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carpe noctem [ climax 2.0 ] | sylus

— summary: he takes you to a safe house. reasoned it was the safest option while his men tied up whatever loose ends remained from your mission. you get the feeling there’s more to his words than what floats at surface level. — cw: reader is not mc, reader implied to be femme, assassin!reader, profanity, sexual tension, minor character deaths, mentions of blood & violence, terms of endearment, self-deprecating thoughts, a sprinkle of romance, self-indulgent, unhinged moment, mdni — notes: special thanks to @alfredosaws for helping me write this. thank you so much for reading! — now playing: i follow rivers - lykke li

Silly woman. Getting your hopes up for nothing. Still...

He’s yet to set you down—Sylus. Your enigma of a boss, cradling you in his arms like an offering to be bestowed on an altar. Long fingers crooked under your knees, a possessive arm swept under your back.

You’re not hurt—he saw to that when he safely lured you to the ground with his Evol. So why does he insist on carrying you like you are?

You try not to get caught up in how he smells—petrichor during the spring. The leftover carbon of spent bullets. Suede and the freshly-broken skin of a clementine.

How he feels—strong yet firm, honed from years of boxing and a past you know little of. Tender despite the violence he’s capable of. Big and comforting, like a blanket fresh out of the dryer on the coldest days of the season.

How he breathes—even, as his heart thrums a steady tempo against your chest. Soothing like ocean waves rolling over your feet, lulling you into tranquility.

Tch. Since when did you become so poetic?

You’ve long since traded the cacophony of bullets ricocheting off his Evol—of Nikolai’s men shouting obscenities, bleeding malice and vitriol as they spit orders—for the serenity of the night.

Passersby mill about on the moon-laden streets. Couples laugh, bundling together to ward off the night’s chill. An occasional drunkard stumbles down the sidewalk. Sylus effortlessly sidesteps them, refusing to let you walk on your own despite the perturbed looks he garners. You try not to dig too deep into things. And yet…

He’s carried you like this for at least a mile through the city’s heart. Past historic buildings jaded by time, under twinkling string lights, hung over shopping centers and outdoor cafes bordering the street.

It’s something of a dream. Something like a romantic film, but you don’t feel like you deserve to be its star.

He’s made no move to set you down. You’ve also made no effort to untwine your arms from around his neck. Instead, you study the flexing tendons in his throat. The bob of his Adam’s apple when he chuckles something murky and guttural after he catches you staring. You look away with bashfulness creeping beneath your skin, only to repeat the ritual all over again.

It feels like old times—a memory far off when he carried you like this once before after you led him on a hunt through the docks. After you took down one of the most prominent human trafficking rings in the underworld, and after he thought he would lose you forever.

You’re sure you were heavy then—he spent most of the night searching for you, reducing anyone who got in his way to ash and bone. He was exhausted, violet bags hanging beneath his eyes, blood speckling his collar. Yet he still held you so tenderly. Walked you towards the horizon, clutching you like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

You’re sure you’re heavy now.

And he shouldn’t be holding you like this. Despite how delightful it feels, a voice admonishes you from the deepest regions of your mind for getting too comfortable.

He’s not yours. This isn’t right.

She might be gone, swept up in the mountains playing escort, but you can’t help feeling like you’re betraying the hunter. You’ve already crossed her so many times in your mind before.

You squirm a bit. His gaze slides to you. Scarlet eyes gleam beneath the tawny lights like multifaceted rubies. His brows lift slightly, and the beginnings of a smile prod his lips.

You clear the phlegm from your throat, tamping down the hot flush rising from your chest to stain your neck and cheeks. He’s effortlessly beautiful, like something spawned from a Rembrandt painting.

“You can put me down now,” you urge, your voice uncharacteristically soft. “I’m perfectly capable of walking by myself.”

He looks forward, wearing a full-bodied smile. “I know.” He continues walking like you didn’t speak, making no effort to let you go.

You give him a deadpan look. Try again, a little more insistent this time. “Sylus.”

“Yes?” he returns, humored, patient.

“I said you can put me down.”

“I know.”

You sigh, exasperated after a few moments spent glaring at his side profile. His devastatingly attractive profile. That sloped nose. Those heart-shaped lips. Those pretty, grey-fringed lashes.

“Aren’t you afraid of someone seeing us like this?” You gesture to your conjoined bodies with a nod. “People might get the wrong idea.”

You might get the wrong idea.

He huffs a laugh like you’ve said the most absurd thing. “When have I ever been concerned with how others perceive me?” Those softened eyes flick back to you, something cold prickling low in your belly at the weight they carry. At how his voice dips like he’s drawing you into a secret. “Since when have you?”

Your lips twitch. He poses a fair argument. You’ve never cared much about how people view you, save for Sylus and the twins. More recently, Ms. Hunter.

Guilt twists in your throat. Burns like ash. “Sylus…”

“Am I making you uncomfortable? Because if I am, I’d be happy to set you down.” There’s a beguiled edge to his voice. A challenge. A plea. Almost like he wants you to say, ‘No.’

Surely, you’re being delusional.

Regardless, you blanch. And it’s comical how quickly you shake your head, eliciting a thick, low purl of laughter from your savior. Your argument dies in the back of your throat. The drape of your arms around his shoulders slackens. But you still don’t let go. You don’t want to let go.

You decide she’ll have to be upset with you—Ms. Hunter. Decide to be a little selfish, but only for a little while. You’re growing too comfortable with the sharp click of his heels against the cobblestone. With how he lightly jostles you in his arms after each measured step. You could fall asleep like this, ushered to dreamland by the source of your fantasies and suffering.

After some time spent wordless, Sylus slows to a stop. When you glance at him, he nods at something ahead, finally setting you down. You’re bereft of the warmth and safety his body provides as he helps steady you. Smoothing out your dress, you take in your new surroundings.

A structure stretches before you, much like the ones you passed before, only the upkeep is better. Three stories of dark, historic brick and an awning dotted with sepia-toned lights loom overhead. The building's name scrolls on a marquee sign in its center, blaring through the frosty haze of the night. It reminds you of an old movie theater, repurposed for something more upscale.

You turn quizzical eyes to Sylus. “A restaurant?” Come to think of it, you are a little famished. Murder always manages to stir your appetite.

Sylus pushes back the tails of his suit jacket, shoving his hands into his pockets. Exhales slow. The spotlights highlight his smile as he looks between you and the entrance. “Not hungry?”

“Yeah, but…it’s a little short notice, isn’t it? Don’t you normally need a reservation to get into places like this? Will they even let us in?”

With a huff caught in his throat, Sylus brushes past you, bounding up the few steps to tug the door open. A swell of noise spills outside, the soft stroke of piano keys, the clatter of cutlery against plates. The savory scent of cooked meat and sautéed vegetables assaults your senses. Your stomach growls. You pat it placatingly, casting Sylus a wary look.

“They should,” he says with a shrug, patiently waiting for you to enter. “I own the place.” His eyes shine with playfulness, posture lax.

You scoff. Of course. He owns half the city. It makes him more attractive, knowing he can buy anything at the drop of a hat.

“Wow. That’s awfully Bruce Wayne of you, don’t you think?” you mock, stepping up into the restaurant, guided by your fingers wrapped around his forearm.

“Wait,” you start, inadvertently tucking into his side. “Why are you hungry? I’m the one who did all the heavy lifting.”

Sylus shrugs again, feigning innocence as you clear the restaurant's entryway. “Watching you work always makes me peckish.”

