#Fade the shadow snake

[lill-cute-fluffy-devil]

FINISHED!!!!

Now I gotta upload this to YouTube. ^^ Felix is an Edgy Blueberry x2. Also, the snake with the light green pupils is Fade. The one with pure green eyes is Darkness

[pucksandpower]

Royal Pardon

Charles Leclerc x Arthur’s best friend!Reader

Summary: Charles isn’t a violent man at heart, but when he saves you from being harassed while celebrating his Monaco win, he quickly realizes that there’s not a single line he wouldn’t cross if it means keeping you safe

Warnings: attempted sexual assault, violence, and injury

Note: a break from your regularly scheduled October programming because Charles just won the United States GP and that calls for a celebration

The music pulses through the club, a steady, hypnotic beat that thrums in Charles’ chest. He’s never felt like this — untouchable, invincible — as if tonight could stretch on forever, an endless loop of victory and laughter.

He’s just won Monaco.

Monaco. His Monaco.

The thought alone makes him smile, a small, private thing that he hides behind the rim of his champagne flute.

Around him, the crowd swirls in a blur of lights and shadows, everyone shouting their congratulations over the music, pulling him into hugs and clapping him on the back. Arthur is here somewhere, of course, dragging you along because where else would you be? The two of you are like shadows, inseparable since childhood.

Charles can still see you, just barely, out of the corner of his eye, chatting with a couple of Arthur’s friends near the bar. You’re laughing, a sound that somehow cuts through the noise and settles in the back of his mind. It’s a good sound, one that feels familiar, like home.

“Charles, mate!” A voice shouts, pulling him back. Max is there, leaning in with a grin that’s all teeth, like he’s just as buzzed on adrenaline as Charles is. “I swear, you’re going to be insufferable after this. Monaco, finally!”

Charles laughs, shaking his head, though the truth is he probably will be insufferable. But can anyone blame him? He’s worked so damn hard for this, pushing through every setback, every disappointment. And now, here he is, celebrating the win of his career in the only place that really matters.

He’s about to respond when someone else pulls him into a hug, a flurry of excitement and congratulations that Charles barely processes. He doesn’t mind, though. Tonight, it feels like nothing can touch him, like nothing could ever bring him down from this high.

But then, something shifts. It’s subtle at first, just an itch at the back of his mind, a sense that something isn’t right. He glances over to where you and Arthur were standing, but Arthur is gone, nowhere to be seen. And you … you’re not laughing anymore.

Charles’ stomach twists. You’re cornered against the bar now, a man leaning in too close, too aggressive. Charles can’t see your face clearly through the throng of people, but the way you’re holding yourself, tense and small, tells him everything he needs to know.

His blood turns to ice, freezing the euphoria in his veins. He can’t hear what the man is saying, but it doesn’t matter. The way the man’s hand snakes around your waist, the way you try to push him off with trembling hands — Charles’ vision goes red.

He’s moving before he can think, pushing through the crowd with a single-minded focus. The people congratulating him moments ago scatter as he brushes past them, their laughter and cheers fading into the background noise.

“Hey!” Charles’ voice cuts through the music, sharp and commanding. The man doesn’t even turn at first, but you do, your eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears. Charles feels something break inside him at the sight, but he channels it into a fury that propels him forward.

When the man finally notices Charles, it’s too late. Charles is on him, grabbing the man’s shoulder and yanking him away from you with a force that sends the man stumbling backward. “Get the fuck away from her,” Charles snarls, every syllable dripping with venom.

The man barely has time to react before Charles slams him against the wall, the impact rattling the bottles on the shelves behind the bar. Charles’ forearm presses against the man’s throat, cutting off whatever protest he might have had.

“Charles, stop!” You gasp, your voice choked with a mix of fear and something else, something that twists the knife already lodged in Charles’ chest. He doesn’t stop, though. Can’t stop. The image of the man’s hands on you is burned into his mind, and all he can think about is making him pay, making him hurt.

The man struggles, clawing at Charles’ arm, but it’s useless. Charles is stronger, fueled by a rage that’s been simmering just beneath the surface for too long. The man’s face turns red, then purple, and still, Charles doesn’t let up. His grip tightens, and he leans in closer, his voice a low, dangerous whisper.

“If you ever so much as look at her again, I’ll fucking kill you.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and deadly serious. The man’s eyes widen, a flash of genuine fear crossing his face, but Charles doesn’t care. He wants him to be scared. Wants him to know that there’s no escaping this, no escaping the consequences of what he’s done.

“Charles, please!” Your voice breaks through the haze of anger, and it’s only then that Charles realizes how close you’ve gotten. You’re right there, your hand on his arm, tugging gently, desperately trying to pull him away.

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and sees the tears streaming down your face, the fear etched into your features. It’s like a bucket of cold water dumped over his head, shocking him back to reality. The club, the music, the people — all of it comes rushing back in a disorienting wave.

Charles blinks, his grip on the man loosening just enough for the man to gasp for air. He’s still furious, the anger simmering beneath the surface, but he’s no longer blind with it. He takes a breath, then another, trying to regain some semblance of control.

“You’re lucky she’s here,” Charles says quietly, his voice barely more than a growl. He shoves the man away from him, watching with cold satisfaction as he stumbles and nearly falls to the floor.

The man doesn’t stick around. He scrambles to his feet and disappears into the crowd, no doubt eager to get as far away from Charles as possible. Good. Charles hopes he never sees the man again, because he’s not sure he’ll be able to stop himself if he does.

For a moment, Charles just stands there, his chest heaving with the effort of reining in his emotions. The crowd has started to notice the commotion, a few curious onlookers craning their necks to see what’s going on. But none of that matters. None of them matter.

All that matters is you.

Charles turns to you, his expression softening as he takes in your tear-streaked face. “Are you okay?” His voice is gentler now, full of concern that wasn’t there a moment ago.

You nod, but it’s a shaky, uncertain thing. “I-I’m fine,” you manage, though it’s clear you’re anything but. You look like you’re about to collapse, your legs barely holding you up.

Without thinking, Charles steps closer and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. You don’t resist, you just sink into him, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt as if he’s the only thing keeping you upright. And maybe he is.

“It’s okay,” Charles murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “You’re safe now. I’m here.” He holds you tighter, as if he can shield you from the world, from everything that just happened. And for a moment, it feels like he can. Like nothing bad can touch you as long as you’re in his arms.

You don’t say anything, just press your face into his chest, your breath hitching with the remnants of your tears. Charles presses his lips to the top of your head, a gesture that feels both instinctive and impossibly intimate. He’s never held you like this before, never been this close, but it feels right.

The music still pounds in the background, the lights still flash in a dizzying array of colors, but it’s all distant now, muted. The only thing that matters is you, and making sure you’re okay.

Charles pulls back just enough to look down at you, his hands resting on your shoulders. “Where’s Arthur?” He asks, his voice still soft but edged with a protective concern.

“I-I don’t know,” you admit, your voice small. “He was here a minute ago, and then …” Your words trail off, and Charles doesn’t need you to finish the sentence to know what happened next.

He clenches his jaw, trying to keep his anger in check. Arthur should have been here, should have been looking out for you, but he isn’t. Charles isn’t sure where his brother is right now, but he’ll deal with that later. For now, he needs to focus on you.

“It’s okay,” he says again, though the words feel inadequate. “You’re with me now. No one’s going to hurt you.”

You nod again, but this time it’s a little steadier, a little more certain. “Thank you,” you whisper, the words barely audible over the music.

Charles shakes his head. “You don’t need to thank me,” he says, his voice rougher than he intends. “I’ll always protect you. Always.”

The weight of those words hangs between you, a promise that feels more real than anything else in this moment. Charles knows, without a doubt, that he means it. He’ll protect you, no matter what. Even if it means facing down every threat, every danger, with the same ferocity he showed tonight.

He takes a deep breath, trying to let go of the lingering anger. The night isn’t over yet, but he’s not sure how much longer he can stand to be here, in this place that suddenly feels too crowded, too loud, too full of people who didn’t notice, didn’t care. Charles’ grip tightens on your shoulders as he scans the room, trying to spot Arthur in the sea of faces. But it’s a lost cause — the club is packed, and he knows Arthur could be anywhere.

“Come on,” Charles says, his voice a bit steadier now. “Let’s get out of here.”

You don’t argue, just nod and let him guide you through the crowd. The bodies pressing in around you both feel suffocating, the music that once electrified the night now grating on Charles’ nerves. He keeps a firm hold on your hand, as if letting go might mean losing you to the chaos.

As you near the exit, the cool night air becomes a welcome relief, a sharp contrast to the oppressive heat inside. The streets of Monaco are quieter now, the party shifting indoors as the night grows late. Charles doesn’t stop moving until you’re both far enough from the club that the noise fades into a dull hum, barely audible over the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks.

He finally releases your hand, only to immediately wrap his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. You’re shivering, whether from the cold or the shock, Charles isn’t sure. Either way, he holds you tighter, wishing he could do more, say more.

But the words don’t come easily. They never have. So instead, he just walks with you, slowly, allowing the night air to calm the both of you. You lean into him, and he can feel the tension gradually leaving your body, though you still seem a little too fragile, too breakable.

Charles isn’t sure how long you walk like that, side by side in the near silence, before you finally speak.

“Charles, I …” Your voice is hesitant, unsure. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been there.”

He stops walking, turning to face you, his expression serious. “You don’t have to think about that,” he says, his voice firm. “I was there. And I always will be.”

You look up at him, your eyes searching his face for something — reassurance, perhaps, or maybe just understanding. “But what if next time-”

“There won’t be a next time.” Charles cuts you off, his voice harder than he intends. He takes a breath, softening his tone. “I won’t let there be a next time.”

He can see the worry still etched on your face, the remnants of fear that haven’t quite faded. He wishes he could take it all away, erase the memory of that man and the way he made you feel. But he knows he can’t. All he can do is be there, to protect you, to make sure you know that you’re not alone.

“You’re safe,” he repeats, quieter now, but with no less conviction. “As long as I’m here, you’re safe.”

You hold his gaze for a long moment, and he wonders what you’re thinking, what’s going on behind those eyes that have always been so easy for him to read. Eventually, you nod, and some of the tension in your posture seems to melt away.

“Okay,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

Charles nods too, though a part of him still feels on edge, like the danger hasn’t completely passed. But he pushes that feeling down, focusing instead on you, on the fact that you’re here with him, and that’s all that matters right now.

“Let’s go,” he says again, but this time, his voice is softer, more gentle. He takes your hand again, lacing his fingers with yours, and starts walking, leading you away from the club, from the noise and the memories that he hopes you’ll never have to revisit.

As you walk, the tension between you both begins to ease. The night air is crisp, carrying the scent of the sea, and for the first time in what feels like hours, Charles allows himself to breathe.

He glances over at you, your profile illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlights. You look calmer now, more like yourself, though there’s still a shadow of what happened lingering in your eyes. Charles’ heart aches at the sight, at the knowledge that he couldn’t protect you from that, even if he was there to stop it from getting worse.

But he doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he just keeps walking, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over your knuckles, a silent reassurance that he’s here, and he’s not going anywhere.

Eventually, you reach the familiar streets that lead back to your apartment. The night is quiet now, the revelry of earlier giving way to the peaceful stillness of a city that’s finally starting to sleep.

When you reach your building, you both stop, lingering on the sidewalk as if neither of you wants the night to end just yet. Charles knows he should say something, anything, but the words are stuck in his throat, too heavy and too complicated to untangle.

You’re the one who breaks the silence, your voice soft but clear. “Thank you. For everything.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t need to thank me,” he says, echoing his earlier words. “I meant what I said — I’ll always protect you.”

There’s a pause, a beat of silence that stretches on just long enough to make Charles wonder if you’re going to say something more. But you don’t. Instead, you step closer and, without warning, wrap your arms around him in a tight hug.

Charles is momentarily stunned, his breath catching in his throat as he processes the warmth of your embrace, the way you cling to him like he’s your anchor in a storm. He hesitates for only a second before his arms come up around you, holding you just as tightly, if not more.

The hug lasts longer than it probably should, but neither of you seems to want to let go. When you finally do, you pull back just enough to look up at him, your eyes searching his with a softness that makes his chest tighten.

“Goodnight, Charlie,” you say, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“Goodnight,” he replies, his voice equally soft, as if speaking any louder would shatter the fragile moment between you.

You give him one last, lingering look before turning and heading into your building, the door closing softly behind you. Charles stands there for a moment, staring at the door, as if willing it to open again, as if hoping you might come back out and say something more.

But you don’t, and eventually, Charles turns and starts walking back the way you came, his thoughts a tangled mess of emotions he’s not sure how to deal with.

The night is still, the only sound the distant crash of the waves against the rocks. Charles lets the quiet seep into him, trying to find some semblance of calm, but it’s difficult. The image of you, scared and vulnerable, keeps flashing through his mind, a constant reminder of how close you came to being hurt.

He knows he should feel relief — that you’re safe, that the night ended without further incident. But instead, all he feels is a gnawing sense of guilt, of not having been there sooner, of not being able to protect you from everything.

Charles clenches his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he walks. He doesn’t want to think about what could have happened if he hadn’t been there, doesn’t want to imagine the fear and pain you might have endured.

But he can’t stop the thoughts from coming, can’t shake the anger that simmers just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over at any moment.

As he rounds the corner to his own street, Charles makes a silent vow to himself. He’ll be more vigilant, more careful. He won’t let anyone hurt you ever again. He’ll be there, always, to protect you, no matter what.

And if anyone tries to come between you and your safety again, well … Charles isn’t sure he’ll be able to hold back next time.

He reaches his apartment, but he doesn’t go inside right away. Instead, he stands outside, staring up at the stars barely visible above the city lights, his mind still racing with thoughts of you.

Eventually, he takes a deep breath and turns to unlock his door, stepping inside and letting the door close behind him with a quiet click. The apartment is dark and silent, but it doesn’t feel like home tonight. It feels empty, hollow, as if something is missing.

And Charles knows exactly what that something is.

As he heads to bed, his thoughts are still on you — on the way you looked at him tonight, on the way you clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. And somewhere, deep down, Charles knows that you’re more than just Arthur’s best friend to him.

But he’s not ready to confront that just yet. Not tonight.

So he pushes the thoughts aside, focusing instead on the promise he made to himself: to always be there for you, to protect you, no matter what.

It’s a promise he intends to keep.

***

The morning sun stretches over Monaco, its golden rays catching on the waves that lap against the harbor. The city is just beginning to stir, and for a moment, everything feels like it should: calm, peaceful, normal. But as Charles hits his stride on his morning run, his mind is anything but calm.

The events of last night replay in his head on a loop, the image of you — shaken, scared, fighting back tears — burned into his memory. Every step he takes feels heavier, weighted down by the anger simmering just beneath the surface.

He’s tried to push it down, to focus on the steady rhythm of his breathing, the sound of his shoes hitting the pavement, but it’s no use. The rage is still there, as fresh and raw as it was the moment he saw you in that club.

Charles turns a corner, heading down toward the harbor where the yachts bob gently in the water. The morning air is crisp, a stark contrast to the heat that still lingers in his chest. He needs to clear his head, to shake off the lingering sense of helplessness that clings to him like a shadow.

But then he sees him.

The man is walking casually along the harbor, hands in his pockets, his face a picture of smug indifference. He looks like any other tourist enjoying a morning stroll, not like someone who was grabbing you, hurting you, just hours ago.

Charles stops dead in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat. For a split second, he thinks he’s imagining it, that his mind is playing tricks on him. But no, it’s him. The same face, the same sneer that Charles wanted to wipe off with his fist last night.

Something snaps inside Charles. The anger he’s been trying to control, trying to bury, erupts like a dam breaking, flooding his veins with adrenaline. His vision narrows, locking onto the man who dared to touch you, who thought he could get away with it.

Without thinking, Charles changes direction, his strides long and purposeful as he closes the distance between them. The man doesn’t notice him at first, too absorbed in whatever thoughts a man like him could have. But then, as Charles gets closer, something makes the man glance over his shoulder.

His reaction is immediate. The smug look falters, replaced by a flicker of recognition, then quickly by a lazy grin that only fuels Charles’ rage.

“Well, well,” the man drawls, stopping to face Charles, clearly not sensing the danger. “If it isn’t the big hero himself. What’s the matter, Leclerc? Didn’t get enough attention last night?”

Charles doesn’t answer, his jaw clenched so tightly he can feel his teeth grind together. He’s close enough now to smell the lingering stench of alcohol on the man’s breath, the same breath that spewed vile words at you.

The man chuckles, a sound that grates on Charles’ nerves like nails on a chalkboard. “You know, she had it coming,” he says, his tone almost conversational. “The way she was dressed, the way she looked at me — what did she expect?”

That’s all it takes. The words cut through Charles like a knife, sharp and searing, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s grabbed the man by the front of his shirt, shoving him back against the railing of the harbor.

“What did you say?” Charles’ voice is low, dangerous, barely more than a growl. His knuckles are white where they grip the man’s shirt, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring ready to snap.

The man’s grin only widens, unfazed by the fury in Charles’ eyes. “You heard me,” he sneers. “And you know what? There’s nothing you can do about it. We’re in public, Leclerc. You’re a famous guy — can’t have your precious image tarnished, can you?”

Charles’ lips curl into a smile, but it’s not the kind that reaches his eyes. It’s cold, calculated, the kind of smile that sends a chill down the spine. “You think I care about that?” He asks, his voice dangerously calm.

The man’s bravado falters just a bit, uncertainty flickering in his eyes, but he doesn’t back down. “Yeah, I do. You’re not gonna do anything. Not here, not in front of all these people.”

Charles laughs, but there’s no humor in it, just a bitter edge that makes the man shift uncomfortably. “You really don’t get it, do you?” Charles says, his voice softening into something almost pitying. “This is Monaco. And I’m Charles Leclerc.”

The man’s face pales slightly, but he still tries to hold his ground. “So what? You think being a driver gives you a free pass to do whatever you want?”

Charles’ smile widens, though there’s nothing friendly about it. “Exactly.”

Before the man can react, Charles yanks him away from the railing, dragging him along the harbor. The man stumbles, trying to pull away, but Charles’ grip is ironclad, unyielding. The few people who are out this early watch with interest, some even clapping or calling out congratulations as they recognize Charles.

“Hey, what the hell?” The man protests, his voice rising in panic as he struggles against Charles’ hold. “Let go of me!”

Charles doesn’t respond, his eyes focused straight ahead as he forces the man to walk, his grip tightening whenever he feels him start to resist. The man’s attempts to free himself are pathetic, laughable even, compared to the strength Charles has built up over years of training, of pushing his body to the limits.

As they pass by a group of people, one of them cheers, “That’s the way, Charles! Show him who’s boss!”

The man tries to appeal to the onlookers, his voice frantic. “Someone stop him! He’s crazy!”

But no one moves to help. They just watch, some amused, others indifferent, as Charles continues to drag the man through the streets of Monaco like he’s nothing more than a piece of trash that needs to be disposed of.

“Where are you taking me?” The man demands, his voice trembling now as fear starts to seep in. “You can’t do this! I’ll-I’ll call the police!”

Charles’ laugh is cold and devoid of any warmth. “Go ahead,” he says, not slowing down for a second. “Tell them Charles Leclerc is dealing with a problem. See how far that gets you.”

The man’s protests grow weaker, his struggles more desperate, but it’s clear he knows there’s no escaping this. Charles is too strong, too determined, and the reality of his situation is starting to sink in.

The two of them reach a more secluded part of the harbor, where the buildings are fewer and the noise of the city fades into the background. There’s no one around to witness what’s about to happen, no one to hear the man’s cries for help.

Charles comes to a stop in a narrow alleyway, shoving the man against the wall with enough force to knock the breath out of him. He leans in close, his face inches from the man’s, his voice a low, dangerous whisper.

“You made a mistake last night,” Charles says, his tone icy. “You thought you could get away with it because you were in a crowded club, because she was alone. You thought no one would stop you.”

The man’s eyes are wide with fear now, all traces of his earlier arrogance gone. “I-I didn’t mean-”

“But you did,” Charles cuts him off, his voice like steel. “You meant every word, every touch, every threat. And now, you’re going to pay for it.”

The man tries to push Charles away, his movements frantic, but Charles is relentless. He grabs the man by the throat, pinning him against the wall, his grip just tight enough to make him understand how serious this is.

“You think I can’t do anything to you because we’re in public?” Charles hisses, his breath hot against the man’s ear. “You’re wrong. In Monaco, I can do whatever I want. And no one will stop me.”

The man’s hands claw at Charles’ arm, trying to pry his fingers away from his throat, but it’s useless. Charles is too strong, too focused, his anger giving him a surge of power that the man can’t hope to match.

Charles leans in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You hurt someone I care about. Someone I’ve known my whole life. And for that, I’m going to make sure you never forget what happens when you cross me.”

The man’s breath comes in short, panicked gasps as he realizes the gravity of his situation. He tries to speak, to beg for mercy, but Charles isn’t interested in hearing his excuses.

“Please …” the man finally manages to choke out, his voice barely a whisper. “I-I’m sorry …”

Charles’ eyes narrow, his grip tightening for a moment before he abruptly lets go, letting the man collapse to the ground in a heap. The man gasps for air, his hands trembling as he scrambles to his feet, his eyes wide with fear.

