

a primal growl left his throat and before you knew it, you were pushed backwards on the mattress once more. he grabbed your thighs greedily, shoving them apart before aligning himself with your soaked entrance.

"i can't control myself with you, y/n," he whispered into your neck, sucking harshly against the skin, "i won't be able to be gentle," he warned, biting at your shoulder so hard, you could have sworn he broke skin.

"then don't," you repeated your earlier words back to him.

"when i've fantasized about this," you added, wrapping your legs around his strong waist, "i cum the hardest when i think about you fucking me," you whispered against his ear, lighting the fuse inside him that would cause him to explode - just like you wanted.

"fuck," he groaned, his movements becoming urgent as he reached down to line himself up with you once more. "fuck fuck fuck," he rushed out, and then he thrusted into you with one hard movement.

you both moaned in tandem, the feeling of him stretching you out one of pure bliss. azriel had to rest his forehead against your shoulder to prevent himself from absolutely losing himself, losing control. his whole body tensed in restraint, his hips bucking involuntarily as he tried to give you a moment to get used to his size.

and fuck, was he huge. pain sluiced through you, and he stilled his movements once he was wholly inside of you. your pussy clenched around him once, and he huffed out a breath against your skin.

"don't do that," he grunted, grabbing a fistful of sheets from where he was braced above you.

you smirked, the pain finally giving way to soul-shattering pleasure. you clenched around him again, on purpose this time. "or what?", you whispered into his ear, challenging him.

he growled, pulling out of you completely before he thrusted all the way back in roughly.

"brat," he sneered, and then he was completely unwound, fucking into you with no control over his movements.

moans left your mouth with no abandon, no concern for who may hear you in the surrounding rooms. you panted, whined, pleaded.

you said his name in breathy moans that often made azriel have to stop for several seconds, or else he'd end up finishing way too soon.

"fuck, you are divine, sweet," he grunted against your lips, his forehead resting on yours.

you moaned into his mouth, biting at his bottom lip.

at one point, he'd flipped you onto all fours, drilling into you from behind. that shadow around your neck tightened, another shadow holding your arms and wrists behind your back. you felt the edges of your vision blur as your pleasure continued to reach new heights.

azriel was so close, so, so close. this position had made you impossibly tighter. he used every ounce of control he could muster to last as long as possible, the feeling of you wrapped around him was euphoric. every single fantasy he'd had about you had never come close to this.

as he felt himself drawing nearer to that edge of no return, he pulled out of you momentarily. you groaned at the feeling of being empty, but he'd only smirked and lightly slapped your ass in response.

he sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling you onto his lap gently. you straddled him, and as you lowered yourself down, you took every inch of him with newfound ease - as if you were made to take his cock.

he grunted, watching himself disappear inside of you with blown out pupils. his skin was slick, his curls stuck to his forehead. he looked delicious, you couldn't tear your eyes away from him.

"you feel so fucking good, az," you said on a breath. a moan left your lips as you lifted yourself up slightly, just to slam back down against his lap.

he grabbed your hips, taking your nipple into his mouth greedily. "keep saying shit like that, y/n, and i'm going to fall in love with you," he mused, grinding his hips against yours.

you moaned out his name, grinding your own hips down to meet his.

"oh yeah?," you urged, grabbing his shoulders as you began to ride him - swirling your hips as you bounced. "in that case, you look so, so pretty, az," you hummed, sucking onto his bottom lip, "so pretty when you fuck me," you nuzzled your nose against his, jutting your hips against his for emphasis. you reached up, daring to touch the top left corner of his flared wing, right in that spot that you knew would drive him wild.

azriel dug his hands into your hips, bucking wildly as he took over, fucking up into you from where he sat. he was always a sucker for praise, you knew that. and now, you were weaponizing it.

"fucking gods," he growled, his shadows encompassing you as they swirled through your hair, across your nipples, down your back and arms. the added sensation had you throwing your head back, meeting each rough thrust of his with your own.

your moans became almost constant, and he felt you growing even tighter around him as he became relentless with his movements. it was rough, his movements stuttering.

"let go for me, my love," he murmured, pressing kisses into every bit of skin he could reach. "i need to feel you," he urged, breathing ragged.

you nodded in response, pressing your forehead against his.

"my pretty y/n," he praised, licking your bottom lip messily.

and shortly after, you were coming undone around him, letting out a cry of his name that absolutely was heard by every member of the house.

azriel spilled into you, finally letting himself come completely unwound whenever he felt you pulsing around him. it seemed to never end, and he let out breathy whines and grunts as he rode his high, his cum leaking from between your legs in the most vulgar way.

you fell against him, the both of you breathing heavy. he wrapped his arms around you, then his wings, feeling so content and satisfied and whole.

and he was sure that he'd actually fallen in love with you.

"shit," you finally breathed out, completely exhausted.

"i knew you were the best in bed," you huffed out a laugh, resting your head in the crook of his neck.

azriel laughed, running a hand down the back of your hair affectionately.

"only for you," he whispered, kissing the side of your neck.

a/n: ok so. i need a cold shower after this. pls let me know what you think, i'm half asleep and have never published smut. for all of you that wanted a part 2, i hope you liked it! i'm nervous. ok love u <3

[wizard-laundry]

heeppy hoolida

[awriterinthenight]

"You Look Cute Flustered"-Anthony Lockwood

requested: anonymous

words: 1221

warnings: not much, the word suicidal maybe (idk if that counts), also implied that reader was shorter than Lockwood, but in my defense I usually use myself as reference when needed and I'm 4'11, but not much just cute fluff

summary: Lockwood was always charming and witty around everyone else, except for you. Around you Lockwood's mind would always draw a blank and he would become even more flustered. And it only got worse when you started to date.

