#Cotton Base Carpet

[meowsuguru]

U wanna put 'em in your mouth, pull 'em all down south

perv!Geto x perv!reader

ꨄ cont: perv!geto, unprotected, masturbation, p in v, oral f!receiving, panty shenanigans, dirty talk, breeding kink (if you squint)

ꨄwc: 2.5k

ꨄ a/n: dedicated to my muse @nanaslutt the inventor of perv!geto. The people yearn for him <3

Suguru just couldn’t get enough of you. The way you walk, how you speak, that light perfume you always wear, how you wear your hair when you’re at home.

He can’t seem to get you out of his head lately, your ass in those shorts you always wear plaguing his mind. 

He thinks of you as he walks toward your bedroom, placing his ear on the door. He hears the shuffle of your feet and he exhales, thinking about all the things you could be doing together if you only knew.

The spout of your shower turns on, and he pushes your bedroom door open, socks padding on carpeted floors as he slips inside without a sound.

He thinks of you as his pants tighten, your little sigh as you step into the water going straight to his groin. 

He can feel the steam in your ensuite bathroom seep through the crack in the door, and he can only imagine what you’re doing in there. 

Are you touching yourself? He thinks, heading to the bathroom door. You’re filthy, he groans internally; you leave your underwear lying on the floor in your room while you shower. He picks them up, bringing the soft cotton to his nose. So sweet, he thinks, eyes rolling back into his head. His tongue darts out to taste the crotch, savoring the sweet and tangy flavor on your underwear. 

And, he thinks of you as he wraps your panties around his cock, stuffed in his fist as he jerks himself off. 

He groans, biting the heel of his free hand, as he pumps his fist, the black fabric woven around his fingers as his grip slips from the base of his cock to the tip. 

He’s gotten pretty good at doing this quickly, letting his mind wander to what your naked body might look like in the shower, spurring him on as he fists his thick cock and grunts, muffling the sound with his hand. He’s getting close now, hips bucking into his hand as his hand slides around himself, the fabric of your panties adding just the right amount of friction. 

How he'd love to see you with your legs up on his shoulders as he pushes the head of his cock between your thighs, your soaking wet panties shifting against his length. Just the thought alone has his cock twitching and begging to come into your pretty black panties. 

He hears you make a sound in the shower and his head perks up, What was that? He wants to hear it again. You’re such a dirty girl, he thinks as he imagines you using the showerhead on yourself. Do you have one of those? You would… his filthy girl would be doing something nasty like that behind closed doors. 

All the thoughts he’s having are driving him insane, and he grips his cock tighter, squeezing around the head to finish himself off. He comes, right on the crotch of your panties, fucking into the fabric as he spills himself out. 

Carefully, he massages his seed into the fabric, leaving them wet and thick with his come. He sets them back down on the floor next to your shorts, tucking himself back into his pants. 

The water shuts off, and he slips out of your room, closing the door soundlessly. 

–

You find yourself in Suguru’s room. He’s out buying groceries, so you snuck into his room. You’re rummaging through his top drawer, looking around frantically as you find what you’re looking for. 

Black boxer briefs. 

You slowly step out of your shorts and underwear, leaving them pooled on the floor at your feet. You slide on his boxers and have to stifle a whimper as the heat in your center grows at just the feeling of the fabric touching you. You bite your lip, heading over to his bed with your vibrator tucked into your left hand. Laying down, you smell the fragrance of the expensive shampoo he uses leftover on his pillow. It sends you reeling. Long hair falling over broad shoulders, you imagine him in the kitchen, sweats hanging low on his hips as you click the vibrator on to the first setting. 

Placing the bullet over your clothed clit, you moan, the sensation almost as good as you imagine Suguru’s fingers would feel, doing little circles over the bud. You’re soaking, the fabric of his boxer briefs dampening as you keep the pressure of the vibrator over your clit. 

You left a crack in the door so you could hear in case Suguru got home, and you whine, thinking about him walking in on you. It makes your cheeks heat and your legs clench, juices pooling in his underwear. 

You’re getting close, you can feel it. Just like how you imagine you feel Suguru’s hot breath on your neck as he’s pummeling into you, and you slip your vibrator under the waistband of the underwear. The direct contact has your head spinning, hips grinding into it as you chase your high. 

“Suguru, Sugu…” you whisper breathlessly, begging the ghost of him you’ve conjured up to let you come. 

Come for me, baby. You imagine him saying, and you’re right there. 

You hear the keys jingle in the door and you cry out, biting your lip as you come.

-

Suguru hears you as his keys unlock the door. My filthy girl, while I’m not home… he thinks, pants growing tighter. When he steps into the apartment, he drops the groceries off at the counter before making his way down the hallway to your bedroom door, pressing his ear up against it. He needs to hear you panting as you come down from your high. But he doesn’t hear anything. 

-

You scramble, sliding his underwear off and tossing them somewhere randomly as you hastily put on your own underwear and shorts. You stuff your vibrator into the back pocket of your shorts and sneak to his bedroom door. When you open it, you see his own form pressed against your own door.

“Suguru?” You ask, taken aback. 

He turns quickly to face you, but then a confused look flickers in his expression. 

“What were you doing in my room?” He asks, face unreadable. 

“I was… looking for my shirt. I think our laundry got mixed up,” you lie smoothly. 

“Didn’t find it? I’ll help you look,” he says, a smirk playing on his lips as he walks towards his room. Suguru knows what you were doing. It lights a fire in him.

You put your hands out to stop him. 

“No, that’s okay.”

“I think I can find it.”

“No really, it’s fine.” 

You’re suddenly very aware that you left his underwear out and you’d really like to stop him from finding those. You’ll just have to sneak back in to throw them in the laundry later.

“Let’s put the groceries away,” you say, backing him up.

“I’d like to go to my room, please,” he smiles, squinting his eyes closed. It makes you throb. Oh, he’s gonna catch me, you think, and it does something to you. 

“...Okay,” you say, stepping out of the way. You follow behind Suguru as he goes into the room, eyes scanning for the discarded underwear. You spot them, quickly stepping to the side to retrieve them and you ball them in your hands and hide them behind your back. Suguru notices this movement and turns. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, cautiously.

“Nothing.” 

“What do you have behind your back?” 

“Nothing. Why so many questions?” 

“Let me see.” He comes closer to you, grabbing your arm. 

“No.” 

He pulls your arm, and you fight back against his grip for a minute, but he quickly overpowers you. His underwear falls to the floor in between the two of you and you hang your head in shame. 

“...Why did you have these?” He asks, picking them up off the floor, running his fingers along the damp fabric. “They’re wet.” 

“I…” 

“Were you… wearing these?” He asks, grinning. 

“No, I was…” You fail to come up with an excuse. 

“Were you getting off on it?” His voice dips low, hand coming to tip your chin up. 

“Pervert…” you say, shaking your head and closing your eyes tight.

“Maybe. But I’m not the one who masturbated in someone else's underwear.” He smiles that same unreadable smile. 

You groan, heat flooding to your cheeks and in between your legs. Your eyes open and your gaze finds his, his face closer to you than you would’ve expected. 

“You’re not denying it.” 

“I…” the words catch in your throat, leaving you to choke out another sound. 

–

How you found yourself under Suguru you’ll never know. He’s got his head between your thighs, tongue lapping and sucking on the cotton of your underwear. 

“It’s so much better when it’s the real thing,” he moans into your clothed cunt, lips and tongue pressing against you. 

“You fucking perv,” you practically sob, needing him closer. 

“Says you, filthy girl. I heard you getting yourself off earlier when I came home. Didn’t know it was in my underwear, though.” He grinds himself into the mattress, pulling your underwear to the side. 

“Don’t think I didn’t notice my panties going missing,” you try. 

“Why didn’t you come get them, then?” He licks a stripe up your puffy cunt, moaning as you buck your hips up to meet his lips. 

You respond with a moan, high and breathy as it leaves your throat. 

“I knew you were fuckin’ dirty,” he groans against you. 

“You’re n..nasty Suguru…” 

“Say it again.”

You oblige, calling him every nasty word you can think of. His lips meet you again, tongue swirling around your clit. You feel yourself getting hotter, needing more and more. Your hands fly to the back of his head, pushing his nose into your clit. He pushes his tongue inside of you, moving his head as he breathes in your scent. 

“Fuck, you smell like heaven,” 

“You’re going to hell,” you whine.

“You’re coming with me, baby.” 

You clench around his tongue as he calls you that, it sounding just like how it did in your fantasies. You grind your hips against his face, your orgasm nearing. 

“Suguruuu…” you pant, hand gripping his hair tightly, “‘M close…” 

“C’mon nasty girl, come in my mouth,” he groans, and that is not the same as what you had fantasized about earlier. Though, you listen anyway, letting go as your vision goes white and you're coming, so hard, riding his face as you do so. He laps you up, hips bucking into the comforter of his bed as you come, choking out his name and cursing him. 

“F..fuck you, Suguru, you’re nasty…” you cry as you come down. He chuckles, his breath hitting your aching cunt and the sound low and reverberating. 

“Should I remind you of what you did earlier?”

And he’s sitting up now, slipping your underwear back in place as he slides his throbbing cock over the fabric.

“Wanna fuck you with your panties on, baby,” he’s saying, both of you moaning as he ruts against you.

“Dirty freak,” you moan, clamping your legs shut as he fucks in between your thighs. 

“You’re dirtier.”

He slips your panties aside again, the tip of his cock begging to be sucked into your cunt. As he pushes in, you moan, crossing your legs at the ankles where they rest on his shoulder. 

“Fuck, so tight,” he groans, “better than I imagined, baby.”

He’s pummeling into you, leaving no room to breathe as his cock scrapes your walls. You just moan, the feeling of being so full making your stomach flip and your eyes squeeze shut. 

“Your pussy is so much better than the panties of yours I’ve been fucking,” he says, panting as he drives himself back into you again. 

“Fuck, always put my panties back on after you came in them, Sugu,” you babble, and he fucking moans. 

“Shit, baby. You wanna hold my cum in this pretty pussy?” He’s stuttering, your words threatening an early release. “I wanna fill you up so bad, baby, please. Please let me.” 

He’s begging, and who are you to deny him? Suguru losing it right now is making your pussy ache, and his cock is hitting so good inside that you think you might see stars. 

“Yeah, Sugu. Gimme your cum. I want it,” you’re begging in return. 

“Look so pretty in these panties, baby, I like these ones. I wanna fuck you in the black ones too, you know– the ones with the lace and the bows. I love those,” he babbles as he grips at your thighs, slapping against you as he drives his cock in further. 

“Can’t believe you got yourself off in my underwear, you dirty girl. So nasty.,” he grins, pace getting sloppy. 

“Sugu, gonna come again,” is all you have to offer him. His hand flies between your thighs to rub up on that tight little bundle of nerves and you're shaking, his touch all you needed to fall over the edge. You lose vision a second time, gripping his wrist with your hands as it’s all too much and you’re crying out his name. 

He fucks you through it, but he’s sloppy as he does so. He groans, nails digging into your thighs as he comes, pumping you full of him. 

You both still, panting in sync as you come down. He flops over, laying down next to you as you both stare at the ceiling. 

After a beat, you speak, and you can hear him roll his eyes. 

“Give me my panties back. All of them,” you say. 

“Not a chance.”

[6esiree]

𝐀𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫, 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧

𝐓𝐖: 𝐎𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐒𝐞𝐱 (𝐌!𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠) 𝐚𝐧𝐝… 𝐓𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬 <𝟑

The first time you sunk down onto your knees before Alastor, he stared down at you through a mask of unwavering confidence and indifference that almost deterred your nimble fingers from working away at his slacks. But the anticipation, which coated the cotton fabric of your panties, was much too thick… that and the unforgettable revelation he had murmured against the shell of your ear that he knew not what it felt like to have another’s touch between his legs.

Alastor was a virgin.

So, when you asked him if you could pleasure him with your mouth after a rather drawn out affair of exchanging kisses, tongue, teeth and all, he withdrew from your swollen lips with a twinge of perturbation on his brow. After almost a year in your relationship, he was ready to engage with you intimately, but he never anticipated that you’d ask to pleasure him in a manner that he considered filthy—debauched, even. What happened to conventional sex? To missionary?

“It’ll feel so good, Al…” You leaned in, arms wrapped firmly around the broadness of his shoulders, and planted your tongue slack against his lips. “Like this—and you like when I do this.”

You painted the thin line that was his mouth with a slow, sensual stripe of saliva, and oh, his slacks tightened almost instantaneously. But when you lowered the swell of your ass onto his lap and jutted your hips forward, clothed cunt teasing the considerable tent he had with a meager wriggling, he turned away from you with a sigh that just oozed static and mock-contemplation. You were already familiar with his tendency to put on a facade in the face of temptation, though.

“I suppose you can,” He offered half-heartedly, but the way his clawed-hand patted your hip with a “Get going,” betrayed his true sentiments… including the drawled out “Attagirl.”

You rolled your eyes with a giggle, the bed softly creaking as you shimmied off of Alastor’s lap. You found yourself missing the sensation of his erection rubbing your clit through your panties… until you sunk down onto your knees and came face-to-face with the sight straining painfully before your eyes. God, he was big. He had to part his legs and jut his hips forwards much like yours had earlier, except more slower, timider, to snap you out of your self-imposed trance.

And it worked, your stare palpitating with a stager in your movements as you leaned in and worked away at his slacks, nimble fingers trembling with a surge of anticipation. Besides the feeling of uncertainty and slight trepidation gnawing at him, an amused smile managed to find its way on his features. Your huffs and puffs of unsteady breaths mingled with the sound of his zipper being undone, and as it resonated throughout your shared bedroom, he managed to collect himself.

“Look at you, being so subservient to me,” Alastor hummed, the gratification behind his statement accentuated by the crackles and pops behind his radio filter. “You’re such a good girl.”

“Oh, let’s see if you’re still as confident as you’re making yourself out to be—” You dipped your hand into his slacks and groped the outline of his cock, “—when I do this.”

“Please, that’s nothing I can’t do with my own hand,” Alastor immediately scoffed, but you hadn’t missed the slight downwards twitch of his lip. “Now, are you going to—”

Your knees rubbed against the carpet fibers of your bedroom floor, but as you finally freed his aching cock from the constricting confines of his briefs, the head glistening with a thick layer of precum, you easily ignored that uncomfortable burning sensation threatening to spoil this moment. He sunk his teeth into the inside of his cheek as you wrapped your hand around the base, the metallic taste of blood greeting his tastebuds at the tentative squeeze you gave it.

It was just so thick and heavy and everything your heart desired… but most considerably your mouth, wet and warm from your salivation, the perfect environment for that thick cock. The same one that only you would ever get the privilege to see, to hold, to suck, and to milk dry when you experienced your first rut together. But right now you had to suck him, you reminded yourself, especially as your cunt throbbed longingly between your shifting thighs.

“Sorry,” You batted your lashes at him innocently and rested the side of your head on his lap, tongue darting out of your mouth to lick at the underside of his cock, “For proving you wrong, I mean.”

Alastor scoffed at you yet again, a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips as he tore his heavy-lidded gaze from the filthy sight below him and stared ahead, and all while your tongue moved up, and up, and up the length of his cock, till it found the head, so red and weepy, and circled it slowly and sensually. His clawed-hands subtly gripped the silken sheets, but besides that, he refused to give into your ministrations, and to give into your need to prove yourself right.

“Why are you still speaking?”

He was confident, and he was also adamantly opposed to allowing you to feel as if you were in a position of power, your lips finally wrapping around his cock and swallowing whatever your mouth would allow you to take. Halfway—he mentally noted, your hand pumping the other length of his cock you couldn’t quite take without dissolving into a pitiful mess of flushed skin, teary eyes, and gags and sputters. You wanted to enjoy the process of pleasuring him for the first time.

You gave Alastor a little taste of what to expect by hollowing your cheeks and giving him a generous suck, hand squeezing and mouth leisurely moving up and down his cock. However, it was at that moment that he wished he had partaken in carnal pleasures in life. That mask of confidence and indifference fell as he dipped his head, his brows came together to form a deep crease in his ashen skin, and a small, shaky moan seeped past those razor-sharp teeth of his.

If you weren’t wet before, you surely were now, the cotton fabric of your panties bunching into your folds. To hear a man as powerful, as dangerous, as Alastor produce such a sweet, innocent sound, that made you let out a moan of your own around his cock. And he felt the vibrations of your gratification, including the way the tip of your tongue worked in tandem with your mouth and caressed the vein on the length of his shaft. But he felt entirely opposed to you.

Alastor was mortified.

“Oh, fuck, that was…” You pulled back from his cock with a filthy ‘Pop!’, chest heaving at how breathless the sound left you. “God, you sounded so—and I mean so—fucking pretty.”

Out of all the noises that could have escaped his throat, a grunt, a groan, and perhaps even a meager ‘Fuck,’ it had to be a wretched little moan that made him sound so innocent, so inexperienced, like a teenager that barely discovered sex. But when you said he sounded pretty, a statement he thought that he only he would tell you while making love to you, his cock sliding in and out of your cunt in deep, passionate thrusts, he decided he had had enough.

Yes, he was the virgin in the relationship, but he would not dissolve into a blushing bride on her wedding night, no matter how good it felt when you wrapped your lips around his cock again and bobbed your head up and down. As the room resonated with the sound of your relentless sucking, he dipped his head and carded a clawed-hand through your hair, scratching at your scalp rather affectionately. Like a pet—his pet—and while that irked you, you would not stop.

“And so do you, my dear,” Despite how close he was to finishing, he grasped your hair and encouraged you to take more of his cock in your mouth, making you choke. “Oh, now that’s pretty.”

But that wasn’t the only thing he had in store for you. His tendrils manifested from the ground in a series of wisps before slowly winding around your thighs, and they journeyed up north till they wriggled underneath your shorts. His mouth fell open with a staticky hum as a surprised sound, albeit gargled, emanated from your throat. Two tendrils found its way inside of your slick-drenched panties, one from the front of your waistband, the other from the seam of your thigh.

“Come now, you must continue to suck,” Alastor reminded you, his hips jutting upwards, the head of his cock kissing the back of your throat for a fleeting moment. “Fuck,” He added with a hiss.

A tendril curiously flicked at your swollen clit, while the other shimmied its way past your folds to get to your fluttering hole, slick with the pleasure you had derived from sucking off Alastor. Your eyes fell shut as the thick, slimy appendage stretched your walls, whatever discomfort you would have felt assuaged by the other tendril working away at your clit, its movements ungraceful and yet pleasurable in its inexperience, the flicks feeling similar to kitten-licks.

“Where is that confidence that you previously wore, hm?” Alastor asked you rather rudely, tugging your hair back and pulling you off of his cock before he could finish. “It’s gone.”

While he sounded so demeaning, you could see what he truly felt, even as your eyes remained shut, the tendril buried deep inside of your hole experimentally twisting and turning, grazing that spongey flesh within your walls that had your thighs shaking with an impending orgasm. His ears had fallen back at this point, and his skin was absolutely flushed—he just had an incredible amount of self-restraint in his favor. And you? Well, all you had was experience with sex.

“I can’t do what you’re doing—gah, fuck, right there!” You cried out in ecstasy, your other hand scrambling to grip his slender thigh. “Unlike you, I allow myself to feel—mm—to feel good.”

“I am, you’re just being too… ” Alastor reintroduced your mouth to his cock, hoping to distract you, but it didn’t work. Not even as his tendrils began to properly fuck you. “ …smug.”

“You’re just the same, Al—uh, this is so weird,” You spoke every time you pulled away from his cock, prolonging the coming of his orgasm. “Never thought I’d get my pussy filled with ten—“

“Now, now, there’s no need for such crude language, my dear,” He scolded you, forcing your mouth down once more, no longer allowing you to speak. “It’s not becoming of a lady.”

But you were no lady, and you felt nowhere near like a lady as Alastor’s tendrils drove into your cunt and rubbed your clit at a feverish pace, the filthy squelching enveloping your bedroom instead of the usual mixture of soft jazz music and the ambience of the bayou just behind you. It simply amazed you that he was hesitant to sexually engage with you for a while, but the moment you finally did and you overpowered him, he did the least conventional thing imaginable.

“I don’t want you ruining my slacks more than you already have with your saliva,” Alastor groaned as he felt a strong wave of pleasure wash over him, his hips stuttering and his length stiffening.

“I want you to swallow,” He added, but he had no idea that you were prepared to do that since you started. You wanted to taste the warmth and stickiness of his cum. “Have I made myself clear?”

Still, you nodded, your eyes flitting up to him and palpitating as heaps of cum painted the roof of your mouth, and all while your own walls began to clench around the tendrils working away at your cunt. Their movements were sporadic and hastier than ever, but the filthiness of it all to you was just enough to have you finishing right after him, a streak of cum cascading down the corner of your mouth as you pulled away from his cock and parted your lips with a long whine of ecstasy.

“My, my, look at you,” Alastor spoke almost adoringly, relinquishing your hair to hold your face in his palm so gingerly. “You look like an absolute mess, my dear—like a virgin, I daresay.”

“Ass… asshole,” You muttered, glassy eyes staring back into his heavy-lidded gaze, but they were fixated on the streak on your skin. “Just wait till I… till I peg you... then you’ll see what it’s like.”

His tendrils immediately vanished, leaving your cunt clenching around nothing. And while Alastor was unfamiliar with the term ‘pegging,’ he had a general idea of what you meant, an amused chuckle seeping past his teeth as he reached out and pressed his thumb against the corner of your mouth. Ha! He would never allow you to take his body in such a way that would force him to submit to you, he thought as he wiped the evidence of his pleasure from your flushed skin.

“Is that any way to talk to your partner?” Alastor tsked with a semblance of disapproval etched onto his features, his thumb prodding at your lower lip. “Today’s generation has no manners.”

“We do, we just don’t blindly follow that whole ‘Respect your elders’ bullshit,” You giggled as your tongue greedily darted past your lips. “Not unless they return it, of course.”

By they, you meant him, and Alastor narrowed his eyes at that. However, you weren’t put off by the look of obvious displeasure he loomed almost menacingly over you with, your tongue proceeding to swirl around his thumb, lapping up the remnants of cum that you had failed to swallow. In your defense, he knew what he had gotten himself into when he entered in a relationship with you… but you supposed your knack for all things history blinded him.

“You insolent little girl,” Alastor half-growled, and you would have laughed if he hadn’t retracted your thumb to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. “I shall do what your parents failed to do, then.”

You seized his face and craned your neck slightly, lips slotting against his so perfectly; and you stood up from your place on the ground, too, knees trembling and aching from the carpet fibers that had burned your skin. But at least he helped you up halfway into your pathetic ascent, a tendril manifesting around your waist and bringing you up onto his lap, soft cock grazing your clothed core as it relinquished you. You yelped, but he swallowed it with a gentle squeeze of your hips.