But Charles isn’t done. He grabs the man by the collar, dragging him deeper into the alley, where the shadows swallow them both. The man’s struggles are weak now, more out of instinct than any real hope of escape.

“People like you,” Charles says, his voice low and menacing, “think you can do whatever you want. But here’s the truth: you’re nothing. Just another coward who preys on the vulnerable. And cowards like you don’t get to walk away.”

The alley is cold and dark, the early morning light barely reaching the grimy corners where Charles drags the man like a lifeless doll. The sounds of Monaco are distant now, just a low hum that fades into the background. The only noise that matters is the ragged breathing of the man at Charles’ mercy, and the echo of their footsteps on the uneven pavement.

Charles stops abruptly, his grip still tight on the man’s collar. He looks around, taking in the silence, the isolation. This place, this forgotten corner of the city, is perfect. No one will find them here. No one will hear what happens next.

He shoves the man against the wall again, harder this time, the force of it knocking the breath out of him. The man lets out a choked gasp, his eyes wide with fear, the bravado from earlier completely gone.

“Please,” he stammers, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean-”

Charles cuts him off with a sharp punch to the gut, and the man doubles over, wheezing. “Don’t bother,” Charles says coldly. “You’re not sorry. You’re just scared. There’s a difference.”

The man tries to straighten up, but Charles doesn’t give him the chance. He lands another punch, this time to the man’s jaw, the crack of bone echoing in the alley. The man’s head snaps to the side, blood already beginning to trickle from his split lip.

“You like hurting people, don’t you?” Charles asks, his voice calm, almost conversational as he paces in front of the man. “That’s what you were doing last night, right? You saw her and you thought you could do whatever you wanted.”

The man groans, trying to push himself up from the ground where he’s fallen, but Charles is on him in an instant, his knee pressing into the man’s chest, pinning him down.

“You thought she was alone,” Charles continues, his voice still eerily calm as he looks down at the man struggling beneath him. “You thought no one would stop you.”

He leans in closer, his knee digging into the man’s ribs, making it harder for him to breathe. “But she wasn’t alone. And now, you’re going to pay for what you did.”

The man tries to shake his head, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts. “I’m sorry,” he gasps out, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know-”

Another punch, this one to the side of the man’s face, silences him. Charles doesn’t care about his excuses, his lies. All he cares about is making sure this man understands the pain, the fear that you felt last night.

He grabs the man by the hair, forcing his head up so their eyes meet. The man’s face is already swelling, bruises blossoming under his skin like dark flowers. “You think this is bad?” Charles asks, his voice low, dangerous. “This is nothing compared to what you deserve.”

The man whimpers, his hands weakly trying to push Charles away, but it’s no use. Charles is relentless, his grip like iron as he drags the man up and slams him back against the wall.

“You like to take what you want, don’t you?” Charles says, his breath hot against the man’s ear. “Well, let’s see how you like it when someone takes something from you.”

Without waiting for a response, Charles delivers a brutal kick to the man’s knee, and the sickening sound of bone cracking echoes in the alley. The man screams, a high, desperate sound that only fuels Charles’ anger.

He watches dispassionately as the man crumples to the ground, clutching his leg, his face contorted in agony. “Hurts, doesn’t it?” Charles asks, his voice devoid of any sympathy. “Now imagine how she felt. Imagine how scared she was, how helpless.”

The man tries to crawl away, his movements sluggish, hindered by the pain, but Charles isn’t done. He grabs the man by the ankle, dragging him back, his face set in grim determination.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Charles says, his voice flat, emotionless. “Not until I’m finished.”

He pulls the man up, slamming him into the wall again, his grip never loosening. The man’s head lolls to the side, blood dripping from his nose, his mouth, but Charles doesn’t care. He won’t stop until the man feels every bit of the fear and pain he inflicted on you.

“You think you can just walk away from this?” Charles asks, his voice soft, almost a whisper, but there’s a dangerous edge to it that makes the man’s eyes widen in fear. “You think you can just go back to your life, like nothing happened?”

The man shakes his head weakly, but Charles doesn’t believe him. He knows men like this, cowards who prey on the vulnerable, who think they’re invincible because they’ve never had to face the consequences of their actions.

“Wrong,” Charles says, his voice hard, unyielding. “You’re not walking away from this. Not ever.”

He lands another punch, this one to the man’s ribs, and the man gasps, the air knocked out of him. Charles steps back for a moment, watching as the man collapses to the ground, coughing, wheezing, barely conscious.

“Look at you,” Charles says, his voice filled with contempt as he circles the man like a predator. “Pathetic. All that confidence, all that arrogance — gone. Now you’re just a scared little boy, begging for mercy.”

The man’s eyes flutter open, bloodshot and filled with pain. He tries to speak, but all that comes out is a low, pitiful moan. Charles crouches down beside him, his eyes cold, calculating.

“Did you really think you could get away with it?” Charles asks, his voice soft, almost gentle, but there’s a cruel undertone that makes the man flinch. “Did you think no one would care? That no one would come for you?”

The man doesn’t answer, his body trembling, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Charles watches him for a moment, his anger still simmering, but there’s a part of him — a small part — that feels a twisted sense of satisfaction. This man, this coward, is finally paying for what he did.

But it’s not enough. Not yet.

Charles reaches down, grabbing the man by the throat, his fingers digging into the bruised flesh. The man’s eyes go wide, panic setting in as he struggles to breathe, his hands weakly clawing at Charles’ arm.

“You’re not going to forget this,” Charles says, his voice low, dangerous. “Every time you look in the mirror, every time you see those scars, you’re going to remember what happens when you cross me. When you hurt someone I care about.”

The man gurgles, his eyes rolling back in his head, his body going limp in Charles’ grasp. For a moment, Charles considers finishing it, squeezing the life out of the man until there’s nothing left. But then he releases his grip, letting the man collapse to the ground, gasping for air.

The man barely has the strength to lift his head, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and desperation. “You … you can’t … do this,” he wheezes, his voice weak, barely audible. “I’ll … have you arrested … for attempted murder …”

Charles stares down at him, a cold, humorless smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He chuckles, a low, dark sound that sends a shiver down the man’s spine. “Go ahead,” he says, his voice dripping with contempt. “Try it. See how far you get.”

The man’s eyes flutter closed, his body trembling uncontrollably as the reality of his situation sets in. He’s helpless, broken, barely clinging to consciousness. And Charles knows that the man’s threats are empty, born out of desperation, a final attempt to grasp at some semblance of control.

“You’re nothing,” Charles says, his voice cold, final. “No one is going to believe you. Not after what you did. Not after what I’ve done to you.”

The man’s breath comes in short, shallow gasps, his body shuddering with pain and exhaustion. Charles watches him for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before he finally stands up, looking down at the broken, bloodied man at his feet.

“Consider this a warning,” Charles says, his voice low, menacing. “Stay away from her. Stay away from Monaco. If I ever see you again, I won’t stop next time. I won’t show mercy.”

The man doesn’t respond, barely clinging to consciousness, his body slumped against the wall like a discarded puppet. Charles takes one last look at him, his eyes cold, before he turns and walks away, his footsteps echoing in the silent alley.

As he steps out into the morning light, the anger that had consumed him begins to fade, replaced by a cold, detached calm. He knows what he’s done, knows that he’s crossed a line that most people wouldn’t dare to. But he doesn’t care. He did what he had to do, what you needed him to do.

And he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

***

The atmosphere in the police station is tense, a quiet hum of activity threading through the open space. Officers move about, their conversations muted, eyes occasionally flicking toward the door where Charles Leclerc is expected to enter any moment. There’s a palpable discomfort in the air, a mix of respect and unease. No one wants to be the one to arrest Charles Leclerc. And yet, protocol demands his presence.

When Charles finally walks in, the room seems to still. Heads turn, eyes widen slightly. He’s dressed casually — sweatpants, a loose-fitting t-shirt, and a pair of sneakers. Despite the nonchalance of his appearance, there’s an unmistakable tension in his shoulders, a hardness in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

The desk sergeant, a middle-aged man with graying hair and a lined face, stands up hastily. “Monsieur Leclerc,” he begins, his tone overly formal, almost reverent. “Thank you for coming in on such short notice. We’re, uh … we’re very sorry about this.”

Charles offers a curt nod, his expression unreadable. “What’s this about?” He asks, even though he already knows.

The sergeant hesitates, glancing around nervously. “We, uh, received a complaint this morning,” he explains, his voice wavering slightly. “From a … an individual who claims that you assaulted him.”

Charles’ lips twitch into something resembling a smile, though there’s no warmth in it. “He’s not wrong,” he says, his voice low, almost a growl. “I did.”

The sergeant’s eyes widen slightly, and there’s a nervous shifting among the other officers in the room. This isn’t how these things usually go. “Monsieur Leclerc,” the sergeant begins again, more carefully this time, “we understand that this man may have … done something to provoke you. But we have to follow protocol. We need to ask you some questions.”

Charles crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back slightly as he regards the sergeant with a cold, detached stare. “Protocol,” he repeats, his voice dripping with disdain. “Fine. Ask your questions.”

The sergeant shifts uncomfortably, clearing his throat. “Did you, uh, did you physically assault the complainant?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes.”

There’s a collective intake of breath from the officers around them, as if they can’t quite believe what they’re hearing. The sergeant blinks, clearly taken aback by Charles’ bluntness. “And … do you regret it?”

Charles laughs then, a dark, humorless sound that sends a shiver down the spines of everyone in the room. “Regret?” He echoes, shaking his head. “No, I don’t regret it. In fact, I’d do it again.”

The sergeant’s face pales, and he looks around as if searching for some way out of this conversation. “Monsieur Leclerc,” he begins again, his voice trembling slightly, “I don’t think you understand the situation. You’ve just admitted to a serious crime. We … we can’t just let you go.”

Charles’ expression hardens, his jaw clenching. “Yes, you can,” he says, his voice cold, unyielding. “And you will.”

The sergeant opens his mouth to protest, but before he can get a word out, the door to the station bursts open, and the man from the alley stumbles in. His face is still bruised, his movements stiff and pained. But there’s a look of triumph in his eyes as he spots Charles standing there.

“There he is!” The man shouts, pointing a shaky finger at Charles. “That’s him! That’s the bastard who tried to kill me!”

Charles turns slowly to face the man, his expression unreadable. There’s a moment of silence, the air thick with tension. The man, emboldened by the presence of the police, takes a step closer, his voice rising with every word. “You think you can just walk away from this, Leclerc? You think you’re untouchable? I’m going to see you rot in prison for what you did!”

Charles doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone. The man falters slightly, confused by the lack of reaction. Charles taps the screen a few times, then puts it on speaker.

“What are you doing?” The man sneers, though there’s a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “Calling your lawyer? That’s not going to save you.”

Charles doesn’t bother to reply. The phone rings once, twice, before a familiar voice answers on the other end.

“Charles,” comes the smooth, authoritative voice of Prince Albert of Monaco. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Charles doesn’t take his eyes off the man as he responds. “Your Highness, I’m at the police station. There’s a man here trying to press charges against me for something I did last night.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end of the line, and then Prince Albert’s voice, calm and steady, fills the room through the speakerphone. “I see. And what exactly did you do, Charles?”

Charles’ eyes narrow as he stares down the man, who is now looking increasingly nervous. “I made sure he understands that there are consequences for hurting people I care about,” Charles says, his voice low, menacing. “I made sure he knows that no one lays a hand on her without answering to me.”

The silence in the station is deafening. Every officer in the room is holding their breath, waiting to see what happens next. The man’s face drains of color as he realizes what’s happening, who Charles is talking to.

Prince Albert’s voice is measured, careful. “And you believe this was necessary?”

“Yes,” Charles replies without hesitation. “It was necessary.”

There’s another pause, and then Prince Albert speaks again, his tone decisive. “Then I trust your judgment. You did what you had to do. Consider this a royal pardon. I’ll have an official document delivered to the station within the hour.”

The man’s mouth falls open in shock, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You … you can’t do this!” He sputters, his voice rising in desperation. “He assaulted me! He nearly killed me!”

Charles finally lowers the phone, ending the call. He slips it back into his pocket, his expression as cold and unyielding as ever. “You heard him,” Charles says quietly, his eyes locked on the man’s. “You’re done here.”

The man looks around wildly, as if searching for someone to back him up, but all he finds are the wary, sympathetic gazes of the officers. No one is going to help him. No one is going to defy Prince Albert.

The desk sergeant clears his throat, stepping forward. “Monsieur Leclerc,” he says, his voice carefully controlled, “it appears that you’re free to go.”

Charles doesn’t smile. He simply nods, his gaze never leaving the man who stands trembling before him. “Good,” he says softly. “Because I have more important things to do than waste my time here.”

The man opens his mouth to protest again, but the words die on his lips as Charles steps forward, his presence overwhelming, almost suffocating. “You should leave Monaco,” Charles says, his voice low and dangerous. “Before I change my mind about letting you live.”

The man stumbles back, his bravado crumbling as fear takes hold. He casts one last desperate glance at the officers, but they all turn away, unwilling to meet his eyes. He’s alone in this, and he knows it.

With a final, defeated whimper, the man turns and flees from the station, his steps hurried, unsteady. Charles watches him go, his expression unreadable, his heart pounding with a mixture of adrenaline and satisfaction.

The desk sergeant shifts awkwardly, unsure of what to say. “Uh, I … we’re sorry for the inconvenience,” he stammers. “It’s just … we had to follow procedure …”

Charles waves a hand dismissively, already heading for the door. “It’s fine,” he says, though there’s a hardness in his voice that suggests otherwise. “Just make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

The sergeant nods quickly, grateful for the reprieve. “Of course, Monsieur Leclerc. It won’t happen again.”

Charles doesn’t respond. He steps out into the sunlight, the tension slowly draining from his body as the warmth of the day washes over him. The streets of Monaco are as busy as ever, people going about their lives, oblivious to what just transpired inside the police station.

He takes a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs, grounding himself. The day is far from over, and there are still things he needs to do, but for now, the threat has been neutralized. The man who hurt you is gone, and Charles made sure he’ll never come back.

As he walks away from the station, Charles can’t help but think of you, your face, your voice, the way you smiled at him when you were just a little girl. He knows he’s crossed a line today, done things that most people wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t condone. But he doesn’t care. He did it for you.

And he’d do it all over again if he had to.

***

Charles stands outside your apartment, a paper bag of takeout in one hand, his other raised to knock on the door. He hesitates for a moment, nerves he didn’t expect twisting in his stomach. It’s strange, feeling nervous about seeing you. He’s known you for years — watched you grow up, shared countless family dinners with you, laughed at your jokes, teased you about your school crushes.

But this … this feels different. Everything feels different now.

He finally knocks, a light tap that he knows you’ll hear. A few seconds pass, and then the door swings open, revealing you standing there in a casual outfit, your hair pulled back, a soft smile on your face.

“Charles,” you greet him, your voice warm, familiar. “Come in.”

He steps inside, glancing around the cozy space. It’s a small apartment, but it’s yours, filled with little touches that scream your personality — bookshelves overflowing with novels, a blanket draped over the back of the couch, a half-finished puzzle on the coffee table. It’s homey, comfortable, and it smells like the vanilla candle you always seem to have burning.

“I brought lunch,” Charles says, holding up the bag. “Figured you might be hungry.”

You smile, your eyes brightening at the sight of the food. “You know me too well. What did you get?”

“Your favorite,” he replies, setting the bag down on the table and beginning to unpack it. “Pasta from that little place near the harbor.”

“Perfect,” you say, moving to grab plates from the cupboard. “You always know how to spoil me.”

Charles chuckles, though his mind is far from the light-hearted conversation. There’s something heavy sitting on his chest, something he knows he needs to tell you, but the words stick in his throat. Instead, he focuses on the food, dishing out generous portions onto each plate.

You both sit down at the small dining table, and for a few minutes, there’s nothing but the sound of forks scraping against plates and the occasional hum of satisfaction as you enjoy the meal. It’s comfortable, easy — just like it’s always been between you.

But then, as if sensing his unease, you break the silence. “So, I heard the craziest thing this morning,” you say, your tone light, almost teasing. “One of my friends told me that you were almost arrested yesterday. Can you believe that?”

Charles’ fork pauses midway to his mouth, his heart skipping a beat. He hadn’t expected you to bring it up so casually, hadn’t prepared himself for this moment. He forces a smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Oh? What did she say?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “She said she heard you were involved in some kind of fight and that the police were called. I told her she was crazy. I mean, you wouldn’t hurt a fly, right?”

There’s a playful glint in your eyes, but Charles can’t bring himself to join in. Instead, he sets his fork down, the sound of metal against porcelain unnaturally loud in the quiet room. He looks at you, his expression serious, all traces of his earlier smile gone.

“Actually,” he begins, his voice low, steady, “it’s true.”

Your smile falters, confusion flickering across your face. “What do you mean?”

Charles leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he meets your gaze head-on. “I was at the police station yesterday,” he says, the words heavy, deliberate. “They called me in because that guy — the one who … hurt you — he tried to press charges against me.”

You stare at him, the shock evident in your wide eyes. “Wait, you’re serious? This isn’t some joke?”

“I’m serious,” Charles replies, his voice calm, almost too calm. “I’m not proud of what I did, but I’m not ashamed of it either. He deserved what he got.”

For a moment, you just sit there, trying to process what he’s telling you. You set your fork down, your appetite suddenly gone. “But … Charles, what did you do?”

Charles takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “I made sure he understood that there are consequences for his actions. That he can’t just walk away after what he did to you.”

Your hands tremble slightly as you reach for your glass of water, taking a sip to steady yourself. “You … you didn’t …”

“I didn’t kill him,” Charles says quickly, sensing your fear. “But I hurt him. Badly. And I don’t regret it.”

You’re silent for a long moment, your mind racing. The Charles you know — the Charles you grew up with, the one who used to give you piggyback rides when you were too tired to walk — wouldn’t do something like this. But then again, this isn’t just anyone we’re talking about. This is you. And for Charles, you’re different. You’ve always been different.

“I did it to protect you,” Charles continues, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “I couldn’t just stand by and let him get away with what he did. I couldn’t …”

He trails off, his gaze dropping to the table, his shoulders slumping slightly. It’s as if all the fight has drained out of him, leaving behind only the raw, honest truth of his actions.

You swallow hard, trying to make sense of everything. “But … you could have been arrested. You could have gone to jail.”

Charles laughs, a bitter sound that holds no real amusement. “Not in Monaco,” he says, shaking his head. “Not for this.”

You furrow your brow, confusion evident in your expression. “What do you mean?”

Charles sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I talked to Prince Albert. He gave me a royal pardon. The guy had no chance.”

You blink, stunned by the casual way he says it, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “A royal pardon? Charles, that’s … that’s not normal.”

“No, it’s not,” Charles agrees, his tone somber. “But I don’t care. I’d do it all over again if it meant keeping you safe.”

The weight of his words hangs between you, the gravity of the situation finally sinking in. You’ve always known Charles was protective of you, but this … this is something else entirely. He’s crossed a line, and there’s no going back.

For a moment, you’re both silent, the tension in the room thick, suffocating. Charles watches you, his heart pounding in his chest, waiting for you to say something, anything. He’s prepared for you to be angry, to be horrified by what he’s done. But he wasn’t prepared for the look of sadness that crosses your face, the way your shoulders slump as if the weight of the world has suddenly fallen on you.

“I don’t know what to say,” you finally whisper, your voice shaky. “I never wanted you to do something like this for me.”

Charles leans forward, reaching across the table to take your hand in his. His touch is warm, steady, and for a moment, it grounds you, pulls you back from the edge of the panic that’s been rising in your chest.

“I know,” he says softly. “I know this isn’t what you wanted. But it’s what I needed to do. I couldn’t just stand by and let him hurt you.”

You squeeze his hand, your grip tightening as if you’re afraid to let go. “But what if you had been arrested? What if you couldn’t get out of it? I couldn’t bear the thought of you being locked up because of me.”

“I wouldn’t let that happen,” Charles replies, his voice firm, resolute. “I told you, I’d do anything to protect you. And I mean it.”

You look up at him then, your eyes searching his, trying to find some sign that this is all just a bad dream, that you’ll wake up and everything will be back to normal. But all you see is the truth — the raw, unfiltered truth of what Charles has done, and why he did it.

“I don’t know if I should be angry or grateful,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly. “You’ve always been there for me. But this … this is something else.”

Charles smiles then, a small, sad smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You don’t have to be anything,” he says softly. “Just know that I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.”

For a moment, you just sit there, holding his hand, the silence between you heavy with unspoken words. There’s so much you want to say, so much you want to ask, but you can’t seem to find the right words. Instead, you focus on the warmth of his hand in yours, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the way his eyes never leave yours.

And then, before you can second-guess yourself, you lean across the table and press your lips to his. The kiss is soft, tentative at first, but it quickly deepens, the tension that’s been building between you finally finding release.

Charles’ hand comes up to cup the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulls you closer. The kiss is everything you didn’t know you needed — desperate, passionate, full of all the emotions that have been bubbling beneath the surface.

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other as you try to catch your breath. Charles’ eyes are dark, his pupils blown wide, and there’s a look in them that you’ve never seen before — something raw and vulnerable, something that makes your heart stutter in your chest.