You whack his broad chest, rolling your eyes. Can’t help smiling. Giggling. Letting your defenses waver.

The air between you feels lighter, reminiscent of times spent carelessly flirting when the line between employer and subordinate blurred beyond recognition.

—

It’s lively inside, but not overwhelmingly so.

Colorful conversation brightens the atmosphere around you. Patrons of new and old money, dressed in designer clothing, sip expensive wine. Prattle on about their reckless ventures, about fickle things you can’t be bothered to entertain.

It’s a high-brow restaurant, with the gentle croon of live music and light fixtures dangling overhead to simulate candlelight. The interior is Art Deco inspired. Jaw-droppingly beautiful. You’ve found yourself eyeing the bar more than once, impressed by the expansive shelves housing vintage wine and spirits, stretching towards a yawning, stained-glass ceiling.

Had you not known better, you would’ve thought you were on a date and not lying low while ornery men tore the city apart looking for you. But that’s not the case.

At least, you don’t think it is.

You bite down on your fork, bleeding warmth, ignoring the scarlet eyes boring into your face for the umpteenth time.

You’re tucked away in one of the restaurant's corners with your boss, seated at a booth, shying away from the spotlight. Away from the prying eyes of the other patrons, though that doesn’t stop the occasional gaze from wandering over you. Curious clients raise their wine glasses at you with tense smiles, scrutinizing the pair of you as if you’re celebrities.

You do stand out, still donned in your attire from the banquet. And Sylus commands attention wherever he goes, standing a good foot over most of the populous, his hair a riotous shock of white.

Also more perplexing is that he hasn’t booked the place out. He prefers solitude, the comfortable quiet. And yet, he’s brought you here, surrounded by people, treating you like something to be shown off, and you're lightheaded from the whiplash he’s giving you.

He’s been nothing short of a gentleman. Pulled your chair out for you, ordered on your behalf, ensnared you in idle conversation. Kept your champagne glass full when your waiter was out of earshot, even lauded you for another successful kill. It’s all so uncharacteristic of him, and you can’t help feeling like he’s building up to something big.

It’s grown quiet between you since your meals arrived, and your thoughts have crept in, robbing you of any bliss you began to experience.

You’ve caught your boss watching you several times. And he’s never appeared guilty, shamelessly peering into your eyes, smiling, slowly ticking away at your resolve.

Your skin prickles with warmth as you push around the vegetables on your plate. The meal is lovely. Savory, but your appetite’s abandoned you. Something’s off. You’ve sensed it for the better part of the night. Sylus is being more attentive than usual, and it’s unsettling.

What’s his angle? Have you offended him? Is he keeping an eye on you, afraid you’ll run away? Will tonight be the night he lays you off?

You decide to confront him, having had enough of this ambiguity. This farce he’s put up. You clear your throat, smoothing out the napkin on your lap. Set your fork down, gaze hesitantly sliding to him across the table as you attempt to make light of your situation.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that? Is there something on my face?”

Sylus’ eyes crinkle with a quiet mirth. A soft youthfulness as he props his elbows on the table, twining his long fingers together. A grin blooms behind his fists. You hold your breath.

“Has anyone ever told you how adorable you are while you eat?”

You choke on your spittle. Violently pat your chest to dislodge it, reaching for your flute of champagne to wet your throat as tears form. Adorable isn’t something you’d use to describe yourself. And adorable isn’t something you’d ever imagine Sylus classifying you as, either.

“Maybe you should lay off the champagne,” you cough, the burn in your esophagus subsiding.

He isn’t much of a drinker, so you suspect he’s spewing nonsense because he’s tipsy. You set your glass down, snatching the bottle of bubbly from the table’s center. It’ll be safer on your side, out of reach, where your boss can’t use it as an excuse to utter more absurd things.

Sylus’ brows knit, mock hurt descending onto his face. “What? Am I not allowed to compliment you?”

You cough again, bringing the bottle to your lips. Drink straight from the source, crisp liquid drizzling down the sides of your mouth. How ladylike.

Maybe you should stop drinking. You’re starting to hear things, your daydreams coming to fruition. This isn’t happening. Your boss isn’t pouting at you like a child, calling you cute, and making you feel things that should be buried beneath the Earth’s crust. He’s typically stingy with his compliments unless given to a specific person. So why suddenly aim them at you?

The bubbly’s got your head a little fuzzy. That, coupled with the adrenaline slowly seeping into your veins, emboldens you to get to the heart of his strangeness. You decide to poke the proverbial bear.

“What’s your problem?” you prod, setting the bottle down with a definitive thunk. You fix him with a look, one of tight lips and furrowed brows.

Sylus chuckles, seemingly in disbelief at your brazenness. He’s fucking with you. He has to be. Maybe he’s trying to get a rise out of you, sensing how vulnerable you’ve felt throughout the night. How vulnerable you’ve been the past few months.

“Whatever do you mean, sweetheart?”

You ignore how the term of endearment tingles in your skin. It feels more weighted than usual tonight. Everything’s heavier tonight.

You sigh, looking at your lap with a forlorn smile. Toy with a loose thread on your napkin, steeling yourself for this unavoidable conversation.

The champagne’s got your tongue a little loose, and the people surrounding you give you a boost of courage—witnesses in case Sylus decides to kill you.

“You’ve been really nice to me all night.” You sound mousy, contrasting the crass asshole you were moments ago. “It’s kind of…weird.”

A silver brow lifts. Sylus adjusts in his chair, leaning closer to hear you better, the faint note of his cologne wafting off his skin. Threatening to derail you. To change your mind.

“Have I not been kind to you before?” He momentarily scrutinizes the lacquered wood of the tabletop, seemingly lost in thought. Gazes back at you, inspecting your face.

You swallow against the sandy grit of your throat, powering past your nerves, an anxious titter on your tongue. You toy with your necklace, dizzy. “No. No, you have. Just…not like this.”

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. Sylus wordlessly encourages you to continue, watching your mouth, your eyes.

“I mean, the gala. Rescuing me from Nikolai’s goons. Carrying me. Dinner. The compliments. I don’t get you, Sylus. One minute, you’re pushing me away. You’re ignoring me, and then the next, you’re…confusing the hell out of me.”

The words are out before you can contain them. Silence stretches between you, stiff like a bowstring drawn back. You can’t look at him now, feeling so small and stupid beneath the blistering weight of his stare.

You’re disbelieving that he could be so kind. Romantic. Considerate, treating you like something closer than a subordinate. Like he doesn’t have someone else occupying his mind, and you’re wondering if he’s playing some twisted game with your emotions tonight, using you to fill the gap the hunter left while out saving the world.

“Am I truly that difficult to understand?” he replies, his voice gritty yet soft.

Something pinches in your chest at the fragility of his tone. You want nothing more than for the world to open up and swallow you whole.

You flinch when the flat sides of his nails graze your temple. He briefly stops before tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. Then, his fingertips blister down your cheek. He tilts your head back, cupping your chin, coaxing you to look at him. And you do, reluctantly, a warm film of something wet washing over your sight.

He studies you with a reverence you don’t deserve. A look you haven’t been subjected to in a very long time, yet it still manages to constrict your heart. Still makes your stomach jump like you’re descending downhill, and your lips part slightly, quivering.

Time slows to a crawl around you, the world seemingly carving out a pocket of space for only the two of you to exist. The sights and sounds of the restaurant fade into obscurity. You’re focused solely on the scarlet wash of his eyes, how they shift back and forth, studying your features, searching. Seeking answers your mouth refuses to utter.