“Like my daddy?” You murmured sensually into the kiss, to tease him, to rile him up. He loathed when you called him that, and the rude strike he dealt to the swell of your ass showed it. “Hey!”

‘Don’t call me that,’ he told you with an authority that had your back arching and your chest pressing into his. His cock also stirred awake against you, but he could not go at it again—no, not when he wasn’t ready to. No matter how powerful, how confident, and how intimidating he could be even on the most normal of days, he was still a virgin. And if he hadn’t used his tendrils on you, you were certain that he would have given you more than just a breathy moan.

Perhaps a bleat… which you were also certain he would have given you if you would have slowly reached behind him and wrapped your hand around that tuft of fur below his spine. His tail. You sucked in Alastor’s lower lip and sunk your teeth into the swollen flesh, eliciting a grunt from his throat. He had no idea what sort of sinful thoughts were swirling in your mind. His tail, his ears, his antlers—you would tug and pull at each and every one of them next time.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Dark!Azriel x reader: Stockholm Syndrome[***]

A/N: This is for the Eat You Up girlies <3

Warnings: dubcon themes, dark!Azriel, CNC kink, bdsm undertones, leashes + collars, heavy Dom/Sub dynamics, sex toys, knife play, pussy-spanking, impact play, degradation, foot-humping, biting, slight choking, shadows, sadomasochism, somnophilia, nipple play…?, spitting, mention of non-con

Word Count: 9,960

Visual Prompt here!

You pad quietly along the corridor, searching.

Shadows flick at your ankles, around your bare calves, herding you gently toward the stairs. Teeth bite softly into your lower lip as you ascend the case, feet tiptoeing along the carpeted hallway as you’re guided to his office. The door is ajar, and you spot him at his desk, walking in silently.

Not silent enough, apparently.

Hazel eyes flick over his shoulder, pinning you to the floor, and you still, breath catching in your throat. He turns a little in his chair, darkness thrumming around him, wreathing the great, powerful wings at his back. His eyes catch on your bare thighs, gaze darkening as he drinks you in, frozen in his room.

Azriel’s lips quirk, and that’s all it takes to have your limbs unsticking.

You eagerly pad forward, walking up to him, hands moving to your hips then wrapping round the base of your spine. Your own hands land on his broad shoulders as you slide into his lap, legs parting either side of his thighs. You press into his warmth, nestling deeper into the firm strength of him, nosing at his throat.

Azriel’s large hand strokes your hair, soothingly possessive, tucking you away.

A hum sounds in your chest, almost a purr, and your hips wind gently over his own, rocking your centre against him. He can feel the softness of your sex through the seam of his leathers. “Been a long day, huh?” He asks, large hand spanning your throat as he eases you back—so he can look at you. Remind himself how obedient you are. How docile you’ve become.

You blink quietly up at him, satisfaction gleaming in his sharp, hazel eyes.

White canines flash as his lips lift into a grin, “want something, pet?” Your hips roll onto his needfully, fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt. A low chuckle sounds deep in his chest, “want my cock, hm?” Your head dips, and he laughs again. “I’d’ve thought all the maidenly blushing would have been fucked out of you by now,” he drawls, the rich timbre of his voice stirring something hot and liquid in the pit of your belly.

Papers rustle behind you, but you’re too busy staring up at him to care.

“Get on the desk. Legs spread,” he orders, and you practically fizzle with excitement. Sliding out of his lap, and raising yourself up carefully, so your ass is perched near the edge. Thighs part shyly, and you’re thankful for the fabric covering your heat. No matter how many times he’s already seen you, from all sorts of obscene angles.

You squirm when he remains quiet, simply leaning back in his chair, eyes slowly raking over you, leisurely taking you in, as if you aren’t burning with need. His gaze fixates on a spot between your legs, the teal silk darkened and damp. Heat bubbles as his tongue flicks out, wetting his lips. Showing his growing appetite.

“Remove your top for me, pet,” he says softly, eyes so full of starving hunger it sends goosebumps raising across your skin, nipples peaking as your fingers catch the hem of the cotton. Pulling it up over your head, you shiver in the cool air of his office, toes curling at the intensity of his gaze.

Silence stretches as he watches with predatory intent, allowing your anxiety to build, anticipation thrumming beneath your skin.

“Do you remember when you used to protest to all this?” He asks softly, sharp hazel piercing into you, pinning you to his desk. “How you used to scream, and beg for me not to touch you?” A shiver thrills down your spine, and he marks it eagerly. “Answer me, pet.”

You dip your head. “I do.”

His mouth parts in a grin, canines peeking from below his upper lip. “Want to recreate that for me?”

Breath catches in your lungs, muscles stiffening as you stare at him, heat washing your cheeks. “What…?” His eyes seem to almost glow with anticipation, and he pushes up from his chair. The space between you is gobbled up in a single stride, then his hands are resting heavily around your hips, pressing close between your thighs. “Want to make it fun, don’t you?” He drawls, watching you intently.

You dip your head again, cheeks heating, but he lightly grips your jaw, raising your chin. “Go on,” he murmurs, eyes scanning your features hungrily. “Make the hunt good.”

Arousal licks between your legs, but then he steps back, and you watch him curiously.

Azriel merely steps aside, encouraging you to go. “Hide.”

Heat sparks in the pit of your belly, and you’re hopping off his desk, grabbing your top, receiving a firm smack on the ass as you leave. “I’ll know if you don’t try hard enough,” he calls after you, voice being carried on those shadows, speeding you along.

First, you stop at your bedroom, but no—too obvious. Next is the kitchen, but nowhere to hide. Next is the study, and you sneak in, checking to see if you could fit under the desk. No way. But there’s a set of keys laying half hidden beneath some papers, and you smile to yourself.

Silently, you slide the key into the one remaining lock on the back door—having watched the other six come off over the years. Until just one remains. You catch it as it clicks open, careful not to make a sound as you open the door.

And hurry out into the night.

————

Toes curl in excitement as you settle your legs either side of the broad trunk, feet dirty from scaling the large tree. But now you’re up here, hidden, and have a good view of a few of the windows leading into your house.

Watch as he checks the bedroom first—he definitely would have found you there. Then the washroom, a few rooms you can’t see, the kitchen… He disappears for a while, and you assume he’s checking the study. Excitement thrills down your spine as you watch him search for you. Is this how he felt all those years? Secretly observing your activities?

It’s exhilarating.

When he reappears in the bedroom, his shadows are darker, writhing around his wings. He’s begun to figure you’re not in the house—he must not’ve seen the lock yet. You smile to yourself, satisfied with your efforts.

His movements drop their leisurely pace, sharpening to something more brutal. Lethally efficient as he checks each room again, going through the lovely house.

When the ground shakes slightly, you can guess he’s found the opened lock—guessed you’ve escaped out into the world. Returned to where he plucked you from.

Azriel prowls out into the garden, hazel eyes flicking left and right, scanning for movement, and you hold your breath. His nostrils flare, and he moves forward, shadows hunting close to the ground. He reaches the base of the tree, and comes up short. Your scent disappears from the ground.

He’s still. Quiet.

Then he begins muttering to himself. Your name, over and over. A strange spell being woven as he chants it repeatedly under his breath. Hands tighten to fists at his side, shadows writhing, and you can feel his agitation from below.

You watch, curiously. You’ve not seen him like this in a long time.

So you grip a pinecone, and drop it over the edge.

Immediately he stops, going silent. Staring at the cone at his feet. His gaze snaps up, razor-sharp hazel slicing into you, and you freeze. Cold, glittering fury dances in his eyes.

Excitement heats your body, hands gripping the trunk as you swing your leg over the side. Then tip off the edge.

His eyes widen, instantly moving to catch you, shadows springing up to soften your fall, and you feel it as his strong arms wrap protectively beneath you. Pressing you to his body. His grip is tight—possessive, and you nestle closer. “What d’you think?” You mumble, pulling back to peer up at him.

“I thought you’d gone,” he mutters, tips of his fingers tightening on you, before loosening, allowing you to settle your feet on the ground. “You know you’re not allowed out here,” he reminds roughly, hand settling on your waist, spanning the width easily.

Your hands settle on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart against his rib cage. How fast and hard it’s pumping.

“You told me to make it good,” you murmur, “didn’t I do good?”

“I thought you’d gone,” he repeats with devastating softness. Maybe you shouldn’t have let it go on for that long. “I thought you’d gone,” he says sharply, squeezing your waist. “I’m here,” you say softly, pressing into him. “I haven’t gone any—”

“I thought you’d runaway,” he mutters, a little frenzied. “I thought you’d been pretending. That you’d succeeded in escaping from me.”

You brow furrows, “Azriel, I’m right here…”

He shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have come out here.”

You peer up at him, staring at his beautiful features. How could you ever run away from him?

Gently, you pry your hands beneath his own, linking your fingertips together. Step back a little. “Maybe I was trying to escape,” you taunt softly. “Maybe I’ve gotten bored of you, and want something else.” His face goes white with rage, and you spin on your feet, turning to run for the house.

You don’t even get a single step before his hand has brutally gripped the base of your neck, yanking you back to him. You whimper at the roughness, and he marks the sound eagerly. “Want to repeat that, pet?” He growls quietly, keeping you pinned to the spot.

Teeth prod into your lower lip, his gaze darkening.

“Maybe I was trying to run away,” you repeat, skin prickling beneath the intensity of his attention. Centuries of predatory training zeroing in, on you. “Are you trying to provoke me? Is that it?” He snarls. “Think that’s a good idea, pet?”

“I’m not your pet, Azriel.”

His eyes gleam with cold fury, anticipation burning icily. “No?”

You shake your head. “No.”

Canines flash beneath the moonlight, and then his shadows have encompassed you. The weightless sensation overtakes you, then your feet are again on firm ground. You flinch as something leathery wraps around your throat, tightening until it fits snugly. A collar.

Metal snaps, and you know he’s just clipped on the lead.

Azriel gives a firm tug, making you stumble forward, hissing at the pressure around your throat.

“I think someone’s gotten too comfortable with her position,” he growls lowly, jaw tense, shadows thick and writhing at your feet. “Needs some reminding who’s in charge of her, huh?” A shiver trills down your spine, and you press your bare thighs together. Needing the friction. “Isn’t that right?”

The tears arise on their own, barely even needing to be summoned.

His grip tightens on the leash, eyes flickering with arousal at the sight of your damp lashes. “If you don’t want your role of pet, then by all means, spit on it,” he drawls softly. Menacingly. “Entitled brat, aren’t you?”

He lands a harsh slap to your cheek, tugging roughly on the lead again to keep you steady. “If you won’t comply as a pet,” he snarls softly, “then you’ll obey as a slave.”

A whimper slips from your lips at that, heat turning liquid in you belly. His brow quirks, lips tilting up at their edges, “like that?” Breath trembles from your lips, legs turning weak with arousal.

“Azriel…” you whisper desperately. The heat is too much. You need him to relieve it.

“So desperate,” he laughs softly. “I haven’t even begun on you.”

Then he’s roughly guiding you back, shoving you against a wooden wall, shackling your wrists in chains, shadows copying the movement on your ankles. The leash hangs limp as he steps away, brushing over your breasts, grazing your thighs, and you bow from the board.

Azriel tuts lowly, retreating into the dark dungeon-like basement, allowing his shadows to play with you in the meantime. They skate up your thighs, wrapping over your hips, slithering up your spine. Gliding beneath your shirt. Pinching your nipples.

A breathless whimper slips from your lips as they twist and flick, pressing against the teal silk between your legs. Winding with enough pressure to feel good, but not enough to give any meaningful stimulation. Head tips back against the wall, eyes fluttering closed as they teasingly circle your clit, more grazing your stomach, keeping you confused from where they’ll next come from.

Your lips part, hips trying to grind down upon them, but they move with you, refusing to come any closer. You nearly cry out in desperation.

You flinch when scarred fingers roughly push aside your soaked underwear, running something rubbery but firm through the wetness. Coating it. You attempt to peer down, but can’t get a good glimpse. Can hardly think straight with how desperately you need him.

Breath is shoved from your lungs as he pushes the object inside of you. Dreadfully slowly. In and out. A few inches at a time. When it’s fully in, he moves your underwear back into place, roughly tugging the strings further up your hips, shoving the toy deeper.

A moan bursts from your lips, spine arching from the circular board as you tighten around it, trying to keep it pressing against that wonderful spot.

“I was saving this for a reward,” he murmurs beside your ear, fingers between your legs, prone to push it further inside. “But I suppose it can double as a punishment, huh?”

Pleasure weighs on your eyelids, barely able to keep them open long enough to look at him. “Can you even remember my name, slave?” He asks, amusement clear in his question. You blink wearily up at him, begging for stimulation. All you get is a rough pat on the cheek, followed by his fingers pressing the toy up into you.

A strangled moan arises from your throat, teeth sinking into your lower lip as you try to silence yourself. He jerks roughly on your leash in reprimand. “None of that,” he tuts, gripping you jaw so you’re forced to look at him. “I want to enjoy this.”

Then he retreats again, and you sink into the wooden board, weight resting heavily on your arms that are still pulled taut either side of your head.

“Eyes up here,” he commands, a sultry roughness to his order. Heat buzzes between your thighs, but you force yourself to meet his gaze. And you nearly forget how to breathe.

Cold, hard steel catches the dim light. No more than an elegant slice of silver amongst his shadows. Azriel’s lips twist into a smile, deftly spinning the short blade in his hands, skilled with practice, flexible with familiarity. There are more at his side, piled on a table, all the size of small daggers.

“Azriel,” you breathe. “What—”

The blade flies from his hand, embedding in the wood to the right of your body. Too close for comfort. Especially because you know he could hit you if he really wanted, and you don’t know how close he’s willing to get to satisfy his desires. You cringe away from the Illyrian steel, but the chains hold you fast, keeping you pinned to the wall like an insect to a dissection table. Ready for him to play with; experiment on.

“Better keep still,” he mocks, picking up another dagger. “Unless you want a few scars to show for later?” His lips twist into a wider smile, “a reminder of your disobedience, perhaps?” The blade flies, lodging in the wood a few centimetres above your head. You yelp, dipping your head as your blood runs cold.

Another dagger has already left his hands before you can look up, slamming into the wood beside your right breast. A puff of cold air hisses at the skin, practically able to feel the blade if you tip your body a little to the right. It’s piercing the cloth of your top, just another restriction to your movement.

Azriel laughs, flipping a blade in his hand, marking your aroused discomfort. How you squirm.

“Do you regret sneaking out yet? In the night, where anything could have happened to you?” He asks, shoulders tensing at the reminder. “Do you understand how weak you are, huh? How delicate?” He throws another blade, this one nicking your cheek, as if to demonstrate how easily you can be hurt. A whimper is strung from your lips, the light stinging making you want to pull your thighs together.

“Mm sorry,” you breathe, lower lip wobbling. “Mm sorry, Azriel…”

He laughs at that, “better.”

Picks up another dagger. “But too late.”

Steel slices against your hip, slicing the teal string on your underwear, exposing your skin as blood beads delicately. Azriel licks his lips at the sight, a quick flick of his tongue that has you fantasising about everything else he could be doing to you. “Azriel please,” you whimper, vision blurring. “I didn’t mean to upset you… Wanted to make it fun.”

A rough chuckle sounds, the metallic scape of yet another blade sliding into his hand, “I’m having plenty of fun.” Steel flashes in the dim light, making you squint. “Are you not enjoying this?” Teeth push into your lower lip, blinking away the dampness, “want you, instead.” Azriel’s lips quirk, taking in the way your hips shift, tightening around the toy needfully. He targets the other string flawlessly, rewarding you with a matching nick to your hip.

“Yeah? You want me to be inside of you rather than that?” He asks, pleased with your answer. Though not satisfied enough to give you what you want. “Want me to unchain you so I can stuff you with my cock instead? Fuck you ’til you’re going limp in my arms? Is that what you’d like?”

“Yes!” You pant, tightening around the toy desperately. You’re so wet it’s slipping out, no longer kept tucked inside by your underwear.

“Azriel…! Azriel, I can’t— Az!”

Wood splinters as he targets just between your thighs, a breath below your skin. The toy perches atop the flat of the blade—having been thrown sideways. Your chest rises up and down, sweat making your skin gleam in the dim light. Things tremble, weak from the wild ride, adrenaline singing in your blood.

Light catches on his canines as he grins, slightly feral, slowly prowling toward you. “So obedient, aren’t you?” He drawls, towering over you as he rests his hands atop the circular board. Your spine bows from the wood, arching in attempts to get the toy to touch more of those sensitive spots. His grin widens, “want it a little deeper?” He asks mockingly, eyes gleaming with dark pleasure. You nod your head, cheeks hot like the rest of your body.

Teeth flash in the light, and he applies pressure to the board.

You scream as you’re spun upside down, so your head is in line with his boots, feet in the air. Dizziness crashes into you, tipping your sense of balance, warping your sense of direction as he laughs distantly. Fingertips brush down your inner thigh, dancing over the skin, breath grazing teasingly.

“So desperate,” he drawls. “Can you beg for it, hm? Think you can string the words together for me?” You blink hazily as he crouches down, peering at your confused form.

“Azriel…” you manage, then squeeze your eyes shut at the pressure. So hot. Blood rushing downward. “Azriel, please…”

“Please what?” He asks leisurely. “What do you want me to do, pet?” His thumb brushes over your lower lip, pulling it from your teeth, small scars from where you’ve bitten over the years indented into the pillowy flesh. He grins, leaning forward.

A deluded moan drags from your throat as he presses his canines into your upper lip, tugging on it slightly. Your hands pull on the chains, desperate to touch him as he plays with you, toy beginning to sink back in, but it’s neither fast, nor deep enough.

“Put it in me,” you beg, features scrunching with desperation, eyes squeezing shut against the pressure, brows furrowing. “Azriel, please…put it deeper.” Canines pierce your lip, something thick and rich bleeding onto your teeth, then he’s lapping it up. Landing a rewarding smack to your cheek before he stands. “That’s better,” he chuckles, finger brushing between your thighs, making to push them apart. “That’s much better.”

Breath drains from your lungs as he pushes the toy all the way in, gravity helping it sink deep into your heat. Hot liquid spills, dripping from your eyes up over your brows, trickling into your hair. Knees shake, hips bucking as he keeps the toy pressed inside of you, enjoying the view. “You having fun? Enjoying this?”

He pushes against the toy, making so it presses more into one side, circling the pressure, making you weep. “Yes,” you moan, “yes, yes, yes.”

Azriel halts his movements.

Before you know it he’s landed a smack to your clit.

You squeak, jerking against the shackles, to no avail. “Why the fuck are you enjoying it, huh?” He spits, landing another smack to your tender sex. “Did you forget this is supposed to be a punishment? You’re not meant to enjoy it.” Another smack, and tears slide up over your face, saliva wetting the corners of your mouth as you weep.

“No, we can’t have that, can we?” He mutters, grinning to himself as he smacks harder, making you scream, muscles flinching as you writhe against the chains. “How will you learn your lesson if it doesn’t hurt, huh?”

“Please, please, please! I’ve learnt it! I know better!” You cry out, hands balling into fists against the stimulation.

Relief sweeps in as he hold off for a moment, “is that right? Think you’ve learned? Think you know better now?” He presses the toy back in, having been slightly pushed out when you were tensing for impact. You nod your head frantically, “I swear! I’ll never do it again— Please, Azriel!”

He hums to himself, sounding satisfied. Leaning down, his mouth latches over your cunt, tongue flicking over your clit soothingly. Tasting your arousal. Azriel groans at the flavour, sealing his lips over your tender sex, suckling gently, wet muscle teasing the taut bud eagerly. Scarred hands grip behind your thighs, holding you still as you try to buck for more.

You’re murmuring prayers under your breath, chanting them desperately as he plays with you, a cat toying with its mouse—batting it back and forth between its paws. He changes the angle of the toy, and your mouth drops open, silent moans being drawn out, one after the other as pleasure builds and coils in the pit of your stomach.

But then he’s pulling away, leaving you hot and messy, slick coating the skin of your thighs, sex soft and tender from his brutal attention. Heart pounds in your chest as he unlocks your ankles, shadows keeping you pinned to the board as he does the same for your wrists. “Think we’re done, pet?” He murmurs, allowing your body to carefully fold over itself, so you tip over, shadows making sure you don’t hurt yourself as you land on the floor.

Your head is spinning from the movement, cunt aching for more attention, and your legs automatically spread as you attempt to push the toy back inside. Grinding against the floor, but it’s too low, too far away, and your thighs won’t spread wide enough. Whimpers spill from your lips in frustration, wanting that pleasure, riled up from the phantom lick of his tongue over your clit. How good it felt.

Azriel growls roughly, shadows collecting your leash, returning it to his hand as he tugs roughly, drawing your attention back to him, instead of the toy you’re pitifully trying to steal your pleasure from. “Come here,” he orders sharply, again tugging on your collar, causing you to choke.

Clumsily, you crawl forward, stopping to kneel before him.

“Feeling good, slave?” He asks, keeping your leash taut so you’re forced to tilt your chin upward, peering at his towering frame. You dip your head mindlessly, too dizzy and yearning for pleasure to properly think. He chuckles, “yeah? You liked that?” Again you nod, lips parting as your hand slips between your legs to press the toy back inside. Fingers come away wet, slick dripping down and onto the floor.

“But you still need more, don’t you?” He purrs, hazel eyes gleaming in the dim light, “so greedy. Greedy and gluttonous. Such a brat.” Whimpers drag from your lips, nodding your head dumbly along with everything he’s saying. He chuckles at you.

“Want to feel good now?” He asks, shadows cupping your jaw to keep your attention on him. When you don’t answer, he smacks you, cheek stinging with the impact. “Answer. Or do you want me to chain you back up and give that little cunt some rougher treatment?” Your eyes nearly roll to the back of your skull, but you shake your head in apology. “Mm sorry…please don’t…want to feel good, please…”

His lips quirk—he has you wrapped around his finger. Your pleasure dependant on him. You need him. Without him, you can never feel good.

Azriel takes pity on you, large hand landing atop your head, threading through your hair. “You’re going to be good? Gonna be good for me now?” He asks, grinning when you nod eagerly. Eyes gleam maliciously, and he tugs on your collar, pulling you flush against his leg, arms clinging onto him for stability.

“Go on then,” he urges, shifting one foot to be between your thighs, knocking your knees further apart. “Take your pleasure.”

Relief crashes into you, and you move to pull away, wanting to lie on your back—give him a nice view; a performance as you bring yourself over the edge. Only with his permission, of course.

You whimper when he tugs on your collar, making you peer up at him desperately, questioningly. Lips tip into a smirk as he taps his boot against the floor expectantly. “Go on,” he repeats softly, mockingly. “Take it.”

Teeth sink into your lower lip, hands gripping onto him desperately as your thighs spread, the toy settling against the leather. You lean your weight onto it. Eyes roll back, heat flushing your skin, taking inch after inch. His grip tightens in your hair, hand curling into a fist as he keeps your head tilted upward—so he can watch your blissed out expression as your features contort. All because of him.