For a moment, neither of you says anything, the silence heavy with the weight of what just happened. Charles’ hand is still in your hair, his thumb gently stroking the back of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. You can feel his breath on your lips, warm and steady, as if he’s trying to anchor himself in this moment, to hold onto it for as long as he can.

Eventually, you pull back just enough to look into his eyes, your own heart pounding so loudly in your ears that you’re sure he can hear it too. “Charles …” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, but the words catch in your throat. You’re not sure what you want to say, what you’re supposed to say. Everything feels too big, too overwhelming.

Charles doesn’t say anything, just watches you with that same intense gaze, his eyes searching yours for something — reassurance, maybe, or understanding. Slowly, he lowers his hand from your hair, his fingers trailing down the side of your face before he lets it fall to his lap. The loss of his touch leaves you feeling cold, and you almost want to reach out and pull him back to you, to kiss him again and forget everything else. But you don’t.

Instead, you take a shaky breath and try to gather your thoughts, your mind racing. “What … what does this mean?” You finally manage to ask, your voice trembling.

He looks down at his hands, his brows furrowing in thought. “I don’t know,” he admits quietly. “All I know is that I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve known you my whole life, but … this is different.”

You bite your lip, trying to make sense of it all. “I’ve always cared about you. You know that. But I never thought …” You trail off, unable to finish the sentence, but the implication hangs in the air between you.

Charles finally looks up at you again, his expression softening. “Neither did I,” he says, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “But now that it’s happened … I don’t think I can go back. I don’t want to.”

You’re silent for a moment, the weight of his words settling over you. There’s a part of you that wants to be cautious, to protect yourself from whatever this is, but there’s another part — one that’s stronger — that wants to take the leap, to see where this could go.

“I don’t want to either,” you whisper, the admission almost too much to say out loud. But it’s the truth, and once it’s out there, you feel a sense of relief, as if a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

Charles’ eyes soften even more, his smile widening slightly. He reaches out, taking your hand in his once more, his grip warm and steady. “Then let’s see where this goes,” he says, his voice low and full of promise.

You nod, unable to keep the smile off your face. “Okay.”

For a moment, you both just sit there, hands intertwined, the food on the table long forgotten as the reality of what just happened begins to sink in. There’s still so much you need to talk about, so many questions that need answers, but for now, this is enough. The kiss, the confession, the promise of something more — it’s all more than you ever expected.

Charles gives your hand a gentle squeeze, his eyes never leaving yours. “Whatever happens next, I want you to know that I’m here for you.”

You smile, your heart swelling with affection. “I know,” you say softly. “And I’m here for you too.”

He nods, his expression earnest. “Good.”

The silence between you is comfortable now, the tension from earlier finally dissipating. You feel a sense of peace settle over you, a feeling that everything will be okay, no matter what comes next.

Finally, Charles glances at the table, his smile turning sheepish. “We should probably finish our lunch,” he says, his tone light.

You laugh, the sound easing the last of your lingering nerves. “Yeah, we probably should.”

You both pick up your forks, and the conversation shifts back to lighter topics, the ease between you returning as if nothing has changed. But you both know that something has. There’s a new understanding between you, a new connection that wasn’t there before. And as you finish your meal, stealing glances at each other across the table, you can’t help but feel excited about what the future might hold.

***

Monaco at night is a different kind of magic. The streets are quieter, the buzz of the day replaced by the hum of luxury cars and the distant sound of waves crashing against the harbor. The city glows with a soft, golden light, the kind that makes everything look a little more romantic, a little more surreal. And tonight, with you tucked into Charles’ side as you walk home from dinner, it feels like the world has shrunk down to just the two of you.

You’ve been together for a few years now, and yet there’s still a thrill in the way he holds you close, his arm draped around your shoulders as if he’s claiming you all over again. There’s something comforting in the familiarity of it, the way your bodies just fit together, like two puzzle pieces that were always meant to be.

The conversation between you is light, filled with teasing banter about the dessert you shared at the restaurant — how he insists you ate most of it, and you argue that he’s the one with the sweet tooth. It’s the kind of easy back-and-forth that comes with knowing someone inside out, with having weathered storms together and come out stronger on the other side.

But as you turn down a quieter street, the atmosphere shifts. It’s subtle at first — a flicker of movement in the corner of Charles’ eye, the sense that you’re being watched. And then, out of nowhere, a voice cuts through the night, crude and jarring in its tone.

“Hey, baby, how about a smile?”

You freeze, your muscles tensing instinctively. The voice belongs to a man leaning against a lamppost, his eyes raking over you with a leer that makes your skin crawl. You feel Charles stiffen beside you, his arm tightening around your shoulders protectively. But before you can react, the man pushes off from the lamppost and approaches, his hand reaching out to touch you.

It all happens in a blur. The man’s fingers graze your arm, and you flinch back, your heart racing. But before you can fully process the disgust that courses through you, Charles is already moving.

The look in his eyes is one you recognize — a dark, dangerous glint that you’ve only seen a handful of times, but each one burned into your memory. It’s the same look he had that night at the club, the night he became more than just your protector, the night everything between you changed.

He’s about to lunge, his body coiled like a spring, ready to unleash all the anger simmering beneath the surface. But you place a hand on his chest, stopping him just in time.

“Charles,” you say softly, but there’s a knowing edge to your voice, a familiarity with the situation. “Should I call Prince Albert? Let him know you might need another pardon?”

Charles pauses, his gaze flickering to yours, and for a moment, the tension eases. The corners of his mouth twitch upward, a dark, almost feral smile playing on his lips.

“Yeah,” he replies, his voice low and laced with a dangerous amusement. “This must be the fourth one this year.”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound lightening the mood, if only for a second. “Actually,” you correct him, your eyes sparkling with mischief, “it’s the fifth.”

His smile widens at that, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest. But the humor doesn’t last long. The reality of the situation pulls him back, and his expression hardens once more as he turns his attention to the man who dared to touch you.

“Stay here,” Charles says, his tone leaving no room for argument. It’s the voice of a man who’s about to do something he won’t regret — something he’s done before.

You nod, trusting him, knowing that whatever happens next, it’s out of your hands. And as Charles steps away from you, you can’t help but feel a strange sense of satisfaction, a sense of justice in knowing that this man is about to face the consequences of his actions.

The man, oblivious to the danger he’s in, sneers at Charles, clearly unbothered by the presence of another man. “What are you gonna do, pretty boy?” He taunts, his voice dripping with arrogance. “You think you can scare me?”

Charles doesn’t respond immediately. He takes his time, closing the distance between them with a measured, almost predatory grace. And when he finally speaks, his voice is as cold as ice.

“You have no idea who you’re dealing with,” Charles says quietly, the words laced with a threat that hangs heavy in the air.

The man laughs, the sound grating and unpleasant. “Oh, I know exactly who you are,” he sneers. “You’re that driver, right? Leclerc? Big deal. Doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want.”

Charles tilts his head slightly, as if considering the man’s words, and then, to your surprise, he laughs — a dark, cruel sound that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You think being in public will protect you?” Charles asks, his voice dripping with mockery. “You think because there are people around, I won’t make you regret ever laying a hand on her?”

The man falters, some of his bravado slipping as he realizes that Charles isn’t backing down. He glances around, perhaps expecting someone to come to his aid, but the street is empty, save for a few onlookers who are too far away to hear the exchange.

Charles doesn’t give him time to think. With a speed that takes the man by surprise, he grabs him by the collar, yanking him forward with a strength that belies his lean frame. The man stumbles, his cocky demeanor evaporating as he realizes he’s in over his head.

“You should have walked away,” Charles murmurs, his voice dangerously calm. “But now … now you’re going to pay.”

The man struggles, trying to push Charles away, but it’s futile. Charles is a professional athlete, his body honed for strength and endurance, and the man is no match for him. Within seconds, Charles has him pinned against the wall of a nearby building, his forearm pressed against the man’s throat.

“Get off me, you psycho!” The man chokes out, his voice panicked as he claws at Charles’ arm.

But Charles doesn’t budge. He leans in closer, his face inches from the man’s, his eyes filled with a cold, calculated fury. “You’re going to regret ever touching her,” he says quietly, his words laced with venom.

And then, without warning, he drags the man away from the wall, pulling him down the street with a force that makes it clear this isn’t just a warning — it’s a promise. The man tries to resist, tries to fight back, but it’s no use. Charles is stronger, faster, and more determined, his grip unyielding as he hauls the man toward a darker, more secluded part of the street.

You watch from a distance, your heart pounding in your chest. Part of you wants to stop him, to tell him it’s not worth it, but another part of you— the part that remembers the fear and helplessness you felt when that man touched you — wants Charles to follow through, to make sure this man never does this to anyone else again.

As they disappear around a corner, you take a deep breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions inside you. You trust Charles, you know he’ll be careful, but you can’t help the worry that creeps in, the fear of what might happen next.

Minutes pass, each one feeling like an eternity, and then finally, you hear the sound of footsteps approaching. You look up, your breath catching in your throat as you see Charles emerging from the shadows, alone.

His expression is unreadable, his eyes dark and stormy as he walks back to you. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the silence heavy with unspoken words.

Then, without a word, Charles pulls you into his arms, holding you close as if he’s afraid to let go. You wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his chest, the steady beat of his heart grounding you.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice muffled against your hair. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

You shake your head, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “You don’t have to apologize,” you say softly, your hand cupping his cheek. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

He smiles then, a small, tired smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m okay,” he says, though you can hear the weariness in his voice. “But he won’t be bothering you — or anyone else — again.”

You nod, knowing there’s more to the story than he’s telling you, but you don’t press him. Not now, not when he’s holding you so tightly, as if he’s afraid to let you go.

“Let’s go home,” you say gently, taking his hand in yours.

Charles nods, his grip on your hand firm as he leads you back down the street, away from the darkness and into the light. And as you walk together, side by side, you can’t help but feel a sense of relief, a sense of safety in knowing that no matter what happens, Charles will always be there to protect you.

[hyunesent]

: ̗̀➛ A HIDDEN VULNERABILITY

"Tsukishima's whisper sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn't help but melt into the bed. "I could give it to you," he murmured, his words dripping with temptation. "I could give you the best fuck of your life, without any strings attached."

a tsukishima x reader oneshot (afab)

cw: jealous tsukishima, mentions of kageyama and reader, some angst (tsuki doubting himself + relationship troubles), oral sex ( m + f receiving), tsuki is mean at first, rough sex, edging, teasing.

Under the pale luminescence of a waxing moon, Tsukishima Kei stood at the edge of the gymnasium, his golden eyes watching you with an intensity that belied his typically aloof demeanour. 

The cool night air wrapped around him like a shroud, concealing the turmoil that churned within his chest. He was the picture of calm indifference, his tall frame leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, yet his heart beat a frantic rhythm against his ribcage.

Inside, the gym was alive with the echo of laughter and the rhythmic thud of volleyballs meeting floors. You were there, a radiant presence among his teammates, your smile bright enough to rival the moonlight. As you laughed at something Kageyama said, Tsukishima felt a sharp pang of something unfamiliar-jealousy.

He hated how his stomach twisted when he saw the two of you, hated the way his insecurities gnawed at his resolve.

He bit down on his tongue hard when he saw how close the two of you were, laughing together, closing the proximity between you two. At one point Kageyamas hand had snaked around your waist to gently move you out of the way and Tsukishima had to watch as it loitered there for way too long paired with eye contact that made him murderous.

Tsukishima had always prided himself on his detachment and ability to keep people at arm's length. But you had dismantled his defences with ease. Your kindness, your genuine affection. And now, the fear of losing you to someone more worthy threatened to undo him completely.

The night wore on, and the gym began to empty, the sounds of the game fading into the quiet of the evening. You lingered, still chatting with Kageyama, unaware of the storm brewing in Tsukishima's mind. When you finally noticed him, standing in the shadows, a flicker of concern crossed your face.

"Kei?" you called softly, your voice a gentle soothing to his raw nerves. "Everything okay?"

He hesitated, the words caught in his throat. Vulnerability was a foreign land to him, one he had never willingly ventured into. But tonight, the fear of losing you overpowered his pride. There was a tremor in his gaze, a plea for reassurance.

Tsukishima forced a tight-lipped smile, his facade of aloofness slipping slightly as he replied, "I'm fine. Just tired from practice." The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, but he couldn't bring himself to voice the turmoil swirling within him.

You studied him for a moment, your expression soft with understanding. Tsukishima felt a surge of gratitude towards you, mingled with an ache for something more he couldn't quite name. As you bid Kageyama goodbye and walked over to him, the air between you crackled with unspoken words and unresolved emotions.

As the two of you walked home, there was something different in the way he looked at you. Something dark and possessive. It sent a shiver down your spine, but also a thrill that you couldn't quite explain. His golden eyes held a depth you hadn't seen before as if he was trying to convey a message without words. The hostility in his tone lingered, intensifying the breeze rustling the leaves overhead.

Eventually, a heavy silence stretched between you. Tsukishima's usual aloofness was tinged with an undercurrent of something primal, something raw that made your heart race

As you approached his apartment building. The click of the key in the lock echoed through the empty hallway, a stark contrast to the charged atmosphere between you. Tsukishima led the way inside, his footsteps purposeful and unwavering. The silence enveloped you both like a heavy cloak, suffocating any attempts at conversation.

You watched as he shrugged off his jacket, the fabric falling to the floor in a haphazard heap. Without sparing you a glance, he made a beeline for the bathroom, his movements swift and controlled. The sound of running water soon filled the air, a sharp reminder of the distance between you.

Confusion and tension wrapped around you like invisible chains. Tsukishima's sudden change in demeanour had thrown you off balance, leaving you grasping for some semblance of understanding. The way he seemed to be wrestling with his inner demons made your heart ache with a mixture of sympathy and fear.

You stood in the dimly lit living room, uncertain of what to do next. The seconds stretched into minutes as you waited, the sound of the running water creating a dissonant background to the turmoil brewing within you. His apartment felt unfamiliar now, shadows lurking in every corner where there used to be only familiarity. You sinked face. first onto his bed and struggled to look up to rest your face between your hands.

Your mind was running a mile a minute overthinking every interaction you had with him today, desperate to know what was wrong.

Minutes passed in a suspended state of uncertainty, each tick of the clock echoing loudly in your ears. The water from the shower continued its steady rhythm, a barrier separating you from Tsukishima. You debated whether to stay or leave, unsure of where you stood with him at that moment.

As you tried to gather your thoughts, the door to the bathroom creaked open, and Tsukishima emerged His hair was damp and tousled, strands sticking to his forehead while his shirt fit in a way that allowed his collarbone to peer through.

Suddenly, Tsukishima was behind you, his breath fanning the top of your head. You could feel the heat radiating off his body as he reached out his hands to slide them against your waist, you gasped softly at the new touch. Your heart pounded in your chest, the moment stretching taut between you like a drawn bowstring.

“What was that with Kageyama?” Tsukishima murmured, his voice low and gravelly, you felt a sharp stab of remorse upon hearing the pain in his voice. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, sending a jolt of anticipation through you. His lips traced barely-there kisses along your neck and shoulder. Starkly contrasting the form grip he now had on your hips, igniting a trail of tingling warmth in its wake.

You remembered the closeness between you and your boyfriend’s teammate and you hoped that he had interpreted the situation differently. Taking a deep breath, you turned to face him. The expression in his eyes was undeniably dark and hard, and you could understand why.

"Kei, I’m sorry," you said, stammering. "I didn't mean to—I just got—"

"Swept up in the moment?" Tsukishima interrupted with a sneer. "Come on. Did you really believe I'd accept that excuse?"

Without another word, Tsukishima gently wrapped his arms around your body, his gentleness confusing yet comforting given the situation. He turned you around onto your back and looked into your eyes with a now unreadable expression.

His presence loomed over you, a dark cloud suffocating any sense of self-control. You were nothing but a puppet in his hands, helplessly succumbing to his every whim and desire.

“I know you better than anyone y/n” he reminded you with his lips ghosting against yours. He pulled back with a smirk when you chased them and opted to press his thumb to your bottom lip.

You lean forward slightly to take it between your lips sucking it gently as Tsukishimas gaze becomes more intense. His other hand trails down your front, stopping just above where you needed him most and you can see the anticipation written all over his face. He pressed down gently eliciting a sinful whine from you.

Your tongue swirls around his thumb, tasting the faint saltiness of his skin, watching in fascination as he fought to maintain his composure by closing his eyes.

They snap open with a new drive as he removes his hands from you only returning them to press his fingers against your clothed cunt. Already desperate you moan out craving more from him and he settles between your legs to pull you in for a heated kiss.

You kiss him back matching his intensity and exploring each other’s tongues, his lips are soft and demanding against yours, his hands roaming your body with a heat that sets your skin on fire. Your fingers tangle in his hair, relishing the feeling of his short strands against your skin. You felt lightheaded and being able to feel his hardening erection against your pussy with only thin material between the two didn’t help.

His hand sneaks up to wrap his slender fingers around your throat applying just the right amount of pressure to the sides.

Your eyes screw shut as he turns your head to the side, giving him full access to the expanse of your neck. His lips part slightly to trail his tongue tantalizingly slow up the side of your neck finishing with a kiss to your most sensitive spot while grinding his cock onto your pussy, every movement calculated to elicit pleasure and desire from you.

Your legs instinctively spread wider needing more from him so you plea with a moan:

“Fuck Kei, I want you so bad.” Those words came out more breathless than you intended but he lacked the amusement he would usually have.

“No, you don’t.” He rolls his hips into yours again, harder this time. “You want someone else.”

Tsukishima couldn’t even bring himself to say the other man’s name and the conflict was evident in his gaze as he groped at your chest. Even though he was behaving in a certain way, his underlying insecurities were still palpable. After the events that occurred earlier, these feelings seemed to have heightened and become more prominent.

You struggled to form coherent sentences as Tsukishima kept stimulating you. You were hot and bothered and you felt distant from the man on top of you despite your proximity.

Tsukishima's whisper sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn't help but melt into the bed. "I could give it to you," he murmured, his words dripping with temptation. "I could give you the best fuck of your life, without any strings attached. You could leave and go to him right now." You didn’t know whether to moan or cry at his sheer lack of emotion when stating his offer.

But what you did know is that you didn't want anyone else. "No," you whimpered, grasping onto Tsukishima's arm. "Please, I only want you. It's always been you."

Tsukishima's rough hand slips into your pants, his fingers moving expertly as he searches for your slick heat. Faint streaks of wetness cling to his skin as he pulls his hand back and messily spreads your arousal over your lower stomach.

Tsukishima's fingers are cool against your heated skin, his touch sending shivers through your body. As he spreads your slick over your folds as well, fingers brushing over your clit, you feel a jolt of pleasure shoot through you, causing your body to arch and writhe beneath him.

“I bet he doesnt know how messy and rough you like it when we fuck.” His fingers are focused on your clit now and you’re a moaning mess.

“Think he could make you moan like this?” he coos at you “I’m barely touching you”

“Kei! Please—”

“But really, it’s up to you,” Tsukishima said nonchalantly, smirking a bit as he spread your pussy lips open, hearing you moan. “maybe he’s better than me,”

“I’m not going anywhere, Kei,” you begged, nearly crying. “I’m yours, I promise!”

“Promise?” his tone was now soft as he tilted your chin down to search your eyes for sincerity.

“Yes!” You reached out to tangle your fingers in his hair.

Tsukishima let his eyes flutter close for a moment and melted into your touch. When he opened them again he collected you in his arms tenderly and then through you onto the covers the way he wanted you, pinning you down your head on the pillows.

"Good girl," he murmured, pulling down your pants and soaked underwear. He then traced his tongue up your slit, making you gasp with pleasure."

From this point on tsukishima was not gentle and showed you no mercy, devouring your pussy like a starved man focused solely on your pleasure. With every lick and suck, he dialled up the intensity, using his tongue in ways that had you panting and moaning with each thrust.

He went deeper, his rough tongue darting inside you, hitting your G-spot just right, making your back arch off the bed, your hands gripping the sheets in a vice-like hold. His lips were soft, but his tongue was a force to be reckoned with, flicking, teasing, and exploring your most sensitive spots.

You were a mess now, your entire body trembling with pleasure, your breath coming in short gasps as you begged for more.

And so you gave in, desperately clinging to him, writhing beneath him with each thrust and lick. The world was reduced to that one moment, that one sensation. You no longer thought about the other man, the one who had caused this turmoil within you. All that mattered was Tsukishima, his skilful touch, and the way he made you feel.

Your eyes scrunched shut once more as he placed his hand on your chest, his thumb gently grazing your nipple. He knew all of your sensitive spots, your weak points.

“Don't stop! I’m—”

Before you could even finish he pulls away, expressionless, lower face covered in your slick. You whine and lift your hips off the bed but you can’t deny your arousal heightening at the sight of him.

Without saying a word he taps the outside of your leg while kissing your inner thigh signalling for you to get up. He chuckles when he notices you struggling slightly but you manage to crawl towards him nevertheless and push his shirt off. He looks down at you with an admiring smile and responds immediately, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside, along with his boxers.

Her eyes grew wide at the sight of his length: rock hard and already dripping. You marvel at him in awe while he’s attentively watching your expression.

“Looks like someone wants me bad,” Tsukishima purred, leisurely stroking his length as his eyes watched you carefully, challenging you to make a move.