“If I’ve made myself anything less than transparent, I apologize.” The sincerity there, the quiet vulnerability, it makes you sick because you’re undeserving of it. You feel like you’re taking part in a naughty secret. Witnessing a side of him usually reserved for the hunter. “But I assure you, I’m not as mysterious as you think.”

You snort despite the moment. Despite your pulse thudding in your eardrums, a trickle of optimism seeping through you like molten liquid. You don that arrogant, playful front as if rolling over and showing him your belly will be viewed as a sign of weakness. He could still very well be screwing with you. Getting your hopes up to shatter them like waves breaking against the rocks.

“Yeah, right. And I’m the Queen of England,” you retort, rolling your eyes.

Sylus shrugs, resigned. Still, he doesn’t relinquish your gaze, the soft curl of his fingers around your face. Instead, he grows more tender, his irises twinkling a youthful shade beneath the ambient lighting as he leans closer. His voice is wispy like he’s murmuring something confidential.

“You don’t have to believe me. But I am no liar, sweetheart. You know that.”

With that, he releases your chin, fingers slowly dragging over your face, leaving a searing path in their wake. You breathe again, unaware you weren’t, as if released from a spell. You watch him take up his champagne flute, slender fingers curling around its stem, and he stirs its fizzy contents.

You’re jealous of that damn glass, still feeling those ruinous digits burning themselves into your skin.

He decides to shift gears. You’re thankful because you need time to process things. To get your heart rate down from the sky.

“Besides, you looked like you could use a break. I figured tonight would be a good time for some morale boosting.”

You snort again, sipping from your own flute to assuage a flare of anger. “Me? A break? Morale boost? Yeah, sure.”

Taking a breather with your boss, playing around on a date like you didn’t just murder someone? Was he serious? And is that all this was? A figurative pizza party to say, ‘Thank you’ for being an obedient little pet?

You knew you were an idiot, getting your hopes up for nothing.

“You know, contrary to popular belief, I’m not as much of a slave driver as you think,” he says, parting the tumultuous sea of your thoughts.

“Really? Luke and Kieran might say otherwise.” There’s more vitriol in your voice than you intend to let out. But you’re deflecting, protecting yourself.

Your chest tightens when Sylus looks down, idly twisting the glass stem between his fingers. His gaze softens, and something in his voice shifts. “Can’t I just spend some time alone with you? Show you how much I appreciate you for being loyal to me all these years?”

You stiffen, feeling like someone’s thrust a knife into your gut and twisted it. You must not have heard him right. For a moment, he sounded exposed. Wounded. And for a moment, you feel bad for doubting his intentions.

You’re about to pursue it when your waiter reappears. He’s all smiles and professionalism as he sets two martini glasses on your table, crystalline liquid swirling ominously inside.

You look up at him with quirked brows. He stands in good form, folding his hands together behind his back.

“Courtesy of the couple over there,” says your waiter, gesturing over his shoulder with a nod.

You peer behind him. A middle-aged man and a younger-looking woman dressed in eccentric textures smile and wave enthusiastically at you. You lift your glass to them in a quiet toast, pasting on a smile. The gesture is sweet, but what’s the occasion?

“They said, drinks for the lovely couple, and congratulations on celebrating your anniversary.”

You sputter, sending drops of your martini flying every which way.

Sylus laughs at your plight, taking up a glass for himself and lifting it in appreciation towards the couple. You glare at him as he sips.

“Happy Anniversary, darling,” Sylus teases. Winks for added effect. He laughs a wealthy man’s laugh while you choke.

You contemplate correcting the generous couple, but the martini is delicious. And Sylus doesn’t seem affected by it.

And maybe it feels good pretending that, just for a moment, he’s yours and yours alone.

—

Someone had a sweet tooth following dinner.

That someone, of course, being you.

The dessert menu at the restaurant looked appetizing. But you had a craving for something cold. Soft-serve. Besides, you were growing uncomfortable the more that couple ordered you drinks. At one point, they’d been so bold as to stop by your table on their way out.

They kept ogling you. Winking, laughing drunkenly, spewing out their hotel room number upstairs. When they left, you leaned over the table, cupping your hand around your mouth.

“I think they’re swingers,” you whispered to Sylus.

He laughed, sitting back. Raised his glass to you, a brow tilting up to match the cant of his lips. “Wanna go find out?”

“Hell no! I’m a one-partner kinda gal.”

You didn’t miss how his gaze shifted. Darkened into something you couldn’t quite place.

You find yourselves in a 1950s-inspired diner— a modest hole-in-the-wall joint with retro decor and bright lights. Only a couple of other diners inhabit the restaurant. You’re nursing a milkshake, courtesy of your boss, buzzing like a child who’s gotten everything they wanted.

He teased you about your cravings—only you’d want ice cream when it’s cold out. But he didn’t put up much of a fight, humoring you after you wore him down with those puppy eyes and your fingers buried in his sleeves.

He entertained you further by playing the claw machine in the corner at your behest. Watching a man so big, feared, and elusive fiddle with such a garish machine—you felt honored.

You cheered him on, the sleeves of his jacket draped over your shoulders, puddling around your elbows. After several attempts, he was successful, sheepishly shoving a purple koala bear into your hands. Your face burned hot, and your cheeks ached from smiling and laughing.

It feels like a dream. The ideal date. And for a moment, you forget that Sylus is your boss. That he could never be yours and that you’re anything but a killer.

You fiddle with the jukebox, earning curious glances from the diner’s other customers. They’re whispering things, eyeing you warily. You ignore them, queuing up a song. And you’re dancing, silly at first, but muscle memory kicks in. Soon, you’re moving your hips, smoothing over the contours of your body, spurred by Sylus observing you from his place atop a stool.

You wish he would smile more—an authentic smile, unhindered by sarcasm or smugness. He’s much more handsome like this.

You think about all the times he’s smiled this way for the hunter, and you stumble in your steps. You flash him a smile when it looks like he’ll get up to help you. Carry on dancing, doing one of the things you do best.

You pretend you’re at Lux, and he makes you feel like you’re on a stage just for him, your nerves flaring at his attention. There’s a gleam in his eyes as he leans back on the countertop on his elbow, watching you with muted appreciation. How long has it been since you’ve danced for him?

So swept up by the music, you hardly register the diner slowly emptying. Not even the servers seem to be bustling about anymore. You get an ominous prickling sensation on the back of your neck, the fine hairs there standing stiff. You stop.

You exchange a look with Sylus. He raises a brow, tapping his temple. “Keep going,” he rasps, doting, coaxing. Entranced.

He has whatever’s about to transpire under control. You trust him fully. The Bonnie to his Clyde.

The wispy tendrils of his Evol materialize around the diner’s interior to form a barrier, tossing the restaurant into a misty haze of red and black. It’s reminiscent of hellfire, and you feel like Lilith taking part in a sacrilegious waltz.

He doesn’t take his eyes off you, attentive as you continue to dance. And you smile, putting on a damn good show as Nikolai’s men funnel in, their cries of agony tempered by the music spilling from the jukebox and your laughter coloring the air as Sylus rends flesh from bone with his Evol.

—

He takes you to a safe house as the night reaches its peak.

He reasoned it was the safest option while his men tied up whatever loose ends remained from your mission. Like dining and holding hands out in public didn’t warrant an ambush.

Someone snitched. Saw that familiar riot of white, those brawny shoulders. Heard that gritty voice mixed with your distinct laughter and sent Nikolai’s men to finish you off. Sylus picked them off while you danced unhindered, but there was no telling how many stragglers were left, ducking into the shadows, creeping along the historic brick walls.