Male satisfaction licks up his spine, cock stiffening in his trousers, rubbing against the seam.

You’ve already been worked to the brink, coil so close to snapping, it’ll take minimal effort to bring you that ocean of pleasure. Slowly, you wind your hips over him, unable to do much more with the depth of the stimulation, how deep the goodness is sinking. You wish it was his cock, wish his hands were roughly gripping your hips, arms bound behind your back so you’re completely at his mercy.

Speed up the motions, hips bucking as you grip onto him desperately, his hand fisted in your hair. Azriel watches as you tug your lip between your teeth, brows curving upward, drool shining at the edges of your mouth. Cheeks and lashes damp with tears. Skin hot to the touch. Lips part in pleasure, tongue flicking out briefly. “That’s it,” he goads, shadows gripping your hips to urge you on. “That’s it, take it. Take it from me. Be a good girl and take your pleasure.”

Eyes roll back, lids fluttering as you press your chest flush against him, gripping onto the muscle of his thigh as your hips drag back and forth in sharp, sporadic jerks. “Go on, a little more— That’s it. So good. So good, aren’t you? So well behaved.” The praise sings down your spine, and pleasure bursts across your skin, fracturing your conscious. Hips buck wildly, almost automatically, riding out the euphoria, his fist tightening in your hair. Keeping you still so he can watch as you cum.

His name chants on your lips over and over, eyes filling with tears at the pleasure as you press tighter to him, clinging onto him like he’s some kind of prophet. Some kind of saviour. You bow into his touch, desperate for more, to have more of his skin against your own.

“Azriel…” you moan.

It’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. Never failing to make him dizzy with lust, enraptured with the movements of your body, how you’re kneeling and riding him so desperately. Like you really do need him. His temperature rises.

The aftershocks fade, leaving you panting quietly, relaxing your body, shifting off his boot. Thin strands of silvery slick connect the leather to your cunt, creating a sloppy mess. Azriel tuts softly, arousal zapping straight to your clit at the sound alone. “What a mess you’ve made,” he drawls, hand having released your hair. “Gotten my boot all dirty, haven’t you? What a filthy thing you are.”

Colour tints his skin, clearly pleased with the results—how wet you are.

“Think I should make you clean it up, huh?” He jerks on your leash, shadows tightening the pressure of your collar ever so deliciously. “Make you lick it up with that filthy mouth of yours?” He drawls, enjoying the idea. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and he chuckles. “No…I think you’d like that too much. Pretty whore.”

A lovely whimper is drawn from your chest as he releases your collar in favour of tossing you over his shoulder, shadows keeping the toy tucked comfortably inside of you. You whine and writhe against him, wanting to feel more of him, have more of him. He lands a harsh spank to your backside, making you yelp, then wiggle more.

Azriel laughs lowly at your antics, rewarding your struggle with a harder smack, leaving the skin stinging in his wake. He carries you all the way through your shared home, taking you up each flight of stairs, leading you up from the basement and into your bedroom. Gently lowers you down his body as he sits, toy still tucked away deep inside. Legs spread over his lap, his arm winding around your waist to keep your chest flush against him.

Fingers thread through your hair, jerking your head back so he can stare you down, those hazel eyes enough to have arousal gathering all over again as you anticipate the awful things he’s going to do to you. “You regret going outside, don’t you, pet. Not going to do it again.” You nod your head along with him, showing you’re sorry. His mouth slides wide in a vulpine smile, “but what about those other things you said, huh? Think I’m just going to let those go?”

You whimper, rolling your hips against him, pleading for him to get inside of you. Fill you up.

He laughs darkly at your attempts to distract him, bucking up against you—let you think he’s forgiven you. But his hold remains tight in your hair, and he watches you swallow against the collar, shadows unclipping the leash. “You said something cruel to me earlier. Do you remember what it was?” He asks, smiling as you struggle and squirm in his lap. Shake your head in response.

Azriel hums, hand moving to grip your throat lightly, holding you gently between his fingers. “You said you wanted to look for something else. That you’d gotten bored, and you wanted something better.” The grip tightens, not enough to make you choke, but enough for you to feel the pressure. You squirm more, shaking your head in denial. “I didn’t mean it…” you beg, hands desperate to touch him, to hold him.

He tilts his head in mock concern, “no? You were lying?”

Teeth bite into your lip, dipping your head in confirmation.

Lips quirk. “That right? You’re a dirty little liar?”

Vision blurs, but you nod, grinding down on him in attempts to make reparations.

He chuckles lowly, deep in his throat. “You made me very upset with that comment. Made me think you wanted someone else. That I wasn’t good enough for you.” He grips harder, breath rasping out, pulling your mouth to brush against his own. “Am I good enough for you, pet?”

“Yes,” you whisper, trying to nod your head. “You’re so good. So good to me, Azriel. So perfect.”

One of his brows quirks. “Perfect? I don’t know about that, pet.”

“You are,” you insist, hardly more than a whine. “Best thing in the world. You’re perfect. Everything.” Lips part in a grin that’s filled with male satisfaction. He releases your throat, in favour of going to his belt. “Want to show me how perfect I am, pet?”

Heat washes down your spine, and you’re nodding frantically, quickly shuffling down his body as he pulls himself free of his leathers. You stare up from between his legs, knelt on the ground, the toy still tucked away, balancing on the wooden boards. Mouth waters as he touches himself, beautiful skin tinted with colour, flushed with arousal.

You don’t notice his shadows slinking away, trailing back down to the basement.

A hand slides through your hair, and it’s all the encouragement you need to be rising up—feet keeping the toy nice and deep—following his silent instruction. You open your mouth over him, and he groans from the back of his throat. You could cry at the taste of him, how right it feels to have him on your tongue, pushing your jaw lower. How lovely his skin is, so soft, and hot. Slightly salty, and tasing so distinctly of himself.

Fingers slip between your legs, rolling over your clit, tightening around the toy.

“That’s a good girl,” he drawls, pushing you down onto his cock, hips bucking upward. “So good. So good at making me feel good. What you were made for. Isn’t that right, pet?” You moan onto him, grinding down, fingers flicking and rolling over the sensitive bud.

Free hand grips his base, pumping what you can’t fit, tongue flicking over the slit in his head. Landing soft kisses to it, and the space just below, suckling lightly, before taking him entirely again. As entirely as you can, anyway.

Enjoying the process, saliva dripping from your mouth, lubricating the slide up and down. How he sometimes cuts off your airways if you take him too far down. How he twitches in response to the slight gags. Loving every second of it.

“Choose a number between one and five,” he orders lowly.

Brow narrows as you make to pull up, but his hand is already resting at the back of your head in warning. You still as his tip, tongue circling again, then you dip as far down as you can go. One…two…three times.

Azriel hums, then a faint clicking noise sounds through the room.

You writhe, muscles spasming, trying to tug away from him as the vibrations hit your sensitive walls. His hand keeps you in place, shadows returning from their adventure down to the basement. Eyes squeeze shut at the pleasure, the stimulation, and the darkness wraps around the base of the toy, slowly beginning to drag it in and out.

Tears build at your lashes, and you take him back down your throat eagerly, spine arching so it touches all kinds of spots. Azriel laughs softly as he watches you, how easily you bend to his will, curving and arching to fit to the shape of his pleasure. Stroking himself through the skin of your cheek, thumb skimming gently.

Another click sounds, and the vibrations change to a steady pulse rhythm, conditioning you to tighten moments after the sensation. His shadows pick up speed, pushing in faster, and harder. Free hand leaves from between your legs to grip onto him, having to steady yourself from the stimulation.

You moan again and again onto his cock, wanting him to feel as good as you are, lapping at the salty moisture that gathers at his tip. Darkness replaces your fingers, playing with your clit, running in tight, repetitive circles, making the pressure in the pit of your belly double…coil over itself again and again.

“That’s good,” he encourages, breathlessly, getting off on seeing how desperate you are. How your hips push back against his shadows, how you moan onto him, dripping onto the floor. “Keep going, pet. Making me feel so good. Show me how much you love me. Worship everything you can get that lying fucking mouth of yours on,” he snarls roughly.

Heat builds at the degradation, coil tightening as you take him as far as you can, nails biting into his leathers as you push your limits. His shadows work in tandem to your efforts, licking over your clit, flicking and swirling over your nipples, tugging on them lightly. Pinching, like he’s attached clips to them. He knows how sensitive you are…all those secret spots he’d discovered.

Azriel curses under his breath, low and vicious. “Do you remember how hard you tried to escape me that first time, pet? How you cried, and screamed? Screamed until that lovely throat of yours was raw?” He drawls, bucking his hips in time with the thrusts of the toy, vibrations making you see stars.

All you can manage is a heady moan, tears dripping down from pleasure, nearly numb with euphoria.

“And look at you now,” he laughs breathlessly, “all good and broken in. Told you I’d have you trained. But you didn’t believe me, did you? Thought you’d make it, huh?” Arousal sparks in the pit of your belly, and you widen the stance of your legs, spreading your thighs to allow it to hit deeper. And it does. It does so well.

Eyes roll back into your skull, hands trembling with the force of your orgasm. He twitches in your mouth at the pure pleasure in your scent, how overpowering it is. Strong enough to tip him into his own high.

Liquid pleasure spills into your mouth, and you nearly go mad. His taste coats your tongue, spurting hot between your lips, spilling down your throat as you lick and lap and suck: worshipping as he’d told you to.

Shadows tighten around your clit, pinching your nipples, tugging on them as he targets every part that you love, succinctly and with mind-breaking accuracy. Practiced precision.

Pleasure overwhelms you, feeling so wonderful as the vibrations crash into you over and over, made stronger as your sensitive walls flutter around the toy, clamping down, forcing it tighter.

The last thing you remember is how he’d pulled you from his cock, spit and cum mixing together to create silvery, milky threads, making your lips glisten. The way those last few spurts had decorated your cheeks, nose and mouth, marking you as his own.

And then your world dimmed, winking out.

————

He continues working on you long after you pass out, grinding his hips sloppily against your own. When you’re passed out, and unaware, you’re inanimate. A pretty accessory for his cock.

Cum gleams over your abdomen, cunt glistening from hours of use, release mixed with your slick. Even while you’re asleep, your body continues to please him, urging him to continue, to pursue that sick pleasure.

Azriel doesn’t mind how unresponsive you are; he gets to paint you as he pleases.

His fingers graze softly over your abdomen, muscle fluttering beneath the teasing brush, tensing as they glide through cum. He groans, cock stiffening expectantly as he scoops release up from your cunt, gathering loadfuls before raising them to your lips. He twitches as the milky liquid splatters over your mouth, trickling over your tongue, making you wake suddenly. Spluttering as he touches the back of your throat.

The scent of his arousal spears into your mind, and your body heats in response, so ready for him to work on you. So ready to submit. Tongue plays with his taste, peering down at yourself as sensations crest over you.

Azriel sits back patiently, allowing you time to catalogue the bruises; the devastation.

Bite-marks litter your thighs, the indentation of his teeth stamped so deep you hope it scars. Bruises hurt on your throat and collar bones, on the space beneath your jaw, and you raise your fingers to brush the intimate skin. Your breasts ache, and you know he’s been having fun with them: pinching, flicking, biting. Suckling the sensitive peaks while he no doubt stuffed you full, cock buried deep inside your tender sex.

Whimpers draw from your lips as you take in the results of his desire—how he’s inflicted his hunger upon your body. How he’ll continue to abuse every spot he likes until… There is no end.

Tongue flicks over your lips, and you settle onto your hands and knees, crawling to him. He may have removed the leash, but he’s still dragging you forward, invisibly connected to him.

“Azriel…” his name rasps from your lips, throat raw from use, need scraping against your skin. Hazel eyes gleam as he watches you crawl forward on shaky limbs—how you drag your tongue up the underside of his cock, set on worshipping him with as much devotion as he does with you. A quiet groan falls from his mouth as you rise up his body, breasts dragging over his chest. He doesn’t miss the flicker of pain across your features as they scrunch, how reactive you are, so sensitive to touch now you’ve been given chance to recover.

Mouth opens over his own, sharing the erotic taste of him across his tongue, revelling in how it strokes against yours. His hands lightly grip your waist, fitting perfectly over the already formed bruises, sliding into place. Tenderly, his tongue flicks out over your lower lip, lapping up his cum from your skin, gathering it in his mouth as his hand slides lower, fingers dragging over your entrance to collect your wetness.

Pleasure lights your body as he laps at his own fingers, indulging in your flavour.

His large hand grips your jaw gently, tipping you upward so you’re facing him. Taps the skin of your cheek twice with the pad of his forefinger. Open.

Hot liquid bubbles in your abdomen as he spits between your parted lips, digits sliding in soon after to press his taste into your tongue; mark every part of you with his scent, until you’re covered in him. You whimper around his fingers, hand wrapping around his cock as you move to pleasure him.

Azriel snarls softly over your mouth, and you retract your touch—even as he pulls you flush against his torso, cock pressing into your tummy so tantalisingly. Teasingly. You whine.

“Azriel…” you breathe, words muffled from his fingers, and pride flickers in his gaze. “What is it?” He asks softly, lips lifting at the edges. You could sigh with relief at that expression; you know what it means. It means lazy, leisurely. It means taking his time—gently, subtle bucks of his hips to stimulate you slowly. Warm you up again.

“I want you,” you plead, hands pressing to his chest. He allows you to guide him back, wings flaring as they press into the mattress. “You’ve had me all night,” he smirks, pleased you’re craving him as intensely as he is you. Mutual obsession. Tangible need.

“It’s not enough,” you mumble, hands skimming the tops of his thighs, eyes torn between laying on his own, and lapping up more of his cock. “I need to have you inside me.” Cock twitches, and you tighten in response, thighs parting over his hips, settling so you’re atop him. “You’ve had me inside you plenty of times tonight,” he reminds softly, eyes glazing with lust, darkening as his hand brushes your abdomen. Knowing how much cum he’s pumped int you.

Lower lip pushes out, brows curving together, “you know that doesn’t count.” Fingers press into the padded muscle of his stomach, slicked with sweat, and you want to trace each one with your tongue. “Want to have you inside, and to feel it,” you moan, guiding his tip to your entrance.

Azriel watches, entranced. Once again reminded at how obedient you’ve become.

“Open your mouth.”

You do so without question.

Lips fashion themselves into a smile. “Close.”

Your mouth closes.

“Good girl.”

Heat flutters between your legs.

Hands gently span your waist, urging you to sink your weight onto him, settle on his cock. You oblige happily.

Eyes roll back into your skull, and you hear him murmur soft words of reassurance under his breath as you sway. Temporarily rendered immobile. He steadies you, waiting for you to be ready for stimulation.

He’s had his fun, had his time to play with your body. Find his pleasure in it. He knows it’s your turn, and he’s happy to let you have it. You’ve worked hard for him, satisfied him repeatedly. Now he wants you to explore him all over again, swirl your hips until you find a pace you like, touch yourself as you want while he supports from the background.

You do just that.

Slowly, you lift off him, thighs trembling with the effort. Then you slide back down, feeling the push of his hip bone digging into the softness of your flesh. Thoughts block out of your mind, pushed away by his cock as it presses into your sensitive walls; quiet whimpers cry from your chest.

Legs shift out from under you as you yield control, unable to lever yourself up and down as you fully rest your weight on him. Leaning back against his legs, bent at the knee to support you, your eyes fluter closed, content to bask in the fullness of him.

His shadows stroke over your head, providing the comfort you seek. Warmth floods your chest at his caring nature.

“Azriel?” You mumble softly, words subdued under the weight of pleasure. He hums quietly in response, hands grazing the tops of your thighs as he watches you. “Tell me a story,” you request.

A chuckle rumbles out of him, and you feel it warm your insides, making you tighten around him. “What sort of story do you want, pretty thing?” You could melt at the nickname. Reduce yourself to liquid to splash all over him, saturate his skin.

Teeth bite into the pillowy silkiness of your lower lip, toes curling as you drag your hips forward by a few centimetres. “Tell me how you fell in love with me,” you request softly. Hands settle at your waist, heating your sides, thumbing the skin softly. “Tell me every thought you had… Every moment you watched me… Tell me all of it.”

“It’s a long and dreadful tale I’m afraid,” he laughs deeply, “I think it would sour the mood.”

“Then tell me one that won’t,” you breathe. “I want to know you more. Want to know everything.” His cock touches a lovely place inside of you, and you focus on softly targeting it, rolling your hips over him.

Azriel pauses, and even with your eyes closed you can feel the weight of his gaze, how assuring it is; how adoring. “Okay,” he sighs, giving in, stroking your thighs, “just one.”

Your lips tip at the edge, one set of fingers linking with his own as he squeezes back.

“It was pretty early on—before I really grasped how deep the obsession ran,” he begins, the rough timbre of his voice curling your toes. “I spotted you coming back from a night out. You were clearly drunk, and stumbling all over the place—I was surprised you made it to your door without falling flat on your face,” he says, fingers tracing patters across your skin.

“I remember knowing you hadn’t locked your door, and I was angry. Angry you didn’t take care of yourself. For being so reckless,” he continues, tapping lightly at your inner thigh—reprimanding you for all those decades ago. Nearly seventy years past since that infatuation took root. “I remember thinking I should use my shadows to give you a scare. Teach you a lesson for being so unaware. You desperately needed to learn to protect yourself, and you weren’t going to start unless something pushed you into action,” he laughs, realising how firmly in your thrall he’d been even back then. Before he was even fully aware of it.

“But when my shadows got inside, you were already undressing, and I couldn’t move.”

Eyes flutter open, and you meet his dark hazel gaze, something far deeper than love dancing in his features. Something bordering on violent, glittering with possession. Protection.

“I doubt you even noticed how dark it got in your room that night, despite the faelight,” he says softly, and your pulse spikes, knowing how closely he watched over you for all those years. How protective he is by nature. “I later learned whenever you came back like that, it often meant whoever you’d chosen for the night hadn’t be worth it, choosing to stumble back to your own bed rather than wake up in theirs.” Again those impatient taps to your thigh, and your hips roll in response, soothing both of you.

“It was the first night I saw you touch yourself. And it felt wrong to watch, but you were so fascinating. I’d never seen someone enjoy themselves purely for their own satisfaction. With partners, or workers in brothels, they’re aware they’re expected to put on a show. They emphasise movements to an obscene, unbelievable degree, while you were calm and quiet.” You swirl over him, vaguely managing to call up a murky image of your bedroom. Picturing the darkness that filled it, and you hadn’t even noticed.

Maybe you’d known, innately, he was not there to harm you, but to love you.

“It was entirely solitary; a completely private moment I was witnessing, and it was an unimaginable weight off my shoulders,” he says, circling the tops of your thighs, heat building and coiling in the pit of your belly. “For those few hours, I was no one. Gloriously free to simply observe,” his lips quirk ruefully. “Until it wasn’t enough to just watch.”

Breathing shallows, chest rising up and down with anticipation. Wanting to know where he took the irreversible step from the light. Straying from his own path, to collide with yours.

“You came back again, drunk and stumbling over yourself, and I knew enough by this point to know you wouldn’t remember a thing,” he says, voice growing softer with each confession. “So that night, when you were on the cusp of sleep, I helped push you over the edge.”

“You didn’t even struggle,” he murmurs, breathless. “Didn’t even try to put up a fight. Just waited patiently as I pushed your legs apart; pulled the silk from your hips. So lovely and docile. So perfect.” Colour flushes his skin and he can’t help the slight buck as he presses himself deeper into your cunt.

“Go on,” you urge, panting quietly. “Tell me more.”

A phantom smile plays on his mouth as he remembers, “there were moments I think you may have fallen asleep, then woken up when your body remembered what was happening. Like you were desperately fighting it off for me, trying to be there for me.” He huffs a laugh, squeezing your hand.

“I remember how you arched at the first stroke of my tongue, how your fingers tightened in the sheets, like you wanted to touch me but didn’t have the energy to manage. So I held you with one hand, just like this. To make sure you didn’t suddenly jolt awake; that you felt comfortable. So your body wouldn’t warn you about the violation.”

“You were nearly perfect, except you didn’t know how to attribute the pleasure, so you didn’t call out my name when you came on my tongue. I watched you writhe, how your eyes widened then slammed shut, squeezing together as you gripped my hand though it all. Like you were worried you’d be washed away in the torrent. You were absolutely breathtaking in that moment; every moment after.”

“That night you became mine. You never knew—I suppose until now—but you responded to me that night. You felt it. I know you did. Your body reacted to me, and you squeezed me back. Despite the scarring, and the burns. You held on like you needed me,” he breathes, panting deeply as his stomach muscles flex in the dim light, sweat glistening across his skin.

“You claimed me too, that night. And I couldn’t resist going back.”

“I think you grew to expect me. You would return from a night out reeking of alcohol, get inside your home, pass out on your bed, and within a few minutes, you would be soaked. Dripping onto your sheets, waiting for me. Spread out and perfect. You wanted me as much as I wanted you, yet you didn’t even know who I was.” His hand squeezes yours, and you know you won’t hold on much longer.

“I tried to stay away. For months I would be off in another court, and you consumed me. At night I would lie awake, thinking about you, wondering if you were lying in your own bed, cunt dripping for me, waiting for me to soothe the ache. Sometimes I would be gone for so long your body forgot how to behave when I returned.” His words grow rougher, more agitated.

“So I made sure you remembered.”

“That first week when I returned from a mission, I wouldn’t sleep. I spent my time watching you, shadows happy to play with you again—they’ve always liked you more than anyone else. But you know that now, don’t you.”

As if listening in—which they very well might have been—the darkness writhes at your back, cresting over your shoulders and cupping your breasts delicately, swiping over your lips as you tip back into them.

“Sometimes it was nearly impossible to pull them off you. They would constrict around your thighs, tighten around your hips so you were secure beneath them. I quickly lost count of how many times they would want a turn with you, so I would let them,” he breathes, and you can feel that coil on the verge of snapping, heat sizzling beneath your skin as you squeeze him desperately. “You responded so beautifully to their kind of stimulation. And I would watch all of it.”

“Admittedly, I was a little careless. But you never noticed, so I suppose it doesn’t matter if I was a little sloppy here and there. If I got you a little messy, too.”

“It was rare I would be gone for longer than three or four months at a time, but when those longer missions called, I would rush back to you the moment I could.” A twinge of pain has entered his voice, thinking back on how long he had to keep his love for you a secret. How you were carefully shielded from it. For years. Decades.

“And sometimes I didn’t want you to wake clean of any marks of my own. If you weren’t even going to remember, then I might as well leave some trace,” he laughs sharply, arousal dumbing your mind as his words begin to mellow out. “But those never bothered you either. Not the bite marks, or the bruises, or the ache when you thought you hadn’t taken anyone to bed that night. Not even when you woke to find cum between your legs. Or a faint taste in your mouth.”

