#Dick has never been in danger of the Curse and he KNOWS IT and he's insufferable about it

[aspiringnexu]

The real reason Batman adopts so many children is because the Batkids are playing Middle Child Hot Potatoe. With every subsequent adoption, the Batkid who bears the Middle Child Curse changes.

[monstersholygrail]

It was a race against the clock yet you slowly sink down on your Vampire bf’s cock. Drawing this out till the last possible moment. The windows are wide open, letting the light of the blue hour cover the world in its soft hue.

Lately your bf has been teasing you a bit too much. Tempting you with the delicious thrill of sinking his fangs inside you, only to pull away at the last moment. Knowing what it does to you and refusing to give it to you.

He’s not the only one who can tease and you plan to give it right back to him. Planning to tease him with the dangerous heat of the sun. Not giving him your precious fat cunt until it’s rays peak just over the horizon.

It’s finally come and now so will you.

You can only just make out his features and his tortured expression as he releases a ragged moan at the feel of your wet heat enveloping his length. You’re not doing much better as you shake on top of him, his cock filling you up so fucking good you almost can’t take it.

“C’mon. Make me cum,” you demand firmly even as you whimper at how deep he rests inside you.

A flash of determination passes over his features. Knowing he can’t close the curtain until he’s made a mess of you on his cock. His hands eagerly grab at your plush curves, gaining a firm hold on you.

You moan loudly, your head rolling back as he immediately pulls out of you to the tip only to slam himself back inside your gummy walls. He hisses furiously, his fangs glinting in the light before he gives you everything you’ve been wanting.

He fucks into your cunt like he’s a man starved and gone feral. Acting as if your cunt is the only thing he needs to survive and you’ve been keeping it from him. He uses his rough hold to move you up and down on his length, his force driving his cock as deep inside you as possible.

Glancing out the window he curses under his breath, the sun climb higher and higher into the sky. Panic grips at his chest, but it only serves to heighten his desire as he picks up pace, his hips snapping up to meet yours.

Both your moans ring throughout the air, the tension rising and turning you both on even more. You desperately try and move with him and your jaw drops in a silent scream as he starts hitting that soft spot inside you with every thrust.

As the first specks of light shine through your windows, your bf groans at the delicious pain that spreads across his chest and shoots down his spine. Your hands push into his chest, riding him harder and your bf hisses at you.

Before you realize what’s happening your bf pulls your plush form on top of his and sinks his fangs into your throat. You cry out, both of you know shaking from the mix of pain and pleasure that rock through your bodies.

Placing his feet on the bed, he gives you everything he has left. His dick relentlessly plowing into you. He growls into your neck, the heat of the sun making his body feel though it’s on fire as it buzzes through him.

“Fucking cum for me. My love, my love, please,” he rasps, voice slurred with his fangs still inside you.

A heat of its own courses through you as well. Your eyes roll back as it mixes with his thick cock brushing along your walls. The intensity of the pain only driving you both toward a higher release.

As soon as you explode around his length, your scream loud and unrestrained, your bf roars with his own release. He slams himself all the way to the hilt before releasing his heavy load in your spasming pussy.

He moans raggedly as the sun continues to rise, increasing the pain on his skin and he pleasure in his body. His orgasm seems never ending as he shoots spurt after spurt into your willing cunt.

It’s only when he’s finally spent that with a wave of his hand the curtains fall over the window. You immediately sag on top of your bf and he cries out, his dick twitching inside of you. Both of you panting and beyond exhausted.

“That will teach you to tease me,” you mumble breathlessly. Your bf merely chuckles like dick he is.

“Yeah, teach me to do it again,” he replies, giving his typical smart-ass response.

You try to retaliate with a smack on his chest but you yelp as he immediately shoots back with a firm slap on your ass.

[xoheewon]

first time

heeseung x virgin f!reader genre: smut, fluff warnings: cursing, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, fellatio, fingering wc: 2.2k

Being a virgin in college has never been an issue for you. You don't feel embarrassed or ashamed, but you do feel left out.

All your friends constantly talk about their hookups and how amazing sex is.

At first, you figured it couldn't be that great, but as time continued you couldn't help but feel like you were missing out on something good.

“Don't feel left out Y/N, sex isn't always great,” Giselle says, putting her hand on your shoulder.

You and the girls were in your room, studying together.

“But you guys always talk about how great it is!”

“Well, it can be, with a person who knows what they're doing. We've all had our dud hookups with a guy who didn't know jack,” Karina adds. 

Winter butt's in, nodding her head, “I once had sex with this guy who was so quick to cum, I hadn't even taken my panties off yet. Then when he actually got his dick in me, he finished and didn't even get me off, I had to fake it.”

“Well how do you know if a guy knows what to do?” You ask, looking at Ningning who clears her throat. 

“You can't really tell just by looking at them, it usually comes down to how they act in the bedroom. If they worry about your pleasure as much as your own, I'd say they're pretty alright,” she says.

The girls all nod, agreeing. Karina pats your knee, “When the time comes and you feel like you're ready, the right person will be there.”

After they left, you thought about their words and they're right. When it's the right time and the right person, you'll be ready. You decide to shower and put pajamas on as it gets later.

Afterwards, you can hear the doorknob of the front door opening, your roommate must be home.

Heeseung is a nice guy. He's a year older, a senior who had been looking for a roommate to replace his old one. You, at the time, had been looking to move out of your parents house. 

You had a mutual friend, Sunghoon, who introduced you and within a week you had moved in. 

It's been a year now and living with Heeseung has been great. 

He's sweet, clean and respectful.

Unfortunately, he's also very hot.

You can't lie and say you haven't had a wet dream or two about him. 

Waking up with arousal pooling in your underwear is not the most comfortable feeling.

He comes in as you're sitting on the couch, greeting you cheerfully, “Hey Y/N!”

“Hi! It's late, what have you been up to?”

“I was just with the hottest girl, I was in heaven.”

“Oh, good for you,” you say, your smile faltering. 

“What about you, what did you do?”

You wave your hand, “The girls just came over to study.”

He nods, “I'm gonna go shower, you wanna watch a movie? Order dinner?”

You nod, watching as he retreats to the bathroom.

You sigh as the door closes.

Heeseung has probably had sex with a number of girls. He wouldn't want someone like you who's never done anything sexual.

15 minutes pass and you've been scrolling on the phone when the bathroom door opens again.

Heeseung comes out but he's not clothed.

His towel hangs around his hips, dangerously low.

You can't help the heat rising to your cheeks.

“What do you want for dinner? I'll order on my phone now,” you say, looking back down at your phone quickly.

His footsteps approach you as he hums, “You wanna get chinese?”

You see his feet in front of you as you look up.

He's right in front of you, water dripping on his body. His lean but toned chest glistens in the light of the living room.

“Or,” his hand comes up to cup your chin, “I could give you something else for dinner.”

“What are you implying?” You ask, stopping yourself from nuzzling into his hand.

“Come on, you know what I'm talking about. I've heard your pretty little whimpers and moans in your sleep when you're dreaming about me, waking up with your underwear soaked.”

You gulp, “I'm sorry.”

“What are you sorry for,” he says, “If anything I should be honored to have a pretty girl dream about me.”

You look down but he raises your chin back up. “Heeseung, you don't want anything to do with me. The farthest I've ever gone with a guy was making out. I can’t offer you anything.”

He smiles, “That's even better, means I get to show you what real pleasure feels like. Do you want that?”

Maybe this is your right person and right time.

You nod, “Can I..?” You trail off, gesturing to his towel.

He undoes the towel and his cock springs up.

His tip is red and you can't help how your mouth begins to salivate. 

“You wanna suck my cock, pretty girl?”

You nod your head and he chuckles.

He takes his hand and places it in front of your mouth, “Spit.”

You gather all the spit in your mouth before depositing it in his hand.

He begins to lather his cock, and you feel yourself begin to salivate even more.

“Hold it with your hand like this,” he says, guiding your hand to hold him.

He's warm in your hand and he guides you up and down his cock. 

“Now, start with the tip.”

You lay your tongue flat against the tip, licking around it albeit apprehensively.

Now, you may have never done this before but you've done your fair share of research.

You dip your tongue into his slit before swirling it around, collecting his pre-cum.

Heeseung groans from above you, bringing a hang up to wrap it in your hair.

You pull away for a moment before placing a delicate kiss on the tip which makes him chuckle.

“Start putting some of the length in your mouth, don't rush.”

You do as he says, using your tongue to lick the underside of his cock.

Once you become comfortable, you take more of him into your mouth, placing your hand where you can't take him.

“Now start bobbing your head and hollow your cheeks, that's all there is to it, pretty girl.”

You start sucking him off eagerly, whining as you feel yourself getting wetter by the second.

Heeseung moans from above you, “That's it, you're a natural.”

You go at him until your jaw begins to hurt and by then, Heeseung is tightening his grip on your hair. 

“I'm gonna cum, where do you want it?”

You pull off his cock with a pop, lolling your tongue out and continuing to jerk him off.

He smiles, “You're driving me crazy, pretty girl.”

Then, he's coming in your mouth, it's almost too much.

You swallow, not minding the taste. If anything you're proud that you made him cum.

He takes over jerking his cock to get himself hard again. 

“Can I do something?” He asks, and you nod.

“Lay back on the couch,” he says, “Gonna make you feel good.”

You do as you're told, getting comfortable. 

Heeseung gets on the couch facing you, trailing his fingers up your legs.

His hands reach your pajama top, “Can I take this off?” 

You nod, throwing your arms above your head as he begins to slide it off.

Your bare tits present themselves to him and his hands immediately come up to grope them.

His head dips, mouth coming to suck on your left nipple. 

You moan in pleasure, your hands coming to run themselves through his hair.

He twirls your other nipple between his fingers before switching.

“Such perfect tits, can't believe you've been hiding these from me.”

His mouth drops lower, kissing his way down your stomach before his lips reach the waistband of your shorts.

He looks up at you for permission and you give it to him.

Heeseung pulls your shorts and panties down, gazing at your dripping cunt.

“Such a pretty pussy, I never thought I'd get to see it.”

You blush, hands coming up to cover your face.

“Don't hide from me, I wanna see your beautiful face,” he says, pulling them away.

He lowers his face parallel to your cunt, blowing hot air on it, making you shiver.

“Heeseung-” You gasp as his tongue makes contact with your folds. 

He starts eating you out like a starved man.

His tongue finds you clit, massaging the nub, sucking on it.

Your back arches, your hands finding his hair once again.

“Oh my god, Heeseung!”

Finding your hole, he tenses his tongue, fucking it inside.

You've never felt pleasure like this.

Sure, you've masturbated, but this is a whole new world.

Heeseung switching between tongue fucking you and sucking your clit.

He brings a long, slender finger to your hole, letting your arousal coat it before slipping it inside. After a few minutes, he adds another finger, using them to open you up along with his tongue.

You can feel warmth pooling in your stomach, you know you're close.

“I'm gonna cum, Seungie,” you whine, bucking your hips up against his face.

“Cum for me,” he says, sighing as your release coats his tongue, face and fingers.

The lewd slurping sounds make your face hot as he inhales everything you give him.

As he pulls away, the lower part of his face is wet with your release and he doesn't hesitate to collect it on his fingers, sucking them into his mouth.

“You taste amazing, I could stay in that pussy for hours.”

“I've never felt anything like that before,” you say, breathing heavily.

“Do you wanna stop here? We don't have to continue if you're not ready,” he says, caressing your face.

You shake your head, “Want your cock, Seungie.”

He groans at your words, “Fuck, you're driving me crazy.”

You giggle, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him closer.

He takes his cock into his hand, rubbing it up and down your folds, making you whine as his tip continuously hits your puffy clit.

He saturates himself with your juices, before positioning himself at your entrance.

You nod at him and he slowly begins to enter you.

Inch by inch you feel the stretch, wincing slightly.

Once he bottoms out, he gives you time to adjust.

You take in the full feeling in your belly, like he's all the way inside your stomach.

You buck your hips, “Move, please.”

He starts off slow, pulling all the way out before pushing back in. He rolls his hips in a way that makes it feel like there's even more cock to take.

After he sees you're comfortable, he picks up the pace to a relentless thrust.

His balls hit your ass, the lewd slapping sound making you even more wet.

“Fuck, you're taking me so well pretty.”

You whine, nodding, “Love your cock, Seungie.”

His pace turns animalistic, fucking you into the couch as you moan louder and louder.

“Fuck, Heeseung!”

He lifts one of your legs, bringing it over his shoulder to change the angle and you arch as he hits a new spot inside you.

“Oh my god!” You scream, jaw dropping as he groans above you.

“Fuck, I love this pussy. Never want another one after this,” he says, kissing your thigh beside his head.

“I'm gonna cum again, Seungie please.” You don't even know what you're begging for. 

“Me too baby, fuck where do you want me to cum?”

“Inside,” you plead, “Want it in me.”

Heeseung curses up a storm as you clench around him, milking his cock as he finally cums, with you following right after.

His warm cum fills you up, making your cunt and belly feel full. 

He releases your leg, putting it down as he slowly pulls out.

Heeseung watches his cum drip out of you, before leaning down to kiss you.

You taste yourself on him as he slides his tongue inside your mouth.

The kiss is sweet, slow.

As he pulls away, he leaves kisses all over your face, making you giggle.

“Heeseung, that was amazing. Thank you.”

He smiles, “I was honored to be your first, pretty girl, and hopefully your last?” 

“Do you like me, Lee Heeseung?” You taunt him with a wide smile on your face.

“Maybe I do. Would you be mine if I asked you?”

You nod, “I'd love nothing more.”

After resting for a few minutes, Heeseung gets off the couch, putting his arm under your things while the other finds your shoulders, lifting you up bridal style.

He brings you to the bathroom, getting a warm rag to clean you both up.

“You wanna cuddle? My room or yours?” He asks, holding your face in his hands, using his thumbs to caress your cheeks.

“Yours,” you reply, “I like your room.”

He lifts you again, bringing you to his room, putting one of his shirts on you and bringing you to his bed.

Your head rests on his chest as his arms come to wrap around you. 

“I'd like to take you out on a date tomorrow, I meant what I said about making you mine,” Heeseung whispers into your ear.

“I'd like that,” you respond, lifting your head to give him a kiss on the lips.

note: this is my second time writing smut, my apologies if it's ass 😭 don't hesitate to give constructive criticism! also pls ignore any typos/grammar mistakes and the formatting im too lazy to fix it.

[eightmakesonebraincell]

ateez as royals who fall for you (hyung line)

read maknae line here

genre: royalty!ateez x fem!reader, fluff, angst, smut, crack, a brainrot and smutfest of royal tropes

length: 12.8k

c/w: very nsfw scenes - mdni, explicit language (dirty talk, swearing, insults), death, violence, blood & injuries, weapons, heavy & mature themes (sex work, murder, assassination, execution, mentions of misogyny)

a/n: this has simultaneously been the pride and joy of my life and the bane of my entire existence for the last 2.5 months 🥴 and tumblr is an inept incapable CLOWN who cannot handle the full 24k worth of bullet points so here is the hyung line first - maknae line coming soon (yumi @sorryimananti-romantic can vouch for my unsuccessful 3-hour attempt at formatting them into a single post)

hongjoong

pov: you're the king's royal courtesan

“fuck,” hongjoong lets out a deep growl from within his chest as his head dips down to rest against the crook of your neck. “you’re just as tight as last time”

when your hips involuntarily buck from the pleasure, he nudges your thighs further apart and keeps your wrists pinned above your head

he can’t help but let out another groan when he feels your walls clench around his cock as you adjust to his thickness

“i thought- god,” a moan escapes you after he thrusts his hips against you, “thought you never fucked the same woman twice”

“i don’t,” he simply says

and it’s true

hongjoong is one of the youngest princes to have ruled during the kim dynasty, having risen to power after the previous king succumbed early to an unknown illness

he has the choice and selection of all the courtesans available within the palace and outside its walls

hongjoong also has a reputation of being highly sought after by everybody, not just amongst courtesans

it’s not only because he is devilishly handsome, knows how to properly fuck somebody dumb, and is the literal king

the main thing that makes him so desirable and unreachable?

he never sees the same courtesan more than once

“yet here you are,” you hook your legs around hongjoong’s waist to gain leverage and meet his thrusts with your own hips, “between my legs for the second time”

you smirk when he curses and throws his head back

his grip on your wrists tightens and his voice drops dangerously low

“the first time doesn’t count because i was meant to see lady chae. so really, this is the first time i’m requesting for your services”

he silences you from retorting by pressing a bruising kiss against you, lips messily attaching to yours before trailing down the sharp angle of your jaw to bite your neck

you are a courtesan for people of nobility and royal status

part of the ‘house of flowers’ and commonly referred to as ‘flower courtesans’, you and the other women are highly-sought after for the companionship you offer

you are well protected by the house of flowers though - the services of companionship that you provide is requested by your client, but is ultimately accepted or rejected by you

lady chae, another of the flower courtesans and one of your closest friends, is requested by the king for her services

it is quite clear what it is going to entail and you both spend several of the following nights giggling and whispering scandalously to one another

whether the rumours about his stamina will be true

whether lady chae will be the first to break his one-fuck rule

except when the day of the meeting comes around, she spikes a sudden fever

lady shin, the head of the house of flowers, takes all but one look at her before ordering her to bed rest despite both of your attempts to, albeit unconvincingly, persuade lady shin that chae’s fever would only serve to help make the king’s dick warmer

lady shin is not amused to say the least

with the last minute hitch, the king agrees for you to be sent out to him as a replacement instead

and you end up being the flower courtesan who he breaks his reputed rule for

(lady chae is initially jealous, understandably)

(but very quickly, she appears to be even more excited than you are as she combs through your undergarments for the “sluttiest set” that she can find)

your attention is brought back as hongjoong flicks his tongue over your hardened nipples, continuing to drag his length in and out of you while your back arches off the bed

you tease in between short breaths, “are you really bringing up another woman’s name while you have your cock inside me?”

“you brought it up first,” he reminds you, accentuating his answer with timed thrusts

you grind your hips against his, chasing more friction against your clit as you feel your high approaching

“why?” he snakes one of his hands down between your connected torsos to rub messy circles against your clit, smirking as he asks, “are you getting jealous already?”

for that, you clench down hard on his cock, immediately feeling the way it throbs inside of you as you bring him closer to his orgasm too

“as if. fuck off”

your words are hardly audible from the whines that are leaving your mouth due to the added pressure of another finger against your clit from your retaliation

“i’m close,” hongjoong releases his grip on your wrists so that he can straighten his body, anchoring his hand on your hip instead so that he can fuck you and rub your clit with his other hand with renewed vigour

when you hear him groan, “cum for me,” the string snaps and your whole body quivers in his hold as your orgasm washes over you

hongjoong’s hips gradually stutter to a pause, an occasional thrust inside your clenching pussy as he milks out the rest of his cum inside of you

he finally eases himself out of you and hums in satisfaction as he watches his cum slowly leak out of you

hongjoong drops down beside you, toned chest covered in a sheen layer of sweat as it rises up and down with his pants

when your fuzzy mind has cleared a little from the blissful haze of your orgasm, he strokes his fingertips along the side of your thigh, along the curve of your ass, and over the dip of your waist just under your breasts as he says, “you better not be jealous. first one to get jealous loses”

“if anyone’s going to get jealous first, it’s you,” you scoff back

he raises an eyebrow

oh yeah?

he shoves his leaking cum back inside of you and fingers you to another orgasm

now that shuts you up

for a man who barks, he sure has no bite, because you find yourself being notified by lady shin several days later of yet another request for your services under the king’s name

and another request turns into another

and every single time, hongjoong makes sure that the only word leaving your lips for those many hours is his moaned name

but at the same time, the more you and hongjoong meet, the more he just savours in your simple companionship

he asks you to teach him how to embroider because you’ve mentioned before it’s how you like to spend your free evenings

he rifles through your bag of materials that you bring

you smack his hand away at the carelessness with which he’s upturning everything

“what’s this?” he holds up a large, wooden hoop before trying to fit it through his head, “a necklace?”

“i wonder if people know they appointed an idiot to be king,” you say as you gently unscrew the hoops and demonstrate how to align a piece of fabric between the rings

he watches with interest as you screw the outer hoop tighter until the fabric is nice and taut and then repeat the process so you both have one to work with

you have to help hongjoong thread his needle too, because apparently the king’s fingers are only good for scissoring you open

you weave your own needle through the fabric at a slow pace whilst telling him the different names and uses of the stitches you’re showing him

except, when you look up to see if he’s following?

his own hoop has been abandoned to one side and he’s leaning against his hand as he gazes cheekily at you

“were you even paying attention?”

he sounds a little too confident when he answers not at all

in return, hongjoong shows you how to write hanja the next time you meet

he positions himself behind you with his hand over yours as he guides you through different characters stroke by stroke

he claims that there are specific ways of applying pressure to the brush so he has to be holding your hand at all times

you most definitely roll your eyes several times but you indulge him anyway

there are a lot of giggles and teasing pushes when you accidentally dip the end of your sleeve into the ink and you try to spread it onto his robes too

(the calligraphy may or may not become forgotten when hongjoong pins you down to stop your cheeky behaviour, because things naturally escalate whenever he has you under him)

you two do eventually manage to finish one decent-looking scroll of characters which he ends up gifting you so that you ‘don’t forget’ about him when you’re not with him

when you walk back into the house of flowers, the hanging scroll perks lady shin’s interest as you walk past

“hongjoong taught me how to write my name today”

lady shin waggles her eyebrows at you suggestively because of how casually you refer to the king, for which you nudge her with a shoulder

she laughs then asks to have a look

you unravel the paper to show her but then she makes a funny noise

“that’s not your name? these are the characters for- oh,” she cackles scandalously to herself, as if she has made a secret discovery

“what does it mean?” you hurry to clarify

you wouldn’t put it past him to have taught you a crude phrase instead, like ‘best tits�� or ‘biggest ass’

lady shin lets out an amused exhale, handing the scroll back to you

“it says, my flower”

you’re looking at those exact characters from where you lay on your bed when a knock sounds on your door several days later

lady shin steps into your room with a warm smile as you greet her

“you have an appointment with lord min tomorrow, but the king has just inquired about your service availability for tomorrow,” she informs you. “would you like me to give him the usual answer?”

this isn’t the first time a clash has occurred, particularly with the increasing frequency with which hongjoong requests to see you

you have always told lady shin to ask for hongjoong’s pardon and to offer him an alternative time or day, because in the end, you still need to maintain a professional and admirable reputation as a flower courtesan

and as you open your mouth to tell her ‘yes’, your eye catches the scroll hanging on your wall

my flower

you hesitate

“actually,” you look away from the hanja, “i’ll see hongjoong.”

lady shin gives you a motherly smile as she nods in understanding and closes the door behind her

the next day you see him, he excitedly points out the large tambour frame in his room that he bought just a few days prior, claiming you two can work on a big embroidery patch together now

you give him one look then demote him back to the small embroidery hoop because he still hasn’t learnt his basic stitches yet

(that’ll teach him to not pay attention when you’re demonstrating, ha)

you relent and end up going through the different stitches with him again anyway

and you find that he’s actually not that bad with embroidery once he’s actually focused on the task at hand

it’s nice, basking in each other's presence while he threads his little square of fabric and you work with the large frame you have now essentially claimed as yours

not that hongjoong minds; he did buy it solely to make you happy

and then you offhandedly mention that someone had gifted you a handkerchief with your initials embroidered on one of the corners the other day

“i actually have it on me, in fact,” and you take it out from where it’s tucked into your waist so that you can show him

he juts out his chin as he peers down at the delicate letters, huffing, “it’s pretty, i guess”

then as an afterthought he tacks on, “bet i could do a better job”

“are you jealous right now, kim hongjoong?”

said man is hellbent on avoiding your eyes as he picks up his needle and thread again

“no i’m not!”