Again, he insists on carrying you as you break through the door of a quaint, quiet home perched on a hilltop. Secured by his biometrics. Bordered by evergreens and the calming symphony of the forest. Isolated, like him. Hidden from invasive questions, from prying eyes.

You’re tired. The night’s adrenaline sloughed off, leaving you tenuous and agreeable, which is why you don’t put up much of a fight as Sylus walks you through the foyer, smiling down at you like you’re his precious bounty. It’s infectious. Your lips tug, too, though a little less enthused. You blink slowly. Breathe evenly, lulled by the mollifying thump of his heart against your cheek.

He drops your stilettos on the hardwood floor halfway to the living room. Deposits you on a dark leather settee, fixing your dress over your legs and his jacket around your shoulders. Draws back. Your chest tightens. You don’t know what hits you when your fingers close around the pleated sleeve of his button-up, eyes beseeching when he looks at you from over his shoulder.

You don’t say anything. Don’t have to.

Don’t leave. Stay.

You don’t want the dream to end. Not yet.

He chuckles low, all smooth like whisky poured into a glass. Softened, scarlet eyes pan in through the low light, his silhouette haloed by amber. He lifts your legs to settle onto the upholstery beside you. Pulls your feet onto his lap. They’re irritated. Rubbed raw from being strapped to too-tall heels all night, running and gunning like you had no limitations.

He sensed your discomfort. Always such a gentleman.

Large, sweltering hands close around your feet, kneading through pressure and knots of tension. Knuckles at the balls of your feet. You exhale slowly, pleased. Thankful. The attention’s nice. There’s a small voice wading through the murky sea of your mind, telling you this is wrong. That you don’t deserve it, his tenderness.

You’re getting pretty fucking sick of your conscience. It’s just a foot rub. It’s not like you’re kissing him.

“You’re good at this,” you note offhandedly.

“My hands are more useful than you think.”

Something dark threads through his voice. Something cheeky. You ignore how your stomach flips, your mind sparkling with impure ideas.

Drowsiness sweeps in around the corners, bordering your vision like a vignette. He’s masterful with his hands. You wouldn’t expect anything less from the king of the underworld. You doze off, shepherded through the inkiness by the faraway tick of a clock. By trees rustling beyond the massive window, the moon dragging itself to the center of the sky, cloth moving as Sylus rubs over your calves.

You stir when he shifts. When he moves to get up and lay your legs on the couch. That feeling returns. That ache. The call of loneliness. Your sleepiness abandons you, making way for cold fright. You stumble from the settee. Rush to stand at full height, gripping his shirt at the crooks of his elbows, halting him.

Your mouth opens. Heart thundering. You don’t know what to say—what you were thinking. His gaze is unyielding, studying your face like the slow flicker of a flame. Silver brows knot. Peach lips fall slightly open. He’s waiting for something. Asking for something.

You’re on autopilot when you cautiously angle yourself closer. Your gaze falls to his mouth, and he mirrors you, cradling your elbows as if he’s afraid to break you. You’ll blame it on the bubbly you consumed later. On the spell he somehow cast over the night, enthralling you with his chivalry.

You tug, and he meets you halfway. Not like you have to put in much effort. He’s already leaning down. Eyes already half-moons, breath already shaky.

He tenses when your lips meet. Shoulders drop once the initial shock peters, and then he’s kissing you with those full, molten lips. He draws you closer, hands splayed possessively at the small of your back. Thumbs cruising over the meat of your hips. Up and down your sides. Wherever he touches, you burn.

You exhale through your nose, and your arms snake around his neck. Fingers sift through the fine hairs at his nape.

He teases your mouth open with his tongue. Sighs something anguished when you grant him entry, licking into your mouth. Pulls you impossibly closer. He’s rigid and warm against you. Gathers your cheek in his palm, angling your head back. He kisses greedy. Selfish. Plunders your mouth, milking the sweetest little sounds from your body. Sounds you didn’t think yourself capable of making.

You kiss and kiss until your lips are chaffed. And even then, you don’t stop. He’s ravenous, moving against you like he’s waited eons to do this. Like he’s fought a war with himself and lost. You’re his Gettysburg. His Kryptonite.

You’ll feel sorry for yourself tomorrow. Blame it on the air, charged with something heady, your inhibitions and common sense thrown to the wolves.

It’s just a kiss. He’s your boss. And tonight, he’s been something of a friend. A dream. Friends kiss all the time, right?

So why do you feel so guilty?

— tags: @emneedshelp, @reiofsuns2001, @crazy-ink-artist, @vonev, @subliminalwish, @ikiru-wa, @inkonparchment, @regandoesthings, @szired, @alyyylog, @leekingsman, @beewilko, @an-ever-angry-bi, @abbylee0710, @sunnyf4lls, @himiko-omikami, @midiplier, @ari-shipping-stuff, @karespocketboyfriends, @glamouroki, @babygirl-panda19, @im-in-different-universe, @sillyfreakfanparty, @lunebulous, @vilehrs-blog (sorry if i missed anyone.)

climax | masterlist | falling action

#sylus x reader #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #sylus #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #qin che #sylus love and deepspace #sylus qin #sylus angst #carpe noctem series #limerence series

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bestshopping2025 · 7 months ago

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gluroo · 26 days ago

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The Most Profitable Business Decision You’ll Make This Year Might Just Be… Hanging Lights?

Let’s be real: when people talk about “commercial upgrades,” they picture LED signage, digital checkouts, or self-cleaning toilets. You know what they don’t picture?

String lights.

But here’s the twist: smart business owners across the country are discovering that the right lighting doesn’t just set the mood—it sets your profit margin.

And when those lights are Gluroo Commercial Solar String Lights?

You’re not just decorating. You’re optimizing. Marketing. Saving. Impressing. Winning.

These aren’t your average backyard fairy lights. These are solar-powered, weather-resistant, commercial-grade lighting systems built for rooftops, patios, courtyards, cafés, hotels, breweries, and any brand bold enough to say: “Yeah, we’ve got style. And we don’t pay for electricity.”

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cameronsdearest · 2 months ago

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Need pearl!reader and rafe having ROUGH sex on the beach

UGHGHG no cause i just know itd be the most impulsive decision ever for her and rafe would feel so accomplished for being able to hit ... (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)

also, im so sorry nonnie its just been a terrible year so far, so i havent put my reqs on, but i just had to do this after so so long because you made me giggle, dont hate me plz….

rafe cameron x pearl!reader

cw: mdni, straight up smut, rafe is a little mean, unprotected piv, outdoor sex, overstim, creampie

a/n: not proof read i’m sorry… at work </3

You wouldn't exactly say you liked the Kooks on the island, definitely not with their pretentious attitudes. But you couldn't say you hated them, especially when you were currently having sex with the Kook with nothing but a few large, jagged rocks blocking you both from the view of everyone else on the beach.

"Rafe, Rafe," you mewled out, your fingers tugging on the corner of the beach towel you were both situated on. You tapped on the screen of your phone, the light appearing and the numbers illuminated.

4:20pm

"I have like- ten minutes before my break is over," you managed to huff out in the middle of a string of incoherent whines.

"Yeah? Can make that work," Rafe replied, his warm breath on your ear as he leaned in.

You tried to think about what led up to this point, but your memory was spotty as you felt the tip of his cock kissing your cervix with each thrust. You could feel the rough skin on the tips of his fingers digging deeper into your waist, leaving red prints in its wake.