His constant teasing had finally reached its limit, and you were determined to get back at him. You sat up and crawled over to him, where you slapped his hand away from his length, taking control with your own hand.

Tsukishima inhaled sharply, tilting his head back, but he immediately brought it back down, not wanting to take his eyes off of you.

"Faster," he demanded, his voice strained. 

You hurried your hand up and down his length, occasionally grazing your thumb over the tip and relishing in the sounds of pleasure that escaped him. When you noticed his fists clenching the sheets, turning white with tension, you knew he was close. So without hesitation, you did what came naturally to you.

He groaned and swore as you took all of him into your mouth. Tsukishima's body shuddered as you slowly moved your head up and down, maintaining eye contact with him. Suddenly, he grabbed a handful of your hair and forcefully pushed your head down, making you take all of him in at once.

You choked and gasped for air, and it seemed like your body was reacting in his favour – the tightness in his stomach began to loosen, and he was on the brink of losing control. He repeated your name like a mantra as if pleading to anyone listening.

Before he could give in to his desires, he suddenly snapped out of it and pulled you off him. You trembled with anticipation as Tsukishima's expression turned into one filled with pure lust. He manoeuvred you around, forcing you onto your hands and knees.

He stood behind you, leaning in close to whisper in your ear. "I'm going to make you feel so good," he breathed, his words sending shivers down your spine. You let out a moan, unable to resist his dirty talk. It was always a turn-on for you.

You feel your breath hitch at his weight shifting on the bed before you feel his cock against your glistening opening.

He uses his top to spread your slick around and gently pushes your legs wider. He begins to push into you struggling at first.

“shit- baby relax.” he hisses and leans forward to kiss your shoulder and hold you tenderly for a moment, relieving some of your tension.

You feel his soft lips part on your shoulder as he pushes his length into you slowly letting you feel every vein against your walls.

Once he was fully inside you, he pulled out almost entirely, a slow, teasing motion that left you yearning for more. Then, he began to thrust, creating a rhythm that left both of you gasping for air. 

You’re moaning load so he pushes your head into the pillow, the new position allowing him to thrust deeper causing you to let out a muffled scream.

He groaned and picked up the pace, his hips slapping against your ass. You were lost in the moment, feeling his cock deep inside you, and the passion between you growing with every thrust.

Tsukishima groaned, his hands tightening on your hips as he felt the pleasure building within him. His cock slammed against your G-spot with each brutal stroke, sending waves of ecstasy through you both.

You were panting now, your body trembling with the intensity of the sensation. You felt his hands digging into your flesh, possessive and needy, driving you wild.

“Oh god, Kei! Right there, just like that!” you cried out, cupping at your slick, needy mound.

Tsukishima slapped your hand away, replacing it with his own as he messily stimulated your clit. He pounded into you harder, his cock swelling with each thrust, you could feel the build-up of his climax.

"I'm going to cum, baby," he growled, his voice low and thick. "You want my cum, don't you?"

You nodded vigorously, looking back with eyes wide with desire. He smirked, his gaze locked on yours, and then he began to thrust even faster. Your screams filled the room as he hit your sweet spot over and over again.

With one final thrust, Tsukishima whispered your name, releasing a torrent of intensity within you, bringing your climax crashing down upon you. Your body shook with pure bliss, every nerve ending ignited by his touch.

He collapsed on top of you for a moment, his breath ragged as he tried to catch his breath. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close, feeling both relieved and exhilarated.

Slowly, he pulled away, leaving a kiss on your forehead, before helping you to lie down on the bed in a more comfortable position. The afterglow was just as intense as the passion, leaving an unspoken comfort between you. You opened your eyes, to see Tsukishima’s golden ones staring right back at you.

You reached out to brush the wet strands of hair from his forehead and he sighed softly pulling you closer to him. The two of you shared tender kisses and he looked up at you with a flash of raw vulnerability.

“You’re mine. No one else’s.” he rasped.

You nodded in agreement causing you both to crack smiles before you kissed his cheek softly and held him as he fell asleep almost instantly.

You observed him as he slept; it was during these vulnerable moments that you were reminded of the gentleness that always resided within him, hidden beneath his tough facade. You lightly traced the line of his jaw, completely enamoured with him.

𝘼𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚: This is a work of fiction not a portrayal of anyone in real life. this was supposed to be much shorter but I got carried away lol. This is not proofread so I'm sorry for any mistakes! Likes and reblogs are welcome and appreciated. Happy reading .ᐟ

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Changeling AU pt.2

This idea got me in a chokehold, so I'm here to add more.

I'm sticking with the 'Talia outplayed the fae in order to acquire 2for1 deal of babies' for this one and probably for any later continuations.

Damian knows his brother is not human. He knew it from the very beginning since no one bothered to hide the fact. Yet Danyal grows up just like any other human baby, acting like a child he is supposed to be. He trains by Damian's side, he eats just like everyone else, he likes the stories and lessons their Mother teaches them both.

But Damian knows. His brother is no human. He sees it in the way Danyal tilts his head like a curious bird, in his swift, flowing movements that remind him of snakes, in his eyes that reflect the moonlight in a way cat's eyes do. He knows it by how some of the assassins lose their names to his brother and how Danyal never lies but also never tells the truth.

More than that, he sees it in the way Danyal smiles. Others would call that smile a mischievous one, but Damian sees no mischief in there.

He sees amusement.

And it drives him up the wall.

So he trains. He works harder than ever to prove himself better. He is worth not just simple amusement, he is the Heir, the Son of the Bat, he demands respect, even from his brother. Danyal will never take his place - not that he even could, Grandfather would never allow an unpredictable being to become the next Demon Head.

And he learns, from his Mother and from the old books, and sometimes from Danyal himself. He learns of customs and rules, of names and wordings, of odds and debts, and of tricks and riddles.

Damian has his own pride, and he wants to show it to his brother. To see the amused smile fade from his face, to make Danyal understand he is not just a weak mortal who's been simply allowed to exist beside his brother.

He wants to defeat Danyal.

And one day, he does.

Danyal is on the floor, and there's no smile on his face. Instead, in his eyes he sees the calm tranquility of a lake, frozen to the bottom, as he looks at Damian. And Damian? Damian grins, victorious at last.

Yet it is only after Danyal stands up and leaves a soft, cold and barely noticeable kiss to his forehead before disappearing in the shadows, that Damian realises:

His brother never asked to have his name.

| <-prev | next-> |

[ozzgin]

Hello! I just wanted to say I really like your writing style!!

I was wonder have you done a hybrid yan whose darling has a phobia of the animal they are a hybrid of?

Eg wolf with a darling scared of dogs, Naga with a darling scared of snake, ect.

I can definitely expand a little on that! I'll keep it very generic, so you can go for any kind of hybrid you'd like. :)

Yandere! Hybrid x Phobic! Reader

Featuring a hybrid of your choice and a Reader who's terrified of him, but not for the reasons one might expect.

Content: gender neutral reader, hybrid yandere, stalking, monster romance (mild NSFW)

He's been in love from the moment he saw you. So entranced, in fact, that he didn't even notice he'd stalked you all the way to your home. And much too eager to see you again to not return there the next day, and the day after and so on, until today.

Today, however, was meant to be special. He'd planned to confess his feelings and pray for the best. What's the worst that could happen, he thought. If you were to reject him, he'd just return to his habit of watching from afar.

Though he didn't expect you to scream and run away in a panic. You nearly toppled over the ground in your frantic escape, white as a sheet, mumbling apologies that slowly faded into the distance. He could only stare. He didn't get the chance to introduce himself.

That was...not his best moment. That night he turned and twisted, plagued by a shame he'd never known before. Was he truly so irredeemably monstrous? He'd never interacted much with humans before, so he never quite considered his own appearance. Could he really go back to admiring you secretly? Was there no way to convince you? His heart throbbed melancholically.

In the morning, to his great shock, you were already waiting for him in the same spot, just as pale, knees bent and ready to sprint at any given second. You managed to blurt out your explanation: the phobia. He suddenly remembered one instance where you stumbled upon an animal and had a reaction similar to what he experienced. So, you were indeed afraid of him, but not in the way he initially assumed. His eyes lit up with newfound hope: you were giving him a chance, after all.

The first months were rather clumsy. A lot of fidgeting, a lot of sneaky glances, and to his great dismay, a lot of distance. To think you were finally his, and he couldn't even hold you properly.

One must appreciate the small victories. You were no longer a stranger he'd follow from the shadows. He no longer had to imagine what you'd smell like, or what your laugh sounded like, or how your hands would feel in his. You have to take what's given to you, he'd tell himself once he was alone again, desperately touching himself to those scarce memories.

Despite his almost manic neediness, he always greeted you with a reassuring smile. Always asked before touching you. Always apologized if he got ahead of himself. He'd never allow his love to outweigh your comfort.

You jolt slightly.

"Sorry, was I too rough?" he freezes, observing your small, naked body underneath his.

"No, just muscle memory, sorry."

You purse your lips, embarrassed about your sudden anxious reaction in the middle of an intimate moment. Will you ever get over your fear?

"Hey now, is this the kind of face to have while I'm fucking you?" the hybrid jokes with a grin. "Small steps, remember?"

He'd wait forever if it was for you.

[illyrianbitch]

An Education in Malice

Pairing: Vanserra!Reader x Azriel

Summary: With the sharp tongue of your notorious family, you are Azriel's most tantalizing challenge yet. It only takes one small meeting before you both realize that the line between hate and desire is dangerously thin.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT, rough, angry, hate sex basically. sexual degradation (name calling), p in v penetration, sex in da woods, bickering and insults, inner circle slander

Word Count: 6.6k

a/n: i know technically we wouldnt be a princess... but we r a high lord family so were running with it for the sexual tension. also dedicated to my soulmate and the brilliant babe, @itsswritten who told me to write sumthin smutty like this. thank her 🫡

Series Masterlist | Part Two

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

“Hello, Shadowsinger.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched at the sound. 

He’d almost forgotten how grating your voice was to his ears, how it made his body tense with an emotion he could never quite describe. He turned around slowly, taking you in where you stood leaning casually against a tree. 

The dress you wore was reminiscent of autumn court elegance, fabric cascading around you in rich hues of crimson, gold, and amber, like the vibrant foliage of the season brought to life, sleeves like flickering flames. There was a sense of wrongness in seeing such an elegant form amidst the wild, your commanding presence even more striking than that of your other family members. If he didn't know who you were, he would have been tempted to describe you as something of unparalleled beauty, a vision amidst a forest of wilderness.

But Azriel knew who you were. He knew what you were. 

He had noticed the similarities between you and your brothers quickly, from your mannerisms down to the curve of your lips. You and Eris shared the same snarky smirk– a smirk Az wanted to wipe clean off your faces. You were using it now, holding his gaze with the corners of your lips upturned and amused eyes. 

“You look thrilled to see me,” you said. 

Az did nothing to hide his disdain as he narrowed his eyes at you. “Where is your brother?” 

“Busy,” you responded, absentmindedly running the tips of your fingers along the tree you leaned on. You took a moment to observe the bark before you turned to face Azriel again, a small taunting smile on your lips once more. “I’ll let him know you missed him.”

Azriel held your gaze for a moment, a tick in his jaw as he let out a short exhale. Then, he was turning around to leave, a clear dismissal. A small flicker of anger rose in your body. Quickly, you winnowed in front of him, your sudden appearance setting his shadows into a frenzied dance around him, coalescing into a swirling mass around his neck like a collar of live snakes ready to strike. 

“Don’t be rude,” you said, “I’m here on Eris’ behalf. Give me information to report back to him.”

“Nothing to report,” Azriel said, voice flat. He stared at you for a moment, eyes scanning you. And then he was making another notion to leave, brushing past you with a small shove to your shoulder. You nearly laughed at the action, at how easy he was becoming to rile up— at how much your presence bothered him. 

“You don’t want to stay and chat?” You said over your shoulder. A flutter of triumph spread in your chest when you heard his footsteps come to a halt. You turned to face him, his back still to you, shadows swirling around his body like black flames. “It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other.”

Azriel turned to face you, a small scowl on his beautiful features. “Not long enough.”

You laughed, the sound stroking his body in a way that sent shivers down his spine. You let out a sigh.

“I get bored in Autumn sometimes, you know?”

Briefly, something flickered in Azriel’s hazel eyes, but it faded faster than you could decipher what it meant or where it came from. He titled his head slightly, eyes taking you in fully.

“Not enough cruelty for you?”

“Something like that.”

You both held each other's stares, his icy gaze against your fiery one. He lifted his chin slightly, rolling his shoulders as if to straighten his already stiff posture. You didn’t miss the way his wings extended slightly from their tucked in position, just enough to stand as a warning, as a reminder of who he was— what he was. 

“This is a waste of my time.”

Yet, Azriel made no move to leave— not this time. 

“Because you have such important matters to return to?” You asked with a raised brow, “You said it yourself, nothing to report. So, are there some damsels in distress to be saved? Something to make you feel important?”

You made sure to pay extra attention to when you mocked his previous words, tone dropping slightly deeper to imitate his. Azriel’s eyes narrowed even more, a dark wave of evident anger washing through his face, nostrils flared, jaw clenched. You bit the inside of your cheek to contain your grin. 

You were playing with something dangerous, this you knew. But Azriel was so fun to rile up, so easy to. You understood, now, why your brother seemed to enjoy these meetings so much. You’d assumed Eris was some sort of masochist, somehow finding pleasure in the necessity of being allies with the Night Court, the same people who so commonly disregarded you and your family as evil and cruel— although, they were right to a certain extent. But perhaps Eris had found some sort of entertainment with this affair. 

“Stop talking,” was Azriel’s only reply. 

“Why?”

He took a step forward. You made sure to stay still, to hold his gaze as he peered down at you. 

“Because you’re trying to get a rise out of me,” Azriel responded, his voice cool, “and it will not work.”

“Oh please,” you scoffed. “Play the unphased act all you’d like, we both know its bullshit.”

He said nothing in response, his eyes remaining locked on yours. Azriel’s stare was harder now, colder. A clear warning was written in his features, carved out between his clenched jaw and narrowed eyes: do not fuck with me. 

But you welcomed the challenge. If he wasn’t going to admit it, you were more than willing to prove your point. 

“You put my brother in a chokehold in a public meeting. You have no self-control. You’re just constantly one spark away from igniting.”

Azriel growled. “Your brother deserved it.”

You raised your brow in a small taunt. 

“Because he called your precious Morrigan a slut?”

Whether Azriel wanted to admit it or not, you were very easily tearing at his resolve. He moved quickly, his hand naturally falling to the dagger at his hip. Shadows moved closer to you, but with a swift movement of your fingers, they were met with the spark of a small flame, quickly retracting back into their mass form near Azriel’s shoulders. You winnowed back to your original place, back against the rough tree bark. 

“Careful, Shadowsinger,” you sneered, “You’re forgetting your manners.You didn’t even let me finish.”

Azriel wore a clear scowl now, brows furrowed as he held your gaze from afar, hand still on his weapon. There was something deadly about the way you made him feel, the intensity of those feelings far surpassing any hatred he held for your brothers– Eris, specifically. In truth, the more time Az spent near Lucien, the more he saw him as someone good– and the less similarities he seemed to bear with you, his conniving snake of a sister. You opened your mouth to taunt him once more.

“I don’t agree with my brother,” you said, “Hell, I admire Morrigan for her freedom. I do love a pretty dress. So, I would have called her something else… a liar, perhaps?”

Those words were all it took to light Azriel’s fuse.

Within a blink, he was in front of you, the cold steel of a dagger, Truth-Teller you presumed, pressed against your neck. His wings flared out angrily behind him. Shadows surged around you, a suffocating darkness descending like a shroud, swallowing the sunlight and leaving only a void of darkness. You stared into Azriel's eyes— cold, and angry.

"Shut up," he snarled.

For a moment, a sense of fear flickered deep in your stomach, but you swallowed it down, the flame diminishing before it could properly ignite. Even as his shadows threatened to consume you both whole, you refused to back down, meeting Azriel's gaze with a defiant stare of your own. And then, you grinned. A cruel, wicked gesture that made his blood boil.

“Nice to see you perform without an audience, too.”

Azriel's voice was laden with disdain as he responded, words dripping with venom. "You and your brother are exactly the same."

But instead of flinching at the accusation, you maintained your smirk, unfazed by the blade pressed against your neck. "Which brother? I have quite a few," you countered, your tone teasing, almost playful.

Azriel's grip tightened, images of your family conjuring in his mind. Az could barely remember the names of your other brothers, their features blurring into a blurry mess of fiery auburn and copper. Instead, his mind focused on you– the female before him, under his grip and his dagger, standing next to the two males he despised for different reasons. 

“You can decide,” Azriel finally said, “they’re all equally terrible.”

“I’d say Lucien is a good male,” you laughed bitterly, “I’m willing to bet your sweet Elain would agree.”

A surge of fury rose within him, a deep primal instinct to lash out and silence your taunts once and for all. But even as he bristled with anger, he realized you were right.

He was constantly teetering on the edge, one step away from losing control. It had gotten worse recently, watching everyone around him find their place, their people; Elain growing closer to Lucien, his brothers spending time with their mates. Azriel was frustrated. He was angry. You’d done exactly what he told you wouldn’t happen– gotten a rise out of him. He hated it, hated you, hated himself even more.

Azriel took a deep breath, your heated gaze still on him, eyes narrowed, a small smirk on your lips that he filled him with a burning anger. It wasn’t as if he could kill you, no, he couldn’t even really hurt you. One mark on the Vanserra’s youngest and only daughter would be a mark for war. This was a battle Az couldn't win, indulging your provocations for the mere sake of your entertainment. He needed to calm down. Regain control. 

The shadows around you began to recede and sunlight filtered back into the clearing as Azriel  pushed you away with a snarl. You leaned your head back against the tree as you took a deep breath.

He studied you for a moment before saying,  "You'd think someone as pretentious as you wouldn't need to rely on irritating someone for an ounce of attention." 

There was a subtle shift in your demeanor—a swallowed response, a flicker of vulnerability. His gaze followed the movement down to the column of your throat.

“Pretentious?” 

You gave a bitter laugh.

"Yes, pretentious. All of you Vanserras," Azriel retorted with a bitter edge, “Every single one.”

"That's ironic coming from you. You think we're pretentious?"

Azriel's gaze hardened. "Yes. Cruel, evil, and vile. You think you're better than all of us."

Your mouth widened as you scoffed. And then you let out a laugh of disbelief. 

"Oh my Gods, does it ever get tiring?" you retorted, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "Wallowing in your own self-pity and then using it as a means to hate everyone outside of your incestuous little circle?"

"Do not speak of my family," Azriel snapped.

You smirked. “So you admit your family is incestuous?”

Azriel said nothing, a sudden realization that his anger, once again, had beat him to his rationality, somehow giving you another weapon to use against him.  He clenched his jaw, feeling a simmering heat building in his stomach. 

"You stand in front of me and pretend to be shocked when I call you for what you are?" he countered with a sneer, “Your family isn't quiet about their disdain for my family, for my kind, or for me."

You lifted your chin. “You don’t even like your own kind, Shadowsinger.” 

There was another flare of his nostrils and you knew that you’d gotten him once again. Azriel’s fists clenched at his sides, a sight lost to you as his shadows covered them. You continued as he stayed silent.

“I will admit, my family can be a bit narrow minded. Why would I hate you for the things you can’t control? Where's the fun in that?”   

Again, Azriel remained silent. He knew if he made a move, if he said a word, it would likely be something he regretted, something that would come back to bite him in the ass. 

"I don’t hate you because you’re from the Night Court, or an Illyrian, or a bastard, or whatever it is you tell yourself at night," you continued, your words like a dagger aimed at his pride. "I hate you because you are hot-headed and arrogant. You’ve held a grudge against Eris for something that wasn’t his fault and have utterly screwed Lucien to no end. Your little family is a disease.”

Azriel’s resolve was cracking. He didn’t have enough self-control for this, for you. He’d barely mustered up the diplomacy needed to meet with Eris. 

“Stop talking,” he said through gritted teeth. He felt it again, the flicker of frustration that threatened to engulf him like an unattended flame.

You gave him a withering glare. “Or what, you’ll make me?”

Azriel blinked, his eyes scanning your body instinctively. There was something about the words you spoke, the way you had spoken them, that made his body shiver. A small jolt of electricity passed through his muscles. Unfortunately for him, you caught it as quick as it manifested. Your eyes widened as you let out a dry laugh, forming a small smirk on your lips.

“Oh my gods,” you said, taking a step closer, “I bet you’d like that, wouldn't you? Is that why you’re such an ass today? 

Azriel’s wings twitched behind him. You gave him a mocking pout as you stared up at him. 

“No one to torture, no sweet female to make love to? Poor, powerful, Spymaster.”

Azriel thought for a moment. He thought about the anger boiling in his body, how on edge he’d been, how every little thing had been setting him off. He thought about you, in front of him, a female he despised from previous meetings– loud-mouthed, vicious, and selfish. A female from a family he hated, a family that took things from his family, from him. 

And then he began thinking of how great it would feel to show them how wrong they were about him. To prove to them that they weren’t better than him, that he was just as, if not more, powerful than their damned bloodline.