“whatever you say,” you smirk

after that day though, you don’t receive another request from hongjoong to meet until two weeks later

which, in the grand scheme of things, really isn’t much

but in comparison to the frequency at which you are used to seeing him, the frequency at which your body is used to having him, it is much too long

you are almost beginning to wonder whether you shouldn’t have brought up the handkerchief gift

yet, he greets you with his usual teasing squeeze of your waist, dangerously close to your ass

you make a move to follow him through the doors to his chambers but he turns around to produce a silk cloth

he starts to blindfold you, whispering sultrily, “i have a surprise for you”

you feel the hairs on the back of your neck raise at his tone

guiding you inside, hongjoong gently pushes you down so that you sink into the plush duvet of his bed

“do you trust me?” he whispers

trying not to dwell on the urge to lick your dry lips, you answer, “of course”

you feel him tugging slowly on the string that holds the front of your corset together, loosening your dress with tenderness like you are a fragile gift

you shiver when your shoulders are suddenly exposed to the cold air

and then the sensation is followed by the warmth of hongjoong’s soft exhales along the expanse of your collarbones as he leans closer to fully disrobe your shoulders

you have to remind yourself to keep breathing

“you can look now,” he tells you

you remove the silk cloth from around your eyes, unsure of what to expect

it takes a few blinks to readjust your vision to the room around you but then your eyes finally focus

and you gasp

there, hung on the wall with its striking viridian green, shimmering threads and intricate swirls on glorious display, is quite possibly the most stunning dress you have ever laid eyes upon

“try it on,” he encourages

but as you step closer, you realise the lacing across the front of the corset and running down the sleeves of the top dress is in fact, not lacing

it’s patchy

it’s uneven

it has empty areas

but it is no doubt embroidery

“did you…did you make this?” you reach out a hand to lightly caress one of the embroidered flowers, not quite daring to believe that hongjoong would go to these lengths for you

“of course,” he wraps his arms around you from behind and presses a light kiss against your temple, “i’m not losing to a lousy handkerchief”

“is that why you disappeared for two weeks?”

you let out a laugh, sinking into his embrace, because the image of the great king holed up in his chambers for days on end, hunched over your dress with a needle, thread and frown on his face is just too endearing

he lets out a warning huff as he turns you around in his embrace to face him

upturning his hands, he shows you the tips of his fingers and grumbles, “i poked myself so many times for you and you laugh at me?”

you bring his hands closer to your face, pressing light kisses to his fingertips as you smile, “thank you, joong. i love it so much, i really do”

he looks at you impossibly soft

under his tender gaze, something suddenly rushes to your very core

you hold one his hands steady in front of your lips then swirl your tongue out in an experimental lick over his fingers

it’s almost captivating how quickly his pupils dilate and zero in on your tongue

so you dare to bring his fingers into your mouth

you suck on them a little harder

a little deeper

and then you moan around his fingers, “i want you”

he lets out a groan himself, feeling the front of his breeches tighten as his cock twitches

“i- fuck, i didn’t give the dress to you in hopes that it would lead to this,” yet despite his words he is stepping you backwards so that he can pin you against the wall

“i know, but i want you,” you palm his growing bulge, your knees going weak at how hard he already is. “and i need you. now.”

he doesn’t need further encouragement

he shoves the remainder of your clothes aside before inserting his fingers roughly between your folds

it doesn’t take long for him to bring you to your first orgasm, curling his fingers relentlessly as you ride them

he spreads your cum over your pussy and you buck your hips with a whine when he circles over your clit briefly

then he’s turning you around and bending you over, one of your hands bracing against the wall, your other arm held behind your back by hongjoong’s firm grasp

“fuck, you’re so wet,” his whole body shivers with pleasure as his cock slips right into you

the obscene sounds of his hips slapping against your ass and your slick being pushed back into your hole over and over again fill the room

and to the clenching of your pussy from another orgasm, hongjoong also cums into you with a guttural groan of your name

he gently carries you to his bed and lays you on top of the covers

he leaves your side for a moment and you listen to him rummage through something while you try to regain control of your quaking legs

when he comes back, you feel him gently spreading your legs and then the ticklish sensation of a soft cloth along your inner thighs

a whine escapes your lips when he rubs over your sensitive clit and hongjoong grips your thigh a little tighter

“be careful what pretty sounds you’re making if you can’t handle another round”

it isn’t until he finishes cleaning you up and lies down next to you to start wiping himself down that you look over and realise what it is that he’s been using this whole time

your mouth drops in disbelief

when hongjoong notices your expression, he smirks, “the man who gave you this has no idea his handkerchief is being used to clean my cum off your thighs”

“hongjoong!” you flush with a laugh. “you are definitely jealous, aren’t you?”

“yes, i’m fucking jealous,” he growls, “you’re the only one i want. you’re the only woman i’ve been requesting for since i’ve seen you. and i want to be the only one who gets to have you, too”

you confess, “well, you can have all of me. because i’ve started refusing other people just for you”

he looks at you for another moment before he’s suddenly straddling your hips

“change of plans,” he says breathily, “i need you again”

“very good plan,” you grind up against him

and then you pause, mirth starting to bubble in your throat, “one last thing though”

hongjoong looks down with amusement in his own eyes, wondering what could possibly be so funny

“that handkerchief?” you start, struggling not to laugh when his eyes immediately narrow, “i never said it was from a man. it was a gift from lady chae”

seonghwa

pov: you're his royal guard

as soon as you notice the movement out of the corner of your eye, your body reacts straight away

you murmur seonghwa’s name with a tight voice and move to position yourself in front of him, unwilling to risk the prince’s safety

one of your hands grasps the hilt of your sword, ready to unsheathe it at the first sign of danger, as your calculative gaze darts between the two young men stumbling closer on the dirt path and the line of forest trees from which they appear

they are wearing simple tunics and breeches with their colour faded and seams loosening from wear

from what you can discern, they are simply commoners, but that does not rule out the possibility that they are bandits

seonghwa seems to think otherwise, though

unsurprising but still grating

the prince places his hand on your shoulder gently in a silent reassurance and request for you to step aside

albeit reluctantly, you force yourself to move to his left

it becomes clear to you as the two figures stop just shy of a few feet away that the term ‘men’ was pushing it - their faces are young and they appear to be no older than seventeen or eighteen

the young strangers dip their head in greeting, one of them apologising as well as he pulls out a tattered map that he extends out for you two to see

“my companion and i are traveling to the village norshaw but seem to have lost our way. would you be able to point us in the right direction?” the one with the map asks

“of course,” seonghwa offers with a kind smile

you watch as the three of them step closer together to look more closely at the map

on high alert, and just as you are predicting, you see the companion shuffle closer to seonghwa, hand inching towards the leather pouch that hangs from the prince’s belt

you catch the subtle motion of seonghwa’s eyes flickering down just an inch

because of how well you understand his body language, you know that it means he has already noticed the thieving intention

but because of how well you understand seonghwa, you know that he isn’t going to do anything about it either

so you strike in his stead

your hand darts out to snatch the thieve’s wrist, twisting his forearm upwards so that he is forced to lean awkwardly towards one side to prevent his elbow from snapping

his partner drops the map, letting out a string of curses and hesitating for all but three seconds before he turns around to flee

scoffing, you threaten the one who is still in your hold, who then bolts with his tail between his legs after you release him

"did you really need to scare them off like that? it's not like i had any money in the pouch anyway," seonghwa chastises with a chuckle

"yes," you deadpan. "i did not spend the last two hours of our trip pausing every fifty meters to wait for you to pick up a rock because you thought it looked pretty, only for them to be stolen by a pair of petty thieves"

"it would have been funny to imagine their faces after realising what they stole," seonghwa grins

“mhm,” you hum, “and the next thing you know, you’ll wake up to your palace ransacked, because word in town is that you can steal from the prince and get away with it”

he levels you with a boyish scowl, “you’re so dramatic. what are you, my mother?”

“no, but i am your royal bodyguard”

“exactly. you are my bodyguard, not my brainguard. if i am to be swindled of my pretty rocks, then so be it”

you roll your eyes out of exasperation, but everything is swiftly forgotten minutes later when you point out a heart-shaped rock and seonghwa rushes over to pick it up

it has been like this ever since the incident occurred - him, the sunshine; you, the sunshine protector

it has been almost four years since it happened

somebody had attempted arsenic poisoning of not only seonghwa, but also those working under him

you had noticed strange discolouring of the silverware in the kitchen and on the table serving his dinner, which prompted an investigation and subsequent discovery of the perpetrator

an act of betrayal and treachery by one of his closest relatives - his very own uncle

seonghwa was - still is - too merciful and tender-hearted to punish his uncle, even if the severity of his uncle’s crimes warranted execution

to have his trust broken so shatteringly hurt seonghwa more than if he were to actually have been poisoned

you still remember like it was yesterday; the sight of the prince slumped against the wall, weighed down by chains of turmoil and despair as whispers fly through the palace of the weak-hearted prince who is unable to deliver fair judgement

it is the sight of the prince looking so small and lost that drives your feet forward to stand before him

as the soft draught coming through the windows tugs gently on your tresses and the flickers of candlelight illuminate the glint of steel in your hand, you make a decision

“i’ll be your sword,” you pledge

not just as his royal guard, but as his haven when he is forced to face corruption and wickedness

and when you see the way his shoulders immediately sag with relief at your declaration, the way he nods like a child who has been reassured that everything will be okay, you tell yourself that seonghwa will never have to dirty his hands as long as you are with him

you will be the dark to his light; the yin to his yang

quietly, you see to it that his uncle is executed for his crimes - your statement to the rest of the palace that prince seonghwa is not to be mocked

neither of you bring it up again, but seonghwa knows

he pulls you into a wholehearted hug, arms enveloping you securely as his chest shakes with shuddering breaths of thank you over and over again

you rub your hand up and down his sturdy back soothingly

it is an action that simultaneously reciprocates his embrace and his crossed line of professionalism

one that starts the shift in dynamic between you both, boundaries of sought comfort blurring with friendship and then something more

where seonghwa is too trusting and too soft-spoken, you become his skepticism and his voice

“you should be more wary of others,” you always remind him

“and you should be more trusty of others,” he’ll retort

yet, he will never make a decision that does not receive your input nor one that you do not agree with

where seonghwa is too gentle and too humble, you become his sword and his shield

you do not waver when you strike down foe, and friends turned foe alike

you speak up and establish firm boundaries when others take advantage of the respect he shows everybody regardless of their class or status

and yet, if you find yourself on the receiving end of someone’s condescension or discriminatory treatment, be it due to your rank as a guard or identity as a woman, seonghwa will be advancing forward to defend you before you can do so yourself

where seonghwa is too innocent and too bushy-tailed, you become his eyes and his caution

your morning walks together always last for longer than they are scheduled for

he stops to watch every butterfly and bumblebee that flutters along the flowery path, and he waits for caterpillars to crawl onto a leaf that he holds by the stem so that he can move the critters off the pathway

you love to watch him and his glittering eyes, his cheeks rosy from happiness and from the air still crisp with morning dew

but you also make sure to watch his surroundings with greater vigilance because the quiet peace that the freshly awoken sun brings simultaneously increases the likelihood of a targeted attack against him

as much as you rib him for being a marshmallow personified, however, and as much as he banters back that you are more than welcome to resign at any time, neither of you want it any other way

seonghwa carries out a lot of gestures that he justifies to himself as being eternally grateful for you and the things you do for him

he likes to gift you flowers he has plucked from his garden or the bushes he walks past that remind him of you

(“that’s actually just a very pretty-looking weed, but thank you, seonghwa,” you tell him on more than one occasion)

(it’s adorable, because the next time he finds a flower, he goes to the length of certifying that it is indeed a flower with the merchant who sells bouquets in the nearby town before presenting it to you, eyes gleaming with pride)

you stand still and let him tuck a flower behind your ear, sometimes braiding your hair gently so that he can weave and secure the stem into your hair, holding your breath as his features fill with the same enrapturement that he would admire a beautiful artwork with

after you voice this out one day, seonghwa supposes to himself that there is not much difference between an artwork and you

not that he’s attracted to you or anything - you just…have an objectively attractive face

yes.

especially when your usually-piercing expression is softened by fatigue, guard no longer up as you sleep slumped over a desk while accompanying him during his late night of studies

he does not realise his feet have moved until he is right beside your resting form, as if the soft exhales escaping from your slightly parted lips are a siren’s song

seonghwa tenderly brushes your stray locks away from your face and behind your neck

except he forgets to account for the fact that you are trained to sleep on the brink of consciousness

the squeal that leaves his mouth when your reflexes kick in and you almost slit his throat resounds at a frequency so high you almost believe it comes from your own mouth

you have a grand time watching his beet red face stutter out an excuse as to what exactly he was doing so close to you

needless to say, that is the last time seonghwa ever tries to do anything while you are sleeping

but as much as he bumbles around, he also reveals his perceptiveness when you least expect it

like now, as you accompany the prince to one of his meetings with numerous advisors and ministers

it is relatively dull and uneventful, mostly a cordial appearance to maintain amicable and loyal relationships with his subjects

conversation is limited to pleasantries and at one point, seonghwa even points out the calligraphy paintings hung at the back of the room

everyone nods with throaty laughs as if the paintings are indeed the most exquisite and tasteful artworks they have ever laid their eyes upon

when you and seonghwa arrive back at his chambers following the conclusion of the meeting, he walks over to his bed and shakes the sleeves of his robe over the expanse of his duvet

and out drops a neatly-wrapped sweet, followed by another, then another, until there are enough to amount to two handfuls

baffled, you look at seonghwa, because these are the very same treats that had been plated on the tables during the meeting

“you smuggled candy out of the room?” you try to keep the amusement out of your voice

he peers into his sleeves to ensure there are no more stragglers, before turning to face you as he waves his hands over the small collection of goods on his bed

as if they are-

“for you!” he exclaims almost proudly. “i saw you eyeing them during the meeting so i took some for you”

okay

most definitely proudly 

you feel something tickling you from within, as if he has reached through your chest to directly caress your heart with a delicate finger

“when did you even…” your voice trails off when it comes out a little fonder than you are expecting it to

“remember the paintings i pointed out?” seonghwa giggles, and you think that the hand in your chest is now cradling your heart completely. “i swiped the sweets when everyone was looking back at them”

“thank you, hwa,” you settle on saying, because you do not trust yourself to say anything else

that is more than enough for him, though

which, of course it is - this is seonghwa, with his huge heart that fills easily with the smallest of things

he eagerly hands you one of the treats and you unwrap it to place into your mouth

you’ve had these before, but this one that he has specially grabbed for you tastes remarkably sweeter

you wonder if his lips will taste the same…

but then you accidentally bite your tongue, hard enough to draw blood, and you realise just how wrong you are for letting those fleeting thoughts into your mind

because while you navigate the world in thick droplets of red and sharp glints of silver, seonghwa sees the world in soft hues of pastel and gleaming rays of yellow

how could the two palettes ever blend together harmoniously?

so instead, you grant yourself one last moment of selfishness and pull him into a hug, a gesture that toes the already shaky borders of professionalism yet can still be excused under the guise of friendship

you realise that he has always meant much more to you, but that is what this will stay as - a mere realisation

seonghwa wraps his arms around your form as he relaxes into the way your bodies naturally meld together

it’s strange how easily you slot into his life, his thoughts, his heart

he wonders whether it’s possible for feelings of appreciation to run so deeply and potently within somebody, like a drug that he cannot get enough of

and when you take a step away from him, leaving his chest feeling physically and emotionally empty, he wonders if he is perhaps…

in love with you

following that incident, it is almost as if a switch flips - both of you take several steps away from the line that has been danced around

but neither of you notice the distance because you are both consumed by your own thoughts

until one of your usual morning walks around the castle walls of his palace

seonghwa is wondering whether the bushes you walk past remind you of the flowers he used to gift you and you are debating whether to reach out to brush a petal out of his half ponytail 

then, like deja vu, your eyes flicker towards the burst of movement as a figure covered in black comes darting forwards with their blade raised intended for murder

you immediately start to unsheathe your sword, feet poised and prepared to defend-

until you are harshly tugged back and the prince steps in front of you to parry the strike that the assassin tries to land

it takes your lifetime of training and experience to snap back into focus and thrust your sword into the enemy’s exposed side

when you are sure he is dead, you whirl around to descend upon seonghwa with a voice trembling from both anger and relief

“what in the world were you thinking?” you yell

“i-”

taking a step forward, you toss your sword to one side, “no, actually. you weren’t thinking at all”

“i was afraid that you would get hurt!” he takes his own step closer

“that is my duty!” the volume of your voice raises even more. “i am willing to lay down my life to ensure your safety! i have been guarding you for years now and you have never acted this way. what has changed?”

for a moment, the only sound that punctuates the silence is your harsh breathing

seonghwa swallows

“my feelings…” he whispers, a stark contrast to the peak of emotions you have been riding. “my feelings for you have changed”

your throat tightens at his words

it is your turn to whisper, a noise of confusion leaving your lips

he takes another step closer, bringing himself to stand right in front of you as he looks down earnestly into your eyes

“i’d rather be the protector, and you be the protected”

“but…why?” your heart races with anticipation

“because i’m in love with you” 

right at the invisible border that has been separating you two for as long as you have been his guard, seonghwa now stands, hands wringing together as he awaits a response

“then that makes the two of us,” you confess

you step forward to take your familiar spot on the other side of the line, except this time you do not stop

you stride over the boundary completely to stand by his side

raising yourself onto your tiptoes, you pull him down slightly by the front of his doublet so that you can press a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips

it stretches wider and curves upwards under the nurturing of your own smile

you can’t help but give him another kiss on the other side of his mouth to match the one you just gave him

“from now on,” seonghwa starts, “i’ll be your sword”

you wouldn’t really, and you will fight him to let you continue being his guard, but that doesn’t stop one last teasing question from escaping you

“does this mean i get to retire?”

yunho

pov: you're part of a rebel group

the crown prince is not in his fucking library

for the past three weeks, the crown prince has always been in the royal library at night

until today

under normal circumstances, his royal guards and staff would be alerted to ensure that the deviance in routine is a conscious decision and not an issue of the crown prince missing

except doing that would make your job significantly harder…

considering you have been ordered to assassinate him.

you’re part of the ‘red sun’, a revolutionary movement aiming to overthrow the current monarch

following the debilitating state of the king after falling ill and the subsequent coronation of queen jeong into power, she has since then established numerous royal decrees to keep everyone under her reign on a tight leash

a leash made of barbed wire

people are quick to become resentful and thirsty for an end to the dictatorship and bloodline

although he has made limited public appearances, the crown prince has also developed a reputation rivaling the queen’s

within the second year of the jeong dynasty, red sun has already amassed a multitude of supporters

the focus is currently on growing in numbers, preparing for an imminent revolution and picking off corrupt royals and noblists, be it through incrimination or assassination

dealing with those in positions of higher power is a task only completed by an elite selection of red sun rebels who have distinguished skills and traits that set them apart from peasants and commoners

and you are amongst the elite team

which is why you find yourself staking out on the tiled roof of the imperial palace, clothed in black with a mask and hooded cowl covering your face that blends you in with the darkness of night, on the orders of a higher-up to assassinate the crown prince

except the target is missing; the information you were given is wrong

which never happens

you can’t risk staying around for much longer, especially now that the crown prince has broken his routine

he could be anywhere and so could his royal guards

you shift your body to a crouch and place your hands on the cool tiles beneath you, ready to leave

only to spot a figure, crouched just like you are, on the opposite side of the roof

their face is a black hole of nothing within the shrouded confines of their hood, but you can feel their gaze piercing into you all the same

you run

you scramble to the edge of the roof and nimbly leap off the curved eaves to the neighbouring structure of the study room

when you glance backwards, you see the man - physique now obvious - is keeping up easily along the stepping stones of roofs

this game of cat and mouse isn’t going to work for long

if you don’t get caught by him first, you’re both going to get caught by the palace guards

so you make a split decision and alter your next trajectory lower

keeping your arms outstretched for the eaves, you grab on tightly when your fingers touch the edge of the roof and use your core to kick your legs up to stop your body from slamming into the wall from the momentum of your jump

you let go and drop to the ground like a feline, noiseless, and slink towards a line of trees

then you wait

he’s good, you note to yourself, when the only sound that alerts you to his presence is the quick scuffle of his feet as he softens his impact against the wall and the muted thud of his body landing on the ground

“state your purpose,” he demands, voice low yet firm

you ignore him to ask, “who are you?”

now up close, you can see that the man is wearing attire almost the same as you are, identity also hidden by the his bandana and hood-

wait

even the dark red stitching that subtly replaces the original seam on the right shoulder of his outer clothing is the same

the same as those on the elite team

“one of you,” he confirms your suspicions

except you don’t recognise his voice nor his build

being one of the earliest members of the rebel organisation, you are familiar with all the members who carry out missions like yours

he is not one of them; not one you can trust yet

when you don’t speak, he adds on, “we need to go. the safehouse might be in danger”

we

he refers to the two of you so easily, as if you and him are an unspoken team

you cannot trust this man until you know for sure he is part of red sun, so you ask him