The lewd sounds that rose from your ass slapping against his pubic bones were thankfully drowned out by the lively chatter of the Tourons that found their afternoon best spent in a public beach.

Whining as he nips your ear, you turned your neck to deliver kisses to his lips. It was heated and slow, and you appreciated the way his tongue intertwined with yours. You could feel his smirk forming, prominent corners of his lips against you. You returned his smile with a giggle, cut short as his tip brushed against your inner most sensitive spot.

“F-fuck!” you cried out, your head doubling down. You only heard light laughter from behind you, his cock now thrusting particularly harder against your g-spot, controlled and purposeful.

His pace quickened, giving you no time to catch your breath. Pressure was put on your hips, his muscular arms forcing a constant rhythm. You felt tears creeping up your eyes as one of his hands snaked around your body, firm fingers finding your aching clit, teasing and pinching. Tears pricked your eyes, threatening to spill as you caged your bottom lip with your teeth.

"Too much?" he asked huskily by your ear. You nodded quickly, face contorting as you covered your mouth to avoid attracting any attention from the poor, unsuspecting people at the beach. “That’s just too bad.”

He didn’t let up, your mind going hazy, eyes brimming with tears from the overstimulation. The knot in your stomach tightened with each and every thrust, feeling your climax approaching. “Please, I’m about to come,” you panted, heart racing.

With that, Rafe’s hands moved quicker, continuing to rub against your clit and soon enough, your mind went blank, your voice muffled as you slammed your head down on the beach towel.

All through your orgasm Rafe kept his speed, fucking you relentlessly through your release, making you squeal and screw your eyes shut. Your walls clenched against his cock, releasing his groans from behind you.

“Fuck, your cunt is…” he moaned. “It’s squeezing my cock so hard.”

He grabbed your hair roughly, turning your head around to deliver a few sloppy kisses once again, a string of saliva connecting your lips as he pulled away, cursing under his breath as your cunt fluttered around him.

“I’m going to cum,” he grunted, emphasizing each word with another thrust to your poor, abused cervix. “And you’re going to take it. Is that right?”

Before you could let out a reply, you felt his hot, thick white ropes of cum filling your cunt, the heat warming your body. He slowed, still fucking your cunt nonetheless, his cock slowly entering in and out, ensuring that the remnants of his release remained buried inside of you.

Eventually coming to a stop, he took a moment to catch his breath, glancing down at the sweat that shone on his abs with the help of the beating sun.

Seeing your debauched form beneath him, he felt his cock stirring once more, the aching having not quite gone away yet.

“Shit… think you best call and try to extend that break of yours.”

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rose24207 · 18 days ago

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I think I just fell in love with you all over again

Summary: While on a casual city date, you and Gotak unknowingly take part in a wholesome social experiment by comforting a shy little girl

Go hyun-tak x reader

A/N: inspired by my tt fyp. Also; does anyone want to be in my taglist for kdramas?

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It was a warm Saturday afternoon in the city—one of those rare perfect days where everything just feels right. The sun filtered through the high rises, dappling golden light onto the pavement as you and Gotak walked hand in hand, fingers loosely interlaced, drinks in your other hands, chatting and laughing as if nothing else in the world existed.

You had no real plans—just one of those aimless dates where the goal wasn’t to do something, but to be together. He had worn that dark hoodie you liked, the one that made his eyes look even softer than usual, and you had dressed down in jeans and a cute top, wanting to match the laid-back energy of the day.

"Do you wanna check out that vintage bookstore you told me about?" he asked, nudging your side with a little smirk. "The one with the creaky floors and the judgmental cat?"

You giggled. “Only if we get ice cream after. I’m emotionally preparing myself to be judged by a cat. I’ll need sugar.”

“Deal,” he said with a chuckle, and gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

But just as you turned the corner onto a quieter street, the kind where little cafés spilled out with outdoor seating and elderly couples walked hand in hand, you both heard a tiny voice call out.

“Um... excuse me?”

You both stopped and looked around until your eyes landed on her—a little girl, no more than five or six, standing with her tiny hands balled into nervous fists at her sides. Her big brown eyes flicked between the two of you. She had on a unicorn hoodie, one sneaker untied, and a shy, nervous look like she was about to cry but didn’t want to.

“Hi, sweetie,” you said softly, kneeling a little so you didn’t tower over her. “Are you okay?”

She looked down at her shoes and mumbled, “My mommy went to the toilet and told me to wait outside. But I’m scared to wait alone. Can you wait with me?”

Your heart melted instantly.

Gotak glanced at you, and without needing to say anything, you both nodded. “Of course,” he said gently, crouching down so he was closer to her height. “We can wait with you. Don’t worry, okay?”

The little girl nodded slowly, her body visibly relaxing. You both led her to sit on a nearby bench, positioned just outside a small café with a restroom sign pointing to the back.

You sat on either side of her, giving her space, not pressing with questions. Gotak smiled down at her kindly. “What’s your name?” he asked.

She hesitated, tugging the strings of her hoodie nervously. “Lila.”

“Hi, Lila,” you said warmly. “I’m Y/n, and this is Gotak.”

She looked at Gotak, her big eyes inspecting him carefully.

“You look really pretty and handsome,” she said suddenly, like she couldn’t help it anymore.

You burst out laughing—not in a mocking way, but in that surprised, heart-squeezed kind of way. Gotak’s ears visibly turned pink, and you caught him blinking in surprise.

“W-what?” he asked, scratching the back of his neck.

Lila nodded very seriously, like she was saying something scientific. “You look like a prince. But also like you could fight a dragon.”

You covered your mouth, trying to stifle a giggle, but it was no use. Gotak gave you a wide-eyed look, his lips twitching into a sheepish smile.

“Well, thank you,” he said, chuckling nervously. “That’s... really nice of you to say.”

Lila’s shyness returned immediately after that, and she twisted in place, clearly unsure what to say next. Gotak leaned in just a little, lowering his voice conspiratorially.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Lila perked up and nodded, eyes wide.

“I’ve never fought a dragon before,” he whispered. “But I’ve read books about them.”

She gasped dramatically, and you chuckled again, watching the interaction unfold like something out of a movie.

“You like dragons too?” she whispered.

“Love them.”

Lila looked between the two of you, visibly more comfortable now. “Do you think dragons would be nice if we gave them snacks?”

“I think even dragons can’t resist cookies,” you said solemnly.

She giggled, kicking her little feet. “Me too.”

Minutes passed like that—talking about dragons, her favorite unicorn toy (which she called ‘Sprinkles the Destroyer’), and her theory that her mother could teleport. At one point, she leaned against Gotak’s side slightly, and he froze like a statue before relaxing and carefully adjusting so she could rest there more comfortably. You’d never seen him look more unsure and touched at the same time.

It made your chest ache in the best way.

You leaned toward him, murmuring, “You’re really good with kids, you know.”

He blinked at you. “Am I? I’m just winging it.”

“You’re adorable,” you whispered, brushing your hand briefly over his arm.

His blush deepened.

Eventually, two people approached from the direction of the café. A man with a camera and a woman holding a mic. You looked up, confused, until the woman smiled brightly.

“Hi! Sorry to interrupt—you two have just been part of a social experiment. This is for our YouTube channel Kindness Quest.”

Your eyebrows shot up.

The man held up the camera. “We wanted to see how people would respond if a child asked for help. Lila’s actually our niece, and her mom is just over there,” he said, pointing toward a woman waving from the side.

Gotak straightened in surprise, and you blinked in shock.