Everyone knew one thing about Lockwood and it was that he was incredibly witty. Wherever he went, whoever he talked to, he could charm his way out of any situation. Anyone, and everyone would easily fall for whatever smile, or smirk Lockwood would put on, just to get out of any situation. Even if he was just talking to someone he could capture their full attention in a matter of moments with the softest of smiles.

Lockwood was like that around everyone, except for you. When it came to you Lockwood couldn't seem to even get out a proper sentence without his brain almost short circuiting as he stumbled over all his words. This would always result in you smiling, or sometimes even teasing him by saying, "You look cute flustered."

One time you and Lockwood were in the kitchen preparing breakfast. You were making tea, while Lockwood was trying to finally make toast that didn't burn in the toaster. You were just trying to grab the sugar that George decided to put on the top shelf when he reorganised the entire kitchen during one of his maniac cleanings.

You could just barely reach when you felt a hand wrap around your waist, as a hand went up to grab the sugar for you, "Thanks, Anthony," you said, referring to him by his first name, something he only allowed you to do.

Lockwood didn't know if it was the way his hand rested on your waist, or the smile you gave him, or the way you said his name, making him feel like his entire self was made of butterflies. All poor Lockwood could manage out was a simple, "N-no problem," while turning back towards the one burnt toast, trying to hide the massive blush on his face.

After that interaction, whenever you said something to him he would immediately blush, then proceed to stumble over almost every word before getting the fragments of a sentence out.

Many more of these a occasions occurred, and they only got worse when the two of you started dating. Lockwood somehow got even worse. Every sentence took him a second to say after trying to get over his initial fluster.

Complimenting him, he was flustered. Making him tea, flustered, unable to express how thankful he was. Saving him during a job, even more flustered and takes him a moment to thank you and assure you that he was okay. Even just standing next to him, and that man turned as red as a tomato.

One of the most notable times this happened was while giving a report to Inspector Barnes. Lockwood and Co. had just escaped a suicidal job after showing up with almost no research. You managed to somehow cut yourself on your rapier when you were distracted. Now you were getting your hand patched up while Lockwood was waiting for Barnes to come back with the paperwork.

You had just finished getting your hand bandaged up, and started to head towards Lockwood. For once he wasn't flustered by your mere presence, more filled with concern for how you were doing.

The moment you were near him his arms wrapped around you, "How bad is your hand?" he asked, concerned for you since you would most likely be off the job for a week or two.

You shrugged, "Not horrible, but not good. I have to keep it bandaged for a week, and I can't do anything too straining, that way I don't break my stitches. I'll be out of operation for a week or two," You said, a bit sullen looking since you would be letting George, Lucy, and Lockwood work without you for a couple of weeks.

"It's okay, love," he said, placing a small kiss on your forehead, "Just do as the doctor said. No working till your hands fully healed and you'll be all better soon. When we get home I'll make you some tea and you can get some well deserved sleep, and you won't have to lift a finger for weeks, so that your hand can heal," Lockwood assured him. He would probably die from how much he cares about the people he loves. It was really just a small injury, an inconvenience as you thought of it, but Lockwood saw it as a reason to now take care of you more than he already did.

"That does sound nice, but I feel bad not being able to help you guys on jobs. It's just frustrating to me. It makes me feel useless" you told him, looking at the ground filled with your own pity for yourself.

Lockwood lifted up your chin so that you could look at him, "You're not useless, love. You can still help with research, but you're anything but useless, you know that?

You let out a breath, "Yeah, I know, I just hate it," you told him, relaxing further into his touch for comfort.

Lockwood lent down to plant a small kiss on your lips, "I'm just glad your okay," he said, leaning down for another kiss, this time a lot longer than the first one.

You stayed like that for a moment before you were interrupted, "Alright, I have all the paperwork, just sign here, here, and-" Barnes cut himself off when he noticed you two, and how you jumped apart.

In a moment like this Lockwood would usually say something witty like 'Your timing is impeccable', but once again Lockwood could no longer form words in his flustered state.

Instead it was you with the witty response, "You've clearly mastered the art of comedic timing, haven't you," you joked, looking at Barnes' shocked face. You and Inspector Barnes had a weird relationship. You'd known Barnes since you started out, and he even pointed you in the direction of Lockwood and Co., not purposefully since his words were more like, 'Whatever you do, do not join Lockwood and Co. and stay away from them', yet here you were. So Barnes was more than surprised to see his least favourite (his favourite) troublemaker kissing the girl he tried so hard to mentor to become a good person.

"I-I," he stumbled, confused to what was happening, "Since when have you been a thing?" Once again Lockwood tried to speak, but was unable to find any sort of words.

"A month, two I think next week," you told Barnes, thinking back to when Lockwood finally asked you out. Barnes decided to ask questions later, and for now hand you all the necessary paperwork.

Once you finished, Barnes collected it and turned to leave, but not before he told Lockwood, "Don't hurt her, I already am not your biggest fan, so don't screw whatever this is up to."

Lockwood probably would've made some sort of joke, but all he did was nod, smile, and try to stumble out some sort of 'understood' while trying to not blush too much. Barnes could tell Lockwood would never do anything to hurt you, just by how he was acting. No one made Anthony Lockwood flustered and unable to use his charm and wit, except for you. While looking over the paperwork Inspector Barnes thought about how one day he wouldn't be surprised if (or more like when) he saw your name have the last name Lockwood behind it.

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[peachymaryobrien]

Was it casual when we were sitting close to each other under the kitchen lights trying to solve a mystery case