“when is red most beautiful?”

it is a vague question with a fixed answer

one that reflects the heart of the revolutionary itself

during the sunrise of a new beginning 

“during the sunrise of a new beginning,” the man says resolutely

the tension releases from your shoulders 

“okay,” you opt to abandon your original mission. “let’s check on the safehouse”

the man offers you a hand to hike yourself up onto one of the outer walls of the palace before he jumps up himself with ease

you both flip over the top and land in unison

the moon illuminates the ground beneath your feet as you both sprint into the surrounding forest

the safehouse is really just a small hut situated far enough from the palace to stay inconspicuous, yet not close enough to the outer borders of the kingdom to risk discovery by the frequent border patrols

you both slow down as you approach the clearing, steadying your breaths and treading with cautious steps

and then you hear it

the shattering clang of a desperate parry

all it takes is a quick glance at the man by your side before your eyes harden with purpose and your steps are dashing in unison towards the hut

you’re both hit with the smell of a metallic tang in the air, and it’s not from your drawn swords

bursting through the door, you quickly take in the scene before you

several red sun members are scattered around the hut and slumped in varying degrees of injury

it’s easy to spot the intruder; they’re yanking their sword out of a body’s torso as they simultaneously turn to look at you

and it’s hard to miss the royal insignia of the jeong monarch on their chest plate

you have the element of surprise

but only for the next few seconds

you leap forward with the thud of footsteps of your partner following almost immediately, side-stepping once you close the distance to dodge a haphazard swing

there’s a brief break in defense when the enemy tries to aim for another strike that leaves the gap in the side of their armour exposed

you feel the slight resistance of your sword entering flesh as you thrust it forward into them

except when you try to tug it back out, a hand grasps your own and the hilt of your sword, stopping you from stepping away

the enemy has realised they are not going to make it out of this alive

but if they are to die, then they are going to take one last person with them

you.

you see glint of metal as they use their other hand to swing their sword down onto you, only for it to be deflected at the last second by another sword

the man you have met for barely an hour is now at your side with his towering protectiveness

in one smooth kick, his long leg sends the other careening into the wall of the hut with a mighty slam

you feel yourself jerking forward from the enemy’s grasp still on your hand

but the man next to you quickly tucks you into his side before you are also sent sprawling

“check on the others,” he briefly says, and then he is striding towards the fallen intruder

you only spare him another quick glance and then you rush to the nearest figure on the ground

you go around checking for pulses, and for those who are still breathing, the extent of their injuries

there are several casualties but nowhere near as many if you and the man had not come to check on the safehouse

which suddenly makes you pause in your tracks

how did he know about the attack in the first place?

you stretch your legs from their squatted position next to one of the red sun members and turn around to confront him

except…the man has disappeared

and so has the intruder’s body

days later, the question of whether you will chance upon the man again tonight flits through your mind when you find yourself perched in the very same spot on the tiled roof of the palace that gives you a clear view of the royal library

you have received another order to assassinate the crown prince as soon as you see the opportunity arise

this time, the note is accompanied by a cyanide capsule, a non-verbal message that this mission is to occur with your life on the line

you spot him

he’s preoccupied by the scroll in his hand as he makes his way through the shelves of parchments

you wait until he’s walked far enough into the library before you drop down from the roof, keeping your stance low to ensure you stay hidden as you silently move closer

you take out the jagged dagger from its sheath by your waist as you anticipate it will be too difficult to wield your long sword in the narrow aisles

and there the crown prince stands

he has his back to you, exposing him to your mercy

mercy that you have no intention of showing him

the cruel heir to the throne of an even crueler dictatorship deserves none

“it’s you again, isn’t it?”

you freeze

the crown prince still has not turned around to address you, but you can feel the dark gaze of his eyes on you as if he were looking at you

“you were here a few days ago”

fuck

how he knows you have no idea

what you do know though is that you have about two seconds to make a move before you lose this chance to assassinate him completely, and quite possibly, lose your life as well

the pill you have hidden in the breast of your tunic feels heavy

“you are part of red sun, are you not?”

this time the crown prince does turn around to face you, but it isn’t the nonchalance with which he reveals your identity that makes your head reel

it is the warmth and softness in his gaze and the hint of a smile on his face that does

what the actual fuck

you’re convinced that the crown prince is not only heinous, but also batshit crazy

“i am,” you spit out at him, “with orders to assassinate you, in fact”

his mouth thins into a tight line, “the orders you have received are false”

“sounds exactly like something a crown prince would say to avoid being assassinated,” you scoff

but then his next words change everything

“red is most beautiful during the sunrise of a new beginning”

before you have time to fathom the bomb that has just been dropped, your heads swivel simultaneously towards the entrance of the royal library when a voice calls out for the crown prince

“hide,” he hisses urgently

and then he’s stepping further away to conceal your presence as best as possible

you hear the shuffle of footsteps approaching before they stop, dangerously close to where you’re crouched behind a bookshelf

“apologies for interrupting your time, crown prince,” they say

from where you are you can see the crown prince’s expression clear as he lets out a small huff, “i have told you many times to just call me yunho”

“of course, crown prince yunho”

even though you can’t see the other person’s expression, you can hear the amusement in their voice

they continue, “i have the information you have requested for”

“thank you,” you see him - yunho - receive a small scroll. “the queen does not know?”

“no, i made sure to be as discreet as possible”

yunho thanks the other once again and your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets when he bows his head in appreciation as he dismisses them

is this the same crown prince as the rumours?

and what is he doing behind his mother’s back?

you don’t realise you’ve been staring dumbly at him until he’s back in front of you with amusement on his face

he stands tall and proud, robes accentuating his stature and nobility

“who exactly are you,” you dare to ask

your voice is small - you feel small, crouched at his feet like a stark physical representation of the power he holds over you

but then he takes yet another step closer and kneels down so that your eyes meet at the same level

“i am the leader of red sun. the creator of the whole revolution”

your ankles actually do give out at that and you have to seat yourself on the floor

because how is any of this possible?

you must have voiced your thoughts out loud, because before you know it, yunho is crossing his legs and making himself comfortable on the floor right in front of you

it makes you feel so strange

the crown prince’s willingness to make himself an equal before you - and even to his staff from earlier

yunho starts to explain

a change in monarch, particularly one of such dictatorship, requires massive momentum and synergy; something he cannot produce alone nor without the support of the people

thus, red sun came into existence for the exact same reason you and all the other supporters have joined

in hopes of a sunrise one day that marks a new beginning

a new leadership

except recently he has had growing suspicious of the presence of a traitor within the organisation, which were confirmed the night the safehouse was attacked

“that night…that man was you,” you realise, “and that’s how you know who i am”

he nods, “and that’s also how i know your orders are false.” yunho nudges you playfully with his knee, “pretty sure i never ordered for my own assassination”

yunho continues to explain that he had taken the intruder back for interrogation, but then you frown when he reveals the enemy had swallowed a suicide pill before any information could be gained

he has an inkling that someone in a high position of power is involved, since the pills are almost impossible to gain access to, but it cannot be ruled out as a coincidence

“hang on,” you pull down the top of your tunic in a hurry

yunho scrambles to cover his eyes and turns his head as he jokingly sputters out, “woah okay, this is moving a little fast don’t you think?”

you tug impatiently on the sleeve of his robe, telling him to look

yunho hesitates for another second before lowering his hands and realising you have-

“a suicide pill?” 

you look at each other, because this can only mean one thing

the pills are not a coincidence; the enemy is much closer than yunho would like

you’re both unsure how much time there is until the traitor decides to order someone else to assassinate yunho, or worse, decides to finish the job off themselves

but from that very night of discovery, you and yunho work together incessantly against a ticking time bomb

it’s a delicate balance between finding as many leads as you can and spreading out your investigations to stay under the radar

yunho tries to look further into the cyanide pills while you try to uncover any information regarding the order you had been given

whoever is behind it all has kept their tracks hidden well

there isn’t much to report from either of your ends whenever you sneak into the palace to meet up with yunho

but he makes it very hard for you to feel discouraged when he makes your meetings seem like casual catch ups between - you dare say - friends

you have yet to catch him by surprise whenever you drop down from the roof in front of him in an attempt to scare him; he has an uncanny ability to sense your presence

except, you think you prefer being unsuccessful, because your indignant grumbles never fail to bring out his toothy grin and an excited body jiggle

other times he is the one trying to fluster you

“remember that time you literally tried undressing yourself in front of me-”

“i was taking the pill out to show you!” 

you bring your thumb and index finger closer together in front of your face and squint at the gap

“i am this close to changing my mind and assassinating you after all”

he gets a kick out of it, pretending to beg for your mercy, “oh please spare me, your majesty”

other times, yunho teases you for always keeping your cowl and mask on

“bet it’s because you’re ugly or something,” he jokes

and you bite back that he had his face covered too when you both met, so you’re one to talk, ugly

“but since then i’ve always shown you my face as the crown prince. you can see me nice and clear,” he suddenly leans forward, so close you can see the dip of his cupid’s brow. “what do you think about me now?”

you swallow hard

you’re glad you have your mask on because you can feel your face rapidly heating up

“i think…” you gently cup his jaw, “you look better with your mask on,” as you nudge his face to the side

you cannot help but join in with your own chuckles at his laughter and boyish glee

and eventually, you two have a breakthrough

yunho manages to trace the cyanide back to a traveling merchant operating under the guise of selling rare herbs and medicine

in the transaction ledger, there is an unusually large purchase under the name of ‘lee minjun’

“i’m sure i’ve seen the name before somewhere, but i can’t remember where,” yunho huffs

you let out your own huff at his elbow that has very naturally taken a rest on your shoulder

pulling out a stack of paper, you spread it out onto the table before you two

they are past records of certain red sun missions that, upon looking back, seem suspicious

“i noticed a mark on a couple of them, a drawing or character perhaps? except none of them are fully intact. it’s almost like the paper was accidentally marked”

you point them out to yunho in hopes that he will have a better idea

he doesn’t - not at first

not until he chances upon two that vaguely align with each other to form a clearer image

“this-” yunho runs his hand through his hair, “this is butler lee’s stamp. my father’s butler.”

the king’s butler?

lee?

your eyes snap to yunho’s, just as his meet yours

“lee minjun”

you sink back in your seat

there’s now definite proof that the king’s butler is at the very least involved

the question of why and what for remains

in fact, you and yunho would not put it past the queen either to be involved too

there is a long moment of shared silence as you both mull over what this means for the future

yunho breaks the silence first

“after this all ends…do you want to work for me, officially?” he clears his throat, “will you stay by my side?”

after this all ends

you two must still uncover butler lee’s motives; likely part of a much grander scheme involving queen jeong too

you two must still bring down the whole monarch; with the support of red sun, yunho needs to sit on his rightful throne

the sun has yet to rise but you can see the faint hues of orange and twilight blue in the horizon

the new beginning is close

and at that, something in you relaxes

crumbles and disintegrates with utter relief

“it would be my honour to stay by your side forever, yunho”

and then you are removing your hood and mask, daring to breathe and feel alive and hopeful for once

ironically, yunho chokes on air

you glance at him to find that he is unable to meet your eyes

you think your eyes are deceiving you because-

the tips of his ears are a glowing red

you could definitely get used to seeing the usually calm and collected crown prince become a shy, blushing mess

the corner of your mouth rises with smugness, “like what you see?”

“you should really keep your hood and mask on,” he mumbles

“and why is that?” you humour him

he finally looks at you

and when he sees the shit-eating grin plastered across your face, his shoulders suddenly fill out again with confidence and cockiness to match yours

“because,” his voice deep and flirtatious, “with a pretty face like that, you’re going to distract me from my duties”

yeosang

pov: you're in an arranged marriage with him

ever since you could understand the words coming out of your parents’ mouths, you have known that you will be married to yeosang

it just made sense

for the respective princess and prince of two powerful kingdoms to join together, leading to increased power and stronger allies

it is tradition for the pair to meet their chosen spouse for the first time only when both parties have turned sixteen, and even then, subsequent meetings are rare until the time of the actual wedding

so you spend the first sixteen years of your life infatuated with the idea of your prince charming - of prince yeosang - wondering what he looks like, what his personality is like, and how you two will fall in love

and when you finally reach that long-awaited first meeting, prince charming is everything and more than what you have envisioned

if angels with broken wings were exiled to earth, they would look like yeosang

he is soft-spoken and slightly reserved, as any awkward teenager meeting their future spouse would be, but you don’t miss the way that his eyes overflow with adoration and his shoulders shake with exuberant giggles whenever his little sister, yeoreum, comes tottering into the room

he always bends down onto one knee to match her eye level, uncaring of the stains that mark his pants even as his mother narrows her eyes in disdain, and he listens with utmost sincerity when yeoreum tells him about the secret pink and glittery fairy she spotted in the courtyard 

they remind you of the relationship you share with your own little brother, juwon, who is barely half your age and height, yet has you wrapped around his little finger

you lean down closer with a hum at the soft tug on your dress to hear your little brother whisper conspiratorially into your ear, “he looks stupid”

if looks could kill, yeosang would be dead right now

you stifle a laugh as you flick juwon’s chin affectionately at his sudden display of childish jealousy

if anything, you’re pretty sure you are the one who looks stupid

stupidly in love

because walking away from that first meeting with yeosang and his family, you know that you are absolutely smitten for the prince

unable to quell the restlessness of having to wait until the next unforeseeable meeting, you pick up a quill that very same day you return to your palace and start writing

it takes you all night, the gentle gleams and winks of the stars keeping you company until they rotate shifts with the songs of the waking world

but by the time you have crossed out and scrunched your way through rolls and rolls of parchment paper, you are satisfied with the letter you have written

the letter addressed to prince yeosang, which you task eunju, one of your maids, with passing it to the royal couriers for delivery to the kang palace

it is a simple letter, thanking him for the enjoyable day, yet it holds the deeper message that you are interested in him and would like to become better acquainted before your marriage

you wonder whether his cheeks will flush a pretty red as his butler hands him your letter

whether he will trace his fingers delicately over the curve of your words

whether he will bite back a smile as he pictures you saying the words to him

two weeks pass, and you approximate the letter to have just been delivered to his kingdom

and although you desperately wish for him to immediately sit down with a quill in hand to pen out his reply, you wait and give him a week before you eagerly start counting down the days until the arrival of his letter

your whole life you have been able to wait patiently

you wonder what has changed now that mere weeks feel like an eternity

the day yeosang’s letter is due to arrive, you are sporadic bursts of giggles, twirls and skips throughout the palace

even juwon is starting to become sick of getting swept up into a crushing hug to the cheery tune of i loveee youuuu every single time you pass him

nothing can bring you down from cloud nine

only…the letter never comes

not the day after, not the week after, not the month after

you’re disappointed, of course, but you busy yourself with reasons why yeosang has not replied, and you don’t give up

you send him another letter, and then another, and another

sometimes you just tell him about your day - what made you smile, what made you sad, something interesting you saw, something your little brother said

other times you tell him about yourself - your hobbies, likes and dislikes, aspirations, fears 

and you also wonder about him

you ask what he likes, what he smiles at, what makes him sad, what his dreams are

with each letter that you hand over to eunju to be delivered, it becomes harder and harder to stay optimistic - not even the words of encouragement from your favourite maid lifts your spirits

you continue like this for over a year, still yet to receive a reply 

until-

you do.

it feels like you are brought back to that very night of your first meeting, feeling so very alive as hope and excitement cascade into your body the moment eunju hands you a letter with a smile

with shaking hands, you fumble to unpeel the wax seal and free the envelope’s contents - a single piece of paper, neatly folded

your mind races with anticipated words and explanations

perhaps he had been too shy to reciprocate your letters earlier

or perhaps your letters had been lost in transit

you unfold the parchment as the hairs on your skin raise in anticipation, only to find it blank save for one scrawled sentence in the middle of the paper-

stop sending me letters.

and just like that, the clock strikes twelve

your carriage reverts into a pumpkin

and your carefully curated story of prince charming disintegrates into ashes

you don’t write to him again.

years later, the stacks of parchment scrolls on the wooden desk of the guest room you are currently residing in feel like a fresh slap in the face each time your eyes land on them

they are a stark reminder of your very own letters, the cold rejection you received, and the irony of the only letter you ever received again following his being one from the kang monarchs, announcing the proceeding of the royal wedding between you and their son

now, only a few days newly-wed to yeosang, the king and queen are gracious enough to let you sleep in one of the guest rooms temporarily, under your claims of adjusting to a life in a new kingdom and as a wife

really, you are trying to avoid yeosang for as long as you can

you spend your time instead getting to know his little sister better, which is why you find yourself sitting side by side with yeoreum, legs dangling off the edge of your bed

she eyes the vase of flowers on your bedside table curiously, “did you buy that?”

“no,” you reach out to touch the baby’s breath, “someone delivered it to my room”

you had offhandedly mentioned to some of your staff the other day that flowers would make your room look more homey, and you had woken up the morning after to find the beautiful vase teeming with flowers next to you

“why?” you ask yeoreum when she hums thoughtfully

“it looks just like the vase in my brother’s room, but he’s weird about it. yeo never lets anyone touch it, much less have it”

you blanch a little, “in that case i’ll give it back to him later then”

“you don’t like it? or…you don’t like my brother? my brother talks about you a lot, you know,” she reveals

caught off-guard by her perceptiveness, you reveal that you have been hurt before

you don’t specify by what exactly or who it is that you’re talking about, but she seems to understand regardless

later that night, sweet yeoreum barges into yeosang’s room and with as much feistiness as she can muster, she glares at her brother and interrogates, “what did you do to make her upset?”

before he can so much as blink, yeoreum concludes, “you boys are dumb. go talk to her and fix it or something,” and then walks out with a huff

there’s no one there to witness it, but yeosang nods anyway

heart feeling a little heavy after your conversation with yeoreum, you head towards the kitchen to seek solace in the sweet pastry you are usually served each morning

the first time you tasted the danish pastry, decorated with strawberries and cream cheese, was when you had traveled to yeosang’s palace at the age of sixteen for your first meeting

you remember the blissful expression that had bloomed across your face with your initial bite, and no dessert ever captivated your tastebuds quite the same way ever again

if there is one good thing out of this arranged marriage with yeosang, then it would be the reunion between yourself and the strawberry danish

“your highness,” the head chef bows, followed by the rest of the staff in the kitchen, “how may we help you?”

when you ask for one of the pastries, the head chef apologises that there are none

“but we can make you one now, if you do not mind waiting”

you tell him not to go to the trouble and ease his worries, “i just thought there may have been leftover pastries”

“we make only one fresh every morning, specifically for you,” the chef explains, and confusion must settle across your features because he adds on, “his highness has expressed that you may like them”

oh?

flustered, you can only muster a short response of, “i do, thank you,” before you smile once more and excuse yourself

because of all people to notice and remember such a small detail, and then to go out of their way to put in the request with the kitchen on the off chance that it was still true, it was yeosang? 

first the vase, and now this

you feel something deeply buried inside of you start to stir but you rush to nip it in the bud

your head and your heart are beginning to wage war against each other and suddenly everything feels like it’s too much

when you reach your bedroom, you throw open the double doors to step out onto the balcony, welcoming the chilling breeze of the darkening sky

you’re tired of fearing rejection if you open up

you’re tired of questioning yeosang’s intentions

and on top of it all, you suddenly miss home and you miss your parents and you miss juwon and-

“are you okay?”

yeosang’s soft question startles you, having missed his knocking at your door

he walks closer to join you out on the balcony when he sees that the answer is obviously a no, and he prompts you again, “what’s wrong?”

thoughts of vases and strawberry pastries flit across your mind

you start with half truths

“just missing my little brother”

“you love him a lot, don’t you,” yeosang smiles sweetly, “i can see it in the way you take care of yeoreum”

you can’t help the heat that slowly creeps up the back of your neck and to your ears, because it implies that he’s noticed all the times you’ve showered his little sister with the same love you give to juwon

it implies he’s noticed you

“what’s your fondest memory of juwon?” he asks when you nod

something within you thaws slightly at the fact that yeosang remembers your little brother’s name

you step closer to the edge of the balcony so that you can overlook the garden outside your room a little clearer, resting your hand on the railing as yeosang waits patiently

“we used to have this game we played. we had a lot of gardenia flowers growing around our courtyard and juwon loved cutting some to make me a mini bouquet,” you pause to shake your head with a chuckle, “it drove our mother nuts”

“doesn’t sound like it stopped him from continuing though, did it?” yeosang questions with mirth

“no, it didn’t,” your heart aches with fondness. “he would use a certain number of gardenias and make me guess what phrase containing the same number of letters he had in mind” 

it never failed to tug your mouth into a smile whenever juwon giggled at your attempts to guess the flower phrase, even when most times he would bound away whilst singing answers like y-o-u s-t-i-n-k or d-u-m-b d-u-m-b

yeosang supports himself on the railing with one hand as he nearly folds in on himself in laughter, and before you know it, you too are gasping for air and wiping away tears from your eyes

when you both calm down relatively enough, only intermittent chuckles leaving your lips, yeosang clears his throat and scratches his neck awkwardly

“i know it might not be much, but maybe we can go out into town tomorrow and it might take your mind off things? and we can bring yeoreum along if that makes you feel more comfortable, because you’ve probably spent more time alone with her than you have with me?”

you don’t admit it, but you’re already feeling a little better, so you decide to tease, “are you asking me out on a date right now, kang yeosang?”