“Oh my god,” you laughed as you leaned you head against Gotaks shoulder. “We had no idea.”

“Yeah, you guys were so sweet with her,” the woman added. “A lot of people walked by or ignored her, but you stopped immediately. And the way you interacted with her—adorable.”

Lila waved. “They talked about dragons with me!”

The man chuckled. “We’ll be posting this next week, but if you’re uncomfortable with being shown, we can blur your faces or cut the footage.”

You and Gotak exchanged a look, then shrugged.

“We’re okay with it,” you said.

The woman beamed. “Thank you both! And thank you for being such kind humans. Seriously.”

After a few more thank-yous and another shy compliment from Lila to Gotak—“You’re still the prettiest prince I’ve seen”—you and Gotak resumed your walk through the city, this time a little more dazed and grinning like fools.

Gotak stuffed his hands in his pockets, his ears still pink. “I can’t believe she said I look like a prince.”

“She’s right,” you teased. “My mysterious, dragon-fighting, unicorn-loving prince.”

He rolled his eyes but was smiling softly. “It was... kinda nice. Talking to her.”

“You were so sweet with her,” you said honestly, nudging him. “Like... ridiculously sweet. I think I just fell in love with you all over again.”

He laughed, eyes crinkling. “Just for that?”

“That, and the way you said, ‘I’ve never fought a dragon before’ like it was the most serious confession of your life.”

He nudged your shoulder, and you both laughed, turning into the vintage bookstore at last. The wooden sign creaked, and the scent of old pages hit you instantly. The cat, true to its reputation, gave Gotak a judgmental once-over and promptly walked away.

You grinned. “Told you.”

He sighed. “I should’ve brought Lila. She could’ve handled that feline tyrant.”

The rest of the date was full of soft moments—browsing books you didn’t need, sharing a cone of mint-chocolate chip, and recounting the whole interaction with Lila multiple times, each time ending in laughter or a new dragon theory.

As the sun dipped lower into the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and lavender, you leaned your head on Gotak’s shoulder while sitting on a bench near the riverwalk.

“She really liked you,” you murmured.

He looked down at you, a gentle smile on his face. “I liked her too. And... I liked seeing that side of me. With you there.”

You turned to look at him, heart so full it ached a little. “You’re gonna be such a good dad someday.”

His eyes widened slightly at that, but then they softened. He didn’t say anything, just reached for your hand again, lacing your fingers together like it was second nature.

And in that golden hour glow, the two of you sat together, hearts light, smiles soft, and the sweet voice of a little girl echoing in your minds—“You look like a prince.”

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren, @esposamultifandom, @darleneslane, @stxr-lilac, @geumseongjelicker, @itzzezraa

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onlyhereforthestories · 7 months ago

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Ice Falling (Ingrid Engen x Reader)

Day 7 woooooo. I really loved writing for Ingrid I want to do more with her

You weren’t quite sure how Ingrid had convinced you to go ice skating, especially considering your well-documented lack of skill on skates. But the holiday atmosphere in the city, with lights twinkling on every tree and garlands hung on every lamp post, had you feeling festive. When Ingrid suggested an afternoon at the outdoor rink, her face alight with excitement, it was impossible to resist.

The rink itself was magical. Tiny string lights dangled from above, and festive music filled the air as families, couples, and friends circled the ice, their laughter and cheers echoing around you. As you stepped onto the ice, the reality of what you’d agreed to became clear. You’d never felt this unsteady, and immediately reached out to grip the side of the rink, sliding ungracefully in an attempt to steady yourself.

Meanwhile, Ingrid glided over with effortless ease, skating backward and giving you an amused, sympathetic grin. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold, and the sparkle in her eyes hinted at how much she was enjoying watching your struggles, something you did have to admit was rare.

“Here, take my hands,” she said, stretching her gloved hands toward you. You took them gratefully, her hands firm and steady in yours. She was watching your every move with that familiar, playful smile, ready to catch you if you slipped but also tease you when it happened.

“Alright, step one: don’t think about it too much. Just keep your knees bent and glide with me.” She spoke gently, encouragingly, but there was also a spark of amusement in her eyes as she took a small step backward, pulling you along.

You couldn’t help but laugh at your own shaky steps as you tried to mimic her graceful movements. “Easy for you to say! You’re practically flying out here.”

She laughed, a bright, infectious sound. “I guess this is one benefit of growing up around snowy fields,” she teased, glancing down at your feet as you inched forward. “But you’re doing great, really.” You had been to Ingrids hometown for Christmas last year and got to truly witness what a white Christmas is. Norway was covered in a thick layer of the white powder for pretty much the whole of the winter, whereas England where you grew up barely saw and inch a year. It was no wonder you couldn’t skate to save your life, and Ingrid was the epitome of beauty gliding across it. Although you would always say she was the epitome of beauty doing whatever she does so.

Slowly, with her steady grip and gently encouragement, you found a bit of a rhythm. The two of you moved together, although every now and then you would wobble, nearly taking her down with you. Each time, she’d laugh and pull you back upright, her hold on you never wavering. The taller woman always had a way that made you feel safe.

At one point, she took one of your hands and led you out a bit further into the open ice, away from the wall. “Look at you! See? We’re actually moving now,” she said, her grin wide as she skated alongside you, no longer having to be in front of you dragging you along.

You couldn’t help but laugh, both exhilarated and a little terrified, feeling your feet slide with every step. “Please don’t let go of me,” you said, half-joking, though you held onto her hand as if it were the only thing keeping you upright. And maybe it was. No maybe about it.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she replied, her gaze softening as she gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. Now that you were starting to get a hang of the balancing and moving part, she started pointing out small tricks to help even more: how to bend your knees just right, how to lean forward for balance. Every time you got a little better, she’d cheer, her delight as genuine as if you’d just won a match. An expression you knew from her very well.

In moments between her instructions, she’d make you laugh which ultimately put you off balance and then shed tease you lightly when you wobbled. She couldn’t resist playfully pulling you along at times, giving you just enough of a thrill to get your heart racing with that I’m about to fall adrenaline. You’d squeal, clinging to her hand, and she’d only laugh harder, loving every second. Which in turn made the slight seconds of scared worth it, you’d do pretty much anything to hear that sound coming from the woman.

Eventually, after a few laps, you found yourself actually gliding a bit smoother. You let out a triumphant laugh, and Ingrid cheered along with you, proud of your small victory. And it was a small victory because you still hadn’t let go of the Norwegians hand. As you glided around the rink with the woman you loved you couldn’t help getting lost in the moment, the Christmas music playing from the speakers around the rink, the flashing lights strung perfectly around the bars on the side of the rink, and the cold breeze whipping your cheeks just right for the setting. It all made you feel like you were floating.

After a little while longer, Ingrid guided you back over to the entrance to the rink, she held your hand firmly as you took the step off the ice. Only when both your feet were on solid ground did you release the brunette’s hand with a sigh of relief. “Thank god for that. I think my blood pressure is through the roof.” Ingrid couldn’t help the laughter that burst out at your comment.

“I think you deserve a hot chocolate after your ordeal my love.” She said, smiling as she caught her breath. She took your hand back in hers after you both returned your skates, and you noticed the ease at which she pulled you along with her. That ease that comes with love and trust in a person to just go with them no matter what, a feeling that was very new to you but you wouldn’t change for the world.