He sighs, bucking his hips softly, and you exhale heavily.

“Did you ever fuck me?” You breathe, tightening around him at the thought. “While I was asleep, I mean. Did you ever take me before I knew you?”

Azriel shakes his head, smiling now. “No, lovely girl. I wanted to save that for you. I wanted to be with you, and for you to be fully aware when I first went inside of you. And it was torture waiting. It was cruel to make me wait all those years. All that time, and yet you never picked up on that other scent that would consistently turn up on you. Maybe you grew accustomed to it.”

Teeth push into your lower lip, and you tuck your legs back under you, once again able to move.

“The first time I had you…I’ll never forget it,” he groans, hand releasing yours in favour of gripping your hips. “You screamed so sweetly. Begged me to stop, like you hadn’t been asking for it for decades. How you were able to scream at me to stop when your legs would practically fall open for me…” he laughs, and you buck over him, quickening the pace of your swirls.

“You took me as well as I knew you would,” he groans, hands helping you rise and fall on his cock. “Took everything perfectly. Even my blade.”

Your eyes roll back, and you allow him to take control, gripping your hips tight to pound in to you. “It was just supposed to warm you up. To stretch you out so we could both enjoy it when I entered you… But then you reacted so well to it, and you had to have an orgasm before you took me. And you looked so fucking edible.” He grits out the words, and your hips stutter, jerking as pleasure brims at your lashes.

“Azriel…” you pant, tears spilling as he hits those beautiful spots, making you bounce on him. “You looked so fucking good I couldn’t believe it. And you felt even better.”

You clamp down on him, taking each buck of his cock as he drives up into you, mind going blank except for his name playing on repeat in your head. Filled with only him entirely. Nothing else would fit inside you anymore. It has to be him.

Hot cum spurts inside, and you can only imagine the mess he’s made in your heat.

How full he’s pumped you; how deep his release is.

How deep he’s burrowed his way inside of you.

Hips slow to a relaxed pace, grinding down onto him, keeping him tucked away inside of you. Refusing to release a single drop as you continue fluttering around him lightly.

Words are far out of reach, but he collects you as you sway forward, blinking away drowsiness as you settle on top of him, nestling into his chest. Nosing at his throat, licking up his flavour.

Azriel laughs quietly from deep in his chest, and it twines with his heartbeat. “You’re perfect…you know that?” Warmth fills your heart as his arms wrap around you, shadows pulling the blankets to cover you, despite being the wrong way up in the bed. What does it matter when he’s around?

“I’m perfect if you’re perfect,” you mumble back, hardly succeeding in keeping your eyes opened.

He doesn’t respond, but you can feel his heart, can hear how it picks up speed, and you know he’s happy.

Hot lips brush your head, pressing kisses into your hair as he keeps it from your face. You burrow into him deeper, pulling the sheets closer as you roll off to his side.

Azriel squeezes you again, making sure you’re as close as can be.

Neither of you would want it any other way.

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb

Az Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch

[cckaisen]

୨ৎ˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 𝓙𝓔𝓩𝓔𝓑𝓔𝓛, nanami kento !

an indulgence in nanami, his sweet intern, and their shared insanity.

ಇ. summary. fem!reader, smut, dark content, age gap (reader early 20s, nanami late 30s), mildly dubcon, power imbalance, boss/intern relationship, daddy kink, dubious morality, dom/sub elements, seduction, internal conflict, corruption. minors do not interact !!

ಇ. notes. believe it or not, i love nanami, but with that comes my desire to absolutely ruin his life. sorry hun 🩷

nanami's index and middle eagerly dip into the cavern of your mouth, swimming in your saliva as it fills up the crevice between his thick fingers. his features contort in anguish at the way your tongue swirls around him. the noise he lets out is almost wounded, bringing up his other hand to cover his mouth.

digging your knees into the carpet, you tighten your lips around his digits, sucking him in like a whore, gruesome imagery that has his cock straining his pants. every logical bone in nanami's body aches to push you away, yet here he is, ensnared, watching with a strange contained horror as you drool around him.

watching. like a monster lurking in the shadows, knees spread as he sits back in his wanton throne.

he lets your eyes roll back, thumb poking against your cheek as you suckle on his jaded fingers.

it's so much easier to keep from thinking with your satiny mouth enveloping him, soothing him in a violent sear all through his body.

experimentally, nanami pushes his fingers back just enough to trigger your little reflex, watching you gag, lashes fluttering in brief panic as he lets out this awful, guttural groan—he's endeared.

what is wrong with him? what the fuck is wrong with him...?

and why can't he stop?

he's reigned in from bliss by a slurry of soft sounds that drench his hands, the cold steel of his watch bumping your chin.

"what is it?" nanami blurts, question incongruous with his own dizzied tone.

"wanna tashte yoh..." you mumble, fluttering your lashes even though they're thick with globs of tears from where you gagged around him. "please, nanami..."

no. he can't let you. he can't. he's already let this go too far—

nanami bites the inside of his cheek. before he can even reply, you're unfurling his belt, metal clinking darkly.

"fuck..." he pants, wet hand moving out of your mouth to slide across his face. his nose-bridge glistens with your sticky saliva, "goddamnit..."

his lets his eyes shut briefly as you free him from his cotton confines. leaning forward with intent, you take his cock into your palm, noting the way your fingertips struggle to meet around him. he pants harder, gasps for breath, grits his teeth.

"s—sweetheart..." nanami breathes.

open your eyes. see how disgusting i am.

you only answer him with a soft exhale, hardly a sigh. he's alerted to the pink of your lips first as your mouth pools around his tip, and then a shaky, untried breath, and then a barrage of images strike him, a violent, vivid list of things he wants to do to you. his muscles seize up in an attempt to keep himself restrained.

strategically flattening your tongue against his tip, you watch for any kind of reaction like a hawk snatching up its prey. made-up eyes sparkle while inspecting the new crease in his brow, drowning in his destruction.

he stares at you, despairing, a large hand coming up to brush against your cheek. you lap up the affection, crooning into it, insatiable greed spilling out in the form of syrupy saliva. it dribbles messily to the base of his cock, a token of your yearning, the same that held him in his chair as you puddled at his feet.

there was nothing right about this. nothing remotely, possibly, vaguely right. nothing that nanami could scramble to find while taking advantage of your naivety, surmising that perhaps you two could be together, fleetingly, as two adults in two very different stages of life.

because it's so easy. it's so easy to take you when you're so willing, so eager. all his. you leap for his attention, at any cost—how high is never a factor in your decision. his greedy little intern.

his precious little girl.

he's cradling your head in his palms, feeling the heat pooling in your cheeks, nesting in your hair when he breaches your throat with a strained grunt.

squinting your eyes, you rush to take it all, inviting nanami to meld you to his will. he grimaces when your nails dig into his skin through his pants, imagining the terrible thoughts gushing through your mind about wanting to please him more than anything. then, pleasure lurches through him, his own body betraying his morals.

you rut your mouth up and down on him, slobber drenching his thighs. nanami's touching you, holding your head, but not for better use—his hands are hot and gentle, like sapped concrete.

"it's okay. you can be rough," you ebb him on, popping off briefly with a smarmy look. "i'm not made of glass, you know."

nanami sneers at the comment. "don't."

"what? don' wanna hurt me? c'mon, i can take it." you pepper kisses up the side of his cock, flushed and magma-hot, rubbing against your cheek.

"god," his hips roil in response to your torment, his breath labored around the words, "the mouth on you..."

"mhm. i'm good with it, right?" you giggle before getting back to your little task. in dizzying motions, you roll your tongue along him, sweet kitten licks souring his conscience, all his fantasies rolling into one diabolical act.

nanami's brain fizzles in dying sparks, eyes rolling. he attempts to let go of you in order to sink his grip into the chair for crushing purchase, but you refuse; little fingers snatch his and bring them to the back of your neck.

kento chokes on a moan as your nose brushes his pelvis, your body floundering weakly for a moment. your instinct for air is obstructed by a growing pressure against the back of your head.

"good girl, that's it..."

pride flourishes in your chest when you're given praise, panties growing stickier from under your skirt. you can't breathe, but it feels too good. the way he keeps you there, maintaining the invasion in your throat, selfish, unchecked lust bleeding out through the cracks of his dignity.

and it's too easy. when he tugs you back, lets you bob your head, gagging on needy gulps and whines, it comes so easily he hardly knows why he was ever so reluctant. so hesitant, and for what? what's the point in holding back if you want it? when you want it rough? when it's exactly what you're begging for? when it's clear that all you want is to be treated like those girls in porn, those girls with fathers who don't care for them, those girls who ask for it, who don't know any better, who get found shot dead in a ditch, legs askew and panties twisted around their ankles, one of those girls.

nanami thrusts forward. shoves his cock down your throat, really, punching a gasp from deep inside your body. he comes with a strained grunt, a ragged whisper of your name, croaked out into the cosmos.

your throat squeezes, something hot and thick gushing into the tight space. gargling, swallowing, spluttering as you thrash for air, nanami's grip slackens.

"s-stop," he jerks, gritting his perfect set of teeth until they creak under the pressure. "stop it, don't—"

the second his grasp on you loosens, the yearning floods again tenfold. in an attempt to regain his rugged affections, you suckle at his cock, panting greedily, tearful eyes wide and owlish with glutton. "d—daddy..."

nanami hisses, overstimulation pricking his nerves. in an instant, he flares up, acid in his gut fizzling, lurching at you.

a choked noise—a squeak—jumps from your spit-glossed lips at once, barely reaching his ears. you're balking at him, not in your usual girlish inflection. this was different. it was scared.

it takes him a few beats to make out the jaunted figure of his knuckles squeezing around your neck, calcifying. a milky rapture. the sight ingrains itself in his mind, carving the image of your wobbling pupils into the shadows of his careful persuasion.

that simple pleasure dissolves as quickly as it came. guilt rears its ugly head, a pit of ice settling in his stomach. nanami churns. had he just...?

recoiling at his own affliction, kento shudders, releasing you at once.

relief is immediate. your lungs swallow up all the air they can, chest expanding for a giant gulp of air. fright begins to subside, but that foreboding darkness in his eyes flashes through your mind in harsh, bright bursts. willowy fingers tremble on-top of his knee, the same that had just lured out that murk in him he desperately despised.

a necklace of torrent red rises to the surface of your skin in the wake of his foul touch. you paw at it weakly, stunned turmoil heavy in your gaze as you blink up at him.

"i—i'm sorry," nanami chokes out, "god, i'm sorry... i don't know what came over me."

"it's okay," you dispel quickly, wiping off the wet trails along your cheeks, because you liked it—his cruelty. it's been your goal since the very beginning. to break him down, to expose that carnality that simmered in his veins. you'd done just that. and even though it had only been for the briefest of seconds, the wound it left was raw, broiling and morbid.

but you liked it.

right?

"no, it's not okay. i went too far." nanami's blood pressure slides as he makes the admission. "i hurt you just now."

"yeah? so what?" you shrug a 'couldn't care less', holding his careful gaze, "i liked it."

a line of revulsion carves into nanami's forehead, deep and unmistakable. fear that it's aimed at you pangs in your chest until he suddenly groans, palming his chiseled face. thin brows sinking, that new wrinkle exaggerated by the untimely turn of events. "god, what the hell have i done to you...?"

your breath hitches at the self-imposed question. it's engrained with frustration, gaunt and responsible. so nanami of him.

and yet he leers inwardly, venom rising in his throat. "can't you see i'm ruining you?"

nanami's words teem with unvarnished emotion, corruption burbling in his deep baritone voice, the corruption you share so blindly, so willingly. it wreaks turbulence unto your vision, wetting your eyes again.

"nanami..."

"i'm so sorry," he pleads. "forgive me. i didn't want this for you. please believe me... you believe me, don't you? that i didn't want—i don't want to be like this."

you fall quiet again. you're still below him, knees starting to ache as you catch your breath.

"i'm sorry," kento mumbles, lifting you so gently upright and pulling you towards him. your head meets his firm chest as his hands come up, one cradling the back of your skull, the other at the small of your back. "i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm so, so sorry."

"it's okay. i forgive you." you whisper, wrapping your arms around him. despite the soggy shards of concern that lay in pieces at your feet, you croon into him none the less, giving chase once again. to him. to his touch, his protection, his patience.

you want it all.

the anguish, the control, the lacerations of his love.

hurt me.

hurt me.

and i promise i will like it.

likes n reblogs are appreciated !! 🩷

[shares-a-vest]

Just a Shirt (Read on ao3)

wc: 1.9k | Rated: T | cw: Mild descriptions of Steve's s4 injuries (mostly the scar on his neck), Hospital mention, Brief mention of nightmares

Tags: Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Post s4 Fix-it (Everyone Lives), Hellfire, Fluff and Angst (Happy Ending), Love Confessions, Injury, Cuddling

Eddie makes Steve a customised Hellfire shirt, just for him. Based off this ficlet/headcanon. But the BIGGEST thank you goes to @tangerinesteve (formally babydollbaron) for their incredible tags below. They gave me the biggest and softest brainworms. I hope I did your wonderful ideas justice!

“Here-p,” Eddie mumbles, pushing a too-neatly folded shirt into Steve’s hands.

“Uh, thanks,” his boyfriend hums, quirking a brow in confusion.

Eddie shrugs the whole thing off for good measure because it’s just a shirt – that’s all it is.

... But not really.

Like, at all.

He looks away, avoiding Steve’s gaze. While their relationship isn’t too new for gifts, it might be too fresh for a t-shirt that screams, ‘You are part of me and I can see that you are in pain and I think I can fix it. Nay, I need to make you comfortable’.

Yeah… it’s perhaps a little too premature for something that says all that.

So Eddie looks at the floor, his beige sock blending into the similarly-coloured carpet that lines Steve’s bedroom. His foot really only looks like an actual foot and not a patch of carpet thanks to the hole in his sock that is currently exposing his pinky toe.

It’s just a shirt, he desperately reminds himself as he catches Steve unfurling it out of the corner of his eye.

It’s just a shirt.

A customised Hellfire shirt he made especially for Steve.

One that is two sizes too big, made of the softest cotton and led to an emptying of his wallet to obtain. A Hellfire shirt that has short sleeves and a loose, scooped neck Eddie fashioned himself after borrowing a sewing book from the library. A neckline he sewed on Mrs Pemberton’s machine after crossing the trailer park and answering a slew of questions from an all too inquisitive Max Mayfield.

It’s a Hellfire shirt in its logo only – despite what his friends might think. Or the fuss all his pea-brained lost little sheepie buddies kicked up along the way.

They have been a total nightmare these past few weeks, scheming and plotting and sabotaging like a little hoard of gremlins. But Eddie supposes he can really only blame himself.

He should have never said anything, never asked Gareth for the original master copy of the Hellfire logo he knows his best friend keeps filed away in secret on the rare occasions they let in new members. Or to get new t-shirts printed in instances of spilled beverage-based stain emergencies. But then Gareth of course squealed to Jeff, who teased Eddie mercilessly before blabbing to Freak, who, well… Freaked about the possibility of a jock joining Hellfire.

The shock. The horror! Oh, the humanity!

And then came what was nothing short of a campaign via Dustin, Mike and Will, all collectively working to not only prevent Eddie from something he wasn’t even going to do in the first place but to also create a drama so seismic that rumours got around the whole of Hawkins that one Eddie Munson would no longer be running his little ‘demonic’ social club.

Or at least that’s what Wayne said Ernie at the plant had told him that his son had said.

The only thing is, Eddie feels more than a little sorry for Lucas Sinclair, a kid now sulking around, utterly crestfallen that his favourite Laundry Basket Friend isn’t also secretly a full-blown nerd.

It’s just that Eddie wanted to give Steve a nice, soft, comfy shirt he had hoped he would look at just like he is right now.

Besides, Steve had admitted that he liked the Hellfire logo months back when they first started dating. Told Eddie it was, “So creative, man”, after expressing some mild disappointment that he hadn’t shown up for their first date wearing it.

He smiles at the memory, Steve’s eyes lighting up as soon as he hopped into the Beemer, far too eager to head off to Benny’s Diner that he hadn’t even bothered to let Steve chivalrously walk up to the front stoop of the new and improved Casa de Munson.

“Eddie…” Steve says, his voice just above a whisper and sounding just as soft as the too-important shirt in his grip.

“Don’t worry,” he snorts, “I’m not making you join or anything it’s just… You said you haven’t been sleeping well…”

He gestures with his hand, searching for the right words. Better words that won’t sound so monumental and weighted as Steve’s eyes trail right along the shirt’s scooped neckline.

The hem is probably a little flimsy, but hopefully, Steve won’t fucking claw at it like the old Tigers gym shirt he almost tore in two a few weeks back after bolting upright in a sweat after a nightmare. That is what did it – really set Eddie on his mission. Seeing Steve’s sniffles turn to tears and how he tried to hide them away, shrugging Eddie off before rushing to the ensuite bathroom.

He had come back a few minutes later, eyes red as he hugged his arms across himself, appearing small and frightened but acting cold as ice.

“Yeah…” Steve nods before mouthing what appears to be the word, “soft”, as he balls the fabric between his fingers.

“Hell, I know you haven’t been sleeping,” Eddie continues to ramble, “Just… tossing and turning. Also your… Y’know…”

He gestures to his own neck, referring to the still-reddened scar around Steve’s. One that Eddie knows leaves his throat scratchy and hoarse at the slightest provocation. A mark that nosey townspeople gawk at when Steve is at work, leaving him all embarrassed and well, not like Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington at all.

And Steve hadn’t even told Eddie about that part. Nope. He found out from Robin, who swung by the mechanic one afternoon, inconsolable about her best friend spending their shift at Family Video hidden away in Keith Anderson’s stinky loser palace of an office.

“Mhmm,” Steve nods, pursing his lips.

Eddie knows he isn’t mad – it’s just something his boyfriend doesn’t talk about. That he doesn’t like talking about.

He needn’t ramble anymore, really – fill the silence between them or attempt to explain himself because, in a flash, Steve slips off his tight-fitting navy polo and replaces it with his new Hellfire shirt.

And Eddie can’t help but beam at a job well done.

It hangs nicely. Loose enough to sleep in, but not billowing so much to swallow that physique entirely. The neckline sits just where he had hoped too, much lower than the regular Hellfire shirts, scooped below Steve’s collar bones so that even if it stretches in his sleep, it couldn’t possibly pull and tug at his scar.

It’s perfect.

Exactly what he wanted to give Steve, who looks down at the devilish, very metal logo – a sight that is sure to scare off his snooty parents for good if they ever see it.

Before he knows it, Steve lunges for him and Eddie feels his cheeks squish against his boyfriend’s hands as he is kissed.

And kissed.

And kissed some more.

Kisses that last for long enough and grow softer with every peck that Eddie soon feels his legs buckling and he forgets altogether what they are even doing up here, in Steve’s bedroom, in the middle of the day on a warm summer afternoon.

It’s just the he –

“ – I love you,” Steve smiles when he comes up for air and – 

His eyes blow wide in an instant.

And Eddie is sure his own do too – maybe even pop right out of his goddamn skull with an audible gasp in there somewhere as well as they both fully realise what has just been said.

Steve loves him?

Just the same as he loves Steve. So much that he is blurting it out now, in the middle of his bedroom on a warm, mid-summer afternoon – perhaps months too early when they are probably, most likely still in the honeymoon phase.

All because of one perfect t-shirt.

Steve’s brow pinches together and his jaw goes slack as he looks away.

“I…” he trails off, drumming his fingers on Eddie’s shoulders.

“Stevie...” he tuts, smiling back at him.

He steps closer still, closing any remaining space between them as he loops his arms around his partner’s middle and squeezes him tight.

Eddie backs them a step back, then another. Then another until he is at a safe enough distance to rock Steve back and collapse onto the bed.

They fall with a conjoined, “Hmphf” – one that knocks the wind out of Eddie’s already breathless lungs and has Steve momentarily distracted away from whatever inner turmoil he had going on a moment ago. As he lands on top of his boyfriend, Eddie gets a feel of the shirt, now warmed by Steve’s permanently hot body temperature. A feeling that makes it seem even softer.

Like it is already worn in and loved.

He wants to ball a handful of it up in his fist and never let go.

But Eddie forces himself to sit upright, settling down in a straddled position to hover over Steve’s clothed form. He smiles down at the sight beneath him, his giddiness short-lived and quickly fading as a big, brown and now glistening set of panicked eyes return.

“Stevie,” he whispers, running his hand up Steve’s torso.

He ghosts his fingers with a featherlight touch over the printed logo, an illustration he had first scribbled on the back of his math book in his junior year.

Eddie leans forward and takes Steve’s hands, clasping them tight and one by one, he brings them to rest above his head where his super-soft signature swoop is sticking every which way, mussed by the bedspread.

He can’t help but chuckle a little at the sight – momentarily giving into the greedy feeling he gets when he thinks about how this Steve is the one he gets all to himself.

But Steve frowns, those expressive brows looking positively pained now as if only one thing could possibly soften them.

“I love you too,” Eddie says, freeing a hand to delicately pluck at Steve’s loosened neckline, “Obviously.”

“You do?” Steve asks.

Eddie nods as a visible relief washes through Steve’s eyes, leaving his brows to soften up so much he wonders if his boyfriend might now cry.

And before he can say or do anything more, Steve bolts upright, once again leaving Eddie feeling winded and more than a lot flushed this time as he wraps his arms around him and buries his face in his neck, snuffling close like the world’s cuddliest puppy.

They stay like this for a long while, simply breathing in sync as they hold each other. And soon Steve begins to sink, his body going lax as his head slips down onto Eddie’s shoulder.

“I really wanna sleep,” he hums as tears seep through Eddie’s own plain black t-shirt.

“You wanna try now?” Eddie offers, pulling back enough to give an encouraging little smile.

Steve nods, refusing to let him go as they lower down together as one, his eyes fluttering shut when his head meets the bedspread.

“Wanna get all cozy under the covers?” Eddie continues, nudging at the bedding.

He really doesn’t want to move too much more – not when Steve looks like this.

Relaxed.

Loved.

Comfortable and wrapped up in a softness Eddie would like to keep him cocooned in forever.

But as he always does, Steve moves for them and rolls to the side. He snuggles in close, burrowing his head between the crook of Eddie’s neck and the mattress all protected and safe. Eddie palms around for the blanket and haphazardly wraps what sliver of it is free around them, shielding his partner a little more for good measure.

It’s good like this.

Calm. Warm.

Soft.

[theostrophywife]

in my head.

take me closer, take my clothes off—oh, i fantasize if i’m honest, it's more fun when you can't read my mind

author's note: oh, this was so much fun to write. big thanks to @azsazz for listening to me rant about this concept and giving me the idea of the daydream montage. consider this as my gift to everyone for hitting 2k! you are all lil cuties and ily mwah 💋 song inspiration: fu in my head by cloudy june

You knew that it was wrong to fantasize about Azriel. 