“oh, well, we’d be doing things a little backwards since we’re already like, married…but, yes? maybe? is that okay?”

it’s yeosang’s turn to flush a deep red as his usually composed demeanor is reduced to stutters, but you don’t notice under the faint glow cast by the moon now reigning the sky

“yeah, that’s okay”

you and yeosang smile fondly as your little trio stroll through a nearby town the following morning, his younger sister skipping ahead to peer at the colourful trinkets being sold at the market stalls, and your own small squad of royal soldiers following behind at a respectful distance

it’s kind of endearing how yeosang points out item after item, asking whether you like it or whether you find it pretty, in a not-so-subtle attempt to learn about your preferences

you have to stop him from buying you something from every second stall you both pass, but you’re unable to convince him from purchasing a small wooden toy as a gift for juwon, insisting that you give it to your little brother the next time you see him

the more you actually interact and talk with yeosang, the harder you find it to associate him with the memory of the yeosang in your rejected letters

because the equation of the letters, the vase and the pastries just does not add up

as you two sit under the awning of a small shop, watching yeoreum play with the shopkeeper’s dog, you find yourself unable to hold back anymore

“why didn’t you reply to my letters?” you break the silence, trying to hide the hurt laced in your voice

yeosang looks at you with wide eyes as his mouth stutters open

and in the smallest voice you have ever heard him speak with, he says

“you wrote me letters?”

your eyebrows knit together as your eyes dart back and forth between his, searching for any hint of deception

“too many to count,” you confess, “until you sent a letter telling me to stop…”

“impossible. i never got your letters” 

your head recoils back as you try to make sense of his words, “but-”

“wait,” he interrupts

yeosang reaches into his robes, pulling out a small, wooden block, extending it out closer to you as he asks, “do you recognise this?”

upon closer inspection, you realise it’s a square seal stamp

it has the character ‘姜’ carved into it and you’ve seen it enough times to know it represents the kang family name - but the inscription that stylises the border is unfamiliar

“not the seal, no”

he swallows apprehensively, “i stamp all my letters with this to certify authenticity”

you let his words sink in as they throw you into a sandstorm of bewilderment

“but then-”

but then who wrote the letter?

and where did all your letters go?

the only people who would have known about them would be the royal couriers and…eunju

a memory flashes through your mind - the moment she handed you a letter with a smile

no, not a smile, you realise

a smirk

you are simultaneously overwhelmed with betrayal, guilt and apologeticness

yeosang doesn’t push you for a response, and you come to recognise that you are also grateful

“i’m sorry for doubting you,” you tell him

it’s nowhere close to the amount of things you want to confess, but it is a start, one that yeosang picks up on and understands immediately

“no, i’m sorry you felt the need to doubt me,” he offers. “that i didn’t make you feel loved enough”

“but i did, actually. the vase and the pastries, then our conversation last night…and even today”

he blushes a deep red as you list the things off with your fingers

“you weren’t meant to find out about the first two,” yeosang admits as he ducks his head shyly

then he suddenly perks up with a sudden thought

he ruffles inside his satchel that had been abandoned to one side, mumbling, “my sister said i did something to upset you…so i um, got you these” 

he turns around to reveal a bouquet of flowers, looking a little rough for wear after being hidden in his bag all morning, but his clumsy consideration only serves to makes your heart skip dangerously

“forgive me?” he asks cheekily, and you both giggle at the absurdity of his question because it should very well be the other way around

“if you insist,” you take the bouquet into your hands

and finally, you allow the chains around your heart to fall away, “i can’t say no to my husband, can i?”

yeosang lets out a little squeak as you look at the bouquet more clearly, counting the number of flowers

you turn to ask if he remembers the game you told him about, but the way yeosang suddenly finds the patch of dirt near his foot absolutely fascinating tells you everything that you need to know

eight flowers

eight letters

i l-o-v-e y-o-u

[snowsinterlude]

playing dangerous.

c.w: gun play, peacekeeper coriolanus, fingering, rough sex, throatfucking, slapping, degrading, breeding, hate fucking, unproctected sex

based on this ask ! hope you like it anon, sorry if i got anything wrong. mwah

you could say a lot of things about coriolanus snow. you could say he was mentally unstable, that he was a whiny bitch who would throw a tantrum at any small thing that made him angry.

however, you couldn't say he was a bad fuck. not when he had your face pressed down and a gun pointed at your sopping cunt. you couldn't say he was ugly either, not with that white peacekeeper uniform hugging his body so well.

"don't worry," he whispered, biting your shoulder, "it only has one bullet." he smiled, chuckling at your clear despair, a total contrast to your soaked panties. "not as if you care, though"

"of course i do! fuck it, snow. you're the reason people call cops bastards!" you said, frowning at him as if your hips weren't bucking up on the gun. you didn't even knew if what he said was actually true.

"you should be grateful i'm not playing russian roulette on your pussy, darling." he said, thanking heaven's he handcuffed your hands before all that. "if you don't like it, i know just the right place to aim it. other than that perverted wet pussy of yours. are you a pervert? god, you're soaking wet" he said, grinding the gun in your cunt.

"aim it at your head, you sickfuck." you spat, not bothering looking at him.

"i don't know if you noticed but i have a gun pointed to your pussy, if you don't wanna get shot you should start being a good girl instead of a manic bitch." he said, slapping your ass and making your body jolt.

how the hell did it come to this?! you remembered that he had returned home after deployment and your parents made you go over to his house to give him some sweet dessert as a way to ❛thank him for his services.❜ fuck it. you hated him. if depended on you, he would have been killed by a rebel or something, but god, that's the best dick you've ever seen or felt, even if through grinding. you would never admit it to him though.

"on your knees, please." he said, a fake chivalry on his sadistic tone. and did you have any other options? of course not. so now you were on your knees, gulping down and watching him unbuckle his pants, his hand slapping your face lightly to make you wake up and stop looking so much at his eight inches shaft. "god, you're drooling so much just from looking. guess i won't have to aim a gun to your head for you to suck it." he said, and you stared at him with anger.

"you better kill me already cause i am not sucking that thing." you said.

well, all your defenses were throw away as he pointed the loaded gun to your head, smiling as you opened your mouth and engulfed him obediently, still looking at him with that angry stare in your eyes, that was soon replaced with tears as you took him. god, how could a dick taste so good?

"fuck, you're taking me so good, doll." he said, smiling as you drooled on his dick, getting it all wet from your saliva. "making such a mess, crying so much... you're so pretty when you're not running your mouth around so much." he said, grabbing your hair and making you curse mentally before he started to fuck your throat, his balls meeting your chin as you took him, giving in as you moaned against his cock.

too aggressive, you thought. but it was just as good as you imagined it to be. and he was getting just what he wanted to. he was fucking that attitude out of you, your throat taking him so well he only wondered how good it would feel to fuck your cunt. with that thought in mind, he pulled back of your mouth, and you thought you were really dumb from how you tried to get him to thrust into your mouth again. you wanted to taste him, and he couldn't help but chuckle at your despair.

"i didn't even had a proper taste of your cunt and you're already dumb? thought you were stronger." he said, getting you to stand up as you were still salivating. he cleaned your tear stained cheeks, the softest thing he would do to you today. so, ripping your panties and seeing your cunt, he thrusted two fingers in it, not mindinho if you were uncomfortable. your wetness made it very clear that you weren't anywhere close to discomfort or pain. and your moans did it too.

"fuck it, get away, coriolanus!" you pleaded, not wanting to be the one moaning his name that night. and he didn’t even bother listening to you, too occupied with thrusting his entire lenght inside of you. it felt horribly good, his hot cock sloppily fucking your pussy as he fucked you in missionary, holding your left thigh to hug his waist just so he could have a better access to you. so good. so hot. it felt perfect.

you felt dumb.

your eyes closed shut as you did your best to hold in your moans, letting out a few groans and grunts as he slapped your ass, getting a hold of your other thigh and fucking you with your back against the wall, your eyes looking into his. fuck. you prayed to god that he wouldn’t end up making you say something, but god didn't seem to want to help you.

"tell me, doll," he started, groaning against your lips. "who does this pussy belongs to?" he asked, and you did your best not to answer, but the way your hips were trying to buck against his seemed as an answer. "words, bunny. use your words."

"n-no. no- i won't- fuck!" you moaned, lips opened slightly as you couldn't help but let your moans out of your mouth. you just wanted to cum already. it was too brain-mushing for you to do something other than moan and squeeze his dick inside you.

"tell me, or i'm not gonna let you cum." he said, brushing the gun on your clit, the cold metal making you mewl and cry.

"i-it's yours, c-coryo. it's yours. i'm sorry! please let me cum!" you begged, crying. he smiled, kissing your cheek and tasting your salty tear drop.

"i don't recall letting you call me coryo, bunny." he said, his dick kissing your cervix as you felt it throbbing inside you.

"o-officer! fuck, i'm sorry!" you slurred, and finally he had what he wanted.

he finally fucked the attitude out of you. not only that but he also got his dick wet. it was perfect.

"good girl." and you came, shaking on his cock as he kept thrusting in you, running for his climax.

once he did came inside you, he didn’t allow you to clean yourself, made you walk and sleep with your pussy filled by his cum.

[almond-tofuuu]

Wanna sit on Zayne’s lap (innocently) facing him with my face buried in his chest while he works 😊 and then maybe after a while grind on him a lil, just enough to rile him up, and then keep doing it until he snaps and pounds me into the nearest surface 😊

anon you are not the only one who wants to do this!!! If I've said it once, I'll say it again: ZAYNE WANTS US TO GRIND DOWN IN HIM!! why else would he keep letting us sit in his lap 🤷🏻‍♀️

Also sorry it took so long for me to write this, work has been brutal 😭😭😭 hope you enjoy!!

Dangerous Game

Zayne x reader

Warnings: nsfw minors dni, grinding, orgasm denial, Zayne's big dick (it needs it's own warning), pet names (Angel)

Zayne was busy, always busy. Even when he came home after a long shift at the hospital, he still had more work that needed to be completed. And you understood, you really did, his job was very important and his meticulous nature was just one of the many things you loved about him. But right now you were cursing the seemingly neverending amount of paperwork stacked on the desk next to him. Hearing that he had actually gotten off work on time for once, you were looking forward to spending an evening curled up on the sofa with your loving boyfriend. But your plans were cut short the moment he picked up a pen and started filling out documents. Watching him from the doorway you let out a small sigh, resigning yourself to spending another evening entertaining yourself, when an idea formed in your mind. Hiding the mischievous smirk growing on your face, you tiptoed your way over to Zayne, stopping beside his chair, gently poking his shoulder. Zayne's eyes flickered over to you, pen halting mid stroke as he gave you his full attention.

"Is there something I can help you with, Angel?" His smooth voice never failed to make your heart flutter, honeyed tone soft and tender, a sound reserved solely for you. Your fingers play with the cuff of his sleeve, a small pout on your lips, one you know he loves. "Can I sit with you? I missed you so much and I just want to be close to you for a while." The corners of Zayne's lips curl up into a soft smile, and you knew he'd give you whatever you wanted, after all Zayne could never say no to you. You were his weakness.

An amused chuckle left Zayne's lips as he swivelled his chair to face you, one hand holding yours whilst the other tapped his thigh, inviting you into his lap. "How can I refuse when you asked so nicely. Come on then, take a seat, Angel." He gently pulled you closer, helping you to straddle his lap, another deep chuckle rumbling from his chest as he watches you bury your face in his chest, breathing in his familiar scent. "Now be good for me, I'm almost finished with these reports. Then we can go watch a movie together." He gives a light squeeze to the plush of your hips before his hands leave you, picking up his pen and resuming his work.

You want to be good for him, you really do try, but your mind begins to wander. There's something about being surrounded by him, his scent overwhelming your senses, the steady rhythm of his heart, his muscular thighs below you, it ignites a fire deep within you, and with every passing second you can feel the growing ache in your core.

You start small at first, squirming slightly in his lap, little wiggles that you play off as "just trying to get comfy". And for a while it's enough, but soon the throbbing in your cunt gets stronger, your clit begging for more friction, something to relieve the pressure building up in your lower stomach. You give an experimental rock of your hips, freezing to wait for Zayne's reaction. When he doesn't respond you do it again, setting a steady rhythm as you grind down on his lap. The zipper on the front of his slacks rubs perfectly against your sensitive clit, the pleasure increasing with every roll of your hips, head burying further into the crook of Zayne's neck, his masculine scent filling your nose, pushing you even closer to your orgasm that is building steadily. Your pussy is dripping now, soaking your panties, your empty hole flutters and pulses as you continue grinding in Zayne's lap, too lost in pleasure to register the tiny whimpers leaving your mouth, forgetting all about subtly as your minds only focus is on your orgasm that is fast approaching. Speeding up your movement, hips pressing down harder into his, a breathy moan of his name falls from your lips as you're about to reach your peak. Just as you feel yourself tumbling over the edge, two strong, cold hands firmly grab your hips, halting your movement completely. You whine desperately at the loss of your orgasm, hips frantically chasing more of that delicious friction that would have your cunt gushing into your panties, but it's useless. Zayne's vice-like grip prevents any of your movements, cold fingers bruising as they dig into the soft flesh of your hips.

"Did you really think I would let you finish like that, Angel?" Zayne whispered lowly in your ear, dark tone sending a shiver down your spine. "I thought I told you to be good, but it seems my girl was just too desperate to wait." You let out a pathetic mewl as Zayne presses you further into his lap, only now noticing the large bulge that has formed in his pants, his cock hard and begging for relief as it grinds against your clothed pussy. "You wanted my attention, Angel? Well you've got it. And I'm going to spend the rest of tonight teaching you what happens to bad girls who don't do as their told." He chuckles darkly, hips rutting up into yours, mercilessly guiding your sensitive cunt along the length of his confined cock. "And I'm not going to stop until you're a begging, whimpering mess."

[baby-tini]

I really like imagining Chuuya to be just. Such a gentleman. To the point of it almost being cheesy and old fashioned, but it's not because it's him doing it. He tries not to curse around you because "you're a lady" but then spews absolute filth when you're fucking. Also doesn't mind if you speak crassly, he can't, he's the man here, he should show restraint. Early on, he uses honorifics with you until you explicitly state that he can drop them, always takes his hat off in your presence if you two are alone, always pays for everything (he's got a thing for that one in particular) etc.

I'm also really into the whole him basically being your bodyguard when ya'll are out thing, but it's subtle (Of course, he has a gun in his waistband, but that's to be expected) I'm talking the sidewalk rule, always the sidewalk rule, I'm talking opening doors, I'm talking constantly surveying his surroundings for potential threats or exits, giving death glares to guys who stare just a bit too long and then turning back to you with a smile as you continue to ramble on whatever it is you're talking about (he loves it, it's so cute), When he has the time and if you two aren't living together, he's coming over to fix shit. Kitchen cabinet closes weirdly? Car needs repearing? Heavy furniture needs to be moved? He's on it. Why would you pay some dickhead who's probably gonna fuck it up anyway to do it when he can?

It's the same in the bedroom. A giver through and through. Just wants to make you feel good, wants to get you cockdrunk and limp, to overwhelm you with pleasure, to bruise your cervix, you feel so good to him, it strokes his ego to see you fall apart all because of him, because of his mouth and fingers and dick.

I was very tempted too keep this to myself, too think about it constantly- cause that's all I've been doing with this post. I don't think I've seen a better characterization of Chuuya, this is literally perfect. Also the "you're a lady" thing made me think of this.

Chuuya is a gentleman at heart, he was taught too treat women like royalty, seeing as though, he was basically raised by a woman, Kouyou. Chuuya, I agree, is pretty old-fashioned, he definitely comes off as that old-fashioned mobster that you see in movies. But when it comes too how he acts, he is literally the inspiration for the cheesy male role in rom-coms. As for his curing.. we all know that he does that a lot, it's a pretty nasty habit of his that he won't break anytime soon, but he tries, especially for you, because you're too pretty too hear the utter filth coming out of his mouth, but you don't mind and he knows you don't mind especially when his cock is fucking into you. Leaving you breathless, unable too speak from just how good he feels inside of you. His gruff voice in your ear, telling you how good you feel- how good you make him feel. He's so soft with you though, careful not too be too harsh because even if you do like it rough, he's never left bruises on you; ever. Sure, he never leaves you unsatisfied, never- not once. Because bruises are for him too deal with, they're for him too come home with. They shouldn't even be spotted on your soft skin, the thought of it makes him upset. But, yes, he'll pull out your chair at the restaurant, open the door for you. Also the paying for you is such a him thing, because he makes more then enough money for you too spend he just has so much, why would you spend your hard earned money when he has loads for you too spend on whatever the fuck it is that you want.

He knows that his job in the mafia is dangerous, and you could be hurt just by association and he can't have that, and as much as he'd like too just relax and have a good time with you, he knows that's not the most achievable especially given his high ranking position of being an executive. His eyes are constantly shooting left and right, checking for any suspicious behavior coming from anyone, or anything that just looks a little too out of place. Now, Chuuya doesn't really need a gun, sure he keeps one in the drawer next to the side of your guys shared bed, but a gun would poke out a little too much for his liking, so that's where his ability comes in, he also, canonly, has a knife on him, at basically all times, so you can rest assured that you are very safe. Now I do like the sidewalk rule. Because he would!!! He doesn't even let you think about walking close to the road, you stay near the wall, and if you're someone that tends too drift as you walk, maybe can't walk in straight line, that's fine because he'll just move your you to the side by your hips- or even better, he'll hold your hand so you don't stray too far. He also lays on the side of the bed that's closest to the door, so if there is a problem he can just quickly jump up and deal with it, also you'd be behind him, so if they did shoot, he has his ability and if you're small enough, they might not even see you; which is what he's betting on. I also think that he guards the door while you use the bathroom, he doesn't care if it's a big, multiple stall womans restroom, no is allowed in while you're in there. He, in his own right, is your own personal little handy man. Like you said, fixing up the things around the house, he also is the type too fix your things before you notice there's something wrong with them. Like if something of yours had fallen, a vase of roses perhaps, had broken he'd buy you a new one and replace the same flowers so that it looks like nothing ever happened, or if you had a stuffed animal that you treasured he'd attempt too sew it for you- he doesn't wanna buy a new one right away cause it's special and he knows something like that can't just easily be replaced, so he tries his best. But, he wouldn't pay a man too do something that he could do- and Chuuya would do it better, best believe.

Chuuya has always been a giver, anting too make you feel good in anyway he can. He makes it his job too learn your body fully. He wants too know your body better then you do, he doesn't ever want you too be one of those women that feel like they have too get themselves off because they're partners don't care enough too make them cum. Chuuya does care and this is one of the little ways he shows that. I also hc Chuuya too be the type of person that doesn't do... sex. He makes love. Sure he'll fuck you, especially if he's pent up from work, but he makes it his mission too make love to you at some point in the night. Whether that be the soft kisses in between bites to your neck or rubbing and caressing the area that he had just spanked. He never wants the thought of sex for you too be mentally or physically exhausting, like you're just doing it too please him. But, he does also get a kick when he watches you push at his chest and then tug and pull at the sheets because you just don't know what too do with yourself. Your so overwhelmed with how good it is that you just lay there and take it or you just can't hold still. That's what he enjoys though, when you just can't hold still so he has too hold you down with his ability so that you physically can't move, but the aftermath is his favorite. You calling for him so that he can carry you to the shower because you can't move or him coming down the stairs shirtless, with his grey sweats low on his hips, seeing the love bites on your neck and on your thighs as you cook him breakfast.

[gay-dorito-dust]

hi sweetheart 🥺🥺 I love ur page so much!! Also I feel so thirsty to ur cannibal and reader things we need MORE and more PLEASE FEED US 🙏🏻🙏🏻🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

I will keep feeding you cuz I have some stuff in mind but I’d like to add some benjicot Blackwood brainrot into it also bc he’s been on my mind since the sneak preview for episode 3.

So I might as well do a little short piece for you right here cuz I can:

Since we’ve toyed with the idea that reader and Cannibal would/could have a telepathic bond, so what happens if reader gains a crush on someone?

Cannibal is extremely protective over reader, no man -or woman- is good enough for them in his eyes and will let that be known.

Let’s say you met benjicot by pure coincidence, whether it be by a Bracken boy being a cunt and you kicked him in the dick, or you just happened to run into him and find his shy awkwardness somewhat charming and endearing as you found yourself wanting to get to know him more and he with you.

However Cannibal sees this interaction and is immediately in your head saying; the Blackwood boy? While skilled with the sword the boy can barely put together a sentence in your presence, what do you find so appealing about that small friend?

And you’re like: he’s sweet and kind and strong but has a warriors heart.

Only for cannibal to respond with seconds later as your getting lost in Benjicot’s eyes, cutting your daydream of being his short: he’s a guy that you’ve barely known for five minutes and you’re already saying he has your heart? Small friend you must realise how dangerous this mentality is, for your sake and mine.

You mentally curse this telepathic bond of yours as you tried not to show Benji that you were far away in your head to listen to him talk about anything; so? I can always get to know him more of you stop butting in you overgrown lizard.

Cannibal growled at the insult from afar, watching you practically eat the awkward Lord Blackwood with your eyes; I don’t want to see your filthy fantasies mortal, your hormones are getting the best of you that I can smell it from where I am.

‘Would you like to come visit Raventree hall sometime soon?’ Ben’s calming voice pulled you from your mental argument with your dragon as you blinked at him before realising what he had just asked.

‘Oh yeah, I would love to but I don’t wish to intrude-‘

‘It’s honestly no harm,’ Ben cuts in, cheeks flushing red after realising how desperate he might’ve looked in wanting to see you more as he clears his throat, ‘what I mean is that I’m the one who offered the invitation and besides I’d like to think my aunt would come to enjoy your presence.’ He adds with the shrug of his shoulders to act nonchalant.

You could hear cannibal groan at the obvious tension between the two of you, complaining that it was burning his sensitive nose, but you only smiled at Benjicot softly and laid a hand on his bicep. ‘I’d love to Benji, I would be honoured. I shall send a raven whenever I can.’ You tell him and you couldn’t help but smile when he smiled, warmth flooding your chest as you both bided the other farewell and see you soon’s.

When you got back to Cannibal and needless to say if a dragon could raise a judgmental brow, you knew that’s what he was doing as he huffed.

I don’t approve. Cannibal growled in your head.

You never approve of anyone I’ve ever fancied. You retorted back as Cannibal gave you the silent treatment for the next week for thinking about the sweet nobleman of house Blackwood.

[bloodycassian]

Reborn - Reader x Azriel. AN - thank you anon for this great prompt!

Requested - I don't know if your requests are open but I wanted to throw something in just in case.

An Azriel x reader, where AZ and reader have never met before, reader has been tortured and experimented on by the court of nightmares ( Keir ) she could be a shadowsinger, and they're mates, when the reader is in the verge of death for refusing to work with Keir, AZ feels it and begins to grow hectic without knowing the reason,  everyone in the inner court is confused until elain comes out of nowhere and tells everyone that his mate is in danger. ( Vision )

I have this on the back of my mind since reading some of your amazing work and couldn't stop thinking about it.