Once you both had your drinks, she led you over to a bench overlooking the rink. You huddled close, her arm around your shoulders as you sipped from your cups, watching the other skaters’ whiz by. Ingrid was warm beside you, and every now and then she’d nudge you playfully as a skater on the ice wobbled or stumbled, as if to say hey, look they are doing what you did.

You sat in that comfortable silence for a while before Ingrid spoke. “You really did great out there,” she said, her voice soft. She looked at you with a smile that was equal parts pride and fondness.

“Only because I had you to hold onto,” you replied, leaning into her. She chuckled, resting her head against yours.

“Well, I have to admit,” she said, gazing out at the rink with a thoughtful expression, “I like being able to hold onto you, too. Maybe we should make this a new holiday tradition?”

You turned to her, catching the warmth in her eyes, the soft way she looked at you with a mix of admiration and contentment. “Oh, honey you haven’t got a chance of this happening again.” Ingrids face split into the biggest grin as the giggles escaped her. It might not be a new tradition for you both, but it is a memory you won’t forget anytime soon.

#woso x reader #woso imagines #woso imagine #ingrid engen x reader #ingrid engen imagine

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lanormie · 7 months ago

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heathens

how you met Dabi and Shigaraki during a prison break wc: 1.4k cw: graphic violence, minor character death, implied sexual harassment

Whoever came up with the idea of implementing gen-pop at Tartarus is an imbecile.

Leave it to the Commission and their precious heroes to believe the most dangerous and irredeemable criminals should ‘get a chance at rehabilitation’ by socializing with other dangerous and irredeemable criminals. It’s utterly ironic that most of them end up getting shipped off to rot in solitary anyway, with how often vicious fights and mutinies break out.

These people, or these villains, are either masterminds or mass-destruction weapons, or somewhere in between. But they all have one thing in common: they’re absolutely batshit insane. And when it comes to keeping these psychotic individuals in check, quirk-nullifying cuffs are band-aid on a bullet hole. So naturally, they’re never really ‘in check’.

You’d like to think you’re also batshit insane, but after spending months in this pit of hell, you don’t think you have a realistic point of reference anymore. After all, you still have some pitiful remnants of sanity left at the bottom of the barrel, and they tell you that those 15 minutes of outdoor time everyday is worth not choking the shit out of Tosaka, the creepy ass guard assigned to your block.

Most days are spent keeping to yourself, constantly looking over shoulder watching out for Tosaka’s wandering hands, and doodling like a fucking toddler who has only one way of expressing their morbid and unfiltered obsession with mortality: through hilariously wobbly drawings that involve blood and scattered innards.

Crunch.

The lead of your pencil gives out under the pressure of your hand, and you curse. A strange foreboding feeling has been weighing you down all day, keeping you awfully on edge.

Tension has been simmering within the confines of these reinforced walls for days, ever since that one high-profile criminal was escorted through the halls of Tartarus towards their current holding: the solitary wing.

Shigaraki Tomura.

He hasn’t been released to gen-pop yet, but his presence has already divided the prisoner population neatly into two. The first half are foaming at their mouth for a challenge, and the other half are quaking in their boots and sweating bullets. Either way, it’s not going to be a pretty sight.

Getting up from your creaking metal bench, you make your way towards the hand crank pencil sharpener. Looking up to make sure Tosaka isn’t around to make some nasty comment, you shove the pencil into the receptor, eyes catching on to some movements across the room.

The crowd near the entrance starts to cautiously part, and you see two high-level guards escorting in a new face. A patchy, stitched together by staples face, like a fucked up teddy bear. His frightfully bright turquoise eyes peer around as he keeps getting pushed forward by the guards, seemingly bored out of his mind. Until those lidded orbs catch yours.

A roguish smirk pulls painfully at the staples around his cheek as he gets led in your direction. He keeps his eye contact keen till he’s almost past where you stand, only then does he mouth a string of words to you.

“Count to ten.”

And you do.

One.

He winks mischievously before finally turning away.

Two.

The guards urge him through the exit behind you.

Three.

You realize that’s the exit leading to the solitary wing.

Four.

You return the to the hand crank sharpener.

Five.

You start rotating the crank with utmost caution.

Six.

You check to see if the pencil is at its peak sharpness.

Seven.

It is.

Eight.

You take a deep inhale.

Nine.

And exhale.

Ten.

Alarm starts blaring, its sound deafening and its red light blinding. It’s an assault to the senses, but you know better than to start cowering. Some rumbling can be felt through the floor, and whatever it is is barreling its way in your direction.

Suddenly someone’s yanking you backward, and you whip around to find Tosaka with his features twisted in panic and anger.

“Inmate, back to your cell, now!”

“Unhand me bitch.”

You snarl, and with practiced precision, you jam the pencil into his eye socket.

An ear piercing shriek leaves his throat, catching other guards’ attention. But before they can mobilize, a wave of prisoners, no doubt emboldened by your mutiny, moves to take them down one by one.

With the pencil in your hand still wedged into Tosaka’s brain, you jog the bastard backward towards the wall behind him and smash his skull against it, knocking the jerk out cold. Immediately, you start rummaging through his pockets till you find the tiny metal god that would answer all your prayers: the quirk nullifying cuff master key.

You are finally free of the cuffs when the entrance wall gets smashed open. And then you see them. Grotesque, dripping in blood and saliva, brain-hanging-out-in-the-open absolute freaks of nature.

Nomus.

Not looking to die a gory death today, you press yourself against a column and watch the creatures pummel their way towards the solitary wing, reducing guards and prisoners alike to puddles of crimson flesh.

Holding your breath as they rip the doors apart and disappear into the hall, you back away towards the entrance, hoping the wreckage they left on their way in would lead you out of here.

C’mon, gimme something. Where are you buddy?

You close and open your palm repeatedly, searching and willing for your quirk to kick into gear. The path to the outside is hilariously straightforward, almost like a tunnel, with sweet, sweet sunlight shining in at the end of it. Stuffing your lungs with a deep inhale, you step on the gas.

You’re so close to ditching this joint when a blur of woody brown abruptly lands in front of you.

“Not an inch further, inmate.”

Another thud lands behind you and you whip around.

Heroes. You’re cornered by goddamned heroes.

Turning back forward, you decide to buy yourself some time.

“Kamui Woods! Wow, the news made you look so much taller.”

Any second now.

“And you!” You turn towards the other hero. “Sorry, no clue who you are.”

“I’m–”

“Don’t give a shit.” You cut him off. “Why don’t you guys make yourselves useful and chase after the real threat in there, hm? Nomus seem way more urgent than little ol me– ow!”

Kamui Woods’ woody tendrils shoot out and wrap around your upper body in suffocatingly tight coils. You, however, don’t even bother to wiggle out of the hold, because you can finally feel it approaching. And it’s approaching fast.

The corner of your lips pulls into a smirk when a small blur of white dashes in from the entrance, ripping straight through the tree trunk bastard’s heart on its way to its final destination: the center of your open palm.

You’re reunited once more with your most prized possession: the ivory blade crafted from your own rib bones. A deadly weapon which you can manipulate its shape, size, density and speed through your quirk. And most importantly, it always comes back to you.

A maniacal cackle bubbles from your chest as the wooden tendrils fall limply from your body.

“You fucking idiot!” You roar at the fallen form of the Number Four Hero. Or shall you say, former No. 4 Hero. “You should’ve gone for the hands!”

You must’ve looked insane with the bloodlust craze in your eyes and the crimson-stained blade dangling from your hand cause when you finally turn around, you find the no-name fuckface slowly backing away from the scene.