You had been right again. He was pent up. He hadn’t taken a lover recently, hadn’t fucked anyone since that one almost-night with Elain– where she’d been sweet, sensitive, and gentle. But even before, with the females who’d asked for it rough, told him they could handle it, he hadn’t indulged himself too far. He still respected them. They were still wide-eyed and kind, sweet to a certain extent. He didn’t want to hurt them. They were ladies. Azriel respected ladies. 

“I said stop talking,” Azriel growled. 

There was a tick in his jaw. 

“And I said, make me.”

But you, you weren’t a lady. You weren’t sensitive, sweet, or kind. You were a viper. A snake with beautiful lips and a body he found incredibly inviting— not that he’d ever admit it to anyone. But standing in front of him, that defiant look in your eyes, the pride seeping off you, the smirk on your lips… Azriel felt hungry. He felt ravenous. 

So, he thought for one more moment. And then he was taking a step forward, one that you matched with an equal stepback. 

“Y/n,” Azriel drawled as he continued to take another step. You matched him again, moving back while you glared at him. “Are you not getting enough attention? Is that it?”

Your back hit the tree and you let out a small exhale as Azriel took a final step forward, inches away from you as he stared down with a dark gaze. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You bit out. 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

You attempted to regulate your breathing as his eyes drank you in, a clear and unashamed desire painted over his face. 

“Do I look like a fucking mind-reader?”

 Azriel gave a dry chuckle. You were unraveling before him, scrambling for control. “Such a vile mouth for a princess.”

“Fuck you.”

“Is that why you came?” He brought a hand to your chin, roughly tilting your face up to look directly at him. “Do you want to be fucked, Y/n?”

The answer was yes, you did. There was a sickening sense of excitement that ran through your blood, a heat pooling between your thighs. But you wouldn’t admit it. You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction, weren’t about to prove him right. So instead you stayed quiet, pulling your face out of his hands and turning your cheek. 

“I came for intel,” you said through gritted teeth, “in Eris’ place.”

Azriel gave another chuckle, something dark and humorous. His hand trailed to the side of your neck, pushing the hair off your shoulders to expose the line of your collarbone. You swallowed.

“Interesting,” he said. He leaned in, lips against your ear. “Then what is that desire I smell?”

You let out a sharp exhale as he leaned away. Taking a deep breath, you looked at him, biting the inside of your cheek at your body's betrayal. You needed to balance this.

“Maybe its you that needs a good fuck, Shadowsinger. Like I said, you seem real pent up. Noone quite scratching that itch?”

But Azriel no longer seemed angry at your words, instead, he seemed amused– hungry. He was quiet for a second too long, simply staring at you. A sense of irritation prickled at your skin.

“What?” You snapped.

“I can admit that,” Azriel said coolly, “if you can admit something to me.”

“What, are we trading secrets now? I wasn’t aware this was a children's sleepover.”

Azriel didn’t respond. You registered the movement of a dark shadow as it fled from his body, slowly sneaking around your collarbone. You attempted to hit it away, but it quickly slithered back to Azriel, running up his chest to curl around his ear. He smirked. 

“When was the last time someone fucked you, Y/n?”

The air left your lungs as you let out a small gasp. You blinked. Quickly, you regained your composure.

“Excuse me?”

Azriel kept his smirk. “It must be hard getting anyone to touch you when you’re so sheltered by those males you call brothers.” 

He reached out a hand to your bare collarbone, but you caught his wrist in your hand, allowing it to hover in your grip. His eyes slowly trailed up to your face, heavy-lidded and darkened with a sense of attention that made your stomach clench. 

“What the hell are you getting at?” You sneered.

Azriel simply stared at you, the ghost of a smirk still plastered on his lips. His reactions had you gritting your teeth in anger and rubbing your thighs in anticipation at the same time— you hated it.

“Don’t ask questions you know the answers to.”

“You're pathetic,” you spat, “Save your games for a bitch who cares.”

But you still gripped his hand in yours, still felt the heat radiating off his skin. And you made no motion to move. No motion to let him pull back. Azriel didn’t fail to notice this, either. 

“That snarky mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble. But I bet that's why you use it, right?”

Your breathing was heavier now. Azriel’s gaze flickered to where you still gripped his wrist.

“You can fool everyone, Y/n,” he said, “But not me.”

You shouldn’t have enjoyed the way his voice sounded on your skin, shouldn’t have felt a breathlessness filling your body as he spoke to you. But you felt it. And it was a burning, hungry desire that made your chest tighten. This was what you wanted, it was what you needed. 

Azriel was right. The bastard had read you like a book. Your family, your brothers, never let anyone near you for fear of embarrassment– fear of you bringing some sense of shame. But Azriel was right. You wanted it. You craved it. You wanted to forget who you were, to give up the control you always had to wield. 

Before you could overthink it, you loosened your grip on Azriel’s hand and pulled it towards you, situating it on the side of your throat. You let out a small gasp when he quickly wrapped his fingers around the base of your neck. 

And then he was pulling you into him with a deep and angry kiss. All teeth, tongue, and fire, mouths crashing together almost painfully, but neither of you stopped. With every movement of his mouth, of his tongue on yours, a dormant flame deep within you awoke. 

A primal desire surged through Azriel’s veins like wildfire, the scent of you– of your want, of your desire– filling his senses in a way that had his cock throbbing. There was no room for rational thought, only the raw, unbridled passion that engulfed him in a fiery embrace. His hand found its way into your hair, fingers brushing along your scalp as he yanked your hair to expose your neck to him. His lips wandered to your exposed collarbone, giving a harsh suck to the skin near the column of your throat. 

“Is this what you wanted?”

“Shut up,” you responded, reaching your hands out to fumble with his leather clothes. Azriel pulled back slightly, grabbing your wandering hands in his. You let out a sound of protest as he ran sloppy kissing along your neck.

“Oh how i’d love to fuck that foul mouth of yours,” Azriel murmured against your skin, his mouth reaching your ear. “But we’re short on time.” He took your lobe in between his teeth and you let out a small groan.

“I bet all you’ll need is a few minutes– and that's being generous.”

Azriel’s hand gripped at your waist, traveling up your chest to roughly grab your breast through your dress. 

“No wonder you’re so insufferable.” he said, his voice amused as he pulled back, his other hand tugged at your hair once more. “You haven’t been fucked properly.”

You snarled. "Fuck you." 

Azriel grinned.

"Oh, princess, I will.”

And then he was pulling the front of your dress down, exposing your bare breasts before him, nipples peaked in the fresh air. You let out a gasp as a small faint ripping sound traveled to your ears. Before you had a chance to react, Azriel was spinning you around, pulling your back against his chest, one hand bracketing your throat as the other traveled down your stomach, grabbing at the fabric at your dress. 

"But first, you're going to beg me for it,” he breathed into your ear, his voice so low you felt it more than you heard it. His words traveled straight to your core, leaving you dripping with want. Yet, you refused to let the words leave your lips. You gritted your teeth, bristled at the suggestion— pride and defiance warring within you. 

“Like hell I will.”

Azriel made a sound of disapproval, his mouth still running along your ear, “No?” he asked, hand slowly trailing from your throat to your chest, his fingertips leaving goosebumps in their wake. “So you don’t want me to touch you?”

His hand fell over your breast, cupping it in his palm as his thumb brushed over your nipple. You watched as black tendrils of shadow danced around his forearm, meeting where his fingers tweaked your nipple. Their cool gentle touch sent a ripple of sensation through you and your head fell back against him as you let out a small whimper. 

“Stop being a fucking tease.” 

Azriel found that he loved the way you whimpered, loved the tinge of frustration in your voice as he touched you. Here you were, melting into his touch, attempting to avoid admitting in words what your body was showing in actions.

“I asked you to do something.” 

He rolled your nipple between his fingers. You let out a deep exhale, pushing yourself back onto him, grinding into the evident bulge that pressed against you, the thin material of your dress doing nothing to disguise his hardened length. 

“Just fuck me already,” you turned your head to catch his gaze, darkened and pupils blown with lust. “I know you want to.”

You covered his hand in yours, molding his hand into your touch, urging him to grab your breast again– harder, firmer. 

The corners of his lips quirked up. “That doesn’t matter. Beg for it.”

Agonizingly slow, his hands roamed your trembling form, lighting flames of desire that you almost feared would consume you whole. Second by second, you felt yourself losing control. The heat of his touch seared through you, eroding the last crumbs of your resistance until all that remained was a burning need to be filled by him, to succumb to the primal urges coursing through your veins. You wanted him. You needed him. 

“Please,” you whispered, the truth spilling from your lips in a voice so meek you barely recognized it as your own. 

"Please what?"

With a trembling breath, you finally let go of the last shreds of your resistance, your voice coming out in a deep, frustrated plea.  “Please fuck me.”

Azriel's lips curved into a predatory smirk. 

“Good girl,” he said, his voice low and sultry as he pulled away from you. In one movement he was pulling your ass closer to him, forcing your body forward to brace yourself on the tree. In seconds you felt the cool air on your body as Azriel pushed your dress above your hips. Naturally, you felt your body bowing at the sensation. He let out a groan at the sight. 

Then he was spreading your legs, baring you before him, glistening cunt on full display. His rough hands gripped your bare ass. He massaged it for a moment, but the motion was brief, and soon you felt a hard hand land on the fat of your cheek. You let out a small shriek, but it was followed by a low moan as he delivered another smack. Azriel smirked at the sound of it, at the sight of your ass reddening with his handprint. 

“Are you going to fuck me or not?” You managed to grit out as you pushed your ass out further,  “I’m growing bored.”

“Bored?” He ran finger through the wetness that pooled at your core. “Your cunt doesn’t seem to think so.”

You moaned at the feeling, pushing yourself back against his hand.

“Too stubborn to admit anything,” Azriel murmured, “But your body gives you away.” 

Azriel took a step back, your body cold at the loss of contact as he freed himself from the confine of his leather pants, each movement filled with a primal urgency that would’ve made him unsettled— embarrassed even— if he had been in a more rational state of mind. But Azriel wasn’t being rational. All he could think about was you, and staring at your beautiful glistening cunt, all he wanted was to fuck you into oblivion, to let his frustrations out. To tame you like a wild animal— his most tantalizing challenge yet. 

He settled himself behind you and stroked his cock along your folds, allowing it to glide against your core until both of you were slick with your desire. He teased you slowly as he moved up and down your entrance. You pushed against him, urging him inside, inviting him to take you. 

Azriel only laughed darkly at the movements, and you whined in response, frustrated and irritated. 

“Remember this the next time you insult me,” he said, “Remember how you were begging for me to fuck you.” 

Half a breath later, he pushed himself inside you, sheathing himself to the hilt. You exhaled in tandem, your cunt clenching him, pulsing around the stretch of him.  He adjusted his angle and picked up the pace, sending pleasure rising in a wave that you couldn’t hold back, your mouth falling open as he began to take you harder. 

You let your forehead fall against your hands, braced against the rough texture of the tree. You faintly felt the ridges under your palm, but there was no pain, no irritation that you knew you were bound to experience later. All you could truly feel was Azriel deep inside you, stretching you out and using you in a way you hadn’t experienced for a very long time. The lust Azriel felt, the experience of being with you, of claiming you as his, was no longer a desire, no longer a want. It was a need. An animalistic and primal need that he felt deep in his chest. 

Azriel's movements were relentless, each thrust sending ripples of pleasure rippling through your body, clouding your mind in a haze of ecstasy and melting away all coherent thought. There were sounds emitted from your lips, this you knew, but they were incoherent whimpers, quiet murmurs whispered towards the ground as your forehead dug into your hands with every buck of Azriel’s hips.

“You had so much to say earlier, Y/n,”  Azriel said, pulling out until he was barely inside you. He thrusted back in, resuming a hard and brutal pace. 

“Why so quiet now?”

Thrust.

“Did you just need the attitude fucked out of you?”

Thrust.

"What will your brothers think?” he taunted, his grip on your hips bruising in its intensity, “Your father?”

Thrust.

“If only your family only knew what their precious princess was up to. Taking it from the likes of me, like some common pleasure hall whore."

The mention of your family sent a surge of burning shame coursing through your veins, you felt the heat rise to your cheeks, flushing against your exposed skin. But amidst the suffocating shame, there was something else, something primal and insatiable that stirred within you—a hunger born of defiance, of indulging in a forbidden ecstasy. It filled you with a sense of exhilaration that bordered on madness.

Quickly, that spark of defiance ignited within you, mingling with the fiery hunger coursing through your veins, an urge to bite back at him. You craned your head to look over your shoulder, catching his eyes as you let out a moan, taking your lips in between your teeth. 

"Do common whores get you this riled up?" you purred. There was a feigned innocence in your tone that made Azriel twitch inside you. His gaze burned into yours. "Do they make you this hungry?”

A part of you wanted the confirmation, wanted the triumphant feeling of knowing you could ruin him for everyone else— that you felt better than the females he had bedded, that you, the one he loathed so openly, were the only one to truly quench his thirst.

“Do they feel as good as me, Azriel?”

He let out a deep, guttural moan. The sound traveled through your body, lighting your skin on fire as you bucked back into his movements, meeting every roll of his hips. 

“Say that again,” Azriel groaned.

When you gave no reply, he twisted your hair around one fist and gave it a tug, pulling your body up to him as before. His thrusts never staggered, not even as his hand traveled to wrap around your throat, matching the reddening print from his earlier grip. The other hand remained steady at your hip, gripping into the fabric of your dress and the exposed skin of your body. 

“Say my name,” he growled and your cunt tightened at the sound, at the way he gripped your throat harder. You grasped at his arm with your hands, holding on to his skin as he bucked into you. 

“No.” 

Azriel growled, pulling out of you almost completely before he pushed back in a heavy, angry stroke. Your body arched in pleasure, a small whimper leaving your mouth instinctively.

“Don’t be a brat.”

“Fuck you.” 

“I am,” Azriel said, “And your cunt is swallowing me whole, princess. Like it's made for me, like its been begging to be fucked.”

He released his grip from your throat, letting you fall forward as he placed his hand on the small of your back, arching your body for him as he pounded into you from behind. You fell forward, hands planted on the tree before you, fingers clawing at the bark like an animal in heat. Azriel watched as his cock disappeared into your cunt with every thrust, watched how your ass bounced back on him with every movement, how your tits moved with every roll of his hips. He fought not to finish from the sight alone. 

You struggled to find your voice through the haze of pleasure that clouded your mind, that seemed to twist and tie your tongue to where you could only gasp incoherent words of ecstasy

“Oh, fuck. Azriel.”

Azriel drank in your sounds of pleasure like a male thirsted for centuries, the sound of his name on your tongue sending a wave of pleasure through his body.

“Are you going to cum, Y/n?”

You let yourself surrender to his touch as he continued to ravage you with ruthless abandon, his voice caressing you in ways you never knew a sound could do. You wanted him to go faster, harder, rougher; wanted him to fuck you with all his might, with all that anger you saw. As if he could read your mind, Azriel’s thrusts sped up, slamming into you.

“Fuuck, yeah, you are. I can feel this pretty little cunt clenching me.”

He continued his pace, fucking you with long thorough strokes that left you completely pinned between him and the rough bark of the tree. You felt him heavy against your back, breasts pressed against his hand as he moved between gripping them both roughly, holding onto them for leverage as he fucked you from behind.

"Look at you," he taunted, his grip tightening around you possessively. "So desperate, so needy. You're nothing but a pretty little slut, begging for release, aren’t you?"

Azriel continued, moving deeper and faster, pumping into you with snaps of his hips that had you writhing underneath him. 

"And yet," you managed between breaths, gasps leaving your lips as he drove into you. "You’re the one pounding into me like a brute who can't get enough.” 

With a low groan, Azriel's hand tightened around your breast, his grip possessive as he leaned in to bite at your shoulder with a hungry intensity. He was beginning to think that you’d surely be the death of him, that he had created something, some beast inside him, that refused to be satiated by anything other than you— and that was dangerous. But he didn’t think too much about it, not now, not as he felt your cunt massaging him from the inside, felt your walls clamping onto him in a way that set his body on fire, his cock throbbing. 

Azriel railed you over and over, nothing slow or gentle about his movements. And with every thrust, you whined in ecstasy. His grip on your hips tightened, holding you in place as he kept pounding into you. He fell forward, grinding against you, pushing you further into the rough bark of the tree.

You could feel it, a deep pressure building in your stomach as his cock stretched you in the most delicious way. And you could feel him too, hot against your back, his deep breaths and the groans that reverberated through his body. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in your ears, muffling out the sound of your moans as your whole body tensed.

Then you felt it, a cool trail snaking up your legs. Dark tendrils of Azriel's shadows slithered through your thighs, caressing your skin with a tantalizing touch that made you clench at the sensation. You gasped as they coiled around your clit, winding you up with a feeling you’d never experienced before. With a loud moan, your orgasm rolled through you in a violent convulsion,  white spots dancing at the edges of your vision.

Azriel hated to think it, hated to admit that the sound of you coming undone on his cock was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever heard, that feeling your cunt clench around him as the sound filled his ear was enough for him to unravel. With a choked moan, Azriel spilled into you, spurts of his seed coating your walls. You let out a final, breathy whine at the sensation of him spilling into you, feeling as it began to drip as Azriel slowly pulled out.

With a heavy breath, his gaze lingered on the glistening trail connecting the tip of cock to your cunt. The lust in his eyes faintly faded, and a moment of clarity washed over him as the reality of what he’d just done hit like a sudden, cold wave. He didn’t regret it, no, not at all. This was exactly the release Azriel had needed. In fact, a part of him nearly grinned at the realization, at the relief he now felt in his body. But the other part of him, the rational side afraid of disappointing his family, of fucking something up, awoke in a panic. What the fuck had he just done? And why was he so proud of it? 

You slowly stood up, straightening yourself out as you turned to face him, face flushed and hair a tangled mess. There was a ghost of a smirk playing on your lips as you took them between your teeth and bit down. Your breasts were still exposed, nipples peaked and reddened marks from his rough grip. Azriel's eyes traveled down your form, swallowing hard as he took in the sight before him. He could smell the desire that filled the air around you both, could smell himself on you— the image of him plunging in and out of you still fresh in his mind. 

The idea of it alone made his cock stir again. There was something intoxicating about this situation to him. The image of you returning home, covered in his marks, in his scent, in his seed. Eris smelling him on you, realizing that you’d not only fucked someone he despised, but sullied yourself with an illyrian– just as he’d told Mor. And you, you’d remember this. You’d remember him inside you, remember how you let him use you, fuck you like a common-court whore. And you’d have to live with that. Every insult you’d give him, everytime you sneered at him in the future, there would be a part of you that remembered falling apart on his cock as you begged him for more, for him to fuck you harder.

With a gentle flick of your fingers, your dress was perfectly restored, the fabric falling gracefully around your figure as your hair cascaded down your shoulders in silky, untouched, waves. You smoothed out the sleeves of your dress with a practiced gesture before turning your gaze back to Azriel, scanning him from head to toe. Your eyes lingered on his still-exposed cock, covered in the mixed fluids of your cunt and his seed. A smirk played at the corner of your lips as Azriel looked down, realization flickering in his eyes as he hastily pulled up his pants, stuffing himself back into them. 

"Well, this was fun," you remarked casually– almost bored. Azriel resisted the urge to frown at the words, at the tone you used.  "Catch you later, Shadowsinger."

Before he could respond, you were gone, leaving him standing alone in the forest, staring at the empty space before a tree.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Part Two

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: @rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria

[monster-match-if]

Welcome to Paradise!

A few decades after the mystical veil between the human and supernatural world was shattered there are still efforts done to fully integrate the two societies. What better way to achieve that than an international & interspecies dating show?!

Ten lucky beings are going to be selected for the first ever edition of Monster Match, and embark on a month-long vacation on a tropical island. Follow your heart or mind when making decisions and win the public’s favour. At the end of the month, the fan favourite couple will win a whopping cash prize of €500,000, to keep or split between them.

Couple up, have fun with the various challenges and most importantly stay alive find love!

And beware of what’s lurking in the shadows!

Genre: Reality TV dating show, monster fu- lovers. Love island the game, but with monsters. Strictly 18+!

WIP - some things may still change on the way.

Play as Male or Female.

Choose to be a Sweetheart, a Charmer or a Flirt.

Have fun or stir up some drama between the other contestants!

Find love or do it all for the money.

Split the prize, or keep it all to yourself… if you win.

Choose between 5 gender selectable ROs and two male partial ROs.

Try to figure out what's happening to the eliminated contestants or ignore the gnawing feeling.

Entirely choice based, the stats are there for flavor text. This is an excuse to write monster, ermm, loving content. The story is rated 18+ and will contain NSFW and maybe some gore along with other dubious things. There will be fade to black options and skippable scenes as well as preference options and some pretty tame and sweet routes, but why are you here if monsters are not your thing? Read at your own discretion!

Morgan → Vampire🦇 - M/F - 6’  Tall and pale, with dark hair and crimson eyes, and an infuriating naturally gorgeous body. Always has the hair styled neatly and preferes classy clothes. An incurable flirt. Expect: Blood and biting related activities. Not particularly loyal.

Elindorn / Eli → Deep forest elf 🏹 (basically a drow) - M/F - 5'7 / 6'4  Tall with an athletic swimmer’s body. Dusty lilac skin, long milky white hair and pale silver eyes that seem to look into your soul. Expect: actually… the most well adjusted of the bunch. Elves mate for life.