No amount of masturbation, drinking, or sparring helps the agitation under Azriel’s skin. It’s a constant, burning, itching thing that’s like a fucking disease upon his being. 

Sleep is his only relief, but even then he’s plagued with pain and darkness. It reminds him too much of the dank basement he’d been forced into when he was young, so he stays up. He’s exhausted and brooding and quick to snap at anyone who questions him. He knows he’s being a dick but according to the five healers he’d seen, there was nothing wrong. 

Nothing wrong, just like how his shadows weren’t some kind of magic, according to them. 

He’d refused to believe in healers all that much since the explanation Madja had given him about his diseased pets. The writhing, tentacles of night were a ‘bodily mutation of the highest level, tainted with fae magic’. Tainted. The word felt right for what they were, but that didn’t mean it stung any less. 

“We’ll invade here, and be able to plant our…” There was a beat of silence in Amren’s quick words, then her voice cut through his busybodied task like a knife “Azriel, are you even listening?” 

Truthfully, he hadn’t been. He’d been consumed by the ache again, the broiling sickness beneath his skin that had every muscle flexed in tension. His mind had other battles to fight. 

“What does it matter? You’ll carry out your plan with or without me. Keep talking, make yourself feel important, Amren.” His ill-tempered response came quick and laced with venom. One glance towards the small not-quite-fae female and his mind gave a twinge of regret. 

A lick of her power radiated, filling the room with something vibrant and undeniable. Cassian sucked in a breath, and a word from Rhys had her firey gaze snapping to him instead. “Take your dog from the important business then, High Lord.” Her words were precise, hissed. 

Azriel straightened. The insult didn’t land as well as Amren had wanted, in part because he couldn’t care less, another because the fire under his skin was reaching a peak that he had no idea how he survived every time it came around. He glanced to Rhys, who gave him a nod. Good. Let him free of this cage. 

He flung open the balcony doors with his cursed gift and sprinted off the ledge, launching himself into the summer air. 

+

Rats nibbled at your toes when you slept, scurrying away before you could catch them. Your senses weren’t even close to what they had been months ago. Before, you’d been able to catch at least two a week for extra sustenance. 

You told yourself that they’d learned, that they’d gotten quicker at their biting and fleeing. Truthfully, you could feel your strength waning every day. 

Living was no longer hope, and more of an inconvenience. 

But it was an inconvenience to Kier as well. And that meant you’d keep on living out of spite. 

The next female would appreciate it. 

“Arms up, legs together.” The order came with unnatural casualness that you’d grown used to. If you didn’t follow the orders, you were beaten until you either complied or were unconscious, so complying was really the only option. Especially when you were attempting to stay alive for as long as you could. 

It’s for the next girl. You chanted to yourself when the keeper made the injection. It stung like hundreds of bees attacking the same place, but the pain was familiar. A friend you welcomed before everything went sideways and the nausea rolled in. 

The drug Kier’s men gave was like none you’d experienced outside this cell. An incredible high, with a disastrous low. 

You convulsed on the floor moments later, your body still barely able to take the amount they dosed you with. You’d seen the liquid inside the damn thing grow each week, they were marking your progress with every one of them. So, with each dosing you made sure to put on some dramatics for them. 

The clawing at the throat was false, the sound of your screams only half-forced. The real, unforced reaction though, was always the shade of pallor your skin turned after every injection. The darkness that radiated from you like a bubble, the pain made physical. 

It hovered over your skin like an aura, tendrils of it washing over your forehead when the sweating started. It always started like this, for the first few hours - or possibly minutes, you weren’t sure once you were lost to the pain - they’d observe, and sometimes Kier himself would join, looking like a disappointed mother. Then, once the shaking subsided, and you were able to breathe normally, they’d release a rabbit into your cell. 

The same rabbit almost every damn time. After the first two weeks, you’d grabbed the first one and snapped it’s neck, hoping that Kier would be happy with the accomplishment and you’d earn something. You’d felt awful as it died in your hands, but the pain… if it stopped the pain, you’d kill anything. 

But time after time, they’d send in another rabbit, and though you begged for some kind of explanation of what they wished with the damn thing, they’d only observe. After a few hours of investigating, it’d eventually be removed and you’d wake up alone again.

Kier did not make an appearance today, and after your shaking stopped, neither did a rabbit.

“Where’s dinner?” You croaked, the tears stinging small cuts on your cheeks. Your friend never laughed or spoke, hardly even moved when he was in the vicinity of your cell. It was odd, even for a freak who enjoyed drugging and torturing others.

The male only stared, writing in his little notebook. He could at least humor you and tell you what he was so keenly logging. Some friend.

He opened the door, but instead of the rabbit jumping inside, he stepped forward, past the barrier and wards keeping you from breaking through. Your breathing halted. 

“Your reluctance to learn your gifts has given us no other option.”

+

“Did you lose a fight?” 

Nesta’s words normally bounced and slid right off Azriel, but with how volatile he was feeling, it took all his restraint not to snarl at her.

“Come on Az, where’s that quick wit?” She chided, crossing her legs at the knee beside her sister. 

His eyes drifted to Elain, the warm blush of her cheeks. Her lavender nightshirt made her seem so much more vulnerable than she was. He knew just how lethal the female could be, and admired her for it. His eyes drifted to the soft hair and round features that he’d once dreamt of. How foolish he’d been, how full of hope and bitterness. Now here he was, merely a ghost. A shell for pain to be housed in and nothing more. 

And here he stared at a garden of hope and light. The female who’d haunted his dreams for years. The opposite of the steel bitch that sat beside her. 

A pang of guilt pinched at him. “You’re ridiculous.” Was all he could muster at her. Nesta was trying to help, in her own way, he supposed. She was testing his limits and temper, even while balancing comforting words and attempting to heal her little sister’s mental wounds. Not to mention navigating the strange, untrained gift of Elain’s.

It wasn’t often that Azriel came to the house of wind proper. When he did, he usually confined himself to the dining area and the war room, where the formal dinners and meetings were held. He hadn’t walked the halls into the large internal library in a long, long while. No wonder they both had turned their chairs to face him when he’d cracked the door to find them both here. 

The large windows seemed crowded with the amount of books that surrounded them. The only source of light, aside from the twinkling magic fueled ones above. The room had always made Azriel feel claustrophobic, and now it set him on edge in a way different than it had before. 

Especially when Elain’s eyes bored into his own. His skin felt like it was shifting, pulling and pushing from just beneath. He was beginning to wonder if the healers had somehow missed a parasite of some kind. Something new perhaps, something they’d never seen before.

Elain’s eyes widened, her cheeks going from the pink blush to sickly pale in an instant. Her expression was unfocused, hazy - as if she were drunk. Azriel suddenly felt like he was intruding, like seeing her so vulnerable was something reserved for only those close to her. 

Nesta placed a hand on her shoulder and rubbed her sister’s back comfortingly. It was about as tender as Azriel had ever seen her, even with Cassian. He watched the hands that rubbed the Seer, recalling the intense desire he’d once felt for her. Embarrassment coated his cheeks, distracting him from the physical pain for a moment.

He’d wanted to be that support for her, once. Nesta’s hand seemed to grow in his vision, the embroidered collar of Elain’s nightshirt with it. He blinked rapidly, trying to refocus. The blackness around his eyes did not recede though. His bones ached, and his headache stabbed at him like a branding iron. He rubbed his temple, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“She needs help.” Elain gasped, coughing on a breath. Azriel wavered on his heels, something hard hitting his back, crushing his wings. 

He could barely hear the high strung sound of Elain’s voice. “She needs help, Azriel!”

+

He tore though the court, dragging Kier kicking and frothing with him. He’d received a few severe wounds from the cruel male, but nothing that a few patches of his siphons couldn’t hold together. 

The gushing stab wounds could wait. He had something far more important to tend to.

“You’re a bastard, a low-born inconsequential bastard, Shadowsinger.” Kier coughed as Azriel dragged his broken body with him. The crowd pushed and writhed around them, but his outstretched dagger kept any of the patrons from advancing. Several dark looks, hisses of death closed in around him, but he plowed through them all, working his way to the catacombs behind the stone chair that served as Rhys’s dark throne. 

“I may be a bastard-” Azriel grunted through his pain, now more fevored and intense than before. It was a wonder he’d even been able to make it here, but it did explain his sloppy handling of Kier once he’d found the male. 

“But at least I didn’t sell a daughter off as stock.” He tossed the would-be-king to the locked door of the catacombs, a part of him enjoyed the thunk his head made against the stone floor, even through the intense agony that ripped through him. 

This was not the place to show weakness. If he let his shadows drop, let the air of anything but a cold hearted killer go for even a moment he’d be trampled by the crowd. 

Kier rose slowly, muttering curses while he pulled out a key and slid the door to the side. He sketched a bow, waving Azriel in. Spit landed at Azriels feet as he crossed the threshold, and he hesitated in his step. A hiss rang out behind him, shuffling feet a song as the crowd quickly scooted back. He held his stance there for a moment, collecting the wrath that built in him. It writhed and twisted in his mind, his guts, his teeth throbbing with the urge to tare out Kier’s throat. 

The blistering heat flared again, this time in his jaw and he moved down the hall, towards the cells that an unfortunate assistant to Kier had described. 

He’d made their death quick, painless. 

+

You couldn’t scream, could hardly breathe with the weight that seemed to be growing in your chest. 

Not weight exactly, more like pressure. Internal pressure, like there was lava built up inside you with nowhere to go. And every rattling breath seemed to give it more life. You wheezed, weak with the exhaustion of fighting it. 

Your friend had given you three more of the injections, and promptly left when you began struggling against the binds at your hands and feet. One of them had ripped, you only knew because that was the hand that you’d used to claw at your chest with. 

The blood made going any further too slippery and exhausting.

There were far away sounds, but it all seemed too strange, so disjointed to be real. Screams and sharp clangs of metal, breaking glass and thudding. 

Your eyes slipped closed, and relief washed over you. The pressure eased, and the squeaky hinges of the door opened. Had death finally come? Was this the end of your cycle, and now they were bringing in a new victim to Kier’s experiments? 

There wasn’t much of a goodbye to the world, though. As sad as it was to not be able to see your family again, you were just grateful that the pain was receding. That finally there’d be no injections, no innocent rabbit and certainly no Kier around. 

The sounds were strange, a choking, strangled sound like the first time you’d killed the rabbit. Your eyes cracked open almost involuntarily to see what had happened. 

Outside your cell in a glow of blue light was a winged male, his hand wrist deep inside your friend’s chest. 

+

Blood is hotter than most people think it is. Azriel takes joy in it though, when it’s the blood of the truly vile ones. The male with the syringes and log book reeked of something spiced and foreign, something Azriel’d never encountered before. He would have asked, would have talked to the male if he’d not pulled a knife and threatened to ‘kill her’ as he backed away. 

There were no thoughts after that. And as he fell to the floor, Azriel reveled in the male’s labored breathing. Relief and heat flooded him, prickling him with a soaring joy he’d thought abandoned him long ago. He could laugh, if it weren’t for the absurdity of how it sounded to laugh at this moment.

 He plucked the book from his hands and shoved it into his belt behind him, his chest thrumming with joy.

He’d never been so filled with glee before, so overwhelmed with it after killing… Had he become broken in a sick way? Was he no better than the male he’d just killed? He looked to his hand, twisting it in the low light of his siphons. 

A wet, weak cough echoed off the walls and he spun, knife ready. 

Then the blade was on the floor as he rushed to the bars of the cell door, ripping it free of the rusted hinges. 

The female was gaunt, and frail. Yet his chest sang and though she looked moments from death, he couldn’t imagine more beauty. 

She clutched her chest, the blood there crusted and dry. “Thanks.” She croaked, voice barely a whisper. Shadows mounted around him, enclosing them in complete black. He would have thought he was winnowing if it weren't for the sorry excuse for a bed that stayed beneath her.

Azriel’s lips were moving, but he couldn’t tell what he was saying, even to his own ears. His mind, his body was a rushing river of every emotion at once, all cascading through his mind, to his chest and thrumming in his blood. Her eyes went wide and wild, searching his for a moment. His heart thundered in his ears.

What had his life been until now? Why was this moment such a climax to him so suddenly? All of it, the pain the agony, the stark moments of joy against it all - the brief moments of shared happiness that made it all worth it tore through his body like a flash floor. 

Tears pricked his eyes, and it was a curious thing to see them fall onto her neck and wash away the blood there. 

Then, a wet sigh from her lips, and her eyes stopped searching his. The rush of joy and sense of sanctuary ceased. His blood went quiet in his ears, and the room felt suddenly cold. The room silent around him, not even his shadows dared whisper.

His fingers hesitated over her cheek. When her next breath did not come, he shook her gently. Her eyes remained, staring blankly at the ceiling. 

This was truly a tomb now. 

“No…” He heard his own words that time. The word clattered through the cell like a bell tolling, echoing.

“Take her back.” A shadow hissed over his ear, caressing. 

He shook her again, the tears boiling over now, panic gripping him. 

“We know how.” another said. This voice was different, the same whispered tone and suggestion, but this was not one of his pets. He sent his own shadows skittering away, and a group of them stayed, unbound to him and unmoving from the cell. His heart skipped, fear upon fear pulling him into the icy abyss of despair. 

His own shadows returned, a broken syringe floating to him on their behest. They mingled with the others, reveling and dancing together though Azriel felt that he was slowly sinking.

“What am I supposed to do with this?!” He shouted at them, at nothing. He had truly lost his mind, hadn’t he?

“Save her.” The strange shadows told him. Just like Elain had said, overtaken by her visions.

 A tendril of the foreign shadow wrapped around his hand, locking the glass pieces there and slicing into his palm. The needle aimed directly to her chest, between the ribs, only a few inches from the heart. 

And what did he have to lose? The silence that surrounded him now was almost worse than the pain had been. Wouldn't pain at least be better than complete nothingness? To feel completely blank and unwritten as a being?

With a breath, and a part of his siphon’s power to support the broken syringe, he pushed into her skin. His own blood dribbled down the sides, mixing with hers. Through and through - until he knew that he’d met the same depth of a killing blow to an opponent’s heart. 

+

“Side, block, strike.” Cassian’s orders came out in demanding, practiced tones. Each step, each swipe of your blade met with one of Azriel’s shadows as a shield. 

His were still much, much stronger than yours, even after months of practice with them. Even with him showing you very intimately just how much they were capable of. Your cheeks blushed at the reminder of that. 

“No distractions, keep that shadow talk in the bedroom, Az.” Cassian scolded.

A smirk played at your mate’s face, and he hit you with a surprise swipe at your feet, left unprotected by your own shadows. 

You fell on your ass, cursing. 

Azriel offered a hand, panting at the exertion the sparring had taken. You were proud of that, at least. 

The first six months of training had been dedicated to building stamina, gaining back weight and muscle while balancing training your shadows to obey you. Six months ago, being able to spar with your mate had seemed like a far off dream that you’d never be capable of doing. 

But with his training, and Cassian’s encouragement, you were almost able to take him on stride for stride. Almost. 

So, you took his hand and pulled him towards you for a kiss. Then knocked his knees out from behind with a wave of your own shadows.

You smirked, and offered him a hand while Cassian boomed with laughter.

He allowed you to help him up, but cleaned in close, pecking a kiss on your cheek. 

“You’ll pay for that later.” He said in an intimate tone. A lick of his shadow wrapped around your thigh, snaking upwards. 

“Promise?” Your eyes sparkled at him, and the pain all those months ago had been worth it for this. 

[clockwayswrites]

A Broken Sort of Normal- Part 19

WC: 2134, Masterpost

Danny sit up straighter in his chair as he states his name, but Wally can see the wince that Danny tries to hide. Absently, Wally runs through Danny’s schedule of care and when the other will be able to have more pain medication.

“Were you born with powers?” Bruce continues.

“No.”

Wally wants to go to Danny. He wants to tell him that it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that Danny has powers. It doesn’t mater how he got them. It doesn’t matter that Wally didn’t know. None of it matters to Wally; he’s just glad that Danny is still here.

“Are you comfortable explaining how did you got your powers?”

Danny runs his hand through his hair. He’s nervous. “Some of it. The broad strokes. It was a lab accident, because of course there was. My parents are ecto scientists, they study ghosts. They’re not… let’s just say don’t read their research into ghostly behavior. They are brilliant engineers though. They managed to build a portal to the Infinite Realms—”

“Minging knobheads,” John curses quietly.

“—and I was sorta in the portal when it turned on. Which, um, killed me and revived me at the same time. I was electrocuted while my system was flooded with ectoplasm.”

Killed.

Danny had— Danny had died. Again, before, Danny had died. Wally closed his eyes and swallowed around the catch in his throat. He almost never got the chance to know Danny. A hand fit into his and Wally knows instantly that it’s Dick’s. He grips it back tightly. At least he isn’t listening to this alone.

“It’s not so much that I got powers, as that because I’m half dead, I’m half ghost and I can do the things that ghosts can do. Invisibility, intangibility, flight… things like that. Long story short, someone had to stop the ghosts that the portal let through—”

John is up and pacing now. Zatanna doesn’t even try to stop him.

“—so I sort of became the town hero. I went by Phantom. It was… well, you’ve all been there.”

God, Wally wishes Danny didn’t know how that was.

“Kid… did you even have anyone to help you?” Barry asks.

Danny shrugs. “Two friends and eventually Ja… my older sister.. There are a few ghosts that were sometimes allies but ghosts…”

“Ghosts aren’t good or evil, they’ve got obsessions,” John explains into the silence. “Sometimes those obsessions motivate the ghosts in a way that seems one way or another. It only works out for you as long as your needs aligns with their obsession.”

Wally’s mind spins.

“Danny,” Bruce asks with very careful words, “do you have an obsession?”

He searches back through his memories of Danny.

“Yes.”

It couldn’t be anything anyone would see as bad or dangerous.

“Protection. My obsession is protection. It’s not as compelling to me as it is for a full ghost. For me it’s more like a hunger craving or itch, but it is there. It’s a good part of why I became a paramedic.”

Oh. That made so much sense.

“That’s our Danny,” Danna says, softly, from in their group.

“Why did you not simply join us as a hero?” Diana asks.

“Before, well, things were… complicated? There’s this government agency that considers ghosts non-sentient and—”

Danny jerks back in his chair at all the exclamations that rang out in the room at that. It isn’t just a reaction to the sudden noise, Wally realizes, Danny looks startled at being defended.

It breaks Wally’s heart.

“It’s okay!” Danny says over the din. “They were always pretty incompetent, really, even when working with my parents. I never even ended up vivisected or anything!”

Gar clamps a hand over his mouth and mutters. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Danny,” Dianna says his name gently, “have your parents ever attacked you?”

“They don’t know I’m a halfa. They don’t know I’m Phantom,” Danny says. There’s a pleading note to his voice that makes Wally agree with Gar; he’s going to be sick.

“But they’ve attacked Phantom,” Dianna says. It’s not a question, but Danny nods anyways. “Danny, do we need to set up protection for you from your parents?”

“They don’t know—”

“Kid,” Barry interrupts, “what you did was on the news. Like, every news station across the world. I think they know now.”

Danny sits back in his chair. He picks at the already frayed edge of the hoodie. Suddenly he looks small in a way that Wally’s only seen when Danny’s been in the middle of a panic attack. Any strength Danny’s gathered the last few days seems to leave him as his shoulders slump. “Maybe. I guess… I don’t know how they’ll take the news. It’s… maybe. We’ll, um, more than that someone needs to make sure the portal stays closed down. If the ghosts start coming through again…”

The hand Danny presses against his chest shakes. “I’m not as strong as I used to be. I don’t know if my powers will come back still or if this… is what I am now, but my core is weaker than it used to be. If this the way I’ll be now, I won’t be able to fight them off.”

“Are they dangerous?” Bruce asks. “Beyond the morality of their obsession, are they actively dangerous to you?”

“That’s not an easy question. Mostly the ghosts used Amity Park as a new way to fulfill their obsessions. Lunch Lady wants to feed people, which is good, but if you don’t want to eat things can get nasty. Obsessions are like that, they can twist quickly. The ghosts also just like to brawl, a lot of them at least. Some of them would understand if I can’t and back off, but there are others… take Skulker,” Danny says with a wave of his hand, “his obsession is hunting rare game and, well, I’m rare game. He wants to mount my pelt to his wall.”

With an unpleasant noise, Gar dashes from the room. It makes Danny wince and mumble an apology.

Wally is already mentally calling favors to call in to safeguard their apartment, not that he thinks anyone will say no to protecting Danny.

“We’ll make checking on the portal a priority as soon as this meeting is done,” Bruce assures Danny.

“Thank you. I don’t want anyone to be hurt if it gets turned back on.”

“Why has it been off? If it’s off, why would they turn it back on now?” John asks, still pacing.

Danny looks away from the table again. “Because they remember now.”

“The curse?” John asks at the same time Bary asks, “What do you mean remember?”

“I mean they forgot, because, yeah, the curse,” Danny says. He’s back to picking at his sleeve. Everyone gives him time to try and find his words, which he does with a wet laugh. “I was stupid. I mean, I was young, but I still should have known better. I was just… I was having a hard time. My parents were working on a new GIW contract and my friends… team were going off to college… I was going to be alone to deal with the ghosts. I still should have known better. I just wished I could be normal.”

“That’s not wrong, Danny,” Barry says. “We’ve all felt that sometime…”

Danny’s shaking his head. “You don’t understand. You don’t wish in Amity Park.”

“Because of this Desiree?” Zatanna asks.

“Because of Desiree,” Danny confirms. “Some ghosts have very specific powers and those are usually strong powers. For Desiree, it’s… it was reality altering based on wishes. I forgot to never say ‘I wish’.”

After a moment of comprehending silence, Diana asks, “She had the power to make you fully human?”

“No, even borrowing power like I think she did, Desiree couldn’t do that. But that’s not what she needed to do. Normal isn’t a real thing, it’s just societal, you know? She just had to make sure no one remembered I was half dead and, tada, I had a normal life.”

John finally stops pacing and leans against the back of his chair. His cigarette is a mangled mess dangling from his lips. “What was the catch?”

“I wanted to be normal, so I had to stay normal. I couldn’t be noticed using any of my powers or being too ghostly or tell anyone I had died or what things used to be like. If I did— well you all saw what happened,” Danny looks up, finally, right at Wally. “It’s why I couldn’t tell any of you, even if I wanted too. It’s why I couldn’t use my powers to help. As soon as I did, I was good as dead.”