You knew that as you sat across from him in the private library at the House of Wind, poring over the most recent reports, debriefing on your latest mission, and exchanging valuable information that you’ve gleaned from spying and scheming, that you should be focusing on the task at hand rather than imagining the shadowsinger bending you over the ornate wooden desk and pulling your hair as he fucked you from behind. 

“What are you thinking about?” Azriel asked, his handsome face illuminated by the crackling hearth. 

“Nothing,” you responded, hiding your blush behind a book. 

Scarred fingers curled around your wrist, taking the tome from your shaking hands. The shadowsinger pulled you into his lap, fisting the hem of your cotton dress around your waist. 

You swallowed as the sound of his belt hitting the carpeted floor echoed in the library. Azriel bent you over the desk and gripped your hair in one hand, a cocky smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned down to whisper in your ear. 

“Don’t lie to me, sweetheart. I’ve seen you looking at me all night.” You whimpered as he traced the curve of your ass, teasing his tip against your slick folds. “Is this what you want? For me to fuck you against this desk until you’re nothing but a pathetic, whining mess?” 

“Yes,” you breathed. “That’s what I want.”

Azriel chuckled, dark and low and all too seductive. He kissed the base of your spine. “Then that’s what you’ll get, princess.”

The shadowsinger thrust his cock into your pussy, eyes rolling back from how tight you felt, nearly making him come right then and there. Tears leaked from the corner of your eyes and Azriel gently wiped them away with his thumb before sliding out just to ram himself back in again. 

“That’s right, sweetheart.” Azriel declared, cupping your cheek. “Take it. Take all of me.”

You knew that you should be enjoying the company of your friends during your night out in the city, joining in on their drinking and dancing at Rita’s instead of slowly sipping your wine, discretely ogling the shadowsinger over the rim of your glass, taking in his soft, raven hair that you were convinced would feel like silk underneath your fingertips, tracing down the elegant planes of his face, those high cheekbones, the aquiline nose, the sensual, pouty lips making you bite down on your own lip as you daydreamed about what he’d taste like, how rough his hands would feel against your skin, how dominant and demanding he’d be as he kissed you. 

The shadowsinger growled into your mouth as he pressed you up against the bathroom wall. He kissed you—rough and hard and demanding as though his immortal life depended on it. 

“You’ve got such a smart mouth,” Azriel breathed, capturing your lips in his. You moaned as he bit down, hard enough that your bottom lip already felt swollen from the effort. “I wonder if all that sass will hold up with your lips wrapped around my cock.”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

Azriel groaned as you knelt before him, impatiently unbuckling his trousers. You palmed him through the fabric and his head tipped back against the wall, that molten gaze burning with desire as he fisted your hair in his hand. You looked up at him through your lashes as you gripped his cock, your hand smooth and silky as you pumped him, licking the bead of precum gathered on the tip with a flick of your wicked tongue. 

The shadowsinger shuddered and his wings flared at his back as you took him into your mouth. 

“Fuck, baby.” Azriel said, his voice husky and full of gravel as you bobbed up and down his length. “Yeah, that’s it. Just like that.”

You knew that you should be paying attention to the spymaster’s directions as the two of you trained together, your back pressed flush against his chest as he corrected your form, spreading your feet apart and placing his arms around your shoulders, scarred hand wrapping around your own as he demonstrated the proper way to deflect a dagger, but technique and training was the last thing on your mind as his scent clouded your senses, awakening that familiar ache in your core that had everything to do with the way he was holding you rather than the hours you’d spent mastering the move. 

“Try it now,” Azriel challenged. He crooked a finger at you and smirked. 

You lunged, but the shadowsinger was gone in a flash. Azriel disappeared within his shadows only to reappear a few feet to your left. Truth-teller slammed down against your own dagger as you darted underneath his legs. 

Again, Azriel was swallowed into a swath of darkness. Your eyes roamed over the empty training ring, trying to predict the shadowsinger’s next move. He already attempted to attack the blind spot on your left side, but you’d expected that. Had trained over and over again to make sure you were no longer vulnerable there. 

While Azriel was skilled, you sparred with him enough to familiarize yourself with his fighting pattern. He was cool and calculated, often defaulting to the defensive as he toyed with his opponent. 

But he wouldn’t be gentle with you. 

No—Azriel knew all too well that you’d go on the offensive. So he’d place himself in the best position to strike first, which meant he’d pick his strongest point. 

Flight. 

Azriel materialized above you, his dark wings swallowing up every bit of sunlight. He slammed down hard, but met nothing but sand. You had already moved out of the way, sneaking up behind him and cutting him off at the legs. 

You were fast, but not as fast as the shadowsinger. Azriel pinned you down on the red sand, his beloved dagger inches away from your throat. 

“It was a valiant effort,” he said with a slight smirk. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to do better than that if you hope to beat me.”

You grinned. “It’s not over yet, shadowsinger.”

His confused expression served as a signal to employ the last trick up your sleeve. You tilted your chin up towards him, your face mere inches away from his. Azriel faltered as his gaze dipped down to your lips. 

You could see his throat work as you wrapped your legs around him. The shadowsinger let out a sharp intake of breath as you flipped him over. This little manuever of yours placed you right on top of Azriel, your ass pressed firmly against his groin. 

His hands found your hips, a soft groan escaping his lips as you pressed his own dagger against his throat. Something like awe and admiration washed over the male as he gazed up at you.

Azriel’s laugh was smoky and gruff when he realized he’d been bested. “Good girl.”

Cauldron fucking boil you. 

Your grip on the weapon slipped and Azriel tossed the blade to the side before pinning you down once more. The soft sand shifted around you as the shadowsinger kissed your jaw, trailing kisses along the hollow of your throat, nipping at your collarbones as his hand slipped down the front of your leathers. 

“I’m impressed,” Azriel hummed as he teased two fingers along your soaking folds. “I think you deserve a reward for that, sweetheart.”

You whimpered as his thumb circled your clit. “What if someone hears?” 

The shadowsinger smirked. “Well I guess you’ll just have to be quiet, angel.”

As he plunged two fingers inside of you, Azriel’s mouth covered your own to swallow your loud moan.

“Y/N?” Cassian’s voice called out from across the room. “What do you think?” 

You blinked, suddenly finding yourself seated in the game room at the House of Wind. Cassian, Nesta, and Azriel were all looking at you expectantly. The Illyrian general’s hand hovered over the stack of chips on the table as he raised a brow. 

Right. 

You were playing cards before you’d lost yourself to another ridiculous, embarrassing, dirty daydream about one of your closest friends. A blush crept up your cheeks as you shook the thought away. This had been happening more often than not and usually at the most inopportune times.

You truly needed to get a hold of yourself. 

Beside you, the shadowsinger stirred. He looked over at you in concern and lightly touched your knee under the table. 

“You alright?” he asked, low enough so only you could hear. 

You swallowed, nodding way too fast for the movement to be perceived as normal. You clenched your thighs together as Azriel squeezed you playfully. 

Gods, that really wasn’t fucking helping. 

“I’m fine. Just got distracted.” You averted your gaze from the shadowsinger and faced Cassian instead. “Go big or go home, Cas.”

“See!” The Illyrian general exclaimed, “I knew Y/N would have my back. She’s a risk taker, unlike you two old snores.” He pushed his mountain of chips to the center of the table. “I’m all in.” 

Azriel and Nesta exchanged an amused look before the latter snorted, fondly rolling her eyes at her mate. 

“Let’s see your hand, then.” 

Cassian proudly slammed down his cards. It was a good hand. 

“Not bad,” Azriel mused. Cassian smirked at his brother, but his expression faltered when the shadowsinger’s lips quirked. “But mine’s better.”

Azriel revealed his hand, which, as always, beat every single hand.

Cassian crossed his arms, grumbling as his brother claimed his winnings. “That’s three games in a row! You have to be using your shadows to win.”

You giggled. As much as you loved Cas, the male did not take well to losing. 

“Or I’m just that good.” Azriel smirked, catching your eye. He winked and you nearly choked on your drink. 

Cassian rolled his eyes. “I need another drink,” he clinked his glass against yours. “Want a refill, Y/N?”

You shook your head, feigning a yawn. “I’m feeling a bit tired, actually. I think I’ll head to bed.”

The Illyrian general scowled again. “Leaving me with these vipers,” he mumbled under his breath. “If all my money is gone tomorrow, just know that you could’ve prevented it.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re a big boy, Cas.” You teased, patting your friend on the back as you passed him on the stairs. “I’m sure you can manage.”

Lowly, you elbowed your friend. “Watch out for Az’s shadows. They always curl to the right when he’s got a good hand.”

Your friend grinned in conspiracy. The intel on his brother’s tell seemed to brighten up his mood a notch. 

“I heard that!” Azriel called after you. 

“No idea what you’re talking about.” You winked at Cassian and waved back at your friends. “Good night!”

It was, in fact, not a good night. After excusing yourself from the game, you laid in bed for a good hour before realizing that sleep was not coming any time soon. 

You were too wound up from fantasizing about Azriel. A part of you knew that it was wrong. Azriel was your friend. If he ever found out about your filthy fantasies, you’d be mortified. 

But…that’s all they were, right?

Just fantasies. Harmless as long as they stayed in your head. 

You closed your eyes, letting your imagination take over. That golden brown skin covered in dark intricate tattoos. Those strong muscles, honed by centuries of combat and training, rippling in the light as he spared against you. The cocky smirk that pulled at his lips, making his handsome face light up with mischief. 

Azriel was so beautiful it almost hurt. 

More importantly, he was kind and good and patient. The type of friend who noticed all the little details. Who listened and learned without passing judgment. Who made you feel seen and known. 

For months, you’ve had a sneaking suspicion that whatever you felt for Azriel was more than just physical attraction. It might have started off that way with all your daydreams, but even those seemingly benign thoughts that you attributed to Azriel’s obvious attractiveness and close proximity had turned into something more. 

As of late, you found yourself delving into more innocent imaginations. Holding his hand. Brushing back his hair. Kissing him softly. 

But you never let yourself think about those thoughts any further. You were afraid of what they meant. 

So here you were, tossing and turning in bed as the thought of Azriel haunted your subconscious for what seemed like the millionth night in a row. You sighed in defeat. 

There was only one way to get the shadowsinger out of your head. 

A soft sigh escaped your lips as your hand trailed down your torso, sliding underneath the sheets until you reached the waistband of your lace panties. This would be it. You could pleasure yourself to the thought of him to erase the truth that you were too afraid to face. It would be the last time—or so you told yourself. Repeatedly for months on end. 

Pushing all other pesky little feelings aside, you focused on getting yourself off, which would hopefully get your mind off of the shadowsinger altogether. 

The shadowsinger stared down the empty hallway, his attention snagging on your closed door. After beating Cassian and Nesta three more times, the trio had decided to call it a night. His brother more disgruntled than his mate. 

Azriel smirked. He’d wiped the floor with Cassian, despite the information you’d given his brother about his tell. The shadowsinger hadn’t even known about it himself. He’d have to find a way to correct that, but for now…

The Illyrian warrior paused as his feet took him directly in front of your door. His shadows swarmed around him, snaking through his wings and curling against his ears, whispering one thing and one thing only. 

Your name. 

“She’s sleeping,” he said quietly. One of his shadows poked his cheek in irritation to which Azriel responded with an eye roll. 

They wanted to play with you. To be near you. Azriel knew the feeling all too well, but still, you had looked a little frazzled and distracted earlier and he briefly wondered if the rigorous training he was putting you through was to blame. He hoped not. The shadowsinger liked sparring with you. 

You were feisty, wild, and unpredictable. Azriel never knew which side of you he was going to get. The sweet and sassy friend or the deadly lethal spy that made Rhysand hire you in the first place. You challenged the shadowsinger and he loved every second of it.

Azriel smiled quietly to himself and as he was prone to do for the past couple of months, he hovered near your door and though he was sure you had long fallen asleep, he still leaned in and whispered. 

“Good night.”

He was perfectly prepared to retire to his own room, his scarred hand already twisting the doorknob across the hall when he heard it. 

The rustling of sheets. The restless tossing and turning. And then—a soft moan that made the shadowsinger freeze in place. 

Azriel took a deep breath, desperately trying to shake the desire to come closer to your door. But there it was again. That breathy crescendo that ensnared his attention. 

Even his shadows tugged him closer—pulling and pushing in the direction of your room. Azriel was vaguely aware that it was wrong to eavesdrop on a friend, but he couldn’t help it. 

The shadowsinger pressed his ear against the wooden door, listening intently for that sweet, smooth voice. 

“Azriel.”

His hand flew off the handle of your door as though it were on fire. There was no way you knew he was out here, listening. Azriel was far too silent and stealthy for that. 

But you’d said his name all the same. 

No, you moaned it. 

Before he could truly comprehend what he was doing, Azriel pushed the door open and crossed the threshold of your bedchambers. 

He wasn’t prepared for the sight that greeted him. 

You were laying in bed, your hair unbound and cascading around your shoulders, your eyes squeezed tight as little pants and whines slipped past those always bitten lips. 

“Az, please.”

He inhaled sharply as his gaze zeroed in on your hand nestled between your legs, rubbing back and forth with increasing pace as your back arched off the bed. 

How many times has he found himself in the same position? How many times had he pleasured himself to the thought of you right across the hall, picturing this exact image in his mind, imagining the soft breaths and sensuous sighs that were now coming out of your pretty little lips? 

A shadow curled around your wrist, startling you out of your daze. You shot up in bed, panic and alarm flooding your features as you watched Azriel step out of the darkness. Inky shadows wafted off of him, curling around your other wrist and both ankles as they pulled you to the edge of the bed towards the shadowsinger. 

“Say it again.”

“Who—I—what are you doing here?”

Azriel stalked towards you like a predator tracking its prey, his golden eyes burning with a hunger that made the air in the room crackle with electricity. 

“Say. It. Again,” Azriel growled. 

“Azriel,” you breathed softly as his hand came up to brush against your cheek. 

You held your breath as Azriel traced the curve of your cupid’s bow, his rough, calloused thumb dragging your bottom lip down. 

“When you were touching yourself,” he said, his voice low and dark and dangerous. “What were you thinking about?” 

Blush bloomed high upon your cheeks. It was bad enough that he’d caught you in the midst of pleasuring yourself. You didn’t want to admit that it was his hand you were imagining between your thighs, those slender, scarred fingers working you towards release. 

The shadowsinger spread your legs apart and you inhaled sharply, eyes fluttering involuntarily as his hand crept up your thigh. “Were you imagining this?” he asked, dipping his head down to place a soft kiss against the hollow of your throat. 

Azriel caressed your skin, teasing, testing, taunting as he drew patterns along your bare legs. “Do you fantasize about me doing dirty, filthy things to you? Do you moan my name in the night as you get yourself off on the thought of me?” 

His teeth grazed your jaw, sucking harshly as you released a shaky breath. Azriel looked at you expectantly and you nodded, confirming his suspicions. 

“Tell me,” he breathed. “Tell me every dark fantasy that crosses that beautiful mind of yours.”

“I think about you touching me. I think about you kissing me. I think about you fucking me,” you confessed. Azriel’s eyes were dark, bottomless pits of desire as you continued to speak. “When we’re alone in the library, I fantasize about you bending me over the desk and fucking me until I’m hoarse. When we’re out in the city, I dream of breaking away from our friends and letting you have your way with me in the bathroom. And when we’re training, I think about you pinning me down and using me whichever way you desire.”

“Fuck,” Azriel groaned. “How long? How long have you wanted this? Wanted me?” 

“For as long as I could remember.”

The shadowsinger was quiet as he appraised you. “I’m sorry.” Your throat worked, dread filling your core. ”Are you mad?” 

“No,” Azriel said decisively. “I have wanted this since the moment I laid eyes on you.” He tilted your chin up, kissing your jaw. “I’ve thought about all the things you’ve thought about and more. Filthier, dirtier, and kinkier than anything you could ever imagine.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you asked, your voice breathy as he continued peppering your neck with kisses. 

“Because,” Azriel snarled, nipping at your ear lobe. “I like you and I didn’t want to fuck this up. But now that I know you feel the same…” He grabbed your wrist, fingers still glistening with your own arousal. 

You watched with rapt attention as the shadowsinger took your fingers in his mouth and licked away every drop of your juices. 

Azriel moaned. “Gods, you taste even better than what I imagined.”

He pushed you into the mattress, his lean body hovering above yours. “We’ll do everything you fantasized about, sweetheart. Every single dark, depraved daydream. But first, I want to taste you.”

You shivered as the shadowsinger buried his head between your legs. His cool breath fanned against the inside of your thighs, his soft, wet mouth placing kisses along your mound. Then, he started devouring you. 

With his tongue flicking wickedly past your soaked folds, you moaned and writhed off the bed. Whatever you were imagining, whatever fantasies you may have had, shattered into pieces as reality slammed into you. Azriel’s lips worked you better than your fingers ever could, sucking and prodding, his expert movements making you come undone with each stroke.

Your breathy moans echoed off the walls as the shadowsinger gripped your thighs. Azriel was kneeling at the edge of the bed, one hand moving to hold your hips down while the other squeezed your breasts. He looked up at you as one of his shadows tilted your head down.

“Look at me, kitten.” Azriel said, your slick juices dripping from his mouth. “I want to watch you come.”

Cauldron fry and fucking boil you.

As he sucked harshly on your clit, you came fast and hard, your mind a blank canvas as white noise rang in your ears. Azriel held your hips down as the orgasm racked through your body. He didn’t stop feasting on you, devouring every last drop, and heightening your pleasure until you were coming a second time. 

The shadowsinger glanced up at you, kissing the side of your ankle as your legs fell slack behind his shoulders. You didn’t even notice when you’d wrapped them around his neck. 

Azriel brushed stray strands of hair away from your face. He leaned down and pressed his lips against yours. Softly as though he hadn’t spent the past few minutes making you come in record time. 

He hummed, savoring the taste of you, exploring every inch that you yield to him. Despite the back to back orgasms, you were insatiable, pulling Azriel’s head down so you could kiss him deeper. He smiled, pulling away briefly to catch his breath. 

Golden eyes trapped you in place, making you feel like you were swimming through honey and sunlight. “Beautiful,” Azriel murmured in appreciation. “You’re beautiful.”

You grinned. “So are you,” you declare shyly, caressing his cheek and sighing dreamily. “You’re so pretty, Az.”

His lips quirked. “I’d prefer devastatingly handsome, but I’ll take what I can get.” 

Azriel winked, making you blush furiously. He kissed your cheeks, your neck, your jaw, taking the time to commit all your little moles and freckles to memory. Gathering your wrists in one hand, he looked down at you through his dark lashes. 

Shadows snaked through your skin and gently removed your nightgown until you were completely bare before Azriel. You watched as he palmed himself in his large hands, his cock hard and thick against your stomach. You strained against his hold, wanting to touch him. To feel him. 

“No,” he said softly. “I want you to watch. I want you to see how desperate you make me.” He tugged at his proud length, his breaths ragged as he groaned. “This is what I think about when I’m alone in the middle of the night. After restraining myself from touching you, kissing you, fucking you. This is what I have to do to keep myself from yanking your door open and taking what I want.”

The arousal pulsing through your veins drowned out every other sensation. You watched as Azriel continued to stroke himself, feeling the bead of precum sliding against your stomach as he pleasured himself to the sight of you. A heady sort of rush blurred out all the rest as his moans increased. 

You wrapped your legs around his waist, rubbing your slick core against the underside of his cock. Azriel jolted from the friction and his movements turned frantic as he worked towards release. His head dropped down to yours as he kissed you roughly, all teeth and tongue and tension while the orgasm tore through him. 

The sound that ripped through his chest was animalistic. You’ve never heard such filthy sounds come out of anyone’s mouth like this before. It was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard. 

“I need to be inside of you, now.” 

“Gods, yes,” you breathed. “Please.”

There was no preamble of shyness or hesitation between you as Azriel guided his cock into your slick folds. The two of you had been waiting for this moment for too long to feel a hint of apprehension. 

The shadowsinger pushed and pushed, his cock stretching your silky walls as he buried himself inside of you. When Azriel was finally fully sheathed inside of your pussy, you both released a satisfied sigh.

“You’re so tight, baby,” he grunted, relishing the way you hugged around him. “It feels like fucking heaven.”

You whimpered as he slowly slid in and out, building your pleasure with slow strokes. Despite the steady pace, it felt like the sheer size of him was splitting you apart in the best way possible. 

You raked your fingernails over his back, inhaling sharply as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. “You feel so good, Azriel. My imagination is shit compared to this.” 

He chuckled, kissing the hollow of your throat. “I aim to please, angel.” 

Azriel’s lips found yours in the darkness. As he deepened the kiss, his thrusts turned sharper and faster, his hips snapping to yours at a relentless pace. He held you throughout it, kissing you, intertwining your fingers, pulling away every once in a while to make sure you were comfortable. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Azriel asked gently, the soft tone of his voice providing a sharp contrast to his punishing pace. 

You nod, smiling up at him. “Better than alright.” Wrapping your legs around him, you squeezed your walls and Azriel released a string of curses under his breath, making you chuckle. “Don’t go easy on me. I want you to ruin me, Azriel.”

The shadowsinger’s wings flared behind him. Those giant, mighty wings swallowed you whole and plunged you into darkness. Your words flicked a switch on within him that he hadn’t even known was there. 

Electricity crackled between you as Azriel hiked your legs over his shoulders, pushing you into the mattress until the back of your legs were pressed against the front of his thighs. He was a male unleashed—restrained be damned, Azriel fucked you rough and hard, digging his fingers into your hips as he rutted into you, leaving half moon bruises on your skin as he made a mess of you. 

“Fuck, Az,” you whimpered, tightening your grip around his trim waist. Your head lolled to the side as he fucked you dumb. All thoughts vanished from your mind and the only thing you could focus on was that familiar feeling budding in your core. “That’s it—right there. So close.”

“Open your eyes, angel.” Azriel murmured, locking your fingers together. You peered up at him, a prince of shadows and darkness, perfect and beautiful in every way. “Together, baby.”

You nodded and as he kissed you again, you succumbed together. Your bodies melted into one, limbs locked and lips fused in heated embrace as the force of the joined orgasm wiped the world away. At that moment, it was only you and Azriel. 

The shadowsinger moaned your name, his head falling slack against your shoulder as his teeth grazed your collarbone. You held him against you, panting while the two of you came down from the high.

Azriel sighed softly as you played with his hair, twining your fingers in his dark locks as he slowly opened his eyes. 

“Az?” you murmured shyly.

He looked up at you, his eyes full of earnest desire. “Yes, angel?”

“When you thought about this…what did we do? After, I mean.”

The shadowsinger smiled. “You asked me to stay and we cuddled and I told you how adorable you are when you get shy around me.” He kissed your shoulder. “It was always the best part of the fantasy.” 