The bombshell - Blake → Incubus/ Succubus🌶️- obviously M/F - 5’8/ 6’4  Deep brown skin, short curly black hair and vivid blue eyes. Horns and tail in their “true” form. Skimpy clothes to attract potential vict- partners. Expect: open relationship, multiple partners, life… sucking?

Kitai → Kitsune 🦊- M/F - 5'5 / 5'11 (Casa Amor contestant) The shortest of the group, but the most attentive and ready to please. Ivory skin, long jet black hair and yellow eyes.  Expect: probably the sweetest, most wholesome route, tails - nine of them.

Fionnlagh / Fion → Cecaelia 🐙 (yes, tentacles) - M/F - 5'6 / 6'3 (Casa Amor contestant)  Tanned skin, long wavy red hair, and green eyes. Eight crimson tentacles in their “true” form. Expect: foursome options, but otherwise tentacles and fun, dubious consent-ish if you squint.

Partial ROs

Ragnar → Werewolf 🐺 - M - 6’9/ 8' when in werewolf form Only RO available strictly to F MC and only one who will break up with MC if they cheat or don't have the same views. Tall and built like a mountain, with lightly tanned skin, brown hair and beard and kind brown eyes. Covered in tattoos. Expect: *sigh* knotting, breeding, bestialityithink??

Seishish  - Sei  → naga 🐍 (yes 2 🍆) - M - 6'2 / 11' long with tail out  The Host - not being a contestant will limit interactions in the first half of the story, but he is also an endgame RO. Rich olive skin with a golden hue, long wavy platinum blonde hair, hazel snake eyes. Gains a lot of length in trier half-snake form, the tail an iridescent golden colour. Expect: dubious consent-ish if you squint, ovo…ovi… the eggpreg thing.

Other OG contestants

Warlock/human - Gael - M Human - Kat - F Siren - Oralla - F Fairy - Feyre - F (original name, I know) Angel - Arael - F Demon Azrorath - M

Demo coming soon

[milksnake-tea]

━━ say you still dare to dream .

Sunday has lost everything. His status, his home, his sister, all of it has slipped through his fingers, all for a failed attempt at salvation. Now imprisoned and destined to live his life in shameful shadow, you, his former subordinate, appear to offer him one last chance of redemption.

sunday x gn!reader

contains: aftermath of 2.3, depression, sunday at his lowest

word count: 1.5k

a/n: depressed sunday is my favorite sunday. like damn bro you got BROKEN ig this is what being rammed by a train 8 times does to a man... ANYWAYS. DONT TAKE THIS TOO SERIOUSLY THIS IS JUST ME DOING SOME WRITING PRACTICE WITH BEING DRAMATIC hunches over and dies

taglist: @sh0jun , @themoderatelyawesomeninja , @xphantasmagoriax , @rainswept , @lucensei , @akutasoda , @naraven , @scribs-dibs , @apathicace , @flurrina

“I can only allow you a few minutes at most,” says the woman in purple.

A devil in velvet, that was what they called her. Although she may not look like much - from a distance, you’d mistake her as yet another filthy rich vacationer of Penacony - up close, her snake-like eyes and elegantly poised stature, always ready to strike unsuspecting prey, told you just how dangerous she was.

Lady Bonajade, the Stoneheart of Credit and the most deranged loan shark the galaxy had to offer. She who does the impossible and creates miracles for the price of one’s livelihood.

She, who is currently the master who holds the life of the fallen Oak Family Head in her perfectly manicured hands.

You meet her chilling gaze with steeled eyes. With a deep breath, you force down the lodge in your throat.

“I understand.”

Jade smiles. It is neither threatening nor comforting, although you cannot help but feel unsettled by her calm amusement.

“Most of the Family has turned their back on Mr. Sunday,” she comments, crossing her arms and tapping one nail against her arm. “Why haven’t you, I wonder? Surely, a mere subordinate wouldn’t be so loyal to a traitor of this degree.”

You know better than to answer her. After all, all of her questions are rhetorical - tests. She already knows their answers, she just wants to hear them come from your lips.

But you don’t give her that satisfaction. Your silence is answer enough.

You walk past her and come before a heavily armored vault door. A bit much, in your opinion, for a man who has spent the majority of his life asleep. But he is also the man who had taken control of the Asdana system and nearly ascended into Aeonhood, so this level of security is to be expected.

Hundreds of locks and gears turn before the doors open with a hiss and a billowing of smoke. With a mental prayer to Xipe for strength, you step into the dark cell.

There’s little to no light in the small room, leaving you to wonder how Sunday had managed to stay sane all this time. You already know the cells are essentially soundproof, and with so little light, the Family’s prisoners were shut off from the rest of the world and their senses.

The brief rustle of chains catches your attention, and you turn your gaze to the iron throne at the center of the room.

Oh, how far he has fallen.

Once gleaming gold has lost its luster, reflecting not sympathy nor love like you had known them to, but defeat and a resigned acceptance. Fair skin has become drained and faded like that of a corpse. Feather-like hair, once so meticulously cared for, is ruined and frayed.

Bound are the hands that would never raise against another, and shackled are the wings that have never known flight. Caged is the bird who has known no other home; only now, his gilded shackles have become sullied, ugly, disdainful.

He is hollow, empty in every sense of the word - drained of what little vitality he once had.

“Sir,” comes your whisper. He doesn’t respond.

Your footsteps are heavy as you approach. Sunday’s head is bowed - something his pride would’ve never allowed back in the day.

Once upon a time, you had found his arrogance annoying, hypocritical even. Yet at the same time, it was endearing, knowing that even the perfect and saint-like Sunday had his faults. In a sense, it had brought him down to earth, it had made him human.

Seeing him like this, so despondent and defeated, makes you long for the days where he’d scoff at the IPC or make back-handed compliments for his own sick pleasure.

“Sir,” you repeat. You stop before him, and kneel down to one knee.

Sunday’s eyes flick to meet yours, before dropping down to his lap, as if he couldn’t bear to look at you. Out of guilt, or out of scorn, you don’t know.

“Why have you come?”

Your heart aches at his voice. It cracks from the days without use, deeper than his typical chirp.

“I am a sinner, a traitor to the Family.” Not once does he meet your gaze again as he speaks. “Visiting me…”

He exhales.

“You should leave.”

“I won’t.”

His hands clench from where they’re bound to the arms of his throne. Briefly, annoyance flashes over him, before he lets it wash away with a slump of his shoulders.

“It would be easier if you just- left me here,” he says painstakingly. “I am of no use to you anymore - if anything, I am a stain. Abandoning me… is the logical thing to do.”

“You and your logistics,” you sigh. “Did it never once occur to you that I cared for you as a person, and not just as my superior?”

His eyes are shaking. Sunday’s expression is pained, like that of a grieving mother.

“Why?” he asks again, his face straining as he tries to understand. “Why are you here?”

Your answer is simple. “To free you.”

Bitterly, the corners of his lips twitch in a cynical chuckle.

“You of all people should know that I was not meant for freedom,” he mutters.

You shake your head. “That is what you believe. Lady Bonajade and I agree that you deserve to have this chance.”

“Lady Jade, huh?” Resentment flashes in his irises as he scoffs. “So you intend to coerce me into accepting charity from the IPC?”

Hurt pangs at your chest and you flinch. “That isn’t-”

“Spare me the concern,” Sunday spits, turning his head. “I may have fallen, but I still have my pride. If that’s all you have to say, you can leave.”

For a moment, you are speechless. Then you are indignant, and you rise slightly, your brows furrowed.

“Why are you so willing to accept your fate?” you ask, almost angrily.

Sunday exhales. “What else am I expected do?”

“This can’t be how your story ends." Your fist balls up the fabric of your pants in its grip. “Locked away, isolated from the rest of the world - that can’t be what you want. It is too cruel a fate for you.”

For you, who loved humanity so deeply.

“Tell me,” you say, gazing up at the man who had torn his skin and carved his heart for the people. “Tell me you want to be freed, and I will do so. I’ll take care of everything. All I need is for you to say that you want it.”

He shakes his head, his eyes squeezing shut.

“I don’t understand,” he whispers after a moment of silence. “Why, for me…”

“What is there to understand?”

“This is unreasonable,” he starts.

“Not for me, it isn’t,” you say softly. “If it’s for you, nothing is unreasonable.”

His voice raises, trembling upon its crumbling pedestal, panic seeping into every word. “I don’t deserve that kindness - that mercy. I am a sinner, I am a traitor, I am-”

“You are a man worth saving.”

Sunday’s eyes fly open. He stares at you, eyes wide with surprise, his lips parted as to say something, only for the words to die on his tongue.

Your neck is beginning to hurt from how long you’ve been looking up at him, but you push the pain aside.

“The Sunday I knew was kind and gentle,” you say, subconsciously leaning forward. Pent-up emotions, cumulated through the years, begin to bleed into your voice, weighing it down. “He always looked out for the weak, and cared when no one else did. He put others before himself, and even if he was a little arrogant, he was selfless.”

“No,” Sunday protests weakly. “I am not- You- I-”

“You are so much more than you allow yourself to be.”

Rising from the floor, your knees aching slightly, you gently take the face of the fallen angel in your hand. Cradling him like glass, you force him to look at you, to look one of the many he’d betrayed in the face, and see the love for him despite it all.

“Sunday, do you wish for freedom?”

For the many years you’ve worked under him, his eyes have always been a cold gem, calm and unfettered. Never have you seen them glossy with tears, threatening to break at any moment.

You see fear and desire clashing as he grapples for the first time, a choice not for the people, but for himself. You see the beliefs that have been molded into him beginning to crack. You see the caged bird gaze at the world beyond his bars, and for the first time, want to soar beyond them.

Sunday’s lips open and close as he struggles to find the right words to say.

“Where will I go?” he asks instead, tearing his gaze away. It is answer enough.

You smile softly.

“Anywhere you desire.”

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

[cinnamon-galaxies]

I saw this post by @frostedclock-writes and someone in the comments requested a story about Alastor and reader battling about who's opening the door first. So here's a quick drabble:

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐬. 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐲 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐨𝐨𝐫

(Alastor x f!reader drabble)

Masterpost | Part Two | Part Three (by @frostedclock-writes) | Part Four | Masterlist | AO3

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

You and Alastor walk side by side through the Hazbin Hotel, deep in conversation. As you both reach the end of the hallway leading to the parlor, your hands brush against each other while reaching for the door handle. A shiver runs down your spine, but instead of feeling giddy, you glance up to find Alastor narrowing his eyes at you, his crimson gaze fixed with a strange intensity, almost as if you had offended him.

He clears his throat and raises an eyebrow before reaching out again to open the door, but instead of grabbing the handle, his fingers land on yours.

"What–," he mutters, his eyes flicking between your hand and your face, narrowing further when he notices the grin spreading across your lips.

You chuckle. "Please, after you," you say, pushing the door open, gesturing for him to go first. But Alastor doesn’t budge. Instead, a shadow tendril snakes from the floor and nudges the door closed again.

"Oh, my dear," Alastor begins, shaking his head slightly. "It’s not proper for a lady to open the door for a man," he explains, gently moving your hand aside to reach for the handle himself.

"Excuse me?" You stare at him, the grin on your face fading into a sharp glare, feeling a twinge of offense at his rejection.

Alastor doesn’t flinch at your reaction. Ignoring your rising irritation, he opens the door himself, holding it open with an exaggerated flourish. "After you, my dear," he says smoothly, his voice laced with a teasing crackle through the radio filter, as if daring you to make an issue of it.

You stand your ground, shaking your head. "No."

Alastor raises an eyebrow, the confusion clear in his expression as he tilts his head, the static around him growing louder. "Pardon?"

"I said, no," you repeat firmly, your voice steady but laced with offense. "Why do you think it’s not proper for me to open the door for you?"

Alastor blinks, his ever-present smile tightening at the edges. "Because it’s a man’s duty to open the door for a lady."

"You know I’m perfectly capable of opening a door myself."

"It’s called 'chivalry', my dear," Alastor responds, his voice taking on that mockingly sweet tone he often uses when explaining something he considers obvious.

"And I can’t show you the same courtesy?"

"No."

"Why not?" you demand, frustration creeping into your voice.

Alastor’s smile widens, but there’s tension beneath it. "Because, my dear, I come from a time when a man was expected to treat a woman kindly, to be… gentlemanly."

You cross your arms, staring up at him. "And I can’t treat you kindly?"

Alastor’s eyes flicker with an emotion you can’t quite place. "It’s not about that."

"Then what is it about?" you challenge, stepping closer. "If it’s not kindness, what is it?"

"It’s about tradition," Alastor says, his tone growing firmer, as if that single word should be enough to explain everything.

"And what if I don’t care about your tradition?"

For a moment, the air between you is thick with tension. Alastor's smile falters ever so slightly, the radio crackling softly as if even he is struggling to find the right words.

"Then," he says slowly, his voice lower, almost dangerous, "I suppose we’re at an impasse."

[lill-cute-fluffy-devil]

Update!

Felix being an edgy Blueberry x2. I'm very proud of this. A lot of this is actually frame by frame and I love the results so far! X3

[pure-smut]

mine.

featuring: Kaji Ren x f!reader

contains: possessive!Ren, established relationship, doggy, creampie, marking, spanking, dirty talk

note: all characters are aged up to 21+!

MDNI | 18+ content

word count: 1.2k

masterlist

You didn’t think Kaji Ren would be a jealous boyfriend. After all, you two had been friends for years before you got together and he’d never shown any indication that he was jealous of your previous boyfriends - despite admitting he had liked you basically the whole time you’ve known each other.

So you don’t think anything of it when a guy from your college class approaches you one day. You’re in a coffee shop on campus, studying for an assignment while Kaji sits opposite you, headphones on as he plays with his phone. He likes to take you out on proper dates but most of the time you spend together is like this – companionable silence, doing separate activities together.

You don’t look up until a shadow appears over you, breaking you out of your studious fervour.

“Hey, y/n.”

You vaguely recognise him – Ken or Kai maybe? – but you’re not sure why he’s approaching you. Kaji doesn’t look like he’s paying attention, his ankle resting on his knee as he sits slumped back in his chair, lollipop in mouth.

“Hi,” you say without mentioning his name which you’re still wracking your brain to remember. “What’s up?”

“Sorry to interrupt.” His smile is friendly but you can see the nerves behind it. “Mind if I buy you a coffee?”

Ooooh.

Understanding dawns on you. Your eyes flick over to Kaji but he’s still looking at his phone as his thumb scrolls. You don’t know if he even heard over his music.

“I’m flattered, thank you, but I have a boyfriend.” You give him an apologetic smile.

“Ah.” Your classmate’s cheeks are tinted red but he holds his hands up. “Fair. Sorry, I didn’t realise.”

As he walks away, you glance at Kaji again. When he doesn’t look back, you shrug to yourself and go back to studying. It’s only when you go back to your shared living space later that Kaji says something. Or rather, does something.

You walk into the kitchen, about to check the fridge for snacks when you feel his hand on your hip, stopping you still. Kaji brushes the hair from your neck before planting a soft kiss there. You sigh and lean back against him, feeling his solid chest.

“Mmm, that feels nice, Ren,” you close your eyes, reaching behind your to card your fingers through his hair.

Kaji doesn’t say anything but his grip gets tighter on your hip, pulling your ass flush to him and his kisses get rougher. You feel his teeth nip at your neck before soothing it with his lips. His free hand tangles in your hair, pulling your head to the side to expose your neck further to him.

You’re already putty in his hands, sighing softly as he sucks bruising kisses against your skin.

“Marks have faded,” Kaji eventually mumbles, his lips never leaving your neck. “Need to give you more.”

Your eyes flutter open.

“Is this about that guy earlier?”

Kaji doesn’t say anything but makes an irritated noise so you can guess that's a yes.

The hand he had on your hip moves to the front of you, sliding under your dress to palm your clothed pussy. His rough kisses on your neck has got you wet already. The feel of you sopping for him makes Kaji’s cock strain against his jeans.

“Mine,” he says, his fingers snaking under your panties to play with your needy pussy.

You gasp, back curving as he strokes your clit, using your arousal to trace slippery circles around your bud. Kaji wraps his other hand around your throat, holding you to him as his fingers continue to nudge you closer to the edge.

“You understand me?” Kaji growls in your ear.

“Yours, Ren,” you whimper, your legs starting to feel weak.

To your dismay, he pulls his fingers away. The hand he has around your throat moves to the back of your neck as he pushes you down, bending you over the kitchen counter. You’re pinned in place by his strong grip but you hear him unbutton his jeans behind you.

Kaji hooks his fingers under your panties, pulling them to the side as he grabs the flesh of your ass. The sight of your bent over before him, your puffy lips glistening with your arousal makes all the blood rush to his cock. Kaji strokes himself a few times, eyes glued to your cunt, before nudging his fat mushroom tip past your lips. He presses up against your hole, feeling the tight ring of resistance.

“Who’s pussy is this?” Kaji’s voice is thick with need but he wants to hear you say it first.

“Yours, Ren.” You splay your hands on the counter, preparing yourself for what’s coming. “All of me is yours.”

A smirk plays on Kaji’s lips as he thinks of the guy from the coffee shop, how badly he’d want to be in Kaji’s position right now. But he can’t have you. You’re his.

“Mine,” he growls before slamming himself inside you.

You cry out at the sudden violation, your pussy stretched to accommodate him. Kaji keeps one hand on the back of your neck, holding you in place as he draws back. He loves the way your pussy grips his cock, pulling him back every time he withdraws, your needy cunt desperate to be full of him.

You whine as he continues to pound away at you, the thick veins of his cock dragging against your nerves, his fat tip reaching deep inside you. Not content with only marking your neck, Kaji takes his hand from your neck so he can land a hard slap against your ass cheek. You yelp at the sudden sting, your skin on fire, but your pussy responds, clenching around him.

“Fuck, don’t squeeze me so tight,” Kaji grunts. “Can’t fucking think straight.”

He slaps your ass again, leaving a bright red handprint that’s sure to bruise. Pleased, Kaji returns his hand to your neck, squeezing the sides of your throat as he fucks your harder.

His cock rubs against the sensitive spot inside you at a relentless pace, making your mouth fall open. You’re sprinting headfirst into an orgasm and Kaji can feel it, the way your plush walls hold him like a vice grip.

“Ren-!” you squeal, legs buckling as pleasure consumes you, rippling from your pussy through to the tips of your toes.

The feel of you creaming on his cock always encourages Kaji’s own orgasm. His eyes are glued on where his girth slides in and out of you, shiny with your combined juices. He watches the way your ass jiggles with each thrust, your lips tight around his cock.

“Fuck…” He pistons himself in and out of you as his own high overtakes him, knowing he gets to mark you on the inside as well. “Fuck!”

Kaji shoots thick ropes of cum deep inside you, coating your walls with his sticky seed. His cock twitches as he releases everything he has, not wanting to waste a drop even as it spills from your pussy.

Kaji pulls his softening cock free and tugs your panties back into place, enjoying the way his cum soaks through the fabric. You straighten to standing, Kaji letting you lean on him with your shaky legs. You catch him smirking at the purple bruises on your neck and touch them tenderly.

“Are they obvious?” you ask, the flesh still sore.

“Yeah,” Kaji says with satisfaction. “Definitely.”

masterlist

Support me on Ko-Fi! ♡

[capquinn]

A Closeness | Q. Hughes

summary: the lake house has never felt smaller. moments alone become something of the past. but after longing touches here and gentle caresses there, quinn seizes an opportunity. pairing: fem!reader x quinn hughes content: fluff, mild smut (v vanilla…….seriously) word count: 3k note: the smut is for sure tame but it still had me blushing lmao enjoy!!! ↪ masterlist

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

The off-season had finally arrived and so had summer in Michigan.

Days spent on the water with rosy sunburnt cheeks and friends turned into nights in the garden basking in the glow of a deep orange sunset and warm flickering shadows of the bonfire. Drinks poured and secrets spilled under starry skies that echo with celebrations of the hockey season and despondent mumblings of what it could have been. The conversations oscillate between just the two for the first three nights and then on the fourth night, there is a sense of normalcy. Just a bunch of friends engaged in animated conversations about some silly gossip, voices rising and falling like the rhythm of waves lapping at the shore by the pier. Hockey long forgotten. At least for a little while. 

But even in the midst of his friends, Quinn’s attention is mostly on you. 

So when your laughter punctuates the night air, Quinn turns his head, distracted from his own conversation. You’re standing with Jack by the cooler, nursing the same glass of wine that he had poured you an hour ago, and sharing an inside joke. 

A small smile plays on his lips, and a warm feeling washes over him. You fit into his life seamlessly, and every once in a while, the universe conspires to remind him of just that. 

He excuses himself and falls in place next to you, hand naturally slipping to lay rested on your waist. You lean into him without letting it disrupt the flow of conversation except only when Quinn leans down to press a soft kiss against your forehead. You pause briefly, glancing up to meet his eyes. Love you too. And then you’re bouncing back into conversation, enjoying the way he traces soothing circles onto bare skin under the hem of your t-shirt. 

That’s how the evening continued. The moments ebb and flow, never going far at all. Returning with small touches here and tender caresses there that nobody seemed to notice… all whispering that he just wanted you near.