More than ever Wally wants to rush over to Danny’s side. He wants to let Danny know it’s alright that he kept this secret. It doesn’t matter. He settles for what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

“I still don’t know how I survived. As soon as Desiree appeared and took my powers, that should have been it for me. My ghost half can’t survive without them and my human half isn’t alive enough to last by itself. It would be like cutting off a normal person’s oxygen. I should have been ended.”

“We overloaded her,” Zatanna explains.

“Forced all your power— which there was a fucking lot of it— into her at once,” John finished. “She popped like a balloon with too much air.”

“Did you have to describe it that way?” Hal grumbles.

“Oh.” Danny blinks a few times as he took that in. “I guess, okay. I mean, yeah, I was more powerful than a lot of ghosts; something about being a halfa and my state being mutable still. I didn’t think though… right, okay. But how am I still here?”

“When she popped,” John says with a smirk towards Hal, “the air was full of ambient ectoplasm. Flash zapped you, re-started your heart, and the cloud went up like a match in a fart.”

Danny’s face wrinkled up at that. “Ew. But, alright. I mean it was my power first. I guess that…” Danny’s hand comes up to press over his sternum. “I guess that means this is my power level now.”

“And the rest of the curse?” Zatanna asks, leaning forward in her seat.

“Gone. People remember now.”

Wally thought to all the phone messages Danny had been getting in a new light.

“That’s why we need to make sure the portal is closed.”

“As well as that the GIW are shut down and that your parents do not try to harm you,” Diana says with that firm certainty of hers.

“Right,” Danny says after a beat. It’s hard to see how clearly Danny doesn’t consider himself a priority. “And… for the rest of it all?”

Diana tilts her head in question. “The rest of it?”

“I didn’t tell anyone my status. I lied to some of you. Is that…”

“You did what you needed to stay alive and hurt no one.” She holds up a hand to stop any protests from Danny. “While I have no doubt with your heart as it is you do not wish you could have done more, it would have never been asked of you at the cost of your life. You are a hero, Danny, and have been since you joined the Response Team in Central City. You have only continued to prove it by your willingness to act and the honor with which you did so. The Justice League is proud to still have you as your post, as soon as you are recovered.”

Finally the last of the tension drains Danny’s shoulders. “I’ll be happy to get back to it.”

Wally tunes Diana out as she wraps up the meeting.

“I’m going to ask him,” Wally says to Dick, who still has his hand.

“What? Now?” Dick hisses.

Wally watches as Danny shakes Clark’s hand. “Why not? Everyone’s here, like you said had to be.”

“Because it’s a debrief! That’s not exactly the most romantic moment.”

The other Titans are standing around them, waiting for their chance to see Danny. Even Gar is back.

“I almost missed my chance, N. I almost never got to ask,” Wally pleads. “I don’t want to miss it again.”

Dick just sighs and pulls a small case out of his belt. He presses it into their clasped hands before releasing his grip

Wally can feel the smile stretching across his face. “You know me so well.”

Dick just shoves Wally off his chair. “Go get your man. Ghost? Man ghost.”

Laughing, Wally fumbles to his feet and towards Danny.

“Danny!”

Danny who’s still here and alive.

Who smiles like the sun as he turns towards Wally.

“Yes?”

---

AN: I don't know, is it too cruel to end right there? 😇 Don't worry, we'll get an epilogue to hopefully tie the loose ends up in a bow! But this is the last half of the last full chapter! They know! And they still respect and love Danny. He can stop worrying~

You can subscribe to the masterpost here.

[brucewaynehater101]

Hear me out for something. You love Tim Angst right? Hear me out for this.

Tim is not a human. Tim has never been a human. This is one of his most closely guarded secrets. He holds this closer to his soul than even the fact that he is Robin. Not even Bruce or Dick or Alfred know that Tim is not human. He dares not even consider dreaming of them knowing what he is. Only three people alive know exactly what Tim is, Tim himself, Billy Batson, and John Constantine. Only five others know that Tim is not human, Raven, Diana Prince, Zatanna Zatara, Klarion The Witch Boy and Doctor Fate. All of these people only know that Tim is not human due to an aura of magic that he can not fully hide. He masks it well, enough that those who don't know think he simply has a few drops of dragon or Fea blood in him, perhaps a grandparent or great grand parent? Just enough to ping on their magical radars as Not Human.

Billy knows exactly what Tim is because Solomon went "oh by the way you can naturally see through all Glamor spells, look there. That one has wings." while pointing at Tim. Constantine knows because he's the only magic person in the JL and/or Titans (and Klarion) who decided his curiosity over what Tim is and out weighs both his manners and sense of danger and dispelled the Glamor spell when they were alone. Tim very nearly tore his throat out with his razor sharp teeth before John swore on his life that he would never tell anyone what Tim is. All he extorted out of Tim was one feather nearly the length of his forearm, a couple of downy feathers, and vial of blood.

As for why Tim hides what he is well. He's something that can be considered very, very valuable to certain people. A source of parts that are so very, very hard to come by that the idea of having one is so very, very appealing. Appealing enough that many of the more corrupt magic users in the world would happily pay out millions of dollars to have Tim locked in a cage in their study, a constant source of so many things they need for spells and rituals.

Tim uses his glamor spell to hide what he is, both for his own safety and the safety of his family. He knows what happens to creatures like him, he's heard stories of what happens to them. He knows that his family would come looking for him and they would never stop and they would be hurt, or worse. He wishes he could use the curse of his species to protect them but giving each of them even one of his feathers and saying he "found" them would rat him out.

The only person who has one is Jason and Tim told him that it's just a contingency plan, not to look into it. Jason thinks Tim spent a fortune to buy him a single Phoenix Feather, a flight feather no less, and keeps it on him always. After all, while a downy feather can only heal a single fatal wound before turning to ash, if applied to the wound directly before death, a flight feather can resurrect the newly dead by simply placing it on their person, or them already having it in their pocket.

Hmm... I wonder how far this would go into the myths of Phoenixes. Does Tim also respond/come back to life? How much is well known about those myths (is it known that they can hide as humans)?

The pure angst from Jason being the only one to get a feather (Tim wants to make sure he never dies again because he can't handle that. His own emotions aside, he can't save Bruce again).

Does Tim die as Robin and come back because he's a Phoenix? Does he lose his spleen but gets it back when he dies again? Do his scars and callouses stay with him if he rises from the ashes again?

Anyways, I love angst where Tim hides information from the Bats for them despite how it hurts Tim.

I'd also be curious about Tim's heritage. Are the Drakes Phoenixes too? It'd be hilarious if some distant ancestor named themselves "dragons" to hide the fact that they are Phoenixes

[holylulusworld]

Gun for hire (1)

Summary: You’re his next target. Nothing else. Right?

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x fem!Reader

Warnings: hiring a killer, Lloyd being Lloyd, being followed, sunshine reader

Gun for hire (Prologue)

Gun for hire masterlist

Lloyd curses himself once again.

He still didn’t get his money. His newest client is an annoying piece of shit. And on top of the pile of shit, this assignment turned into, the exotic beard wax he wanted to order was sold out.

In other words. Lloyd Hansen is fucking livid. 

This doesn’t keep him from following his latest target around town.

So far you went to work, bought a muffin on your way to the library, and talked to the librarian for half an hour.

Lloyd yawns, bored beyond belief. He never followed such a boring person. Most of the people he killed were criminals, or at least interesting. You’re just…too nice.

You made it your mission to visit the elderly librarian every day after work to make sure she gets her extra portion of sugar – hence the muffin you bought. Plus, you try to make her feel needed by asking questions about books you already read.

He’s close to calling it a day when a man walks past you and the librarian. The man bumps into your side and has the guts to yell at you.

Lloyd pokes his head around the shelf he is hiding behind to watch you smile at the man. He can’t believe that you smile at a man yelling at you not moments ago.

“Crazy,” he concludes but decides to watch you for a little longer. Assignment or not, he’s got nothing better to do today.

“Sir,” you carefully pat the man’s arm while you speak to him in a low, but soft tone. “Your day must have been hard.” You batt your eyelashes, and smile again. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have been so rude, right?” 

The man suddenly smiles and apologizes repeatedly. The man’s whole demeanor changed so suddenly Lloyd could not believe his eyes.

“Drugs maybe…or a hidden gun?” Lloyd wonders. No man ever changed their opinion so fast without being under the influence of drugs, or in danger. “That woman must be the devil in disguise or something. She must be more dangerous than I first thought.”

“Come on, do something more exciting,” Lloyd grunts as your daily routine drives him up the walls. He looks at his notes again and sighs deeply. 

He rereads his notes and tries to find new information.

“Work. Buying something sweet for Grace, the elderly librarian. Talking to said librarian for half an hour. Going home. Watching TV.”

This is not how imagined his Friday night would look like. He wanted to spend it at his favorite strip club, a pretty girl’s mouth wrapped around his dick.

“She’s so…” he rubs his tired eyes, “boring. I can’t believe someone wants to kill her.” Lloyd ignores the kink in his neck and his burning eyes, or the fact that he’s watching you giggle at something your elderly neighbor said. “I hate her so much.” 

He could just end your life or call it a day, but he keeps on watching you smile and giggle. “She’s a fucking ray of sunshine. What the fuck!”

Lloyd shakes his head. Today someone spilled coffee all over your pretty sundress. Your boss yelled at you. And you lost your phone.

Nothing seems to ruin your mood. You are still laughing and joking with your neighbor.

“I should just go over there and kill them both. Less headache for me – a house and a car for my client,” Lloyd is tempted to get his gun and silencer out to shoot you and your neighbor. “Maybe later. I need to unlock her phone first…”

Lloyd rolls his eyes while scrolling through your phone. There are mostly pictures of bees, flowers, and cake on your phone. No interesting or naughty stuff. 

“This woman can’t be real. She buys sweets for the librarian; cooks soup for her sick neighbor and has a fucking insect hotel on her veranda. She’s crazy…this must be it.” 

He nods to himself. “I need to find out more about her. Maybe some files are password-protected. I know she’s hiding shit from me.”

“Boss, it’s two weeks,” one of Lloyd’s men dares to say. “He didn’t pay.” The man clears his throat. “The woman is still alive too. What is your plan?”

“I need to find out more about her,” Lloyd grunts. He doesn’t need one of his bootlickers to sniff around and find out Lloyd is following you because he’s fascinated and a little grossed out by your bubbly personality.

Your friendliness is hard to stomach, and he wants to find at least one thing you try to hide before he kills you.

“Boss, he didn’t pay,” the man insists. “We don’t work for free. That’s rule number—” A gunshot ends the man’s life. 

“Rule number four is to never doubt me and my decisions,” Lloyd sneers at the dead man on the ground. He snaps his fingers at one of the others. “Clean this up. I got a job to do.”

“Boss…” the man nods and goes to work.

“And bring me her boyfriend. He broke our contract and didn’t pay me a single buck. I want to know why he believes he can fuck with Lloyd fucking Hansen.”

“What are you doing at my house?” You take a step back. A stranger is standing in your living room, a gun with a silencer aimed at your head. “Oh…Tommie.” You shake your head and sigh. “He’s such an unhappy man.”

Lloyd cocks a brow at your reaction. You don’t scream or beg. Instead, you are concerned about your ex-boyfriend.

“He doesn’t have the money to pay me back for the house and car,” you conclude and nod to yourself. “But he has the money to pay you?”

You take a step toward Lloyd, taking him by surprise. He backpaddles and aims his gun back at you.

“You don’t look like a guy he found on the street and paid him twenty bucks. You look like a…” You tilt your head to look the man in front of you up and down, “professional.”

“Sorry, but you got to go…” He murmurs, wondering a little about his words. It’s the first time he said more to a target than hello and goodbye.

“Uh-okay,” you wring your hands. “I just ordered takeout. Can I eat it before you kill me?” You cock a brow. “You know, the whole last meal thing and stuff. I got dessert too. Please don’t let me die hungry.”

Lloyd is stunned. No target ever accepted their fate without fighting back. Most of them at least begged and pleaded or offered more money.

“You can have some dessert too,” you softly say. “I guess in your line of business you don’t often get invited.” You giggle. “You know, because you kill all of your clients.”

“I don’t kill my clients,” he sighs. “Fine, have your last meal. You are giving me a fucking headache, sunshine.”

“Aw, that’s a cute nickname,” you point out. “Do you call your girlfriend that too?” You ask while walking past Lloyd. “I’m going to eat now. Please don’t shoot me before I finish my meal.”

“Just shut up,” he grunts and follows you inside the kitchen. “Why are you not screaming or throwing a tantrum?”

You shrug. “We all must die one day. Right?” Watching Lloyd, you smile. “Please don’t shoot me in the face. Someone must identify me, and I don’t want them to see me like that.”

“You always think about others first.” 

He watches you prepare two plates of food. You watch him watching you. He cocks a brow, believing you will try to trick him. “It’s not poisoned. I’ll eat it too.”

“Do you want to sort things out first?”

“I got everything sorted out,” you smile. “I’m just worried about my neighbor and the stray cat I feed. They are both old and need help.”

Lloyd shakes his head. “You must be crazy thinking about others while a stranger threatens to kill you.”

“I thought you wanted to kill me, not just threaten me,” you round the counter to place a plate close to him. “I didn’t take you for someone making empty promises.” You run your fingertips over the hand holding the gun and smile. “Right. Mr.…?”

“Lloyd,” he says and drops his eyes to your finger running over his hand. “Are you flirting with me?”

You look him straight in the eyes and smile. “Why would I flirt with my executioner?”

Gun for hire (2)

Tags in reblog.

[fsuna]

MODERN LOVE SONGS

⊹ ⋆˚ 𓏲 – minors dni. fem!reader. heavy smut. cucking. cheating. slight voyeurism. daddy kink. unprotected sex. oral (m & f). pussy talking. fingers in a-hole. consensual recording. not proofread. just random song lyrics + hq boys <3 masterlist. tokyo rev version otw.

wakatoshi. bokuto. osamu. atsumu. sakusa. suna. kenma. kuroo.

WAKATOSHI

"never thought i'd leave my kids until i left them in her mouth,"

toshis above you trailing breathless curses as he watches you suck him off threw his lashes- jaw painfully aching as you blow his big dick while he keeps a hand on the back of your head, fingertips coiling within your loose hair. a pinkish hue blushes across his cheeks while your mouth slowly invites his whole length in your throat, the button of your nose nuzzling against his pubs.

your eyes are watery from the countless times his swollen tip had poked at the back of your mouth, spit escaping out from the corners of your lips to run down to his balls. a laugh so sinful that can make you cum untouched from beneath your panties exits from toshi once he notices your signature glittery lip gloss smeared all over the base of his cock and your pigmented mascara plastered past your under eyes.

“such a doll, suckin’ my dick so motherfuckin’ good- missed getting your faced fucked, didn’t you?”

his cock begins to twitch against the walls of your tight throat, panting and swearing nonstop till he’s cumming all up in your mouth, warm semen brimming over to both your lips and chin giving him the best fucking sight he has ever seen.

BOKUTO

"yeah i heard she got surgery, still wanna clap from the back just to see if her ass soft,"

raw dogs pussy from the back like it's the first time he's in one since the day he came out of one every. fucking. time. bo has your kneecaps dug deep in his king sized mattress- the tainted sounds of skin smacking plug your ears as he keeps a strong hand latched on your hip, rocking your lower back and forward against his pungent thrust. he's a tease too, you know- placing his two thumbs over your asshole to maul the nub just so he can feel your wet pussy clench and throb, his fat heavy balls slapping off your ass.

he’s the biggest you’ve ever taken. gosh his dicks so fucking huge, it’s like he gets even bigger every time you see him, but it makes you so wet. so wet you don’t even need to use any form of lubricant for him to stuff you up.

and now he's fucked you so damn stupid that the strength to talk has vanished for you- firm hands setting painful slaps on your naked ass before squeezing it sorely, making sure you'll be able to feel the flaming sensation his gigantic palms left on your bum for the next few days whenever you try to sit. you love it though- in love with how he stretches you out, making you feel so fucking full.

“yeah, you love that, don’t ya, pretty baby? ‘bouta fill this pussy up cause daddy knows that’s what ya want,”

SAKUSA

"you can call her phone and i'll probably answer,”

to him, the timing of this phone call couldn't have been more perfect- knowing you're so so close by the way your velvety walls pulsate against his hard cock on repeat.

“pick it up, baby. your man's callin' you. don't wanna ignore him now do we?”

a real meanie. takes it upon himself to answer your boyfriends phone call, picking up your phone before pressing the speaker button so you talk to the poor guy while he continues to fuck the literal living breathing shit right out of you. right on top of the shared bed with your boyfriend.

god he wants to laugh so freaking badly- pulling out of your messy hole dangerously slow only to pound back inside you with no word other then a sinning grin while he gives your tits a paining smack loud enough for your boyfriend to catch it crystal clear.

"we'll then, pretty? go head and tell him how kiyoomi fuckin' sakusas made you his bitch and you're about to cum all over his big cock, or i'm tellin' him myself."

couple seconds later he’s got you creaming all on his length as your boyfriend from the other line hears you have the most phenomenal, toe curling, life changing, spine tingling orgasm you've ever faced.

AKAASHI

“she callin’ me daddy, i’m somebodies father,”

keijis got your wimpy legs draped over his shoulders, his sweat lined forehead kissing your own as he watches your pretty face expressions shift while your pussy hustles to lure in every inch of his big dick in.

but now he's just as fucked out as you are- hips rutting against yours with more desperation each time- moans becoming more winded once he’s sure he's close to filing you up to the brim. he’s fucked you so good your brains turned into mush, little yelps slipping from your parted lips as you feel every last ragged vein located on his dick draw against your delicate walls.

“fuck- love your cock so much, daddy! don’t want you to stop!

your holding onto his biceps, the tips of your acrylics jagged in his bare flesh as he reaches all of your sensitive points till your poor ol’ cunt milks him dry, womb filling up with his cum before he’s fucking another one in you right after.

“and i fucking love this cunt, angel. want you to be a good girl and take daddys cock one more round for me,”

SUNA

"she came for me twice, i didn't even nut for her once, you know i'm a pleaser,”

the perfect mixture of sweetheart and asshole during sex. when he finds the need, he’ll be a fucking sadist. but he knows how to please you the right way.

rintarōs number one concern is for you to cum. and if he can make it happen more then once before he’s shooting his own load in either one of your holes, then he will.

he looses it once he feels your dripping cunt squeeze him in, hips bucking up and rocking in you harder and harder. just after two orgasms you were awfully cum drunk, eyes crossing ‘n rolling back while he’s got your tits bouncing back and forth as your almost exploding-grip on his varsity team t-shirt tightens.

sunas dragging dreamy moans and whimpers from you as he sinks in his cock deep in your tummy. he cant tear his gaze off the way your puffy folds are sprawled around his dick, sticky body stiffening once his stomach coils from the familiar feeling of his orgasm edging him.

but he doesn’t wanna give in just yet. especially since he’s sure you’re not far yourself from reaching your high once more.

“shit- ‘got the tightest little pussy. think you can cum for me jus’ one more time, angel? c’mon, know you got it in ya, wanna see you cream on me again,”

KUROO

"we gon' make a movie like ray jay and kim kardash,"

bouncing in his strong lap, kuroos iphone’s blocking half of his face as he focuses on recording his pretty girl getting herself off on his cock- filming how desperate you are for his cum while he words the dirtiest things known to man behind that phone of his.

gives your tits a couple smacks before he’s toying with your nipples, wet cunt pulsating around his length once you feel his cold fingertips on your skin. it felt like your pussy was being slip into half- your little hole always striving to compromise to his monstrous size no matter how many times it’s been fucked by his cock.

“soo pretty- my girl wanted to ride me on camera tonight. ‘missed this cute cunt, baby. all fucking mine,”

your sore hips are grinding on his dick, teary eyes closed tightly as you feel all those inches he’s packing inside what really felt like your literal gut. he was near to pulling your first orgasm of that night, cocktip piercing your cervix once you seat back down nice and slow on him one last time till your cums caking his throbbing length- phone getting inches close to your messy cunt that was sparkling from your sweet arousal.

“god look at that shit. f-fucking hell- you gonna make me cum, sweetheart, wanna fill you up so badly,”

OSAMU & ATSUMU

"that p get devoured, told my brother she ours,”

the heavy weight of osamus cock stretches your suffering pussy out, spasming walls never failing to make his dick feel blissed out inside your wet cunt. he can't take his eyes away from it either, watching how his mesmerizing pussy takes all of him in in one piece, your finger nails embellishing his firm back with pigmented scratches.

"look at you, taking ‘samu like a fuckin' champ. wet ass pussy leakin' all over the place. been that desperate for a cock up in you, huh?"

his hips grind up into your cunt, brushing over your cervix as you beg him to keep fucking you harder and harder- to which your wish becomes granted, skin slapping being the only thing heard as he coils your insides till you're completely slurring your words.

the blonde twins got his fingers invading your drooling mouth, chocking your small throat roughly with his middle and index, spit dribbling down your chin while the other twins hips thrust upwards uncontrollably- his tip scarping the sore point inside you.

his cocks so deep inside you it almost burns, making you feel so full. osamus emphasizing each and every praise he voices with a savage thrust, his sweaty abdomen tensing up from your pretty cunt pulsating.

your mouth's falling open dramatically once he lines your hole livid white, squealing noises of your sloppy pussy drowning in his ears while he fucks into you as his slit clears out his cum.

"such a needy slut for my cock. goin' all dumb after a quick fuck. now get up 'n let ‘tsumu fuck all this cum back in ya,"

KENMA

"then you'll end up sittin' all over my bottom lip, baby,"

eats you slowly cause he's sooo in love with your pussy. always savoring your aroma with each kiss and lick he plants on your fluttering folds. loves whispering praises sweet as candy knowing it only gets you wetter and wetter. his pink tongue swirls over your clit, slurping up your addictive arousal as you pull at his two toned strands from above, his hungry moans buzzing against your precious folds.