Your heart stuttered in your chest. “I think I’d like that,” you whispered, smiling. “I think I like you.”

“Good, because I have no plans of letting you go.”

You smiled and for once, you didn’t drift off into a daydream because the reality of Azriel was better than the fantasy.

taglist: @viradeity @moony-thoughts @i-opened-the-chamber-of-secrets @demirunner @swansworth @heart-defendor @momlo @mali22 @roselensage @searchingford@nessianxgwynriel@azriels-angels@brekkershadowsinger@morelovemorepeacemoretattoo-blog @mattte-black @marina468 @lillithathecathecat @highladyofillyria

[unlosts]

goldrush

1.5k words. Based on some posts on @hotchfiles blog about Hotchs wedding ring 🫶

F. Scott Fitzgerald — 'There is a moment—Oh, just before the first kiss, a whispered word—something that makes it worth while.'

Small town motels begin to feel familiar after a while. Even the outdated 70s wallpaper and smoked tinted walls start to blur with the newly renovated minimalist gray walls of the latest chain hotel they’re staying in. 

After ten hours of bureaucratic red tape, hostile locals and hysterical families, the  paper thin mattresses and the softest of egyptian cotton sheets all end up in the same exhausted insomnia. 

And it is in that blur of sameness that you find yourself pressed against the sheets of Hotc - sorry, Aarons bed. 

Your very stoic, very married boss. 

It started in this quaint farmhouse turned B&B somewhere tucked away in Maine, the blood splattered crime scene photos getting lost amongst the garish floral bedspread. 

As strict and unyielding as Hotch was in the day to day you knew his biggest secret; an almost full pack of Marlboro reds tucked away in the smallest pocket of his go-bag accompanied by a baby blue bic lighter stolen from you. Reserved for special occasions, such as a week-long case in the middle of the winter with no end in sight. 

It was on night four that you went to his room to get your lighter back - and possibly to bum a cigarette as well. Light footsteps on the creaking wood, you tiptoed over as if you knew how it would end. 

Before you could even knock the door opened and there he was, stripped of his jacket and tie but still working at midnight, his starched white shirt rumpled from hours sitting at the rickety chair in the room. 

“Hi, wasn’t expecting anyone right now,” he said awkwardly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. His eyes firmly planted on yours and not on your very bare legs, covered by blue striped pajama shorts and a faded concert t-shirt.  

“Well, I would be more shocked if you were” you replied with a laugh, crossing your arms against the midnight chill and leaning against the frame of his door “hey listen I’m on a rescue mission here, I know your pack of smokes is more of a ‘in case of emergency bring out the cancer sticks’ sort of deal but my very favorite lighter is sequestered with them and I’ve gone through two packs without it so can I have it back? and also maybe one of your cigs?” you added that last part with a very convincing smile.  

“Right! yes, come on in” Hotch said as he stepped aside so you could come into his room. The pink wallpaper covered floor to ceiling in paisley flowers. 

“Don’t mind the flowers, it seems like they’re multiplying but you get used to them”

“Oh I think that’s just your sleep deprivation speaking,  maybe I’m not even in this room”  As you walked in you took in his room, from the floral wallpaper and matching drapes to the blue fluffy carpet and dark wood furniture. 

“If I were to imagine you I think the last thing you would be doing is stealing my cigarettes” 

“Really? and what is it that I usually do in your imagination” You said, sitting down on his bed, moving around some files.   

He just let out a small laugh, his wedding ring twinkling like a warning sign in the lowlight. 

His laugh is boyish you think startled, a little high pitched at the end like it’s not used to making an appearance.

You try to picture him at your age, even before, early twenties fresh out of law school. His stride not as confident as it is now, less sure of his place in a courtroom than he is in a police precinct ordering around people he’s just met. 

While you were lost in thought he went to rummage through his bag, his usual meticulous order abandoned in favor of quick changes between cat naps and interrogations. 

His back turned, you can freely admire the solid line of his back, muscles stretched under his shirt, and it’s only ever really in these brief moments of solitude that you can admit to yourself that whatever is it that you feel goes well beyond a crush. 

Which is why you should leave, you should get up, tell him you changed your mind and go to your room, forget that you do have a full pack in your nightstand right next to the nice lighter you bought for yourself  a couple of weeks ago, you should… 

“Here” He says handing you the baby blue lighter and a loose cigarette. 

“What, you’re leaving me to smoke by myself?” 

“Like you said, these are ‘in case of emergency only’” 

“Well I think having to deal with Captain Rooney and detective whoever the fuck for almost a week straight constitutes as an emergency, think of them as medicinal cigarettes, kind of like the ones pregnant woman smoked in the 50’s” 

He laughs again, boyish and carefree and you tuck that sound away,  to let it play on a loop in your head later tonight. 

“One” Hotch says, holding up a finger “and then we’ll go to sleep, the last thing I need is you crashing the car because you were too tired to drive straight” 

“God, imagine the paperwork” You reply with a grin. Standing up and walking to the window next to the desk. You notice with a pang that he keeps a picture of Jack there, only a year old, chubby cheeks and thin blonde hair. 

“What are you doing?” He asks as he sees you sitting down on the window ledge. 

“Are you having a stroke? you just said I could smoke one” 

“I didn’t mean right here” Hotch says looking around, as if the crotchety old woman who checked you guys in would pop up from behind the curtains and kick you out for smoking indoors. 

“I cannot believe you’re afraid of a seventy year old retiree, yesterday you stared down that reporter so hard I thought he was going to start crying” You said lighting up and taking a drag  “besides, didn’t you go to boarding school or something? I bet there’s a whole slew of very scandalous stories hiding there” 

As you blow smoke out the window you see him standing there, hands in his pockets. His eyes don’t stray from yours but he’s not avoiding anything, he’s instead searching for something.

The silence stretches on for a few seconds as the smoke slowly billows up, a haze enveloping you both and you could almost pretend that there’s not a picture of Jack right next to you, or even, another picture next to his. Her name carefully and diligently scrubbed out of your thoughts.

Slowly he walks over and sits down right next to you, the fabric of his slacks burning a path on your thigh. Instead of lighting one of himself he takes yours from your hand. 

You see it then, on his left hand,  tarnished gold in the moonlight. And the moment breaks. 

“I think you guys think I was born wearing a tie” 

“Well no you were a baby, it would have been a bowtie” 

“Cute” You bite your lip to hold back a smile, resting your heated cheek in the cold window. 

“Hotch you collected stamps” 

“Coins, actually” You take the cigarette from him, your lips touching the same filter. 

“Oh my bad, they should have locked you up and thrown away the key then” 

“I collected coins, and also regularly snuck out to go to bars” 

At this revelation you do gasp “no! Aaron Hotchner underage drinking? And they let you in the FBI anyway?” 

“Okay, maybe I wasn’t a complete rebel in my youth but at the time it seemed like it, my parents were…strict and boarding school was their last ditch effort to straighten me out” 

“What got you sent to the slammer?” You asked with a quiet upturn of your lips. 

Before answering he looked at you, the light of the moon on the clearest sky you’ve seen yet turning you silver. 

“I kept picking fights” There was something more there but you let him keep that secret, one was enough for tonight. 

After that you finished what was left, the evidence discarded into the night. Yet neither of you moved. 

It was easy to think that you liked Hotch because he was handsome, or smart or even because he was the boss, but in truth when he looked at you it made you feel singularly important, like every stupid joke or straight thought was worth hearing. Even now in the stillness of the night with only your thoughts and the cicadas for company you felt like he knew everything worth knowing about you. 

“Well” you murmured “I should get going” 

“Yes” he replied in the same tone “you should.” 

And yet you stayed, looking at him. You were so close you could count his lashes, could almost touch the few strands of hair that had fallen forward. 

“Goodnight”  He whispered right before kissing you. 

Truly you could have been the one to kiss him, it was impossible knowing who leaned in first, like an asteroid colliding the path was inevitable, only a matter of time. 

Your hands softly cupped his neck as his went to your waist. It felt like you had been doing this for years, like he had been kissing you good morning and goodnight as long as you had known each other. As he leaned more into you, crowding you against the edge of the window seat your hands graced each others and that's when you felt it, hot as lava, his wedding ring a shock to your system making you push away. 

“fuck” This, again, could have been said by either of you. 

Hastily you got up, almost tripping with one of the decorative pillows left on the floor. 

“Anyway, really should get going, we’ll probably be dead on our feet unless we get some shuteye” You said as casually as you could when every place he had touched was still burning bright. 

“Right, of course” His expression was indiscernible, the only thing betraying his thoughts was his left hand, fingers softly touching the wedding band like a mantra. 

As you were leaving you turned back one last time, looking at him still encased in the pale silver light and he was looking back. 

[soulcandi]

𝑷𝑯𝑨𝑵𝑻𝑶𝑴 | 𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐲

synopsis: sorority!reader stumbles upon ghostface behind a closed door at a halloween party and decides to play along with what she assumes is a cruel prank.

warnings: blood/gore, murder, implied alcohol and drug use, bimbo!reader, finger-sucking (lmao), written with afab!reader in mind.

a/n: first tumblr post! this is cross-posted on wattpad and ao3 too! lowercase intended.

word count: 3,841

it wasn’t the muffled screaming that drew you toward the room at the end of the upstairs hallway, but it was certainly what inspired you to press your ear against the door.

at first, you weren’t sure what you were hearing—the music from the party downstairs was making the floor thrum beneath your feet and it was impossible to try and hear anything over the deafening, base-heavy music blaring in the downstairs hallway. especially in your state. but then through the thin wooden frame, there it was again—the screaming, the pleas of terror reduced to stifled, high-pitched whines. 

you held your breath, reaching down to set your big gulp full of jungle juice on the floor of the hallway. the entire first week of zeta orientation was focused solely on helping sisters in trouble and recognizing unsafe situations at parties like this one. and with your ear plastered to the door, you could tell that there was nothing safe or orderly going on in the room behind it, and not even the joint you stole from the guy dressed as danny zuko downstairs was going to change that. 

you had seen date-rape frankie hanging around downstairs, slinking around the kitchen on the prowl for incoming zetas to prey on, but you hadn’t seen him in a few minutes. in fact, you hadn’t seen him much at all since you lost track of your new freshman friend, tara.

biting down hard on your bottom lip, you rapped your knuckles against the wood. there was a slight pause before the sounds of struggle grew louder. 

oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.  

“tara?” you called, it felt like your mouth had been stuffed with cotton and you could still taste the sour hawaiian punch mixer on your tongue. The last thing you wanted to do was interrupt someone’s fantasy of hooking up in pike house on the thirsty thursday before halloween, but you would rather not just walk away when it sounded like someone was being gutted—or worse.

the knob turned with ease and you found yourself stumbling into the room before you could reconsider turning right back around and locating one of your sober sisters to investigate on your behalf. you had half a mind to slap a hand over your eyes to avoid seeing anything you rather live your life without ever seeing.

“tara, is that you? it’s—” you peaked between your fingers for a fleeting second but all you saw was red. 

desperate, angry red claw marks marred the white carpet in a breadcrumb trail leading all the way from the door to the back wall just underneath the window. you stumbled, ankles wobbling in your strappy pink heels as you reached for the doorknob to catch your balance.

there was a figure cloaked in familiar black robes wearing a gaunt white mask that you knew all too well. his hand was raised with a knife poised to stab the girl currently wriggling in his arms. they both watched with bated breath as you gaped at the scene before you. 

“uhm…?” you mumbled, not entirely sure you were seeing this right. you glanced over your shoulder to find that you were completely alone in the upstairs corridor. you coughed and shook your head disbelievingly. you really needed to thank danny zuko for his potent product.

or maybe you needed to stop stealing people’s weed when they were too busy making out with girls dressed as marie antoinette to notice. 

the girl’s head lolled to the side, blood running like rivers through the crevices of her face. her eyes were half-lidded, the entire front of her slutty cowboy costume drenched in blood. you squinted down at her, unable to place her at first. but then it hit you like a slap to the face. 

“courtney fucking carter.” you pointed almost accusingly down at her limp body. it was courtney. she posted a mirror selfie in that exact same outfit just a few hours ago, minus all the gore. ew, you really needed to take her off of your snapchat. 

you felt like an idiot for believing all those heartfelt ‘your first college roommate will become your lifelong friend!’ facebook posts that your mom sent you the entire summer before your freshman year because courtney fucking carter was the furthest thing from a friend that you had at the moment. 

from the split second she’d gotten wind of what you went through a few years back—of what you had seen and survived, it was all downhill from there. fake blood in your body wash, ghostface masks in your closet, daily prank calls, and anonymous threatening texts every morning, noon, and night.

her little display tonight was no different from last halloween when she paid the entire lacrosse team fifty bucks each to wear those stupid costumes and stalk the zeta house while you were sober sister. 

she coughed and even more blood started bubbling in the corners of her mouth. her perfectly winged eyeliner was smudged at the tips and her face was blotchy and red from crying. you were honestly a little impressed that she would make herself look so disgusting for a silly prank that didn’t even scare you. 

“(y/n)...” she blubbered, gasping as she reached out with a limp hand in your direction. “please…”

the killer hadn’t moved since you tripped into the room and if it weren’t for the labored breaths making his chest rise and fall every few seconds, you would have thought he was a statue. you wouldn’t have been surprised if she hired an actual actor to help her with this one.

“oh, this is too good,” you sighed, twirling around and grabbing your drink off of the floor before walking into the room and letting the door ease shut in your wake. as soon as it did, it was like you had hit mute on the entire rest of the party. sinking to your knees on a wet, bloody patch of carpet, you took a long sip from your straw, ignoring the delicious sting it delivered to the back of your throat.

you were just nearing the point of the night where a rum and coke only tasted like coke and you started forgetting that there was liquor in your cup at all. 

courtney’s eyebrows tethered in confusion, but you weren’t even looking at her anymore. the masked figure cocked his head to the side, gloved fingers clenching around the steely hunting knife hovering a foot or so over your ex-roommate's chest.

trauma sure had a funny way of presenting itself because there was absolutely no reason that you should be so spurred on by that sight. biting your lip, you mirrored his empty expression, tilting your head parallel to his. “well? go ahead. finish her off.”

“please, no! oh my god, no!”

“shut the fuck up, my god. you act like I wouldn’t have paid like a million dollars to see this happen to you for real. grow up and let me enjoy this.”

leaning your back against the door, you pulled your barely-parted knees halfway up to your chest, not caring in the slightest that your satin slip was leaving very little to the imagination. chewing lazily— drunkenly—on your cherry-red straw, you gestured vaguely for her accomplice to proceed.

he bristled at your attention, testingly bringing the knife down a few inches to gauge your reaction. the movement elicited a weak cry from the girl lying victim in his lap and you smiled with the nibbled tip of your straw pinned between your glittery-painted lips. “do it.”

through the floorboards, you could hear the opening chords of SLUT ME OUT, followed by the excited screams of your sorority sisters. the stars were aligning in the most perfect way. if this ended quickly enough, you could link up with tara and ethan and make your way to the dance floor with time to spare before the song was over. 

a long, labored breath was smothered by the smooth plastic of the mask but you heard it anyway in all of its gruff, ravenous glory. not even a full second passed before the stainless (probably retractable) blade disappeared and plunged straight between courtney’s ribs. she arched her back as her body mimed a reaction to the pain and you watched from afar with hazy curiosity. 

“yes!” you clapped, throwing a weak fist in the air. “get her ass!”

“fu-fuck you, (y/n),” she spat.

“ditto. no, actually you can eat shit and choke. you’re honestly such a good actress that this is kinda sad.”

every insult, every bitter comment that you’ve been holding in since last september came threatening to spill out of you. courtney’s body lurched as the knife was yanked out of her torso, but when it re-entered, there was no reaction. no more pleas for her life, no melodramatic dying remarks. in fact, she went deathly still—her body slumping over in an awkward heap on the carpet as ghostface rose, shoving her aside in order to stalk his way over to you. 

his heavy black combat boots made deep imprints on the stained carpet, now half-dried and tacky to the touch. with one more sip for good luck, you abandoned your cup beside the door and crawled on your hands and knees to meet him halfway at a tantalizing pace.

pointing your half-lidded eyes through the black eye holes of the mask, you wondered which of her sick and twisted friends was watching you back right behind them. but honestly, who were you kidding? the not-knowing was what made it just a teensy bit sexy. 

“you gonna kill me next?” you pouted, sitting up on your knees less than a foot away from where he stood, shooting him the biggest, roundest doe eyes that you could manage. your pitiful frown only deepened as he shook his head, dragging a leather-gloved hand through your hair and knocking your little plastic tiara aside.

you couldn’t help the airy gasp that slipped past your lips as he made a fist in the back of your head, pulling your face up toward his before tapping two fingers against your lips. 

heaven. you had flown straight of out pike house and somehow landed right at the pearly gates of heaven. 

your mouth fell open obediently, tongue rolling out like a welcome mat for his two thick digits to bully themselves inside. the stiff leather was coated in a warm, sticky substance that made your mouth water and your fists clench where they were folded neatly in your lap. fake blood. nice.

the flimsy plastic mask seemed to shiver as a hushed groan echoed inside of it. your tongue swirled over the leather pads of his fingers, sucking them clean like your life depended on it—and maybe it did, who knew?

the stranger’s thick index finger curled against your tongue and coaxed a soft whine to rise from the back of your throat. the stretch wasn’t too much, but paired with the sharp yank of the tight ponytail he had formed with your hair with his opposite hand, you were borderline delirious from stimulation. 

when the hand in your hair loosened without warning—like he was struggling to keep a solid grip—you blinked up at him with wide eyes and listened as the muffled breathing grew louder and even more rapid. you were desperate to see how far this would go while your shitty ex-roommate was still playing dead in the corner. 

an unexpectedly hard yank to your hair had you sitting up on your knees, face angled up toward the mask as a pleading whine bounced against the leather digits exploring the cavern of your mouth. your face had long since been reduced to pins and needles and the only thing you could do to ground yourself was seek reassurance in those black, empty eyes looming over you, even if all he did was stare back at you with blank, unfeeling apathy. 

you pulled your lips off of his knuckle with a quiet pop, wet eyes blinking up at the mask as you hesitantly wrapped your hands around his wrist. when he did nothing to pry you off of him, you pressed a gentle kiss to the tips of his fingers, licking a long stripe through the slit between the two digits and forcing them to part.

only when you were 100% certain that every trace of gooey, thick artificial blood had been licked clean from his glove did you sit back on your heels with a sickeningly sweet smile. “thank you for sparing my life, mr. killer.”

the mask was aimed directly at your face and you weren’t quite sure that it ever moved. he gave you a quick, restrained nod before finally releasing your hair. 

you shook your head to free your hair from the ponytail shape, only slightly concerned with the red handprint that must have been slapped across the back of your head. downstairs, you heard a lapse in the music and pouted as you wobbled to your feet. you missed your favorite song. 

almost instinctively, ghostface offered you his arm, leaving yet another bloody handprint on your elbow where he caught you from falling. “thank you,” you snorted, finding that small lapse in character insanely funny. this whole thing was hilarious to you and you really hoped that you would remember it when you woke up tomorrow morning for your econ lecture at noon. 

whose bedroom did courtney borrow for this? you prayed for that poor fucker’s sake that he was well-paid because there was no way in hell that all of that gore was coming out of this carpet. he could kiss his security deposit goodbye.

speaking of courtney, you turned to flip her off one last time before dipping to collect your abandoned drink and pointing an accusatory finger at the guy who was still pretending to be ghostface. “Make sure she cleans this up before one of the pledges sees. I don’t want you getting blacklisted.”

he nodded, slow and considerate. your lips found the straw and you took an idle little sip, reaching up to boop the sunken plastic nose of the mask before twirling around and slamming the door behind you. the air around your body instantly chilled—compared to the rest of the party, that bedroom had been broilingly hot.

another one of your favorite songs began to play but you ignored the urge to wobble your way downstairs and instead felt along down the dark hallway toward the bathroom. 

the dim yellow overhead lights flickered to life as soon as the door shut behind you and you leaned your entire weight over the porcelain sink. someone had been rifling through the medicine cabinet—some loose odds and ends were strewn across the counter.

you reached forward to pull the door of the medicine cabinet closed so you could catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror but your eyes instantly grew round and your mouth fell open at the sight of your own reflection. 

the entire bottom half of your face was painted in cartoonishly red fake blood. it caked your skin and rivered down your face like drool. you looked like a vampire immediately after chowing down on some poor unsuspecting person. your last-second princess costume had been transformed into a carrie-at-the-prom nightmare. 

you reached up and smeared the blood across your lips with the tips of your fingers, taking a single drop and tapping it against your tongue. it didn’t taste like cherry or corn syrup or chemicals. it tasted like old pennies. copper. 

it tasted real. 

a loud, blood-curdling scream echoed down the corridor and you felt your face grow numb. not even a full second later, there was a series of rapid knocks on the bathroom door and you blankly fumbled for the doorknob, eyes practically glazed over. all you could focus on was the taste of blood— blood—in your mouth. what were the odds that she sourced actual, genuine blood for this?

as soon as you unlocked the door, it swung outwards and you blinked up at the figure standing in the doorway. 

ethan’s face was flushed, eyes nearly half-lidded. he took one look at you and swallowed thickly. black mascara cast dark shadows across the apples of your cheeks and if you hadn’t known any better, you would have thought you had just been thoroughly fucked-out. 

you felt disconnected from the rest of your body, a dull prickly sensation stabbing over every inch of your exposed skin. ethan gulped, glancing up at the ceiling for a split-second before he could bring himself to meet your eye. meanwhile, you were scoping out the red-hot issue brewing in his khakis. 

“eth,” you whined, pulling a sad face as you shifted all your weight to one heel. “were you dancing without me?”

he always tended to get a little stiff whenever you dragged him out to the dance floor with your girlfriends at parties like this one. it wasn’t his fault. after the first few times, you started to realize that it kinda just…happened. it was flattering, honestly. 

ethan was a sweetheart—your sweetheart. your heart would have shattered into a million pieces on the floor between you if he’d told you that he had been downstairs dancing to your song while you sucked the soul out of some poor creep’s fingers in the upstairs bedroom. 

he cocked his head to the side, eyes wide and pleading as he silently begged you not to tease him. not here. not now. he really wouldn’t be able to handle it once you started.

ethan’s tongue darted out to wet his lips and he pushed the door open wider, reaching for your hand. “we gotta get out of here,” he croaked. “something happened.”