That’s when you finally retreat to the edge of the gathering to share a single deck chair. Nestled on his lap, head resting on his shoulder, finding solace in the quiet spaces between words. Fingers trace idle shapes down his arm, and he responds with a kiss to your shoulder. The world fades away around you both; you’re existing within your own reverie. 

But after a while, your glass of something sweet and bubbly now empty, you let out a quiet sigh. “I’ll be back,” you whisper, untangling yourself from his body, clasping an empty wineglass. 

As your feet meet the grass, Quinn is grasping at your free hand to keep you close. 

“Baby,” he whines quietly in a way he only does when he’s buzzed. It’s still early in the evening and you are halfway there yourself. “Where are you going now?” 

“Need more wine,” you giggle quietly, sinking back into him, wrapping an arm around his neck. 

He shakes his head, disapproving of your answer. “Stay with me,” he tells you, arm snaking back around your waist and hand laying firm against your stomach. “It’s the first time they’ve left us alone,” he states, nodding his head towards your guests.

Hosting your friends had been a great idea. And it still is. Sort of. But with so many of them all here at once, you were both already exhausted. Quinn misses the silence and having his own space. Not used to sharing living quarters with fifteen other people after living in an apartment with just you for the last two years. Because with every turn, there’s another familiar face trying to get a piece of you both. To ask how to use the dishwasher or how to use the washing machine. Where’s the TV remote? To chat and hang out during every awake moment of the day. And the damn teasing that never stopped. Small comments here and shared jokes there whenever Quinn tried to show any form of fondness towards you. Friends unused to seeing their buddy engage in public displays of affection. He’s an easy target so he’s the master of his own undoing, really. Blushing and rolling his eyes, and then snapping back with a witty remark in response that did a poor job of hiding his slight embarrassment over being the centre of attention. A man but with all the awkward boyish charm that made his friends howl with laughter every time. Regardless, never did Quinn imagine that you would both be surrounded by this many people at all times. 

A moment passes and then there is a soft murmur, lips brushing against your ear. “Love you so much.”

You turn your head slightly to look at him. Firelight dances in those green eyes, shimmering and intoxicating. And you forget to breathe, enraptured. It doesn’t help matters when he licks his pillowy pink lips. He’s practically begging you to kiss him boldly right here in front of all his friends. But you don’t and instead, the years are thrown back and suddenly you’re both twenty-one again, listening to him confess that he loves you for the very first time right here on this very lawn with those very same loving eyes. 

It had been a lazy summer evening and the house was brimming with the energy of family and fiends, but you had both slipped away to the quiet of the lawn. Sprawled out over a faded plaid picnic rug with the golden glow of a setting sun reflecting over the water. Air warm, filled with the distant chirping of crickets. You had been lying side by side, staring up at emerging stars in silence. Quinn had turned on his side, propping himself up on his elbow, eyes tender. And then you felt the change in the night air, the way his gaze made your heart start to race. 

He cleared his throat. “You know,” he began, voice uncharacteristically hesitant. “I’ve been wanting to tell you something for a while now.”

Curiosity piqued, a small smile played on your lips. “Oh, yeah? What’s that?” 

He had taken a deep breath, eyes flickering between yours and the lake as if searching for a bout of courage in the still waters. “I… uh, well, I love you.” The words tumbled out in a rush, awkward and unpolished, and he immediately bit his lip, cheeks reddened. 

You’re snapped back to reality as Quinn lolls his head to the side with a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his sun kissed cheeks. An amused twinkle in his eyes, noting your obvious lovesick gaze. But he can hardly blame you. He often found himself staring at you like you had hung all the stars in the sky. 

There is a soft chuckle and then he’s reaching out to gently tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, sending shivers right down your spine. And finally, he’s kissing you. Paying no attention to whether or not his friends are watching, and frankly, at this point, he really doesn’t care if they are. 

“Wanna get out of here?” He mumbles against the corner of your mouth, glancing around to see if you were able to sneak off without anyone noticing. 

It seems likely. Jack is yapping on the other side of the fire, animatedly recounting a story with just enough drama that it’s keeping most of the group entertained, and off to your side, a seperate group of friends are bickering competitively over a card game. 

In silent understanding, you untangle yourselves and discard the empty beverages on the grass beside the deck chair, and with practiced ease, you slip away from the group. Departure unnoticed. 

Thank God, Quinn thinks to himself, intertwining your hands as you cross the lawn towards the lake house looming ahead. He’s not sure how much longer he could have feigned interest in the party. He loves his buddies, don’t get him wrong, but at this point, he’d do anything for just five minutes alone. 

When the sounds of the party fade and your giggles mingle with the chirping of crickets and rustling of leaves in trees, it becomes Quinn’s very own private symphony. He can’t resist pulling you close, capturing your lips in a kiss. 

“Been waiting to get you alone all night,” he says, voice low and husky, velvety against your skin.

You smile against his lips. “I thought we were just getting away from the mosquitoes,” you tease. 

“Well, that too,” he grins. Quinn pecks a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “But mostly ‘cause I’m sick of sharing you with everyone else.”

All week long every corner of this house has been occupied. Every room, every spare sofa. The deck chairs during the morning, and the sun loungers on the pier during the afternoon. The kitchen brimmed with life at all hours of the day with friends cooking, eating and talking late into the night, and it was becoming a battle for bathroom privileges, too. Even his favourite spot in the hammock was taken up by somebody new at every sunset. 

The house has never felt smaller. 

And then you’re stumbling down the hallway in that very same house, kisses growing more urgent and heated in a way that makes it difficult to move forward.

Hands roaming over each other’s bodies like you’re mapping territory. And there’s strength in Quinn’s embrace. The controlled power that made you feel safe and cherished all the same. 

You barely make it through the bedroom door, lips never parting. His fingers fumble with the lock before you’re even inside and then it’s swinging shut behind you with a thud.

“Finally,” Quinn mutters against your skin.

“We’ve got to be quick, okay?” You tell him. It wouldn’t be long until the fire turns to hot coals and your friends decide to call it a night. He only hums in response. “Quinn, I’m serious.”

He grins into the kiss. “Okay. I promise.”

You tug Quinn’s tee over his head and press palms against his back, feeling every dip and curve of his roping muscles. You lean in closer, chest flush with his. 

Quinn slowly moves his mouth across your cheek…along your jaw…moving lower, grazing against sensitive skin right over your pulse point. 

“Oh,” you gasp, melting into his body, and hands finding their way into his hair.

Fingers drop down your sides, gripping greedily at the material of your sweater and he pushes it up enough so he can make a start on unbuttoning your shorts. Before he even has a chance to remove the garment himself, you’re clutching hastily at the sweater, which is really just Quinn’s that he had given up trying to get back, and pull it from your frame. 

He stands back for a brief moment once you’re almost undressed, taking you all in. He thinks you’re so… so…

“So pretty,” he murmurs, pulling you in to meet your lips again. 

He steps back, dragging you with him, until the back of his knees hit the edge of the mattress and he’s sinking down into the softness. You’re standing between his knees, clutching onto him for dear life. Afraid you’ll topple over if he ever lets you go. Dizzy with anticipation.

He presses an open mouth kiss to your sternum…a few more around your belly… and then he’s making his way back up to your chest to give the swell of your breasts some attention. 

Your arms wrap around Quinn’s neck, head lolling back as the goose bumps raise across your skin.

“Your shorts…” you choke out, trying to hurry things along despite every fibre of your being eager to keep this going deep into the night. 

He drops his hands to the waistband of his shorts and peels it from his skin, and then he starts tugging at the waistband of your panties, dropping spongy kisses to your waist as the cotton slackens and falls to the floor. 

And when they do, you’re rushing to fill the space between you and straddle his hips. Lips meet in soft collision; slow and deliberate, but it’s desperate all the same. Warm hands trace the curve of your back, coaxing quiet moans to fall from your lips when your hips start rocking into him. Quinn relaxes into the mattress some more and in quick succession, you’re suddenly on your back and he’s between your thighs, mouth pressed against yours, hot and frantic. Chest to chest. Hips moving in long, drawn out strokes.

And then your lips are parting slightly, long enough for him to say, “fuck, I’ve missed this,” each second stretching to an eternity.

You pat his back when he starts to scatter kisses below your ear, thrusts slowing to a halt, trying to hurry him along. There is nothing you want less than to face your friends in the morning if they happen to hear any of this. “Quinn,” you whisper, a plea and reprimand all in one. “They’ll be back soon.”

Lips travel along your jaw and down your neck again, and your hands tangle through his hair, pulling him closer even as you try to remind him of reality. But reality feels far away. Banished by the heat that is building in this moonlit bedroom. 

Hands run down your side and dig into your waist before hitching one of your legs over his hip, and he rolls into your body deliberately slow. Again and again. Eliciting sweet sound after sweet sound from your pretty little mouth, hot breath against his neck, and it’s driving him wild. 

He shivers. The feeling of you beneath him, body arching into his touch. It’s intoxicating. He just wants to lose himself in this moment and forget everything else. To etch it into memory. Every second, every heartbeat. Warm skin and quiet moans. The smell of your shampoo with his face tucked into the crook of your neck. It fuses together into a heady mix which makes it hard to think or care about anything else.

But you won’t let him forget where you are.

You push his hair out of his eyes and caress his cheek, bringing his face up from your neck, eyes locking for a heartbeat before you kiss him. “I really hate to rush this but—” you start to say, lips lingering over his.

“Then don’t,” he mutters, cutting you short. He runs a hand up and down your torso before pinning your body to the mattress with a hand on your waist. He grinds into you again, still deliciously slow. Savouring it. And if you didn’t know any better, he’s teasing you.

And then he sits up so he’s kneeling between your thighs, and your legs fall around him. He rubs his shoulder with his chin, trying to hide a smirk but it’s there despite his efforts. “Why are you thinking about them anyway? Should be thinking about me,” he tells you, hips grinding into yours, abs clenching. 

You bite back a grin, teeth sinking into your swollen bottom lip. “Trust me, I am thinking about you. But if our friends come back and hear us, I’ll be thinking about murder.”

A chuckle vibrates through Quinn’s chest. “Fair point,” he concedes, leaning over you so your chests are flush. Lips finds yours again, demanding your attention.

With the snapping of his hips, rhythm quickening, you give it to him. Stars blurring your vision. Hands roaming fevered skin, tracing the contours of his body with a reverence of desperation. Ache bubbling under your skin. Breaths coming out in ragged gasps. 

“Quinn,” you say through gritted teeth between a moan, nails scraping down his back, overcome with a storm of sensations. The friction. The pressure. It’s all too much. 

It spurs him on. Driving him to the edge of sanity and back again, chasing the elusive promise of release. And you’re no different. Clasping at the sheets, struggling to hold on. His movements grow more frantic with each passing second. The short, sharp whimpers you’re letting fall from your lips push him back to the precipice. 

He shifts slightly, adjusting his angle, and suddenly hits a spot so divine that you’re unable to spare a word. The stars behind your eyes becoming more vivid as you surrender to the ecstasy that pulses between you both, a tempest that rages unchecked in the darkness. Through the haze, you hear the telltale sound of heavy footsteps on the patio, signalling the return of your friends.

“We’re gonna get caught,” you gasp, very much aware that you’re stating the obvious, panicked. Nails dig crescent moons into his shoulders, urging him on even as you try to anchor him to reality. 

Quinn's breath hitches, a low, guttural moan escaping as he teeters on the brink. "Baby, I'm—," his voice breaks. Deep and throaty moans reverberate through you, skin to skin, chest to chest. A plea for something that hovers just out of reach. “Almost there. Just a little more,” he whispers into your ear, voice a low and soothing murmur despite the urgency in his tone. 

The world around you blurs. 

Quinn’s breathing hitches again and he shudders, thrusts stuttering, and it’s the final push you need. His pleasure your catalyst. And with one last final desperate roll into your body, the coil of tension snaps and a wave of ecstasy washes over you both. 

Starlight swapping for solar flares. 

“Baby,” he whines and you wonder if he knows that he’s only making it harder for you to stay quiet.

The room spins. Eyes stinging. Mind blanking. Toes curling. Your fingers grasp at his hair, knuckles white. His head tucked into the crook of your neck, mouth pressed against your skin. Trying your damn hardest to keep your voices low but it’s hard. It’s raw. His teeth scrape over your throat as he grinds his jaw, groaning deeply. The waves keep crashing until it dissolves into nothing but heaving chests. His breath, your exhale. 

There’s low murmurs in the hallway on the other side of the bedroom door. Footsteps shuffle on hardwood floors and then there are more heavy footsteps as whoever it is begins climbing the stairs.

“You promised we’d be quick,” you remind him, touching lips to the corner of his parted mouth.

Quinn chuckles softly, a playful glint in his eyes. He kisses you breathlessly, and then rolls off of you, crashing into the pillows. “That was quick,” he defends, feigning innocence. 

[whereserpentswalk]

Reblog to meet your creature, tag your friends to spread their influence, and look under the cut to see what meeting your creature is like!

The dragon: You see him first, like a shadow moving faster than your eye was meant to see, something golden and radiant flying above you. Though it takes hours you slowly track him down, across streets and highways, and into the darkest of the woods. Then you finally see his radiant body, golden scales covering his entire form, with heads like massive snakes, with eyes like sapphires. Massive wings like a falcon's spread as you see him resting alone and he takes notice of you. You know that he could destroy you so very easily if he wanted to, but he doesn't, he just looks at you. And you reach your hands out to touch his head, and he lets you as he bows down. You can feel something change within you, there is fire in your veins, and it doesn't seem to burn at all.

The dark queen: You see them, sitting in the same cafe as you, admiring the city street as they drink from a cop of an unknown liquid. Their human form is tall, yet almost starved looking, beautiful in the way that the night sky if beautiful. They come up to you, and ask why you're hear, ask about the state of humanity, ask if you like the world the way it was, ask what you would change if you only had the power to. They seem so alien, yet they smile. After a few moments they hand you a small cup of their blood for you to drink, and for some reason you know how serious such a thing is, yet how intimate and almost wholesome it now seems. You take a sip, and feel your humanity fade away, feel that there's no going back. You can see for a moment their true form, their mouth filled with fangs and opened wide, and their eyes black and crying blood, yet it doesn't scare you at all.

The Faerie: You wander, past where you should have wandered, past where humans, where mortals, are meant to be. You see the trees around you have creepily human faces upon their trunks. And then you hear xir voice echoing in the night, laughing, knowing that it's too late for you, that you are at xir mercy. Then you see xem, changing form, first a man in regency era dress shining in the moonlight, then a cloaked ghost with endless rows of teeth, then a beast with the combined parts of countless animals. But xe notices something about you, something different, something that lacks the arrogance many other humans have. Xe shows you xir true form, a massive creature similar to a mantis or a dragonfly, with a shining forest green exoskeleton and wings like stain glass. Xe knows that there's no permitting you to be human after coming close to xem, but you are quite interesting, and there are some very interesting things xe can turn you into.

Bodyless entity: You've seen them, on the sidewalk, on the train, standing outside of your apartment. They're almost normal, almost, but they all share the same quirks, all share the same manner of speaking, young or old, of any sex, of any race, they all have the trains of one mind, one person. And they're beginning to notice you back. Eventually they confront you, explaining themselves. You think that they might try to consume you too, but they explain that beings like them have to keep their number of bodies relatively small for their own safety, if they consumed too many humans the rest of humanity would destroy them. And they talk to you and tell you of the place in the shadows their mind came from, the worlds beyond physical space, both of darkness and of enlightenment. And they look at you, as if you remind them of someone long ago. They give you a card if you wish to contact them again and remind you that they can touch your mind in ways beyond mere possession.

Mushroom network: You've been tracking it for days. It's bigger, and then bigger, and then bigger than you ever expected. It covers the ground below you, sleeping yet awake, unknowing yet knowing. It emerges in its living temples, popping up above the ground. Eventually come to its place, a place where the trees are made grey by its consumption, where the animals lay as stoney dead corpses, and red tendrils and white mushrooms cover the earth. You can feel it reaching up to you, weather you want it to or not, and experimenting on you, seeing exactly how your genome tastes. And you can feel its tendrils penetrating your skin, and the uncanny euphoria that comes with it, as you become part of a much larger network.

Alien: You walk into their temple, when the night is dark, and the white pillars around you seem almost otherworldly in the artificial light, the space quiet and empty unlike the city around it. And you see them, silvery, almost angelic, their form entirely inhuman yet unquestionably physical. You bow to them, and they look at you, mournful perhaps. You know what they are, know what they truly are. And you think they know that you know. They talk to you, softly, gently, as if to hide the threat that they pose to you. They tell you how they ended up here, their banishment, how they fell from the stars, from the planet and plane that they originally came from. They wanted to do good in this world, but the wished to rule just as much. They don't seem like they're truly a monster, and they seem to respect that you've been able to get this close to them. And they give you a choice, you can discard your humanity, become like them, let them strip away your flesh and become machine. Or you can die. They have no qualms about removing a threat to their power. You know what choice you'll make.

Angel: First you hear them, in a lonely subway satiation, where only you and them stand. They sing, an old song, in a long-forgotten tongue, a mourning song, quiet and weeping. When you get a good look at them, they look forlorn, their body doll like, delicate and jointed, with the slightest hints at cracks in their skin, their golden eyes the only part of that pretty face that's able to move, their massive wings the only part of their body that looks alive at all. Most people would be scared but you come closer, you put out a hand to them, and pet their hair, and tell them it's ok. They reach out to hug you and you let them, their body is cold, but you help make them warm. As you hold them their song grows kinder yet kinder, and you can feel some power from within them begin to enter your body.

Eldrich horror: You can feel it sometimes. In your dreams. Never in flesh do you see it, but you see it. Someone weeping below the sea, someone yearning. They're waiting for you. They want to be free. Want to be free as every creature wants to be free. They're in pain. But you talk to them. It's all you can do. They take on many different forms, sometimes humanoid, sometimes alien, sometimes metaphorical. They've seen your life too, your pain, your sorrows. They know that you can't free them, but perhaps they can do something to help you, perhaps turn you into something that can have the freedom deprived from you.

Demon: You see her sometimes, walking through the most crowded parts of the city you live in. She wears all black, all over her body, a hood over her head, a gas mask over her face, leather and cloth and rubber covering her. You never see her skin, if she has skin for you to see. She looks like she could kill you. She looks like she doesn't want to. And one day, you wave to her, and shyly she disappears. The next day she appears to you again, but this time standing still. You're surprised to see despite her ghostly nature she's shorter than you. She tells you in a mechanical voice that she's supposed to hurt people, supposed to find people to kill for her masters. She was built as a weapon, built as a victimizer for humanity. She doesn't want to hurt, but she doesn't have a choice. You try to calm her down, to talk to her for a while about other things. When she's ready to leave you mention she can stay with you if she ever needs to. The next night you find her in your bed.

Guardian: It writhes above you, a massive creature, similar to a scorpion combined with a centipede. Its face is strangely human though. It tells you that you can stay in the complex as long as you want, but if you try to steal anything it will have to punish you. You stay, you don't try to steal anything, you just read books. Books upon books in its endless halls, an infinite maze of knowledge. Eventually it comes to you, it tells you you've been there longer than any human has been in a long time. It asks if you're ok. You tell it that you don't really want to go back to the place that you came from right now. It asks you if you'd like to join it, even just for a little while, even if you can still go back to earth if you need to. You nod your head as the creature quietly looks at you, neither of you fully being able to read the others' emotion.

Spirit of lust: You see them standing there, wild eyed and half human, not caring if they're too obviously magical for your world. They're both human and animal, both male and female, both angel and devil. They just are. Everyone else admires them, their beautiful muscular form, perfectly sculpted, with griffon's wings and stag's antlers, and cat's eyes and a dragon's tail. But you step forward, talk to them, let them touch you, let their changing from wrap around you as they raise you high above the dance for. They kiss your head, and slowly that kiss becomes a scar, and that scar a melody. When you touch them back you realize you're not of this world anymore, you're something transcendent, something like what they are.

The emptiness: You've been walking through this place for so long. It's just a white void. You know that you can leave but you don't. White, nothingness, it's all you see for so long. Why do you want to be here? What are you trying to find here? You don't care anymore. You lie down, and the whiteness consumes you, and you become part of it, and you feel what it is to be with the void...

[ms-snape]

Prejudices (young!remus lupin x slytherin! reader)

request: not a request, request are OPENED

Summary: Remus is in a relationship with a slytherin and his friends are... NOT happy about it

Warning: Angst, argument between lovers, argument between friends...

Wors Count: 2776

Masterlist

---

The soft light of the setting sun filtered through the ancient trees of the Forbidden Forest, casting long shadows on the ground. Remus Lupin stood at the edge of the forest, his heart pounding against his ribcage like a caged bird desperate to escape. He glanced over his shoulder, scanning the clearing for any sign of his friends. He could hear their laughter in the distance, a familiar sound that filled him with both warmth and dread.

“Hey,” a soft voice broke through his thoughts, and he turned to see Y/N approaching, her long Slytherin robes billowing around her. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her green eyes sparkled with mischief. “You’re not going to run off again, are you?”

“No,” he said, a smile creeping onto his face. “I just… I was thinking.”

“About what?” she asked, stepping closer. The air between them was charged, electric, filled with unspoken words and the weight of their secret.