"holy shit you’re so wet, i make you feel good huh, princess? mmm- taste so fucking good, could eat this cute pussy every single day,”

converses directly with your pussy cause duh? she's got lips too yk- watching your glossy slick spill to your weakened thighs whenever he says something absolutely vile as his head stays buried between your two legs.

groans against your pounding sex as his finger travels to your clit, circulating at it to draw you closer to your orgasm- and you know his gamer fingers are fucking peerless. nothing will ever compare to the way he fucks up into your small hole with them, the tips trailing against your walls as his versed thumb rubs at your clit till he's got you pulling a picasso- painting his pretty fucking face with your cum before he gives you the same treatment back in return.

© FSUNA

[casscainmainly]

An Analysis of Duke Thomas in Wayne Family Adventures

I've been seeing a lot of posts and comments recently concerning Duke Thomas in WFA. I know WFA discourse has been done to death, but these comments were about how they'd only read WFA, felt Duke lacked a personality, his powers weren't distinctive, etc. Out of the main WFA characters, I think Duke has the least-read comics and the least understood canon history. This post is going to dissect WFA!Duke, compare it with canon!Duke, and address whether WFA is a fair representation of Duke or not.

This is not a WFA hate post. A lot of comics readers love WFA and vice versa, and I'm not going to dictate what people should like or dislike. Check out this post I made yesterday about the origins of WFA, which really aren't ill-intentioned. However, judging by the comments/posts I've seen, a lot of people don't know the difference between WFA!Duke and canon!Duke. This post exists to clarify those discrepancies and hopefully encourage more people to read Duke's comics.

The Positives

Let's cover the pros of WFA!Duke first! The sheer fact that he's one of the main characters and present throughout is amazing, allowing more people to learn and get interested in Duke. Since he doesn't have his own ongoing, WFA is about the only place to get consistent Duke content.

Plus look at how cute he is:

His presence also means we get fun interactions with other characters that Duke doesn't get to interact with in canon, such as Steph and Dick. As a diehard Duke-is-Dick's-successor believer, I appreciate any page-time they get together, even if it's not substantial.

Also, WFA season 3 confirmed that Duke can turn invisible without his suit, which is just fun!

Framing

Duke is introduced in the very first episode, and in some ways is the framing device for the entire webtoon. He is "Gotham's Newest Vigilante," learning about the family and the manor.

Many episodes of WFA have Duke asking a question that the others respond to. You can see this in Episode 2 ("The Last Cookie," he asks about their tradition), Episode 7 ("Vigilante Bingo"), Episode 30 ("Driving Lessons"), Episode 39 ("Secret Identity"), all the way to one of the latest minisodes (Mini Episode 3 - Super Friends).

This framing is not completely incorrect, since Duke is the newest addition to the family. The problem with this framing, though, is that Duke's personality and problems are never the focus - in these episodes we learn a lot about the other Batfam, and nothing about Duke.

Take "Vigilante Bingo". We learn so much canon stuff about Dick, Jay, Tim, and Cass, including who's died/come back (Cass and Tim chime in here, which is not very well known in fanon). However, because Duke is the one asking the question, he doesn't get to participate in the answers. This framing makes WFA-only readers learn shockingly little about Duke's prior activities, and they only cover his backstory in episode 76.

Personality

Because of his perpetual outsider status, WFA!Duke's most prominent traits are confusion, timidity, and insecurity.

(I found all these by literally clicking on any thumbnail with Duke in it. He exhibits confusion/timidity/insecurity all the time).

The first two traits - confusion and timidity - is completely antithetical to Duke in canon. Just compare these panels from We Are Robin #6 to a panel from WFA:

Canon!Duke gets shot and thinks to himself: "how baller is that?!". WFA!Duke hears about a booby-trapped lawn and makes that face. This reaction is basically the opposite of the way WAR!Duke would react. I have legitimately no clue how anyone could read We Are Robin or The Cursed Wheel and come away with Duke being timid.

More examples of how canon!Duke acts when confronted with dangerous situations, just for fun:

From We Are Robin #2, we have Duke mouthing off to people he's just met; from Robin War, we have the iconic jumping-out-of-cop-car scene; from Robin War again, we have Duke standing up for one more battle against Damian with absolutely no hesitation.

Duke in canon is headstrong, stubborn to a fault, outspoken, and brave. These qualities just don't come through in WFA.

Insecurity

The third component of WFA!Duke's personality, insecurity, is the only one with some canon basis. Check out this panel from Batman & The Signal #1:

Here, he's struggling with his place in the family, something WFA!Duke also deals with in Episode 75 + 76 ("Worthy"). But I think WFA misconstrued where this insecurity comes from.

Duke's problem is not that he's a meta, it's that he's a meta with "powers no one understands yet". A "walking detective case," so to speak. His insecurity stems from his lack of understanding around his powers, because at this point he doesn't know about Gnomon. WFA somehow turns this into a problem with the powers itself:

This is simply not supported in canon. Duke has no problems using his powers; even in Batman & The Signal, the peak of his canon insecurities, he literally says "go, go ghost vision" (god I love him). Moreover, his powers come from his mom. Saying that Duke feels he needs to prove he's worthy "in spite of" his powers is a complete misreading of Duke's canon feelings. Which leads to my next point:

Family

"Worthy" positions Duke's powers in opposition to Bruce's approval, and though the episode ends with Duke accepting himself, it's clear throughout WFA that his biggest parental figure/source of approval is Bruce.

WFA!Duke talks and thinks about Bruce more than he does his mom and dad, which is genuinely mind-boggling. Canon!Duke talks about his parents basically every single page. It's one of the most consistent aspects of his character!

From We Are Robin #2, Batman & The Signal #1, The Cursed Wheel Part 1, and Batman: Urban Legends #19. Duke's parents are only mentioned in "Worthy" as part of his traumatic backstory, but Duke's parents aren't backstory - they're alive. By neglecting the importance of Duke's parents, WFA is ignoring a fundamental aspect of Duke's character and making him seem like just another orphan.

This panel from Episode 118 is hilarious in the context of canon!Duke waffling on about his parents 24/7. But the erasure of Duke's parents is symptomatic of another problem with WFA.

Supporting Cast

Duke's first multi-parter is Episodes 8/9/10, "Crush". In this episode, Duke asks a girl out, and then she breaks up with him.

First of all, compared to other two-parters (all of Cass', Dick's "Big Brother", Steph's "Belonging", hell even Tim's "Better and Brighter"), this two-parter is incredibly detached from Duke's character. All you learn is that he gets crushes and doesn't like break-ups, which isn't character-specific at all.

Secondly, using an OC as Duke's girlfriend is so bizarre given Duke has 1 canon love interest. Here, I googled it:

Imagine the story we could've gotten with Izzy instead; with them having canon history, this two-parter would've been a lot more impactful, and introduce We Are Robin characters to a WFA audience. I'd also like to point out the difference in how these relationships begin:

Another example of WFA introducing timidity into a scenario where canonically, Duke played it extremely cool (from We Are Robin #9).

WFA uses none of Duke's supporting cast. To be fair, Duke's supporting cast isn't well known, but isn't WFA a perfect low-stakes place to spotlight unknown characters? Harper gets appearances, and she's been neglected by canon for ages. Tim gets to have Bernard, Jason gets literally all of his Outlaws, and there's even a KonCass cameo!

There's a reason why the top comment on every single one of the Crushed eps doesn't even mention Duke.

Shouldn't Duke-centric episodes have comments about Duke? The story is so vague and widely applicable that there's nothing about Duke to comment on, so the spotlight is shifted onto the other Batfam members. If the story had included Duke's supporting cast, think about how much more we could've learned about Duke himself.

Side note: why on Earth is Luke Fox Duke's go-to mentor? They have next to no canon interactions, and while having a Black mentor is something Duke probably needs, he already has one. Batman and The Outsiders sets up the Duke and Black Lightning relationship really nicely. Not to mention in "Worthy," Duke's problem is about having powers, which makes Luke Fox's inclusion (as a non-meta) baffling. Black Lightning would've been perfect!

Conclusion + Wishlist

This is the top comment on Episode 76. I think I've demonstrated how untrue this is, because WFA!Duke doesn't even touch the worst of canon!Duke. WFA!Duke has next to no defining characteristics, which contributes to him being the 'boring' or 'sane' one. To any WFA-only readers, please don't think this is representative of Duke as a whole; reading even just the first issue of We Are Robin shows how interesting and full of personality he really is.

It's disappointing because WFA is a lot of people's only exposure to the Batfam, and portraying Duke like this has only caused them to misinterpret his character. However, there has been improvement - they're beginning to mention his backstory a lot more, which means they've read some of his comics. I still believe they can turn it around!

Here's some improvements they could make, along with some things I want expanded upon:

Stop using Duke as the outsider/newbie character. It's been over 100 eps, he doesn't need that anymore!

Mention his supporting cast, or at the very least mention his parents more

Expand on his canon relationships with Damian, Cass, and Jason, they deserve to be close!

Use his detective abilities/affinity for puzzles

Mention his dislike of heights

Involve him in more shenanigans

I don't have FastPass but please bring Duke back into the fold of S3!!

[cherubispunk]

CHERUB (PART III) - Dealer!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: the devil has a funny habit of making you want your own suffering.

a note from Lucy: Well, this is it folks. The third and final instalment of the unholy trinity that is cherub. The fic that i had no idea would get this amount of traction. The fic that gave me my username, blog theme, the majority of my mutuals and the freedom to explore more taboo areas of writing that I never felt comfortable with doing before. I just wanted to thank you all for all the kind words you’ve shared with me. Comments, reblogs, messages, they all mean the utter world. But i also want to specifically thank @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin who was such a huge help for motivation when wrting each of these. She's been there since the first day of cherub and always let me obsess over dealer!joel with her. Ange, i love you baby. Out of all my fandom experiences, this has definitely been one of the best. I know this sounds a lot like a goodbye completely, but it's not i swear! I just never really knew where this was going, but I think this is a pretty good way to end the series and I hope you agree too. Part of me isn't ready to let go after such a short run, but I honestly have no idea where to go from here so I think I did it as much justice as I could. Regardless, Cherub and Dealer!Joel will forever have a place in my heart all thanks to you lovely lot! Your love means the world to me and you are all so easy to share this with, you've given me an environment to flourish creatively and I'm eternally grateful for that. I wish you all the love, hugs, kisses, and angel wishes in the world! 

playlist 

wc: 5548 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! Unedited for now, no outbreak, no use of y/n but joel calls the reader ‘Cherub’, plot? what plot? we all know we're here for the porn anyway, bombastic age gap (reader is in her early 20’s and Joel is in his late 50s), gore imagry, religious imagry, Smut, very dubcon in theory but both want it bad, grafic smut, P in V sex (unprotected — pleaseee don’t do tis irl i beg of you), teasing, sort of edging? (idk what to call it but he doesnt fuck you until you beg for it lol). nipple play, biting biting biting!!!!!, references to domestic violence, use of pet names, manipulative! joel, stupid stupid cherub, stockholm syndrome, oral (f receiving), cum eating, pussy slapping, Joel being foul mouthed, cursing, dirty talk, overstimulation. Again, some of the most animalistic, disgustingly wretched and vile vile vile porn I have written thus far…with so little plot that this earned me my place in hell, i have my own circle now. Big Dick Joel Miller comes as his own warning.

series m.list | m.list

The danger didn't lie in his hands. It didn't sit in his closed first to be suffocated. Choked out until the life of it was compressed. Until its face was blue, then purple and its eyes were bloodshot and streaked with red. The danger lay in your heart. And it thrived off the beating.

What is ‘it’, you ask? Mania.

The Greeks had it nailed down when they split love seven different ways. To the crucifix through its punctured and bleeding palms. All equal, but different. They understood that one love is different to the other. That love can be either obsession, or lingering in the quiet parts of a person's mind. You cannot hold up a mirror to one and deceive into believing it is another. No matter how sweet the lie seeps into the ear. They don't work that way. You were not Lucifer, you had no forked tongue. And your mania wasn't Eve. There was no apple to devour. Only the strong arm of Joel Miller to cling to like a noose.

Some love passionately. Find it in the scathing friction of flesh upon flesh. The heat two bodies make only in sex. You were no body anymore. Merely a corpse for him to dig up and breathe life into whenever he needed relief. So it was not Eros. Some love playfully. In the back and forth of a conversation that makes the mind and heart float in the clouds among the soul. Entwine them together until you are too sedated to know the difference between the three pillars of personal holy trinity. There was nothing lighthearted about Joel Miller. So there was no Ludus. Affection. The subtle, it-is-there-even-when-it-is-not weight of lovers hand in lovers hand. Joel clutched your throat with his heavy hand. He didn't lace your fingers in his like tapestry threads. And he was anything but friendly. So it could never be Philia. He was not unconditional. Familial. Constant. Committed. Long lasting. Selfless. He crept in through the backdoor and took. Then slipped back out. So the thick blood red line was drawn through Storge. Agape. Pragma. The love you had was not for yourself. Without him you hated yourself. Hated how you didn’t feel needed. Or wanted. So Philautia was buried six feet under hot earth, the final nail in the coffin that was lowered into the rotting, thick-with-decaying-mulch, stenching ground. By none other than Mania.

This was something you came to realise as you stumbled from his truck back to your room. His come dribbling down your leg. Luke asleep on the sofa. Months passed of the same thing. He’d take you home from work, only letting you go once he'd had his fill. Played out the sick fantasy from mind to matter, let it bleed through his fingers into fruition. You let it happen for mania. It was the thing inside you that kept you going. Before you thought mania fed off your heartbeat. But now you realised mania fed your heartbeat. The kick it got every second fired the next muted pulse. That's what kept it alive. Energy for energy. You were never one to bite the hand that feeds. That’s a sinner's duty.

—

The usual sight of Luke slumped in his lazy boy, guzzling beer was what you expected. The liquor once again swigged past his lips and dribbling down his stubbled chin. Wiry greying hair greasy on his head, balding. Thinning. Residue from a line on the coffee table. You were never tempted by it before. And you were determined never be a Angel dust statistic like him.

Instead, you opened the flimsy door of your trailer to see him hunched over a small collapsible table. His hand running over his sunken eyes, dragging purple eye bags down with his fingertips in shame. Cards in his other. It had your breath catching in your throat like a hare in a wire snare trap. This time around the small collapsible round table. Cards in his hand. And two other men shared a knowing glance and a grim smile of satisfaction. Him.

Joel Miller.

The tension was thicker than molasses in the room. You only wished it was as sweet. You swallowed it down thickly. It stretched your throat. You watched in morbid fascination when he lay his hand on the table in a fan for all to horror at, a sly smirk slithering over his lips and curling the one corner of it up like a scorpion's tail.

“Full house.”

“Fuck!” And Luke’s hand slapped the tabletop as he folded.

The door clicked. All three looked up to see you. Luke, Joel, and the man who held a familiar resemblance to your own personal devil. With eyes on you, you felt more like that hare in the snare than ever. Clapping eyes on the hungry wolf as mutton dripped bloody from his sneer. Cruel and hungry. You imagined him as that wolf, hyde thick and bristled under your soft fingers as he led you to some deep, dark, thorny place. A place only lit by the eyes of owls who observed while he had his way with you. Ripped your stockings to get to sweet fruit.

“Great, the cunt is home.” Luke spat to the room but you, looking over the table again as he bit his thumb nervously to the edge of the hangnail. “Get me a beer.” Your nostrils flared in defiance at his demand, knuckles pale as fingers furled into a fist. An army of goosebumps had stood to attention all along your arms and the back of your neck. A shiver shattering down your spine. Your heart had enough of its prison of your ribcage in your anger, ramming into it over and over in a frantic hammering. And when that wasn't enough, you felt it in your throat. Among the tightening of your airways. “You hear me girl?” He asked, looking at you. He stood, chair scraping against the floor and you staggered back to the point your shoulderblades hit the door. While he was a thin, wiry man, he had a vicious backhand that stung. Like a vengeful aftertaste. “Y’need me to beat some sense inta ya girl, huh?!” You dared to spare a glance at Joel who was too busy collecting his winnings. You soon to be among them.

“Sorry.” You mumbled, looking to the floor and cowering off to the kitchen to get him his beer.

“Y’short, Luke.” You heard from the doorway, straining to hear the tail end of the conversation. Something about your uncle having it by monday. And then Joel telling him he shouldn’t raise a bet he doesn't have the dough to cover.

It took a second to catch your breath. Tears strung in your eyes and your chest threatened to split in two. Your sternum felt like it was cracking down the middle into clean halves under the weight of your chest. A hand clasped over your quivering lips to bite back a horrible sob and muffle it. Only your palm could know you were crying miserably. So you took a beer from the fridge, heard the hiss as the lid gave way and popped off. It clattered to the linoleum and you bared your teeth at the grating sound, picking it up and tossing it in the bin.

“Here.” You mumbled, placing it unceremoniously on the table in front of Luke.

“Y’got any spare cash on you, girl?” Luke asked, beady eyes staring you down as he raised the bottle to his lips and took a drink. You grimaced inwardly at the sight of his yellow teeth when he made a satisfied sigh.

“No.”

Joel’s brow raised. You should know by now not to lie to a man who can read you like a book. That's the thing about narcissists. They have a way of being able to understand you like a one word sentence on paper. A quick glance and you’re unravelling with concealed meaning and connotation.

“C’mon, Cherub…gotta have something from workin’ this late in that diner of yours…” You dared to challenge Joel with a look. A look that retreated soon after the advance of the glare of his eye. The same glare of the hungry wolf. Of the cheated man. It was unkind, and unyielding, and did not hold mercy upon the souls of the enthralled, the damned, or the harrowed. You might try to cross through the sentence, or turn the page. Or shut the book entirely. But the truth is still the truth even when you chose not to look. This was the man that knew your mind. Knew your body. And coaxed his will out of you each time. His word was all it took to cave, so you took the folded bills from your apron, flicking through them with a bitten back scowl,

“How much does he owe you?” Joel smiled with amusement, counting through his winnings to see what was short.

“Ninety-eight.”

‘What?” you asked, eyes wide, hurt. Disheartened. Fingers stilling halfway through the small stack. And Joel smirked.

“You heard me, Cherub.”

“Give Joel his money.” Luke warned.

“But it’s not his money! And it’s not yours to give!” You tried, and saw the warning tick of your uncle's narrow jaw. It was always set on edge before he threw a hand. Cast a palm across your cheek in a brandishing. It had you cowering. Relenting. Tossing the money in front of him. If it fell to the floor in its flurry he could pick it up and grovel about it. But Joel never grovelled. Only relished. Then reminded Luke of the money he still owed for the drugs.

And you walked back to the kitchen, biting into your lip again. With the devil and your demon in the next room over, you were sure this could be hell. A buzz filled your ears. Like the constant thrum of flies over roadkill. In festering flesh wounds where broken white of bone poked through gaping, bleeding holes. Blood matted in the hyde of the animal helpless and scattered across the road. A leg here, smashed teeth there. You were the roadkill. Joel was at the wheel of that which mowed you down. Luke was howling in the passenger side.

His boots thumped clumsily over the linoleum and he let out a huff through his nose while he adjusted his low slung jeans in the doorway.

“Cherub?” He asked, clearing his throat huskily — a consequence of the smokes he used religiously. You stood with your back to him, palms flat to the countertop and head hung low to fight the sting of tears simmering from within.

“He threatened to hit me.” You whispered, not turning to face him. If you mattered his ears would strain to meet you halfway. “And you did nothing.”

“Come on, Cherub…don't be like that.” he sighed, and you imagined him pinching the bridge of his hooked nose.

“He took my money. You took my money. How am I gonna get out of here without it?” You croaked, your tired eyes seeing faces of gaping mouths and slate black eyes in the speckled linoleum of the counter.

No reply came from the door. And when you turned it was empty. He had left. The other man had left. The tv was on again with the scream of a woman murdered. And Luke fell asleep in his lazy boy.

—

Another day, another shift. And more horror ensued. At first, what set the nerves thrumming was there was no sign of Luke. His truck was gone from its spot. No drunk slumped on the worn leather settee. No scream or grotesque image on the TV. Merely an empty bottle on the coffee table.

You swallowed, shutting the door cautiously with a muffled click of the latch. You didn't dare call his name. Just pushed it down into your stomach for it to churn the thought up in acid. But the horror jumped back up your throat into a lurid scream at the sight of your mattress tossed to the side. The moth bitten pillowcase on the floor, void of money. Your money. Gone. Someone had rifled through your belongings. Turned your only space into a mess. Strewn clothes, bed sheets, pillows in their haste. All your work. All the nights of living off bitter coffee from the pot at work, scrounging together tips. It made you seethe. The heat was an inferno at your fingertips, nails embedding crescents into your palms. You searched all over for it. But to no avail.

When Uncle Luke came home, he smelled of hard liquor. It was a miracle – or curse – he hadn't wrapped his car around a tree. He gloated, and sneered, and shoved it down your throat in his intoxication that he’d found it under the mattress. Joel had called him, told him you planned on leaving. And he connected the dots. Ransacked your room. Oh, how the man would hate his loose lips when you gave him hellfire.

You expected Luke’s reaction. You knew if he were to ever find out he’d snatch it up in his greedy, grimy hands and take it for himself. He spent all of it. Paid his debt to Joel, gambled some on bad luck bets, drank with the rest. Slugged liquor down his throat and got drunk off your labour. And then left you on your floor with tear stained cheeks and a heart of heavy lead.

You wanted your money. But would you take from the man who gave you your everything? Your sense of being. A religion and faith. You believed in nothing more than the way he held your name between his teeth. You forgot what your real name felt like in the same place. And it occurred to you that he had never said it. Did he know it? You weren't them anymore. You were Cherub.

The sweet and mourning lamb in you wanted to go over just to be his again, and not carry out the plan of taking back what was yours. That which he would see as sin. You felt guilt claw up your throat at the thought alone. It seemed blasphemous to conspire against him. Why do you insist on protecting yourself. You who was the sacrificial lamb?

If you did go – and you let him have you again – you were whole. But at what cost? Could you stand another night of temporary hell under the guise of heaven. Of touch so cold, like ivory or black ice. To have him thumb your skin with blunt endearments and the croon of ‘cherub’ past his chapped lips. Definite like black and white. No escape. What he’d do and how. Whispering them in the stone deaf shells of your ears like they were a sculpture. Pygmalion’s Bride. He’d made you all you were today. Took chisel to marble and carved out his masterpiece. Cherub.