“oh shit. cops?” 

you glanced toward your cup on the rim of the sink and immediately swatted it into the trash can. there was no way in hell that you were getting busted for underage drinking the night before your favorite night of the year. spending halloween in a holding cell was at the very bottom of your bucket list. 

the world was moving in slow motion—the weed, the two lime-green jello shots you took downstairs, plus the drink you’ve been nursing since the pre-game you hosted in your room earlier that afternoon were all hitting you at once. 

ethan let out a stressed groan and glanced behind him. “not yet, but chad is talking to 911 downstairs. they’ll be here soon.”

you just then noticed that the music had stopped completely and the sound of voices were echoing up the stairs in its place. a breeze was crawling up the staircase from the front door which had been propped open as partygoers filed out onto the front lawn. “come on,” he said, voice on-edge as he guided you out of the bathroom by your hand. “i have to get you home.”

he said nothing about the blood that was trickling down your face and staining the neckline of your slip. you wrapped your fingers around his instantly, trailing absent-mindedly behind him as he guided you down the hall. when you passed the room at the top of the stairs, the door was propped wide open and a trail of blood was spilling out into the corridor.

you tried to peek over ethan’s shoulder to catch a glimpse of courtney begrudgingly scrubbing red goo off of the carpet, but she was still playing dead in the corner. 

“don’t look.” ethan snapped, instantly pulling your face into his chest. you planted your hands there against him, feeling every hastened breath and rapid thundering of his heart. the palm of his large hand closed over your eyes and you gasped at the sincerity in his tone, stumbling blindly as he led you back downstairs blindfolded. 

the dots were starting to connect and you felt yourself begin to sober up as an anxious, dreadful feeling began rising in your throat. “eth…”

courtney was dead—or hurt, at least. and you were the one who encouraged her attacker to stab her in the heart. you were the one who refused to listen when she begged you to get help. you were the one who licked her blood clean off of his fingers, looking him in the eye the entire time as if begging for him to let you do more. 

“ethan…” you tried again when he ignored you. “i think I’m gonna puke.”

“no, no, no— shit. you’re fine, (y/n). you’re okay.”

if eth said you were okay, you were going to be okay. simple as that. 

you felt numb—completely brainless—as he shoved his jacket over your bare shoulders (his jacket, because when you left the zeta house earlier that evening, you proudly proclaimed to him that a hoe never gets cold and that you wouldn’t need one). his hand found the small of your back and he rubbed comforting circles into your skin. 

the taste of copper was like acid on your tongue. you could only stare ahead as two police cruisers rolled up onto the lawn outside of pike house—the lawn which was now littered with red solo cups and the odd strands of toilet paper that also hung from the trees like thin ghosts. 

ethan squeezed your hand and you looked up, eyes blank and bleary. he shot you a quick, pitying smile, like the way someone would look at a cat with a jar stuck on its head. it was cute, but you couldn’t help but feel bad for it. “we’ll take that shortcut you like,” he said, thinking out loud as he led you toward the sidewalk away from the police. “the one that takes us by 7/11.”

with your back toward the house, you didn’t see the forensics team barrel inside through the front door. you had no way of knowing that at that very second, there was a group of officers closing off the room that you had stumbled into earlier that evening or that they were swabbing the carpet, the door, and every surface in between for dna. 

“mhm,” you hummed absently, almost completely spaced as you relied on ethan to guide you down the bustling new york city street. he supported your weight happily, knowing that when you woke up for class the next morning, it would be devastatingly easy to convince you that most of what took place tonight was a product of your vivid imagination. 

you would have no idea that after hours of labwork, they would find zero evidence that you had wandered upstairs at all or that ethan—your sweet baby ethan—had erased all traces of you from pike house, down to the big gulp you threw away in the upstairs bathroom.

he couldn’t have you blamed for his crimes. are you kidding? that would have defeated the whole purpose of putting courtney fucking carter at the top of his hit list. he wanted you to watch him play his sick little games without ever getting your hands dirty. 

what else were friends for, really?

[keeksandgigz]

thinking of eddie begging you to let him try his new magic trick out on you. he’s been practicing it for weeks and he finally has perfected it. only he accidentally grabs his set of real handcuffs instead of the trick ones…

i took the sub eddie route because i love my whiny pathetic boy

based off of this post- this is for @strangerstilinski specifically cause <333

THIS IS 18+ MINORS DNI

“baby c’mon lemme show you! i’ve been practicing on it i can get myself outta these handcuffs in under 30 seconds” your boy whines as he follows you around his trailer, trick handcuffs in hand, clinking his other every step.

you groan, it’s been days he’s been pressuring you to look at his tricks. with an eye roll you mutter out a “fine” as you sit yourself down at the table.

he likes doing his tricks on the floor, and so he’s kneeled on the carpeted ground, hands behind his back as the clicks the handcuffs around his wrists.

you can’t help but notice the sight in front of you. he’s pretty as his tongue sticks out, working the handcuffs to try to get out of his confinements. biceps bulging through the short sleeves of his shirt, cheeks turning hot as panic stains his eyes.

“fuck- shit” he huffs, at the realization that his trick has gone wrong.

“what’s wrong, Houdini?” you tease, blood running hot at his reddened face.

“baby- i uhhh- do you remember where i put the keys to the handcuffs? the other ones” he huffs “i- shit- i got them confused, please lemme out” he whines, wiggling on his knees.

“stop struggling, ed. it’s gonna hurt your wrists” voice laced in sugar as you reach for him, gather his hair to the back of his head and pull.

A loud whine escapes the boy’s throat, low and rumbled in the depth of his chest as he feels himself stir in the tightness of his pants.

“y’know what? i think i like you like this, ed. so, so pretty” you croon, hooking the curve of your ankle on his shoulder, behind his neck. brown eyes, as a doe looking up at you, shadowed by the bangs on his beaded forehead.

you let your foot guide him, closer and closer to your parted legs. his mouth gaped in silent stupor, his breath quietly hitching in his own throat with the desire to smell you, feel you, taste you.

the bite of the metal cuffs isn’t bothering him anymore, as he looks at the wet patch on your panties from under your skirt. lips parted and swollen and awaiting, as he inhales, then exhales, a stirring deep in his tummy.

it pushes and pulls, the desire to let himself be used, his bewildered face coming closer and closer, smelling you so strongly it’s making him confused.

a strangled plea falls out of his mouth, throwing all caution out of the window as he finally presses his nose to your clothed mound and inhales. all he ever needed is right in front of him.

“why don’t you do a magic trick on me, baby?”

and he looks at you like you just hung the moon for him. big brown eyes, sparkling in the dim fluorescents of his trailer, your smell intoxicating him as he hums and nods.

"please baby let me- let me taste you, i'll make you feel so good" he exhales, glassy eyes as he tries to teeth and lip his way past your panties to no avail. without his hands to aid him, his tongue of gold is nothing but a useless muscle.

he does whatever he can to feel you, though, sucking purple bruises across the flushed skin of your thighs, quivering with the anticipation that you don't let yourself fall victim to just yet, slightly bucking your hips into the air, looking for friction in the thin fabric of your cotton panties rather than the plush softness of his lips.

you play the waiting game for as long as you can, until you dare the boy to take your panties off with his teeth. clumsily he does, maybe tearing the cotton from the lacy lining as he spits them out on the carpet floor and dives himself on you like a man starved.

eyes rolled to the back of his head as he revels in the taste of you, so cruelly denied to him as soft moans and whimpers escape him, rumbling against you with such overwhelming power that you can't help but grind yourself on him, coating eddie's chin, cheeks and nose with slick.

wondering where the hell he got so lucky to get a woman so angelic and yet so devil like that will fuck him after a failed attempt at a magic trick. what he doesn't know is that his magic tricks only turn you on further.

[frenchkisstheabyss]

🖤 ｖｅｎａ ｃａｖａ🖤

xx Pairing: soft dom!hongjoong x sub!chubby!fem!reader xx

xx Genre: smut but like make it sweet xx

xx Summary: A nice relaxing rope session with your darling boyfriend and dom Hongjoong xx

xx Word Count: 1.5k xx

xx Warnings: soft dom/sub dynamic, oral sex (f receiving), rope play, pet names (little bird, good girl), & though I'm sure that's all let me know if i missed anything at all, darlings xx

xx A/N: I was asked to do this many moons ago by a friend and I'm finally getting back to writing so I wanted to make sure I finished it so this is for her and anyone else who needs some soft dom Joong in their life 🖤 xx

In this bedroom cloaked in red, there are no mirrors. The only way to see your reflection is in Hongjoong’s eyes. Under the crimson light, they seem darker with a depth impossible to estimate. In their darkness lies an insatiable hunger for the girl who kneels before him, her gorgeous face staring up from between his legs. “Beautiful” he coos, brushing your hair out of your face and gathering into a ponytail with his fist.

Pinched between your teeth is a thin black hair tie. You don’t hesitate to release it to him when he tugs at the other end. He takes his time looping it around the base of your hair, his fingertips grazing the back of your neck to gather any flyaways. You gasp, his touch giving you goosebumps. He smirks, never tired of seeing how easily he can get your body to react to him.

“Do you like it when I do that, little bird?” he asks, easing to the edge of the soft velvet chair he’s seated in. He brings both hands around your throat. Not gripping it. Just cradling it. Massaging it. Your eyes fall closed, the transference of the heat from his body to yours enough to make you breathless. Bringing a thumb up to stroke your bottom lip, he leans in closer to admire every subconscious display of pleasure on your face.

He slips his thumb between your lips, allowing you a second or two to suckle at it as his other hand pets the back of your neck. “I asked you a question, little bird” he whispers, a gentle but firm reminder, “Answer me.” His thumb swirls around your tongue, dodging any attempt at contact until you're obedient. Drooling and desperate not to be deprived of his taste you let out a weak, “Yes.”

Charting a path down your spine, his hands come in contact with the cotton rope corset he spent nearly an hour weaving around your plush figure. The spine of it is made of two dozen beautiful knots that run along yours like an ornate arrangement of flowers. Every few inches new lines of rope sprawl out like vines, hugging your curves in ways that make your naked body look good enough to eat.

Each time you move the rope is electric against your skin, awakening you to sensations no one besides Joong could ever unlock. Your arms are secured behind your back, your wrists tied together right above where the plumpness of your ass rises from between the ropes. His fingers intertwine with yours as he removes his thumb from your mouth, replacing it with his tongue before you dare whine at the loss.

Joong knows it’s his responsibility to maintain control but, with your kiss more intoxicating than any drink could wish to be, he loses himself in a delicate dance with your tongue. One of lust and love and need that he’s performed with you, only you, a thousand times and, somehow, still not enough. Breaking free of your spell, loosens the rope on your wrists and he rises to his feet. “Lay down for me” he instructs, tilting your face up to look at him, “On your back.”

“Yes, Joongie. Anything for you” you nod, kissing the palm of his hand before stretching your newly freed arms and crawling into position. Some of the rope remains knotted around your wrists like designer bracelets but they're far more precious to you than that. Joong watches as the long tails of rope drag behind you, slithering through the smooth fur carpet.

The softness of the fur tickles your back as you lay flat on the floor. It’s as cozy as any bed you’ve ever laid in, Joong spent every dollar necessary to see to it. You bend your knees, spreading your legs without him even needing to ask. Joong approaches you, stopping right between your legs. He’s close enough to see your pussy shimmering and wet between thighs laced in the same rope that adorns the upper half of your body. “Mmm,” he hums, refusing to hide how much he admires the view, “Your pussy’s always so pretty, little bird, and so wet.”

Pulling his shirt over his head, he drops to his knees, his toned chest stealing your attention for more than a moment or two. Joong grabs one of the loose ends of the rope on your wrist and begins securing it to your ankle. As he does so, he kisses the inside of your knee, careful not to let his gaze drift away from you. Joong tightens the rope around your ankle, making the area around it tingle. “Tighter” you beg, craving the feeling once more.

He tightens it again and that tingling sensation radiates out even further. Up the back of your leg, gliding along your thigh, and into the heaven that lies between your legs. The peaks of your breasts stiffen as he ties one last knot, moving onto the other ankle. Joong notices and pulls the rope to brush your inner arm across the tender bud. You whimper and it’s pretty enough to break him.

“Are you ready to sing for me, little bird?” he asks, strumming the ropes along your inner thigh like the strings of a guitar. “Always” you pant, your back arching as his tongue slowly licks the arousal from your slit. It works its way between your folds, slipping effortlessly between one and the other. At the center your clit twitches, begging for his attention. Looping his fingers around the ropes that pass over your hips, he increases the friction of the cotton against your skin and takes your clit between his lips.

You watch each other, his desire mirroring yours and yours mirroring his, and it's perfection. He works his jaw up and down, dipping his tongue into you to slurp down your juices before spreading them back across your clit. Joong alternates speeds, pulling the rope tighter to go slower and releasing it when he picks up the pace. The unpredictable combination of the two has you freezing and sweating all at once. Nothing on this planet, in this entire universe, feels as euphoric as this.

“Joong, baby, it’s so good. So...” you squeal at the introduction of two fingers to your core, “I love it. Love you. Mmm.” Joong lifts up and kisses you on the stomach, his fingers tapping every spot that makes you weakest, “I love you too but you’re holding back and if you keep doing that I’ll have to stop. You don’t want me to stop, do you, little bird?” “No! No! Please don’t stop” you pout, “I won’t hold back. I promise, Joongie.” Joong clicks his tongue, “Good girl.” How can he say no to a face like yours?

You made a promise to him and you deliver, holding back nothing as he dips back between your legs, making love to you with every flick of his wrist and flexing of his tongue. Your honeyed moans grow louder and louder above the audible wetness of your core as he consumes it until the experience of having you dominates his senses. Suddenly you hear whooshing, the sound of a seashell pressed to your ear. You hear the sea. You’re in it. Sinking and floating. Delicate and powerful.

The room falls away and there's nothing. Only the two of you, riding the waves as they get rougher, building in intensity at an unreal rate. You’re drowning now and somehow you find yourself longing to be kept here. There’s peace in losing control. Serenity in letting the storm that is your lover sweep you away, barreling down onto you until your body gives into him. “Joong!” you cry out, your orgasm hitting you as one technicolor implosion.

You’re too out of it to notice but he’s begun to undo the bindings on your ankles, alternating hands dripping with your juices to work you through your orgasm. The unraveling of each rope is a tiny form of release. An orgasm that goes on and on long after his hands have begun to explore the rest of your body, his tongue skimming your love handles, your breasts, your neck.

“You did so well, little bird” he praises, kissing your trembling lips. Reaching up, he takes your ponytail out, comfortable now that your hair’s not at risk of being tangled in anything. “What can I do for you? You want a bath? Blanket? You hungry?” Your body might be here but your mind’s floating all over the place, he can tell. Joong just laughs, “Take your time. I’ll get you into bed and make you a snack and we’ll go from there, okay?” “Yes, thank you” you smile, practically glowing.

Joong takes you into his arms and carries you to bed, tucking you under the blanket. You close your eyes, listening as he raids the kitchen cabinets for your favorite late night snack, and bathe in the lingering essence of the rope and Joong on your skin. How wonderful it is, you think, to have someone be your escape and the home that you come back to.

[iceman-soup]

request!

sorry if you've done this already, but what would Ghost and Soap's first leave together look like? could be sfw or nsfw, everything is up to you

yes yes yesss this is sfw because my descriptive brain took over, also autistic ghost supremacy 🫶🫶

ghost x soap

Simon wasn't ready to meet Johnny's family yet. Hell, they'd only been dating five or so months before deciding to stick with each other on leave, and by that point it was far too stressful and overwhelming to think about meeting a whole bunch of new people to mask around and make good impressions. Ghost needed the time off to re-regulate, and honestly, Soap wasn't up to introducing a boyfriend he had barely warned his mother about beforehand.

So instead the two taxi'd over to Manchester from the airport, arriving at a tiny, cheap flat with even cheaper security cameras dotted on each outside wall and above the front door. "Enough of a deterrent, even if half don't work," explains Simon, seeing Johnny looking around curiously. He unlocks the door and pushes it open an inch, baited breath for a couple of moments as he appears to listen for anything unusual, before opening the door properly, flicking on the warm overhead lights and pulling Soap in by the hand, who gazes at the inside of his flat whilst Ghost locks the door again.

"Dinnae take you for an interior designer, Lt," John grins, glancing at the taller man before going back to admiring the space. It's dusty, sure, but otherwise not quite as awful as expected, and although cramped, holds a feeling of comfort and rest. The two are standing in the kitchen, cupboards naked oak wood and counters hand-painted daffodil yellow, the honey-coloured floor tiles chipped but superglued back together. The image of Si sitting cross-legged on the ground fixing them fills Soap's mind, his heart fluttering at how domestic his lieutenant suddenly seems.

There isn't a wall between the kitchen and living room, and Johnny takes that opportunity to wonder straight through, taking note of a comfy-looking secondhand sofa to cuddle up on together later. An old TV with a jumble of cables is stood upon a coffee table, which simultaneously doubles as an actual coffee table, evident by a few mismatched coasters with just as many water marks as the surface they're supposed to be protecting. Splintering wood in the tried-to-be-aesthetic bare floorboards are covered by a granny rug which contrasts the baby blue walls surprisingly well. Two doors lead off from the living room, and Ghost walks over to the first one, opening it to show the other.

"Bathroom," he comments as if it isn't obvious. There's nothing extraordinary about it, but Soap does notice his unwavering loyalty here and on base to his very specific shower products - of course. He nods and they move on, entering the fourth room. Si hovers at the doorway whilst Johnny wanders inside, taking in the bedroom.

Most of the space is taken up by a double bed pressed up in the far corner, white paint on the metal frame missing in spots, showing its age. The bedding is black with little bone prints patterning it, soft cotton and all matching. Shoved next to the bed is a chest of drawers, one of the handles missing and replaced with a nail bashed into the wood. Hung up precariously on the picture rail over it is Simon's formal uniform - clearly unused for years due to his skilful avoidance of social events. Again, the floor is stripped of carpet (the bedroom in slightly safer condition than in the living room) and the walls are painted, this time a pale pink and dotted with glow-in-the-dark plastic stars.

"Never got them as a kid," Ghost mutters, gesturing to the stars and then the general soft colours of his flat. He shuffles awkwardly on his feet, avoiding eye contact - and subsequently his boyfriend's loving smile too. "You want something to eat? I don't have anything," he adds quickly.

"We can go doon to the chippy?" John suggests, walking over to kiss him tenderly. "Or if you don't feel like seein' people, I could order us something." The taller man nods at the second option, then proceeds to wrap his arms around Soap's waist, burying his face into the crook of his neck and pressing his lips to the skin, simply savouring his warm embrace.

"I love you, Johnny. I'm happy you're here."

The next few days go by far too quick for either's liking. They're spent with long mornings just laying in bed, doing fuck all on their phones in the oddest cuddle positions known; alternatively, smothering each other in hugs and kisses until they have to give them attention until they're satisfied. Time is spent plodding around the flat, wearing pyjama trousers and fluffy socks and with blankets draped over their bare shoulders.

Meals are cooked with very little skill but a whole lot of try, so at least that's something. Neither go out much; just to the shops when they need something or one night to get fish and chips from the good place across the street. They eat sitting on the countertop or the sofa, watching some shitshow with a laugh track that winds Simon up.

Evenings involve making out during conversation, quietly murmuring and laughing between kisses, chests pressed together so their hearts can talk directly. Ghost realises he's never felt so safe and content on leave before this one night when they're lying in bed, a dim lamp the only light in the room as he runs his fingers through Soap's hair, now slightly curly from growing out whilst not on base. It's quiet, but not in the lonely, terrifying way it usually is when he's alone in the flat, left to his own thoughts for however long between deployments.

Maybe, just maybe, leave will become something that he doesn't dread anymore. And perhaps next time - he thinks, pressing a kiss to his boyfriend's forehead and flicking off the lamp - it might be nice to meet Johnny's family.

[sinsandsweetness]

(Daryl x fem!reader) quick n’ smutty daryl drabble <3

Warnings- 18+ MDNI, smut, hair pulling, bratty reader?

Note- Inspired by that Rolling Stones interview where Norman says that Daryl would “probably bite your neck and pull your hair, but he wouldn’t make the first move.”

You quickly forgot how you even found yourself in this position. Fully trapped underneath him. His legs pinned on either side of yours, hands gripping your wrists so tight you thought it would bruise. You know you’d been fighting over something…

His lighter. You took his fucking lighter. That’s what had him all up riled up. Wrestling you to the ground like a little bitch, a name that you definitely spat at him during your little fight.

But now that Daryl had you pinned underneath him, there was a clear shift in the energy. Both of you breathing heavy and over aware of his hard-on against your core. His eyes shifting to your lips and back up, and his grip loosening on your wrist enough for you to pull your arm out and bring it up to the back of his neck, pulling him down to your lips.

The groan he let out against your mouth sent a jolt between your thighs.

Fuck yes.

His kisses were rough and sloppy. You tried moving to sit up, only to be pushed right back down. Through hooded lids, his eyes were dark and glossy. And his rough hands made their way up your shirt, palming the lacy fabric of your bra. His touch sending goosebumps down your skin.

“Take these off,” he mumbled against your mouth while tugging on the button of your jeans.

You could only moan into his mouth. Shimmying the fabric as low as you could without losing the contact of him pressed against you. Apparently you weren’t fast enough because he leaned back and tugged them down himself.

“I said off.”

“Sorry,” you whimpered, kicking your jeans off the rest of the way. The knee in between your legs grinding into you, making you moan his name out loud. Only your thin cotton panties acted as a barrier to the denim of his jeans. The rough fabric feeling so fucking good against your clit. Throwing your head back with a little groan, his mouth went straight to your neck, teeth grazing on their way up. Nipping sharply at your jaw.

You both went to fumble with his belt, and when you finally got it undone he took you by the hips and flipped you over. Your face and chest roughly pressed to the carpet. He pulled your hips towards his own, shoving your panties to the side and entering you without any warning. You gasped at the intrusion. His hand made its way to the base of your skull, fingers tangling into your hair and then pulling hard. Holding you up so his chest was pressed against your back. Immediately you went to claw at the arm behind you, mumbling a quick “Ow, fuck.”

But the grip on your hair only tightened. His lips tickled your ear as he whispered, “Quit your whinin’. You wanted to act like a little brat, now you can deal with the consequences.”

[only-lonely-star]

⁠♡ Brown Eyed Girl ⁠♡

~ Sodapop Curtis ~

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Warnings - None! Just cute and sappy moments!

Summary - Based off of ‘Brown Eyed Girl’ by Van Morrison !! 💌

Author’s Note - This song reminds me of Soda soooo much so I just HAD TO WRITE A FIC!! I used the song for this fic for inspiration and vibes, not so much the lyrics. I’m a little iffy about the ending so I might edit it a bit. ANYWAYS I HOPE YOU LIKE IT LOVELIES !! 🫶🏼

Word Count - 1.2k.

˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙

To some, you may have seemed utterly insane. The two of you looked like you had been pulled straight out of some romance flick which was far too sappy for anyone to ever finish. Nobody could quite blame you, though. The love you were given time and time again was something people killed for. Your love was rare, it was a one-in-a-million kind of love. Who else would feel crazy enough about you to dream of taking you on so many fun adventures, wishing to explore the world with you?

Sodapop Curtis, of course.