“About us,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

She tilted her head, a playful smirk on her lips. “You mean our relationship that’s destined to cause chaos?”

He chuckled softly, but the laughter died in his throat. “You know how it is. I told them about us, but I can't introduce you to them. They’d never understand.”

Y/N crossed her arms, the playful glint in her eyes replaced with something darker. “And why is that, Remus? Because I’m a Slytherin? Because your friends hate my House?”

“It’s not just that,” he replied, running a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “They wouldn’t see past the House rivalry. I don’t want to lose you, but I can’t risk losing them either.”

A flicker of disappointment crossed her face. “So, you’re choosing them over me?”

“No!” He stepped forward, his voice rising slightly. “I’m trying to protect what we have. It’s complicated.”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “Complicated? Or just cowardly?”

“Y/N, please,” he pleaded, his heart racing. “I just need time.”

She took a step back, her expression hardening. “You know what? Maybe we don’t need time. Maybe we just need to face the truth.”

Before he could respond, she turned on her heel and walked away, her robes swishing in the fading light. Remus watched her go, his chest tight with an emotion he couldn’t quite place.

The next day, Remus found himself in the Gryffindor common room, surrounded by his friends. James, Sirius, and Peter were engaged in a game of Exploding Snap, their laughter echoing off the stone walls. But Remus couldn’t concentrate. His thoughts were consumed by YN, by the conversation they’d had, and the rift that was growing between them.

“Oi, Moony! You’re awfully quiet,” Sirius said, glancing up from the game. “What’s up? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Just tired,” Remus said, forcing a smile. He picked at his sleeve, avoiding their eyes.

James raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “You’ve been off for weeks now. Is it because of that girl Slytherin again?”

Remus’s heart dropped. He had been careful to avoid mentioning Y/N, but it seemed James had picked up on his distracted demeanor. “No, it’s not—”

“Because if it is,” Sirius interrupted, leaning forward, “I’m telling you, Moony, you can do better than a Slytherin. Those snakes will stab you in the back the moment you let your guard down.”

“Yeah, man,” Peter chimed in. “You know they’re all about ambition and power. It’s in their blood.”

Remus clenched his fists, tension coiling in his gut. “You don’t know her, okay? Y/N isn’t like that.”

James’s expression darkened. “Then why are you hiding her? If she’s so great, why not introduce her to us?”

“Because it’s complicated!” Remus snapped, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try us,” Sirius challenged, his jaw set. “We’re your friends, Remus. We care about you.”

“Do you care about me, or do you care about your stupid prejudices?” Remus shot back, his voice rising. The room fell silent, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

“Moony, we just want what’s best for you,” James said, his tone softer now, but still firm. “Slytherins are dangerous. You know that.”

“Dangerous?” Remus echoed incredulously. “Or just different? Y/N is not dangerous. She’s smart, funny, and she cares about me. Why can’t you see that?”

Sirius’s face hardened. “Because we know how this ends, Remus. You think you can make it work, but she’ll end up breaking your heart. They always do.”

“I can’t believe you guys,” Remus said, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re acting like you own me. I’m not a bloody puppet!”

“Then stop acting like a fool!” Sirius shot back, standing up now, his hands clenched at his sides. “You can’t just ignore the truth because it doesn’t fit your little fantasy!”

“Guys, calm down…” Peter stuttered, glancing nervously between them.

But Remus was beyond reason. He felt the weight of betrayal crashing down on him. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am a fool for thinking you would support me.”

He turned away, storming out of the common room and into the maze of corridors that led to the dungeons. His heart raced as he navigated the familiar path, each step echoing the turmoil within him.

Y/N was waiting for him by the entrance to the Slytherin common room, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. The moment she spotted him, the tension in her posture visibly relaxed. “You came,” she said, relief flooding her voice.

“Yeah,” he replied, his voice heavy with unspoken words. “But it’s not good news.”

Her expression shifted, concern flickering in her eyes. “What happened?”

“James and Sirius are idiots,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “They… they still don’t approve.”

“Of course not,” she said, her voice laced with sarcasm. “They’re Gryffindors, and I’m a Slytherin. What did you expect?”

“I thought maybe they’d be okay with it,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But they’re not. They think I’m making a mistake.”

“Are you?” she challenged, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“No! I’m just trying to figure out how to make this work without losing you or them,” he exclaimed, exasperation rising in his chest.

“Maybe you should have thought about that before getting involved with a Slytherin,” she shot back, hurt flashing across her face. “It’s not like I forced you into this, Remus.”

“I never said that!” he argued, frustration spilling over. “I care about you, but they’re my friends—”

“Your friends who don’t care about you! They only care about their stupid prejudices!” YN snapped, her voice rising. “You’re so afraid of losing them that you can’t even stand up for what you want!”

“Maybe I’m just trying to be realistic!” he shouted, the words echoing off the stone walls around them. “You think this is easy for me? Hiding who I care about just because they might not accept you?”

“Then stop hiding!” she yelled, tears welling in her eyes. “You say you care about me, but it feels like you care more about their opinions than about our relationship!”

“I’m trying to protect us!” he exclaimed, his heart racing with anxiety.

“Protect us?” she said incredulously, stepping back as if struck. “You mean protect your friendship with people who don’t even see me as a person! They see me as a stereotype!”

“Y/N, please…” he said, his voice cracking.

“No! You can’t keep playing both sides!” she cried, her voice trembling. “Either you stand by me, or you let me go.”

“Y/N, don’t say that,” he begged, desperation creeping into his voice. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“Then you need to make a choice, Remus,” she said, her expression resolute. “Because I won’t be your secret anymore. I deserve better than that.”

With that, she turned and disappeared into the darkness of the corridor, leaving Remus standing alone, the weight of his choices crashing down on him like a tidal wave.

Days passed, and the rift between Remus and Y/N deepened. The halls of Hogwarts felt emptier without her presence, and every time he saw James and Sirius, the anger bubbled to the surface again. They had no idea how much he was hurting, how much he missed her laughter and her teasing smiles.

“Moony, you’ve got to get over this,” James urged one evening as they both sat in the Great Hall. “There are plenty of girls in our House.”

Remus shot him a glare. “I don’t want anyone else. I want Y/N.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” James asked, leaning back in his seat. “Just tell her you’re done with the secrecy. Bring her here, introduce her.”

Remus slammed his hands on the table, the sound echoing through the hall. “You don’t get it. It’s not that simple!”

“Why not?” James insisted. “If you really care about her, you’ll find a way.”

Remus stared at them, feeling the weight of their expectations pressing down on him. “You want me to choose between you and her.”

“We want you to be honest with us,I'm sure that's what Pads and Wormtail want as well ” James said quietly. “We want to understand.”

“I’m trying,Prongs” Remus said, his voice breaking. “But it’s hard when I feel like I’m fighting everyone I care about.”

“Then make a choice,” James said softly. “You can’t keep living in the middle. Either you stand up for what you want or you let it go.”

Remus looked down at his plate, the reality of James' words sinking in. It was time to make a decision, to confront the truth of his feelings and his loyalties. He knew what he had to do, even if it meant risking everything he had.

Outside, the crisp evening air hit him like a slap. He walked aimlessly, his thoughts a chaotic whirlwind. Memories of YN flooded his mind—the way her laughter would light up a room, the way she challenged him and made him feel alive. He missed her so much it was like a physical ache in his chest.

Just as he rounded a corner, he spotted YN standing by the lake, her figure silhouetted against the moonlight. His breath caught in his throat as he took a step toward her, but she turned away, her posture tense.

“Y/N,” he called softly.

She didn’t respond, staring out over the water, her expression inscrutable.

“Please, can we talk?” he asked, his heart pounding.

After a long silence, she finally turned to face him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “What’s there to talk about, Remus? You’ve made your choice clear.”

“I haven’t made any choice,” he replied, stepping closer. “I don’t want to lose you. I’ve been trying to find a way to make this work, but my friends… they don’t understand.”

“Maybe they’re right,” she said, her voice breaking. “Maybe it’s just too complicated for us.”

“No,” he said fiercely, shaking his head. “We can make it work. I want to fight for us.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” she replied, her voice laced with pain. “You’re not the one who has to deal with the fallout of being with a Gryffindor. You don’t know what it feels like to be judged every single day.”

“I know what it feels like to be judged,” he said, desperation creeping into his voice. “I’m a werewolf, YN. I’ve felt that sting my whole life.”

She looked at him, her eyes wide. “But you have friends who support you. I don’t have that. Not now, not ever.”

“You could have me,” he said, stepping closer, his heart pounding. “I want to be with you, but I need you to believe that.”

“Believe what?” she asked, her voice trembling. “That you’ll stand up to your friends for me? That you’ll choose me over them?”

“Yes!” he exclaimed, the words pouring out of him. “I choose you. I choose us.”

“Then why don’t you prove it?” she challenged, her gaze unwavering. “Stop hiding me. Bring me to your friends, face them together. Show me you really mean it.”

Remus’s heart raced at the thought. He had been so afraid of the consequences, of the judgment, but now he saw clearly. YN was worth it. “Okay,” he said, determination filling him. “I’ll do it. I’ll bring you to them.”

A flicker of hope crossed her face, but it was quickly replaced by uncertainty. “And if they don’t accept me?”

“Then we’ll deal with it together,” he vowed, his voice steady. “I won’t let them dictate our happiness.”

She stepped closer, her eyes searching his. “You really mean that?”

“Yes,” he said, reaching for her hand. “I won’t let fear keep us apart anymore.”

YN hesitated for a moment, then took his hand, their fingers intertwining. “Okay, but if they make a scene…”

“They won’t,” he promised, squeezing her hand gently. “I’ll make sure of it.”

With a small smile breaking through her tears, YN nodded. “Then let’s do this.”

The next evening, Remus gathered his courage and headed to the Gryffindor common room with YN by his side. His heart raced as they approached the portrait of the Fat Lady, her gaze scrutinizing them both.

“Password?” she asked, her voice dripping with skepticism.

“caput draconis,” Remus replied, his throat dry.

The portrait swung open, and they stepped inside. The warmth of the room enveloped them, but the laughter and chatter stilled as everyone turned to stare. James, Sirius, and Peter sat at a table in the corner, their expressions shifting from surprise to confusion.

“Moony?” Sirius said, rising to his feet. “What’s going on?”

Remus took a deep breath, feeling YN’s hand squeeze his for reassurance. “I want you all to meet someone,” he said, his voice steady. “This is YN. She’s… she’s my girlfriend. I told you about her”

The silence that followed was deafening. Sirius’s expression hardened, and Peter’s eyes widened with shock. James looked between them, a sligh smile on his face.

“You can’t be serious,” Sirius finally said, disbelief etched on his face. “You brought a slytherin into our commun room?”

“Yes,” Remus said, feeling a surge of defiance. “And I care about her.”

“You know she’s not like us, right?” Sirius pressed, crossing his arms. “She’s a Slytherin.”

“Last time I checked, love doesn’t have a House,” Remus shot back, his heart racing. “She’s a person, just like you and I.”

Peter stepped forward, trying to mediate. “Look, Moony, we just want to protect you. You know how Slytherins can be.”

“Right, because all Slytherins are the same,” Y/N interjected, her voice sharp. “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about who I am.”

Sirius opened his mouth to respond, but Remus held up a hand. “Let her speak.”

Y/N took a step forward, her confidence shining through. “I’m not here to cause troubles. I care about Remus just like you three, and I’m willing to prove that to you. But I need you to give me a chance.”

“Prove it how?” Sirius asked, skepticism still etched on his face.

“By showing you that I’m not a stereotype,” she replied, her voice steady. “I want to get to know you all, but I can't do it if you’re going to judge me before you know me.”

James looked at Remus, searching his face for a sign of uncertainty. But Remus felt only determination. “She’s right. If you want me to be happy, you have to accept the person I care about.”

The tension in the room was palpable, and for a moment, it felt like everything hung in the balance. Finally, James sighed, running a hand through his hair and adjusting his glasses. “Okay,” he said slowly. “Let’s give her a chance.”

Sirius shot him a look of disbelief. “James, are you serious?”

“Yeah, I am,” James replied, his tone firm. “If Remus cares about her, then we owe it to him and to her to see what she’s really like.”

Remus felt a wave of relief wash over him. “Thank you,” he said, glancing at YN, who looked equally surprised.

“But,” James added, raising a finger, “you better not pull any Slytherin tricks on us, or I swear…”

“I won’t,” YN promised, her voice steady. “I just want to be treated like everyone else.”

“Just don’t expect us to let you win at Exploding Snap,” Sirius added with a smirk.

The tension in the room began to dissipate as the other Gryffindors resumed their conversations, albeit with curious glances at YN. Slowly, she began to relax, and Remus couldn’t help but smile at the small victories.

[chaotic-orphan]

Concussed villain gets kidnapped?

Villain showed up on Hero’s doorstep, heaving in breaths as they slammed their fist on the door. Their arm was ridiculously heavy, and it took everything in them to throw it mercilessly against the wooden door. The effects were meagre knocks that Villain prayed Hero would hear.

If Hero was even home.

What if they were working tonight? Fuck, why didn’t Villain think of that? Their head was pounding so they rested their forehead against the cool wood, letting out a shaky, shallow breath, trying not to anger the fire in their ribs. Blood continued to trickle from their hairline down over their eyes and dripping onto their cheeks.

That wasn’t good.

They heard footsteps behind the door and Villain almost broke down there and then, relief flooding them like a tsunami of feeling, washing away everything that was keeping Villain upright. Tears poured down their cheeks at the thought of safety, hero looking after them… their hero. They could tell them about Superhero’s plans.

They could tell them… Villain put a hand against the door and pushed themselves backwards. They would’ve fallen if not for the arm that snaked around their waist. Villain blinked dumbly and glanced down. Arm around—?

Before they cry out or scream in warning a hand clamped over their mouth and Villain was ripped away from the door and into the shadows. Villain thrashed, struggling in their attacker’s grip, all their screams and cries muffled to nothing but silent pleas.

The door opened and Villain’s struggles renewed but Hero wouldn’t be able to see them from here. Hero wouldn’t know they were even there!

“Hello?” Hero asked into the darkness and Villain whimpered against the hands holding them in an iron cage. Villain threw their body forward, back, trying to dislodge their attackers arms but they didn’t budge even a little.

“If you want Hero to continue to draw breath, Villain, you’ll come quietly.”

Villain froze at the voice. That was… Superhero… the reason why Villain was in this state in the first place. Villain’s struggles renewed as Hero stepped out of their house. If they could even sense something was amiss so close to them then they would investigate. Hero would have to investigate, right? And Hero was in danger too!

Villain had to warn them, they had to!

“Hello?” Hero asked, a note of agitation creeping into their voice.

I’m here! Villain wanted to scream. Hero please! I’m right here.

A pinch in their neck and Villain’s fruitless struggles seized, their blood running cold. They flinched as cold liquid was pushed into their neck. No… no, no, no, no. “That’s it, Villain,” Superhero whispered. “Don’t fight it.”

The hazy world blurred even more and Villain fell back against Superhero’s chest, the fight leaving them almost instantly. What did Superhero drug them with?

Their eyelids shut and Villain forced them back open, with a gargantuan effort. The last thing they saw was Hero frown and close the door before their entire world faded to black in the arms of their enemy.

[tokeposts]

awhhh this idea piped into my head and i need to share before it’s gone😼 just thinking about AFAB reader incredibly injured during the war. Laying down unable to get up behind a building and then sero finds her-them/him ignoring his injuries and protecting them with his body. Laying together on the ground, when paramedics show up they’re unable to pull them apart hehe👏👏👏👏👏🧌🧌

pairing. sero hanta x gn!reader

genre. fluff (the type that makes you kick your feet in bed), sero is so flirty and cute, canon compliant

warnings. violence and war themes, death/implications of death, emotional distress

notes. unedited sorry, guys lol

1.1K | Amid a war-torn battlefield, you and Hanta Sero find solace in each other.

The sky was painted in shades of ash and blood, the once-vibrant battlefield now a graveyard of shattered steel and cries of agony. Your hero suit was soaked through with blood— not all of it yours. Every inch of you screamed for rest, your body heavy with exhaustion and pain.

Just a small break, you tried to reason with yourself, stumbling unsteadily behind the crumbling remains of a building. Your bones cracked, your side throbbed with a deep, relentless ache, but for the first time in hours, the world felt a little less chaotic.

Sliding down the broken wall, you allowed yourself a moment to breathe. Shallow, ragged gasps tore through your chest, each one a knife twisting in your ribs. The ground beneath you felt unnervingly solid, and the distant sounds of battle dulled to a faint hum in your ears.

Your mind was hazed with exhaustion, barely registering the sound of boots skidding to a halt on the debris. You didn’t notice the shadow falling over you until it spoke.

“Hey, hey, you still with me?” a voice called, worried and achingly familiar.

You blinked up, your sight still fuzzy, and there he was— Hanta Sero. His face, despite the hero gear, was smeared with soot, blood trickling down the side of his temple. But that grin? That stupid, boyish grin never wavered.

“Hanta,” you rasped, wincing as pain flared through your side. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks, I try,” he quipped, crouching beside you. His hands were on you before you could protest, assessing the damage. “Damn, you’re really banged up. Good thing I’m here to rescue you, huh?”

“Sure,” you managed, a weak chuckle escaping, but it quickly turned into a hiss as the burn in your side flared. “Knight in scotch-tape armor.”

He laughed— a bright, unexpected sound amidst the chaos. “You know it.” But as his hands hovered over the gash on your side, his grin faded, replaced with a quiet worry that cut deeper than any wound. “This is bad.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” you bit out, sharp pain lacing your words. Gritting your teeth, you braced a hand against the wall, attempting to stand. Get up, your mind scolded. People need you. But your muscles screamed in protest, the fiery ache in your side flaring to unbearable levels.

A raw groan tore from your throat before you could stop it. Your legs buckled beneath you, and you slid back down with a disappointing thud.

“Relax, take it easy,” Hanta murmured, his voice a fragile attempt at calm as he settled beside you. His arm snaked under your shoulders, careful yet desperate, every movement tinged with urgency. His eyes darted around, scanning the chaos for anything— anyone— that could help, but the battlefield was a blur of smoke, shouts, and blood.

His breathing quickened, chest heaving as his mind spiraled. Frustration clawed at thorat, his fingers trembling against your skin. He’d always been able to figure something out. His battle instincts might not be on the same level as Bakugou’s, but he liked to think he was a hero for a good reason, but now he was staring at you, broken and bleeding, and nothing felt like enough.

You winced sharply, a soft sound that sliced through the storm in his head, and suddenly the war went silent. All that existed was you—broken, vulnerable, his. His panic crashed over him, suffocating. He clenched his teeth, his jaw tight, frustration bleeding into helplessness as reality set in.

There was no miracle solution, no quick fix. He’d run out of options.

“You’re not able to get up,” he finally said, his voice breaking with the weight of the admission.

“You really have so little faith in me,” you teased, trying to mask your worry.

You shifted, attempting to stand once more despite the sharp pain lancing through your side. Trembling arms barely lifted you an inch before you collapsed back, a hiss of frustration escaping as tears pricked your eyes. “Hanta, I can—”

“No, you can’t,” he interrupted, his voice a broken whisper. “You can’t, okay? And I can’t—” His breath hitched. “I can’t move you. I can’t fix this.”

His shoulders slumped as the fight drained out of him. Before you could argue, he draped himself over you, arms braced protectively around your frame.

“I can’t help you, but damn if I’m leaving you here too.” His weight pressed against you, a shield against the chaos, as if he could somehow take your pain onto himself.

“There, see? Now we’re cozy,” he muttered, but the humor in his tone was forced, a fragile mask over his frustration and fear.

“You’re hurt too,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re worse off,” he said, glancing down at you with dark, haunted eyes. “This is all I can do right now, so let me do it. Please.”

His vulnerability squeezed your chest, but the exhaustion in your body was too much to fight. You leaned into him, your head resting against his shoulder. “You’re an idiot,” you mumbled, but the warmth in your voice betrayed your words.

“And yet, you’re stuck with me,” he murmured, his grip tightening, anchoring you both against the chaos.

Minutes stretched into eternity, the distant explosions and shouts melting into a muffled haze. Sero stayed still, his weight grounding you, his voice a lifeline as he kept talking— half-hearted jokes, quiet reassurances— pulling you back from the edge.

And yet, you’re stuck with me. The words echoed in your mind, a faint smile tugging at your lips despite the searing ache in your body. A soft chuckle slipped out before you could stop it, shaky but genuine. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

When the paramedics finally arrived, they called out to you both. “Okay, we’re here to help— Cellophane, we need to lift you.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Hanta replied, his grin somehow still intact. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Han,” you murmured, your hand weakly tugging at his arm. “You have to let them—”

“Not happening,” he cut in, pressing his forehead lightly against yours. “You’re stuck with me, remember? Knight in scotch-tape armor.”

It took three paramedics and a lot of coaxing to finally separate the two of you, and even then, Hanta's hand lingered in yours until they pulled him away. That is when his grin wavered for the first time, replaced with something raw, something that made your chest tighten. “Don’t you dare let go,” he said, his voice soft but fierce.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you whispered back, squeezing his hand until they were forced apart and for the first time since the battle began, you felt like everything might just be okay.