You were soft, and pliable. Wax heated by his flame. You kissed back. You moaned for him. Begged him for his release and not your own. Bruised with his handprint. The warmth of life under flesh. But without him…you returned to marble. Another pretty thing to be gawked at. He tempted you with it because he knew more than anyone, more than god himself who watches these exchanges, that you can't live without him. It was like telling a child not to slip off to the woods in the dead of night. That was a pointless warning. You knew what lay there anyway, what threat it would be. That wolf in his thick bristled hyde. Curled up in his den. You would see it as innocence and vulnerability if you weren't so scared. But you knew when he woke up the teeth would shine again. And they’d tear flesh. Let blood. Gnash bone. Dripping from the glaring white once he finished with your carcass. Your matter between them and your crimson lacing his gums. Who knew being eaten alive could be so pleasurable.

But then again, how could bering alone really be hell if the devil wasn't there?

There is mania in your body. But you can't get it out. It rattles in your head and lungs and glues to the backs of your gnashers. No matter how much you wish to spit it out. It infects your tongue. It welds itself to the matter of your bones. Melts into the cracks between your teeth. Claggy against your tongue. All to show the sweetest of words have the bitterest of tastes. You can feel it swell underneath your skin. In the gap between muscles where it festers and heats you up. Like fever it burns, like the fire that consumes and the pillars that hold the temple up crack, the ground shakes, and the beast rears its ugly head at you. You’re losing your body to him. It's a fight you try to win. You dare to. You give your all, tooth and nail each time in the gaps between. In the silence and hollow that nestles in the middle of the meetings. In the quiet, where no one is around but the cracked plaster of your room. You stopped caring who fired the gun first. You were always the one who got shot down in the end. Right in the stomach. Blood gurgling up your throat in a grotesque plea for help.

All these weeks you had shrunk yourself to the size of a bird in his hands, sang a sweet sweet song of his name, until the squeeze of his first closest off your throat. And the sound stopped altogether. Laid there after the warning. Patient while you had your wings clipped and your freedom taken. And he took more. Took the beating of your heart with his teeth. Took the will to want. The will to love. The will to need anything else, as well as the need to have better. Below you were the foundations. Only now you saw them for what they were, a decaying mess of fragments, the stench of wood rot hot in your nose. A musk like no other. His musk. So in your anger you took an axe to a willow to see how it would weep. You slipped past the sleeping drunk you call Uncle Luke. Out the door, over gravel, past the truck he coaxed you to without the need of a sweet treat. You’d yank the axe from the bark of the weeping willow, its sob echoing in the wind that rustled its drapery of lush green leaves. Leaves that will wilt as sap bleeds from its severed trunk. Take the axe to the wolf. Cut him. Scrotum to throat.

Take back what was yours. And leave those woods skipping.

—

Your knocks descend upon his door in quick raps until he opened it with a grumble. Then a smirk. “Evenin’, Cherub.”

No salvation. No going back. No space among the clouds. Just the fall. You pushed past him into his front room. “Where is it?’ You hissed, tossing the cushions of the couch up. Nothing there. So you left them on the floor and did the same for the airchair. Nothing there either.

“Woah, calm down, girl!’ Joel huffed, reaching for your arm, which you tugged back from him in a new found strength surging you forward, out of his arms. “Where’s what?”

“My damn money, Miller!” You bit back with venom laced spit. A hunger for revenge making you salivate like a bad dog.

“The fuck you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I'm talking about, dickhead!” And he recoiled at your bared teeth, your verbal assault and battery, but went in for his own.

“Watch your damn foul language, girl!” He warned, reaching the end of his already short tether.

“You know how much he stole from me? Three hundred dollars of my hard earned chash. Forget my fucking ticket out of this shithole, I ain’t even paying rent now! And for what? Your god awful drugs!” His nostrils flared, and you watched the vein in his neck bulge under the sweltering heat of his own anger. Coiling inside him. Wounded bitch about to bite back.

“You didn’t have much of a probelm with my drugs after I fucked that pretty little hole of yours. All dumb and needy f’me, Cherub.” You grimaced at the sneer. But the feeling made your knees buckle. The name again. Cherub. You were Cherub. His cherub. “You want ya money back, huh? You can have it.”

That made you stutter. Thoughts skidding to halt at the sight of a brick wall. Crumpled matter as it smashed into it anyway. “What?”

“I ain't giving it to you for free though.”

“You're sick! It’s my fucking money!”

“Not in the eyes of the law its not.” And he folded his great oaks of arms over his chest in satisfaction. Once again one upping you.

“The eyes of the law? Says the fucking drug dealer. I bet you got way worse than coke in duffel over there. Wonder what the law would say about that?” It was said dismissively over your shoulder as you turned to leave. Alas, once again his large hand encompassed your wrist and squeezed. Pulled you back flush to his broad chest. His breath was hot on your neck as he whispered sweetly into your ear.

“Come on now, Cherub. You wouldn't do me in like that would ya? Not when I love ya…”

The way he said it…it didn't seem real. It was false. Comforting but not real. You knew it was a lie. This wasn't love. He didnt love. If he loved you he'd ask for your number then call you. Take you out. Let you cry on his shoulder and drive you home after. Kiss you in the dark for only the walls to see. Let you stay a night or two, or a whole damn week. Give you your damn money back. Stand up to Luke with a closed fist to the face. Leave swelling and a deep bruise on his cheekbone as a first and final warning.

“You love me?” You asked, voice small and hollow in your chest.

“Yeah, Cherub. I love you too.” He cooed, as if he knew you loved him already. All this and nose running over the curve of the side of your neck, tongue trailing hot in pursuit, it had you keeling over in confession at his feet. “You’re so cute when you're angry. Come on now, lemme make those tears go away…and you can have your money back, and we can forget this ever happened.” That tone…it was patronising. It made the sense in you rattle the cage of your ribs. Claw at the bars of bone and run into them like a caged animal. Because that’s what it was. A caged animal. But your heart was holding its hand over its mouth in a trance as it let his words ebb deeper. Somewhere between desperate and divine. But what was his motive?

God, Jesus, all above that is holy, you didn't care! After all this time, it was still no secret, or hushed uttering that Joel Miller was now everywhere in you. Scraping the backs of your teeth, festering like a virus in your bloodstream. Melding to the marrow of your bones. The walls of your cunt.

He still had a devastating habit of seeping through the cracks of your closed lids. Still ready to pillage and plunder his way through your head in its numbed state of sleep. When you could have finally— finally stopped and not felt. But he ebbs deeper. Always would. Always will.

It's what got you here. It would end you if it could. Snuff out your heartbeat and the fire inside of you. All he need do was lick his fingers and press them to the wick. And leave the smoke to string out and curl. You thought you were hungry for love before. But now you realised you were just hungry for the sight of your blood on his lips. The gnashing of you between his teeth. The curl you made of his brow. If it wasn’t devastating, reaping its agony in your silly little fractured chest— you didn’t dare need, nor crave it. You came for the pleasure but you stayed for the pain. And he took again, and again.

So you let him ‘make it up to you’. Let him claw at your clothes until they were scraps on the floor. Tore your stockings. Showed you those gleaming teeth. The wolf. And you, his sacrificial lamb. His Cherub.

“Feel that?’ He asked, with the slow drag back and forth of him inside you, parting you. This wasn’t fast, or rough. This was slow. And it made you need more. Need it faster. Need him hurtling you towards the edge of harrowing oblivion. He knew that. It’s why he took his time with it this time around. “Yeah. You do.” Joel answered for you. You never had to answer. But often he made you say it from your own quivering lips. Just to have the taste of the words from your tongue bleed into his. The neverending praise. “Why would you wanna leave that Cherub?” You couldn't answer, only let out a soft sob. “Huh? Answer me, Cherub. Why’d you wanna fuckin’ leave that?” And he punctuated it with pulling out to the bulbous head of his clock, then slamming back in with one sharp thrust. And then he was still.

You whined a shallow gasp into his mouth. But he didn’t kiss you. Joel never kissed you. His teeth sinking into your bottom lip shut you right up before his tongue delved deeper into it. The thumb of the hand that slithered between your legs rolled over your clit, making you mewl over the buzz of electricity causing you to clamp down on his thick, full cock. You were so eager for more. Anything more than what he was giving you. He smirked into your mouth when he felt your hips buck forward, trying your damn hardest to push his cock deeper into you. Silly little cherub. You should know better than to defy God. “See? Felt good didn’t it?” You nodded as much as you could in your current piston.

“Mhm.”

“See what you can have if you stay. Why fight it cherub?”

“Yes, Joel.”

“You gonna listen then, Cherub?”

“Yes. Yes! I’ll listen, just-” You shuddered at the thought of it, tears brimming at the the threshold of your eye. ”Please.”

“Say it.” He waited, wanting you to beg for it in the pretty way he knew you could. The choir voice. The songbirds hymn. The whole time his eyes did nothing but stare you down hungry at the sight of you falling apart from nothing but a hand to your throat and a single his throbbing dick buried in your aching cunt. It all pooled down into your centre, creating a rush your head had trouble keeping up with. “Tell me why you wanted to leave.”

“I dunno-” You stuttered, once again rolling your hips up. His hand at your throat pressed into your skin again, harder. It choked you. It had you drawing in a sharp, meagre breath. And he pulled out, running the underside of himself through the hot, drooling seam of your cunt. You shivered when the tip brushed up to your clit momentarily. The bead of precome at his slit smearing into your sex, mixing with your slick. “I dunno, Joel. I- I just wanted my money. I just wanted out. I hate it.” You babbled through closed eyes, chest heaving with sobs, and hot tears ran thick down your flushed cheeks.

“You hate it, huh?” He mocked and crooned, still catching your clit with the tip of his cock, hips waxing and waning in a slow roll. “You hate me too?” He knew the answer. But again, it was the satisfaction of knowing you were wrapped around his finger. Ready to bend over backwards for him. Him seeping into you through the cracks of your ribs, the gaps between your teeth. The opening of yourself to the twisting knot of denial within you. Your back arched like the lofty roof of a chapel, legs parting like its heavy doors. He followed you with hunger. You opened your mouth to speak but he squeezed momentarily on your throat again, oxygen starvation and the smell of him dizzying you. He relished in the whimper that he garnered from you. That and how he left you breathless just from his cruel touch.

“No.” You garbled as his thumb unhinged your jaw. Saliva in your mouth pooling while his thumb pressed your tongue down, bitter with a smokers telltale tobacco staining. It slipped past your lips, dribbled down his digits making a sticky mess at the curve of his thick wrist. He drew up a glob of saliva in his throat, watching as it drooled thickly, gluttonously, past his lips into your waiting mouth. He watched as you gagged on it, and then he let your jaw go so you could close your mouth. You swallowed eagerly, savouring the taste on your tongue. For what did it matter anymore? One day, you’ll be nothing but dust. Bronchioles in lungs will mimic roots. Navels will copy trunks. Organs will feed worms. Ribs will fossilise and lips that are kissed will mould back to Mother Nature. It's all you have ever been. Quick. Convenient. Easy to please, eager to help. Waiting lips, wanting cunt. Warm, never warm enough. But he kept you like a butterfly in a glass jar. He let you see freedom but never experience it. Why need it when you had the stretch of him inside you. The feeling of him, heat to heat with your sex.

“You want this, cherub? Wanna be stuffed full of me again?”

“Always wanted it, Joel.” You mumbled into his mouth, sniffing back the last this spurt of tears, hypnotised. His hand wrapped around his cock, the large splay of his palm did nothing to dwarf its size with he jacked himself once, twice, three times to the sight of you. He squeezed the base with hiss, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth after cursing under his bated breath. He was thick, flushed, the tip swollen and leaking, drooling greedily with a rivulet of precum down the underside of his length. He trod a path with his hands down to your breasts, kneading each one between his palms with a pinch before guiding himself back into the mouth of your heat, your cunt swallowing him down to the base. The needy roll of your hips into his showed just how desperate you were. He groaned at the start of the friction between you, and slowly dragged back out of you, moving just as slowly back inside. He repeated this twice, and then he let loose. The motion turned into a needy clash of his hips to yours. Again. Again. Again. Somewhere along the sting of passion and heat, his hand wrapped around your throat, feeling the flex of it as you swallowed under his palm. He bit down into your neck, reaching out from you as his hips slammed erratically. His heavy balls slapping against your ass with each rut forward of his unrelenting. The way he fucked you, was like holding a knife to your throat. It grounded you in the most harrowing way to each of his breaths. His panting in your ear. It swallowed you whole. Mad your legs wrap around his waist and your hips keen up into him.

Your cunt drooled down his shaft, down to the base, down the sensitive skin of his cock. He growled and hissed in your ear, teeth closing around your earlobe, his hand dragging back up and grip tightening around your neck. Getting off on the feeling of your pulse under his thumb.

You felt the knot tighten. And tighten. Right in the pit of your stomach, deep in your sopping wet cunt where the mouth of your cervix met his fucking. The walls of your cunt sucking him back in as the angle of his hips snapped up into the spot that had you seeing entire constellations. They darted to and fro across your vision. It blurred the edge, spots of dark matter, deep black, the colour of oblivion slinging over the back of your eyes that now burned with tears of pleasure. His fingers dug deeper into malleable flesh, gripped tightly at your hip with his free hand, thumb brushing over your hip bone down your mound to toy with your clit after a slap to it. And it was the action that sent you spiralling, babbling his name nonsensically among a string of curse words. So pretty and fucked out beneath him. Joel couldn’t help but stare smugly as your eyes rolled back into your head when your orgasm hit like a freight train. He came undone soon after, his climax hitting a crescendo with a growl bitten into your shoulder, bruising and brandishing you with his mark again.

He pulled back, leaving you to the mercy of the cold. Watching was his hips moved again to fuck his release back into you. Your hole quivered in protest, and you squirmed under him. “Don’t be fucking ungreatful now, Cherub.” You relented, going still and boneless on the mattress. Limbs unfurling from their tension. “That's it. Take it. Take it all.” He groaned smoothly. Just like the roll of his hips. He fucked it slowly back into you. And you took his release inside you to keep. “Good girl, Cherub.” He whispered, kissing your lips in a tender dichotomy. Not letting you rest until he was satisfied you took every drop of him. Afterall, it was all you’d have left of him until he next chose to pick you up. All the while, he trailed his tongue back down to your breasts, pressing the flat of it to your nipple, drawing it with a sharp suck into his mouth. Pressing the blunt of his teeth into your flesh. Letting the taste melt on his tongue. Salty with your sweat. He did the same to the others. When he went soft inside of you, and his hips stilled. He slipped out of you with hitched breath, the pad of his fingertips tracing your abused, used sex. Your legs twitching when he rolled your clit under two fingers. “I said stop squirming.” He grunted, landing another slap to your pussy. It made an obscene wet sound. His come dribbling out slowly.

“Open your mouth.” Joel commanded, and you did. Waiting for whatever he had planned. He licked a hot strip from your asshole to your cunt, pressing his tongue in to drag out some of his release. And he climbed back up to spit it into your mouth. A hand clamping down on your jaw. “Don’t swallow. Close your mouth.” And you did with the side of his thumb clamping it shut for you. “Taste that?” You nodded in response. It was hot, heavy and thick and salty to taste. Divine. “Show me.” You opened again, his creamy spend diluted amongst your saliva and he smirked. Clamping your jaw shut again. “Swallow.”

Joel watched in open mouthed amusement as the delicate column of your throat rippled under muscle contract. “Good girl, Cherub. Remember that taste next time y’feel like leaving again.” He warned in a growl. And you nodded, swallowing your pride. Your fear. Your mania aiding in shoving it down your throat to dissolve in acid. Once again you were in those deep dark woods. The one where the wolf lay. Remnants of you in his teeth. The willow is still weeping, slashed in half. The axe free of his bloodshed by the entrance of his den. The owls' eyes still lit the scene of sin where overhead the starlight was snuffed out by the tangle of branches thick in their black greenery.

You never got your money back. Maybe one day you'd get out of this town. But the devil has a funny habit of making you want your own suffering. Even angels can’t resist a slice of that heaven. Fallen angel. Wounded bitch. Cherub.

[scaly-freaks]

inmate 13453

okay don't get excited, i just felt like writing a bit of a drabble to feel out the atmosphere of a potential start to this au (clicking the tag will give up the other stuff i've posted for it btw)

btw check out the playlist and the pinterest board made by @theageofsilver and @allicentsallure bc they're fab

cw: kidnapping

Soft seventeen.

Bambi eyes, bambi legs.

There’s a certain edge to the way people describe the age she’s at. Not quite eighteen, not quite legal, tangible as cherry juice on greedy fingers. She isn’t sixteen, sweet and tender. It’s a soft first step into adulthood, skirting the border, the in between, the unknowable horrors that lie ahead.

She fucking hates being seventeen.

It’s a shit number first of all. Odd numbers make her want to spew. They feel like nails on a chalkboard, polyester static on leg hair. She can’t even dance, so whatever ABBA are singing about doesn’t apply.

Amara sticks out her tongue and tastes the air as the breeze blows west. She swears she can get a sense of the world when she does.

Her stepfather mocks her for it. That blue-eyed, blonde maniac with the ugly Buick Electra he treats like a brand-name Italian from the southern coasts of Europe. He used to treat her mother the same. Until he began to tell Amara you look just like her when she was young. He leaves his porn tabs open on his computer, as if he wants her to know. ‘Teen’, ‘Latina’, ‘Stepfather’, ‘Rough’, ‘Face-fucking’, ‘Breeding.’

She doesn’t have a drop of Hispanic blood in her.

She really wants to tell her mother, but there is a chance her mother will look right through her instead. She’s been doing that a lot more nowadays. They can’t afford her meds anymore. She just sits on the porch and watches and waits. For what, is anyone's guess.

>> can you pick me up?

>> its dark

>> pls

>> sorry ik its inconvienant

'Step-Daddy' always replies quickly when it’s her. He has a heart next to her name on his phone. She never agreed to that.

>> it’s spelled inconvenient

“Suck my dick,” Amara tells the screen and switches her phone off before he can message again.

She can walk.

The route back runs dangerously close to the edge of the forest. All kinds rot away in there, but she doesn’t like to think of them by name. They’ll become real if she does. She wishes her mother had found a man who lived in the wetlands, and not here at the cursed border between life and the realm beyond. Marshes are easier to understand. Forests are cursed.

Still, life is horribly simple here. Her high school is placid and filled with the dull-eyed children of dull-eyed adults. The gas station where she works didn’t bother to interview her. She walked in and the guy behind the counter stared at her breasts until he remembered she had a face. Her breasts aced the interview for her.

Can I work here? Just until I graduate.

Sure, grab a nametag.

Four months later, and she doesn’t mind it anymore. Her brain shuts off. Her customers are a ragtag mixture of suspicious, ferret-eyed locals and the occasionally buoyant hiker from out of state. If she doesn’t look like she belongs, she’s pretty, and that usually gives people like her a pass. At least until the sleazy comments become ethnically charged. But even then, Amara has a way of making her eyes go ‘dopey’ and just smiling like she’s too slow to understand. Displaying discomfort is what eggs them on (kind of a nasty realisation she opened her eyes to one day).

An engine growls some way down the road.

Old Chevy pickup, faded gold.

She recognises it from the parking lot at the station near the end of her shift.

A guy stepped out, young, early twenties, with a shock of hair that looked white until she realised it was just really, really blonde. She remembers thinking it was odd. The range of blondes in town runs from deep and dirty to the artificial bleach rattled out of holographic boxes of dye. No one has hair like his. She’d have noticed.

His eyebrows were a little darker, and his lashes were darker still. He had a funny way of walking, and he looked at her like she had the head of a fish and the body of a human being. Amara did her best dopey eyes. She asked him if he’d had a good day, pointed out the offers they had on pork rinds. He didn’t say a word. His skin had smears of black grease, glistening with sweat and bronzed by the sun.

Deep blue eyes.

Horribly deep.

Not the kind you’d want to swim in. She likes a softer blue, blue like chlorine, reminiscent of the safety of swimming pools. His were anything but.

She picks up her speed, and for some reason, puts her phone to her ear as if mid-conversation. Nothing about him said he was dangerous at the time. At least not from the way he’d barely said a word or looked down at her body. He was just there, and then he was gone.

And now here he is again.

The Chevy hits the horn. He is creeping closer. Amara turns and waves at him to go on. She doesn’t want a ride. Why isn’t he rolling down the window to offer one though?

It slows to a crawl. Her throat closes up. She has a feeling speeding up will give him what he wants. He’s obviously trying to be a prick. But if she goes back to talk to him, that would be exponentially worse. She switches her phone back on and sees her stepfather’s message telling her to get back home herself after she didn’t reply to tell him her location.

She quickly shoots him a message, and prays he’ll respond.

He doesn’t.

Fuck it.

She walks faster. The Chevy matches the increase. Sweat blooms on the back of her neck.

Every woman has that oh fuck moment. That I’m going to be on the evening news moment. The please god if he catches me let him kill me before he gets to raping me moment.

None of that goes through her head. She keeps thinking of her mother’s cooking. Her mother hasn’t cooked in a year and a half, not since her mind began to slip. But Amara can taste the spices on her tongue, the way the rice was perfectly simmered, the cinnamon in the back of her throat, the smell that clung to the walls, the heat of it.

I wanna come home, Momma.

Her mother’s face gathers into shape in her head, built with sand particles and saltwater. When the Chevy roars, she starts running. Her mother vanishes.

The lights of the truck blink across the tarmac. It’s a signal. But it isn’t for her.

She looks over her shoulder, and she can’t see him.

Run me over. Leave me like carrion on the road. Let the maggots eat me. Don’t cut me up first.

He slows when she starts to tire out. Picks up when she tries again. No other car has graced this road since she first turned onto it. A sign points her to the right, ushering her deeper into the backwoods. The town is to the left.

He figures out where she’s going when she suddenly makes a dash for the bend in the road.

There’s no time to dodge the pickup when it goes for her this time. The wheels skid as he yanks it at an angle and blocks her way. The door flies open and misses her by an inch. His arm grabs for her. She dodges, animal fear and rust on her tongue. He still doesn’t say a word.

A heavy fist connects with the small of her back and she drops like a stone.

The pain is electric. Air turns her lungs into taut balloons, but she can’t make a sound. She twists around and the bruise forming over her spine grates. Adrenaline quickly numbs it as she lashes out with her arms and legs. Kicking, punching, scratching, biting. Her teeth hit home. A mouthful of tattooed flesh, car oil and sweat. Still no sound from him.

She never sees the fist coming, just like last time.

A blow to the head and lights out, nancy.