The sunlight had just begun to disperse amongst each grassy hill. The world seemed alive yet again, the moon now a sight that could only be viewed through a squint. The distant fog was lifted and replaced with clouds that looked almost cotton-like. A quiet morning, but a beautiful one. Your bare feet sank into the plush dirt below, the damp grass acting as a carpet for you to run across. You’d lost both heels along the way on account of Sodapop’s fast-paced sprint. Hand in hand with your boyfriend, he guided you up and down the hills of the secluded valley. “Wait, Soda - !” you called out to him, laughing along the way.

“Can’t! We’re almost there!” he replied, his grin wider than you could’ve ever imagined.

Stumbling along behind him, you couldn’t help but crack a smile. Your dress had been absolutely soiled from the various dirt stains splattered across it, and your shoes were long gone, but none of it mattered at this moment.

Sodapop hiked along to the top of the hill with a pep in his step, panting, as you followed. He came to a stop, helping you up along with him. Your knee was on the verge of giving out entirely as you planted your foot onto the peak of the dewy hill beneath you.

“Baby, wait - c’mere,” Soda smiled endearingly. His hands pulled your body closer to him, kissing you before you could even catch your breath. That was the fun of it, of course - gasping for air yet craving nothing more than his touch. Your arms found their way around his neck, encircling him in a tight squeeze. “Ain’t it pretty?” he asked, momentarily breaking the kiss.

Your eyes drifted towards the scenery behind Sodapop, attention focused on how breathtakingly gorgeous of a spot he’d found. No sign of civilization could be found. The valley extended for miles farther than the naked eye could see. Flower fields scattered around the vibrant green grass. It somehow felt prehistoric - as if no human had ever come across the pasture and colonized the territory. There was a picture-perfect view of the sunrise from where you were standing atop the hill. Smaller hills spread all over, and tall grasses billowed in the wind. It was more than perfect, actually.

“Sure is,” you could no longer contain your smile as you attempted to catch your breath, “How’d you ever find such a beautiful place?” your voice was filled with awe as the wonder in your eyes only seemed to grow.

“Used to come down here with Pony all the time, he loves this lil spot,” he motioned to the hill just a little ways down. “I bet he’ll spend every second he gets down here once school lets out.”

“It’s gorgeous,” you emphasized, stepping even closer for another tight hug. Sodapop snaked his arms around your waist with a charmed smile. As you pecked his cheek, your body could sense his sly grin reappear.

“See that flower field over there?” he asked, his voice soft against your neck. You hesitated before nodding, only because you hadn’t a clue what he was planning. You could tell he was about to say something just to rile you up. “We’re gettin’ married there. Oh yeah - definitely. Have a little get-together with Darry…Pony…everyone.”

You kissed his lower lip, removing your arms from around his neck. “Shut up, Soda - it ain’t happening anytime soon if that’s what you’re gettin’ at.” Your eyes instinctively rolled in response to him, yet your smile was unwavering. He could pry all he wanted, but you were sure you’d never commit to marriage at the ripe age of sixteen. “God, you’re such an idiot.”

His chest jerked backwards from the force of your hand which was intended to be nothing but a small nudge. Your eyes went wide, grabbing a hold of his arm in a lousy attempt to pull him back up. “SHIT - ! Soda!”

Sodapop could only holler, the immediate fear now turned to nothing but a laugh. He stumbled back, losing his balance. No matter the situation, he would always drag you along - this was no different. Your own feet weren’t enough to keep your entire body planted into the warm grass. Tumbling down the hill you went, screaming the entire way down. Your arms extended out as if they could do something to help balance yourself. Within seconds, Sodapop crashed into the flowerbed of pink cosmos, yanking your arm downwards before you stumbled right over him. He quickly shifted to lay on his back, his knees in the air.

A low groan fell from his lips as you fell flat against his chest. Sodapop’s hands steadied you, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he burst into pure laughter and joy. Bringing your arms up so that your elbows could prop yourself up in the grass was nearly the only thing you could do. On top of the now crushed flowers, Sodapop held your body down, the sunlight casting a warm hue on his golden hair. “That was insane!” he cried out, his cheeks now reddened from smiling so hard.

“I didn’t mean to. Honestly, baby, I didn’t,” you tried to reassure him as you sat up on his lower stomach. A faint giggle, partially of embarrassment, the other half of amusement, escaped your lips. The back of your hand was raised to wipe off the small shreds of grass off of your forehead.

“Turns out I ain’t the idiot,” he mumbled as his cheeky grin took over once more. His hands gently ran up and down your sides, feeling the soft fabric of your dress graze against his skin. Your waist was by far his favorite place to let his hands rest.

You picked the grass out of his hair gently and cupped his jawline. Forcing a sarcastic sigh, you leaned your face closer to his. “Okay…wedding when?” you were acting as nothing but a tease to him.

“Whenever ya want. Pick a day, I’m there.” Sodapop replied confidently. His hand pressed down on yours as his thumb stroked your soft skin subconsciously.

Your gaze never left his, and a few unspoken words were exchanged through the intimate eye contact. You were well aware not a hint of sarcasm was found in Sodapop’s words. He was as loyal as a dog and didn’t have eyes for anyone else. His heart thumping against yours was all you needed at this moment. Maybe not sometime soon, but one day. One day you will settle down with him. You’ll spend every day with him, living a life never knowing what heartbreak truly meant.

Your lips became latched onto his yet again. His eyes fixated on yours, and you spoke with a soft smile. “I love you, Soda… but gosh you’re such an idiot!”

He couldn’t even be mad. Sodapop was willing to wait as long as you needed as long as he had you by his side. He kissed you with just as much passion as he proudly wore your lipstick on the outer corners of his lips. He’d love you forever.

[astral--horrorshow]

Around-The-Clock Shadows

Platonic Yandere ROTTMNT x Reader

Info: This will be a full-length fic including multiple ROTTMNT characters, the main storyline revolves around the Mad Dogs

Fic Summary: You sure are likeable, aren't you?

《Previous Chapter》

Chapter 3: A Room With No View

Characters: Raph, Leo, Donnie, Mikey

A/N: I'm so so so sorry for the wait!! I had a nasty case of writers block for a while!! I'm going to try to upload every thursday, but that might change if the series continues into the school year.

If you want to be added to a taglist, just say the word! If you want to draw fanart or make anything based off of this, I would be literally honored. Please don't be shy, I will love whatever you make! If you have any questions about the fic, feel free to ask!

TW: Kidnapping, toxic relationships, reader gets hit with a tranq

I do not condone any of the behaviors found or done in this fic. This story is purely for entertainment purposes. If you or someone you know is being treated like this, please contact the authorities.

Chapter Summary: The brothers finally take you home

Word Count: 1400

☆~☆~☆

Your sock-footed shuffled across the carpet in your hallway, and into the bathroom. As you scrubbed your teeth free of any plaque that had built up over the day, your thoughts wandered to your favorite jacket and the Purple Dragons. Your jacket had been ruined, somehow. It had juice all over it! You didn't even know how it happened, and now it was runied! Even when you had ran it through the wash for the gajillionth time! You huffed sadly, forcing your thoughts to turn to your friends. They were acting weird. Kendra had been even more snappish and irratable, and she took it all out on Jase, who seemed relieved about something, but you couldn't fathom what.

Putting your toothbrush back in the mug on the sink, you started to head towards your bedroom when you heard footsteps. They were gradually growing louder, though you couldn't feel them.

The footsteps stopped.

You clenched your eyes shut, hoping that whoever it was would go away.

Then suddenly, a voice broke the uncomfortable quiet.

"Should I try to hide

The way I feel inside

My heart

For you?"

You opened your eyes again, recognizing the sound of the record player. You laughed at yourself as you went to turn it off. You should've remembered that the song opened up with footsteps. You finally headed to bed, relieved. You, ignoring how the record player was even turned on in the first place, assured yourself that you were in your own home, and you were perfectly safe.

Oh, how wrong you were.

When you were walking back to your bedroom, you felt a sharp pain in your neck. It was sudden, and before you had even been able to reach up and see what it was, you fell unconscious, your face plummeting towards the floor. Leo knocked Mikey out of the way and ducked under Raph’s arm to catch you, scooping you up before you could even hit the ground. He supported your back and the underside of your knees with his arms, pulling you close to his chest and spinning around. When his spin turned him towards his brothers, they were glaring at him, clearly irretated at his antics.

Leo merely grinned in response to their narrowed eyes and crossed arms, simply strolling past them towards the front door. His brothers shook off their annoyance, and excitement and relief bubbled in them as they walked out the door and shut it behind them, marking the last time you would ever see your home again.

☆~☆~☆

You felt terrible.

That is, your body felt terrible. Your mouth was dry and you could feel the bitter taste of the air on your tongue. Your entire being felt rusty, slow, wrapped in cotton and unable to move or produce a single coherent thought other than, “I feel terrible”.

You felt weak, and your bones ached like you were 100 years old. You opened your eyes to be greeted with a dark gray ceiling in a dimly lit room. Though it was extremely difficult, you pulled yourself upright, observing the place you were in. You were in a large bed with tons of stuffed animals, pillows, and blankets adorning it, in an odd bedroom. It looked like somebody furnished an underground bunker, because the walls were made of dark gray stone, and there wasn’t a window in sight. Turning your gaze to the bedside, you silently gasped and threw your hand to your mouth, which made a loud slap echo throughout the room. The creature that made you react the way you did was a sort of humanoid turtle wearing a bright orange bandana around his head. He looked up from his sketchbook, and his gaze locked on you.

Not for long, though, as his eyes lit up and he squealed in what you could only recognize as euphoria as he dropped the sketchbook and pencil he was using to the ground launched forwards at you, capturing you in an embrace that left your ribs aching and your lungs desperate for oxygen.

You panicked internally, who was this? What was he? What were you even doing there? Questions, panic, and fear mixed into a cocktail of emotions in your head, it was all too overwhelming for you. When he finally released his grip on you, he brought his three-fingered hands to your cheeks, and began to pinch and squeeze them like he was a grandmother doting on her grandchildren.

“You’re finally awake!”

You jumped at the sudden sound of his voice, and you tried to pull away from his blue-green hands. To no avail, however, as he had an iron grip and you had a weakened body. “Where am I?” You asked him, voice scratchy from dehydration. “Oh, you poor thing,” he cooed, “Have a drink!” He grabbed a water bottle from the bedside table, and when you tried to reach out and grab it, he held it away from you. “Let me do that!” He cheerfully said, screwing the cap open and finally letting you hold it, although he kept his hands extremely close, as if afraid you might drop it. Feeling the cold, sweet water slide down your dry throat was akin to drinking nectar from the heavens. You tried to drink the entire bottle in one go, but the creature once again pulled the bottle away. “Don’t drink too fast, you’ll drown!”

Feeling much better, you asked your question again. “Where am I?” He gazed at you for a moment, before snapping back into his cheerful demeanor. “Oh, I have to call the rest of your new brothers! They’ll be so thrilled!” Before you could even wonder who the “rest of your new brothers” were, he opened the door, which you leaned forwards to try and see out of, and yelled down the hallway, his voice echoing, "HEY, GUYS, THEY'RE AWAKE!" You jumped yet again at his sudden yell, not knowing his voice could be that loud. Footsteps thundered down the hall from both directions, all sounding different. Three more of the creatures burst through the doorway, all of them different in many ways, but you could tell that they were all turtles. The giant one in a red mask held out his arms and approached slowly, like you were a small animal he was attempting to pick up.

"Hi, little buddy," he softly said, creeping ever closer. You instinctively backed up as far as you could go, frightened and confused. "What's wrong?" He asked, his arms lowering and his head tilting to the side. He actually looked confused about your discomfort.

You swallowed harshly, your widened eyes looking up at the turtles fearfully.

"I-" But before you could even get your sentence out, the one in purple spoke for you. "They're obviously confused, Raph," He said, putting a hand on his hip and frowning dissaprovingly at him. "I thought we all agreed that we were going to introduce ourselves first,"

"Raph was getting to that!" He said, his energy in the sentence leagues different than the soft demeanor he had just seconds earlier. He stood upright and cleared his throat, his head now turned away from the purple guy. He faced you again, a sweet smile on his face. "My name is Raph, little bud. These all are all of your new brothers," He said, gesturing around, "I'm the oldest!" He exaclaimed cheerfully, pointing his thumb to his chest and being the second to not elaborate on the "new brothers" part. The purple one stepped forwards, about to introduce himself, but the one in blue shoved him to the side and stepped directly in front of you. "I'm Leo, and I'm only just about the greatest ninja around these parts!" He boasted, also pointing a thumb to his chest.

"Yeah, okay, 'Nardo," the purple one said, shoving Leo in return. "Ahem. I am Donatello," it was all he had to say, and he looked down at you, as if he was studying you or something. "And I'm Mikey!" The orange one chimed in, raising an arm in the air. Once he was done speaking, they all looked down at you with something sinister in their eyes. "Okay..." You spoke with hesitation, "...Where am I?"

They all stared at you, and you froze. There was something more than sinisterness in their eyes. Raph spoke up.

"You're home, of course!"

☆~☆~☆

A/N: I'm sorry ya'll I originally tried to delete the part where Donnie is called a purple guy but i couldn't make myself. Also, chapters are probably gonna get a little longer from this point onwards!

Taglist <3: @yanteetle @ssak-i @oleander-nin @averagerottmntsimp @katswritingcorner

[ursa-tan]

141 + König w/ a reader who’s just had a long day

—————

141 + König & reader

Short Drabble

You’ve had a long day on base, boring and packed full of things you didn’t want to do. Now you just need to rest.

By the time you finally find yourself making dinner the sun has set, leaving the only light to be provided by the LED bulbs of the communal kitchen. It’s a miserable feeling, everything is so quiet and still. Nothing feels like it should, especially with the fact that all of the boys have retreated to their rooms, leaving you alone to sort yourself out.

You give up on whatever pathetic attempt at “dinner” you’re trying, opting instead to slouch back into a chair slightly pulled out from the table. Despite the fact that sleep is tugging desperately on your weary mind, you can’t find the energy to stand up and go to bed.

What does get you moving, however, is the idea of being able to see your favourite person on base. The thought alone gets you to your feet, trudging slowly towards his room, avoiding the temptation to just lay down on the carpet of the hallway and fall asleep.

———-Captain John Price-———

You don’t bother knocking on his door, instead just twisting the handle and pushing the door open

He’s sat up in bed, book in hand and glasses resting on his nose, bathed in the warm light of his bedside lamp

Price doesn’t bother to look up, only murmuring: “Close the door behind you”

You pad into the room, sliding the door shut behind you and letting it click shut. He doesn’t look up at you at all, eyes fixated on the book he’s holding up. You can’t help but watch him read, seeing his eyes flirt surprisingly fast across the page as you round the other side of the bed.

Soft, warm cotton greets your skin as you pull the sheets back. The mattress sinks under you as you gently climb into bed, still wearing your daytime clothes. This seems to get Price to react, as he turns his head to look at you over the top of his glasses.

“Take off the jeans, you’re not wearing those to bed.”

It’s a simple request, but still hard to do with your complete lack of energy. You do manage to strip the jeans off, electing to kick your socks off along with them. After a few seconds of deliberation, you slip off any other even mildly uncomfortable clothing garment and then climb back into his bed.

He doesn’t stop you this time, instead lifting up the arm closest to you. It’s in invitation, one you gladly take, to slide in and lay your head gently on his chest. You can hear his heartbeat, feel him breath, and it’s practically already lulling you to sleep.

“Long day?” He mumbles, turning the page of his book.

You don’t bother answering properly, letting out a small sound and nodding your head instead.

“We best sleep then.” This time he closes his book as he speaks, placing it on the night stand along with his glasses. He shuffles down the mattress, letting you get comfy with your head on his chest before turning the light off.

———Simon “Ghost” Riley———

You don’t even get the chance to knock on the door before he’s opening it, dressed in plaid pyjama pants and a slightly baggy grey shirt

He still has a balaclava on, one with a big hole over his eyes, allowing you to see the concerned look he’s giving your puffy, tired, red eyes

He ushers you into his room, giving you the command to “get into something comfortable” before slipping out of the room and walking off

Simon comes back not too long after he left, having given you a chance to get changed into a pair of his pyjama shorts and a hoodie. It’s warm and smells both of him and of laundry detergent.

When he comes back, he has a plate in one hand a a plastic water bottle tucked under his arm. Half of an apple - cut into slices - and a piece of buttered toast are on the plate.

“You need to eat,” he grumbles, pushing the door shut and twisting the knob as it slips into place.

He guides you to sit on his bed, holding the plate in front of you, prompting you to take it. Once you do, he does the same with the bottle - after cracking the seal for you.

You take a bite of the toast, realising he’s put honey on it. Not too much, but just enough for it to taste sweet.

Ghost sits next to you as you eat, hand on your knee, thumb swiping back and forth across your skin. It’s an action that has you leaning into him by the time you’ve finished eating. He takes the plate from you, prompting you to have a drink before placing the bottle on the floor next to the plate.

“You look like you need sleep,” he whispers, guiding you to lay in his bed, facing the wall.

It’s not long before he’s slipping in behind you, having put on some rain noises to play in the background. Wrapping his arm around your waist, Ghost pulls your back to his chest a bf tucks your head under his chin.

——-John “Soap” MacTavish-——

You have to knock a few times before he answers, having been dead asleep

Both his eyes and his posture are droopy, showing you just how hard he’s finding it to drag himself out of bed for you

It doesn’t stop him from smiling when he sees you though, or from pulling you into his room and kicking the door shut as gently as he can

Soap doesn’t say much if anything as he drags you over to his bed in the near total darkness of his room. He guides you to the bed, helping you shuffle into it just before he does.

You don’t mind the lack of words or light, actually finding it quite nice on your tired senses. It gives you a break after the day you’ve had.

Soap pulls you against his chest, practically laying you on top of him as he wraps his arms around you. It’s still for a moment emigre he pulls you up slightly, just enough to start placing kisses against the top of your head.

He keeps doing this, placing soft, rhythmic kisses into your hair. One hand comes to rest on the small of your back while the other moves up to mess with your hair. Specifically, the fuzz at the nape of your neck. He teases it slightly, tugging as gently as possible, rubbing it between his fingers.

You take a moment to intertwine your legs with his. He moves with you, only moving so as to prevent you from having to move him.

You stay like that for a long time, wrapped up in his arms, listening to his heartbeat and his breathing. It’s safe and warm, and you feel tired.

———————König———————

He opens the door after exactly one knock, almost like he’s waiting for you, to scared to tell you he knows you’re there before you tell him

He reaches out, scooping you up almost immediately and pushing the door shut, holding you against his big, warm body

No time is wanted before he’s speaking loving words into your ear, proving himself up against the headboard and wrapping a blanket around you

König holds you close as soon as he’s able to get his hands on you, bringing you up to wrap your legs round his waist. It’s slightly I comfortable with how big he is, but his warm hands on your thighs more than make up for it.

He slips into his bed, back pressed against the back board, pulling a pillow up behind him to his spine isn’t pressing directly into the wood.

“Oh Mein kleiner schatz, you look exhausted,” he mumbles, petting your hair and back as he wraps a blanket around you.

You can’t help but nozzle into his chest slightly, relishing in his warm hand messing with your hair. His other hand is drawing patterns into your skin over the denim of your jeans.

“How about we take these off and get you comfortable?” He whispers into your ear, hugging you close for a second before helping you stand up. He’s insistent in helping you change, only turning his back when you strip off your undergarments in a favour of one of his shirts and a pair of his boxers.

As soon as you’re more comfortable, he’s pulling you back into the bed - back into his lap - to swaddle you in a blanket again. He’s pressing you against his chest as soon as possible, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead.

“It’s ok, mein maus, you Can sleep now.” Is the last thing you hear before you fully relax into your giants chest.

[alphaman99]

Mark Flatt

One crisp winter morning in Sweden, a cute little girl named Greta woke up to a perfect world, one where there were no petroleum products ruining the earth. She tossed aside her cotton sheet and wool blanket and stepped out onto a dirt floor covered with willow bark that had been pulverized with rocks. “What’s this?” she asked.

“Pulverized willow bark,” replied her fairy godmother.

“What happened to the carpet?” she asked.

“The carpet was nylon, which is made from butadiene and hydrogen cyanide, both made from petroleum,” came the response.

Greta smiled, acknowledging that adjustments are necessary to save the planet, and moved to the sink to brush her teeth where instead of a toothbrush, she found a willow, mangled on one end to expose wood fibre bristles.

“Your old toothbrush?” noted her godmother, “Also nylon.”

“Where’s the water?” asked Greta.

“Down the road in the canal,” replied her godmother, ‘Just make sure you avoid water with cholera in it”

“Why’s there no running water?” Greta asked, becoming a little peevish.

“Well,” said her godmother, who happened to teach engineering at MIT, “Where do we begin?” There followed a long monologue about how sink valves need elastomer seats and how copper pipes contain copper, which has to be mined and how it’s impossible to make all-electric earth-moving equipment with no gear lubrication or tires and how ore has to be smelted to a make metal, and that’s tough to do with only electricity as a source of heat, and even if you use only electricity, the wires need insulation, which is petroleum-based, and though most of Sweden’s energy is produced in an environmentally friendly way because of hydro and nuclear, if you do a mass and energy balance around the whole system, you still need lots of petroleum products like lubricants and nylon and rubber for tires and asphalt for filling potholes and wax and iPhone plastic and elastic to hold your underwear up while operating a copper smelting furnace and . . .

“What’s for breakfast?” interjected Greta, whose head was hurting.

"Fresh, range-fed chicken eggs,” replied her godmother. “Raw.”

“How so, raw?” inquired Greta.

“Well, . . .” And once again, Greta was told about the need for petroleum products like transformer oil and scores of petroleum products essential for producing metals for frying pans and in the end was educated about how you can’t have a petroleum-free world and then cook eggs. Unless you rip your front fence up and start a fire and carefully cook your egg in an orange peel like you do in Boy Scouts. Not that you can find oranges in Sweden anymore.

“But I want poached eggs like my Aunt Tilda makes,” lamented Greta.

“Tilda died this morning,” the godmother explained. “Bacterial pneumonia.”

“What?!” interjected Greta. “No one dies of bacterial pneumonia! We have penicillin.”

“Not anymore,” explained godmother “The production of penicillin requires chemical extraction using isobutyl acetate, which, if you know your organic chemistry, is petroleum-based. Lots of people are dying, which is problematic because there’s not any easy way of disposing of the bodies since backhoes need hydraulic oil and crematoriums can’t really burn many bodies using as fuel Swedish fences and furniture, which are rapidly disappearing - being used on the black market for roasting eggs and staying warm.”

This represents only a fraction of Greta’s day, a day without microphones to exclaim into and a day without much food, and a day without carbon-fibre boats to sail in, but a day that will save the planet.

Tune in tomorrow when Greta needs a root canal and learns how Novocain is synthesized.