Only to turn a petrifying gray, as if he has just looked Medusa in the eye, and disintegrate into dust. The ashened particles fall to the ground like sand, revealing a lanky figure with long, wavy silver locks cascading down his shoulders.

The stranger stares curiously at the corpse of Kamui Woods, his eyes following the splatter of blood from the hero’s left chest all the way to the dripping tip of your beloved dagger.

All of the sudden, the rubbles and ruins behind him erupt into scorching blue flames. Moments after, the raven haired man you saw earlier emerges from the fire, looking not a least bit bothered by the raging heat.

Ruby and sapphire orbs meet yours, and in the flickering light of the inferno, the two men look ethereal. Like some deities blessed with breathtaking carnage and destruction.

Like angels of hell.

Scarred lips crack into a wide malevolent grin, and with a voice as thorny as his aura, the silvered hair man declares.

“It looks like you might be one of us.”

my sincerest apologies to Kamui Woods stans 🧎‍♀️ reader is a Tartarus level criminal with a pseudo mjolnir, he didn't stand a chance 🫡

#and that kids is how i met your fathers #VERY loosely inspired by Heathens by Twenty One Pilots #dabi #shigaraki tomura #touya todoroki #dabi x reader #shigaraki x reader #kamui woods #mha #bnha #mha x reader #bnha x reader

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bunny-jpeg · 1 year ago

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trust - astarion ancunin

pairing: astarion ancunin x fem!reader rating: 18+ tags: pwp, smut, outdoor sex, intimacy & love, missionary, sappy & sweet

Oh how times had changed. Astarion was a new man, more of a man than he was for the past two hundred years. He was no longer a captive to a sadistic vampire master who only saw Astarion as a means to capture prey.

And it all changed because the vampire spawn made the acquaintance of a young traveller. If Astarion had a bit more malice in his heart he would've killed you or at least tried. But you showed him a kindness that he didn't understand at first.

'Why me?' He'd often think to himself when you proved that there was no malicious intent with your actions. If he wanted to be free from the curse of a spawn, then you'd help him with his goal. It took him a while to get adjusted to the freedom.

But Astarion was a curious man. The way a moth is curious when nearing a flame. He wondered if he'd get burned, or worse, fully disintegrated. Dust from your simple touch.

“I want you.” He said softly one night, his voice low in your ear, “Will you join me tonight?” His slender fingers caught strands of your hair. It was an old seduction tactic, but it wasn't to find food for his master. It was to indulge in passion for himself.

You looked over to him. Your eyes met his, you were captivated by the red of his eyes. You could only describe them as rubies, but you knew they held a lot of heartbreak. Only one look at his back gave you all the answers you needed.

“Astarion.” You replied, “Do you want me to join you?”You fully turned around. There was a slight height difference between you two so you had to tilt your head to look at him, “Do you want me, or do you want to feed?”

He frowned, “Of course I want you, why wouldn't I?” He leaned in closer, “I want to know what our party leader tastes like. You freed me of my strings, darling. I am no puppet to no master. If I want you, it's of my own free will.” His expression softened.

You reached for him and touched his face. His skin was cool and soft. Part of you expected it to be like marble the way his features were carved. Your gaze quickly dropped to his lips before you made eye contact once more. You dragged your touch down to his chest and placed your hand over where his heart was.

If it was still beating you wondered if it would be racing. Questions of Astarion's mortal place died on your tongue, bringing up the past would only ruin the mood.

Just as Astarion was curious about you, you were curious about him. A high elf turned vampire, a magistrate turned spawn. A creature of the night with an insatiable lust for blood. So many questions yet so little answers.

“Tell me again you want me.” You said.

He leaned closer, he crowded into your space as he said softly, “I want you. I want all of you, darling. I want to know what you feel like inside and out. I wish to devour you whole.” He pulled away, his hand took yours, “Is that enough convincing?“

You frowned, ”I am trusting you, Astarion.“

He chuckled, ”That's the first I've ever heard that. I don't think anyone has ever trusted me.“ He took your other hand, his fingers locked with yours, ”This will be exciting then, Trust.“ You could see the hint of a smile on his lips. You were inclined to smile back.

You gave him his freedom. You ripped the chains from him and gave him the choice to determine his own life. You could not heal his vampirism, but you could care for him. Maybe make him believe he wasn't a monster.

Trust. There was a nice ring to it. Trust between two willing parties and as he led you through the thick of the woods, you were more than willing to see how deep the trust ran.

The moon hung heavy in the sky as if it was threatening to drop on the earth. It cast a light across the land as you stepped out from the woods and into a clearing.

You held his hand tighter when you heard the call of an owl from the top of one of the trees.

”I'm certain an owl won't hurt you, darling.“ He led you to behind a grand rock, ”If It does, however. I'll slit its throat.“ His smile grew before he took you by the face and pulled you in for a tight kiss.

You tensed for a moment, your eyes widened before you relaxed into his touch and melted into the kiss. You held onto his arms and further the kiss. You could hear your heart racing in your ears. This was a strange feeling.

You had been intimate with men before. You were no stranger to their anatomy. But there was something enthralling about Astarion that you couldn't put into words. He was unlike any other being you had known.

He shuddered against your kiss before he pulled away, his breathing was a tad heavier. He sank with you down to the grass. The boulder obscured you both from viewing. It allowed you a little more privacy.

No owls had to see what you two were about to do.

”I've become addicted to you, my dear. I had been in a cage for so long and you freed me without a second thought.“ He took your face in his hands and he gazed down at you, ”You could've easily made me your slave. But instead you are more than willing to put a stake through the heart of my master. We have killed for each other and quite frankly, I'll continue to kill anyone who gets in our way.“

You wrapped your arms around him delicately, ”I want you to be a free man, Astarion. Even if I want to, I could never tame you. It would be like taming the great North Star, it's impossible.“

He chuckled softly, ”Getting soft on me now, aren't we?“ He tried not to feel the tug in his chest from your kind words. Maybe it was a desire to be in control and not collapse from the weight of your kind words.

You moved his hands away from your face and you held both of them to your eye level. You kissed his cold knuckles, all of his skin was smooth and soft. He hadn't aged a day in over two hundred years. You closed your eyes, ”You are the brightest star I can see.“ You opened them once more to meet his gaze, ”I would follow you to the pit of hell if it meant being by your side.“

Astarion looked at you, with minor shock across his face. He turned his head briefly to compose himself before he looked back to you, ”I think you'll be leading me to hell, darling. But it shall be much warmer with you by my side.“

You two kissed once more. Slowly you were stripped of your clothes. You parted so he could get your armour off of you along with the clothes underneath. Soon your items laid around you. You pressed your bare chest up against the front of his shirt.

The softness of the material tickled your breasts and paired with the cool air, your nipples grew hard. You exhaled deeply as you propped yourself up against the rock. You could feel the heat lingering in your face.

You could feel the heat intensify as he began to strip himself. You had seen Astarion nude before, you have seen all of your members nude at one point or another. It was the reality of being so close together. But under the pale moonlight, he looked less like a monster and more like a divine being.

Carved from the highest quality marble, the lines of his body enticed you. You swallowed as your eyes reached his hardened cock. Your hands dug into the green grass under you. It was impressive, sizable but not intimidating. To see it that close was far different than seeing it from a distance as he bathed in the river.

He noticed your gaze and reached down to touch the top of your head. His hand combed through your hair as he said, ”No need to feed my ego, darling. I know what you're going to say.“

You looked up to his face and straightened up, ”I didn't say anything.“

He laughed, ”You don't have to, I can see it in the lines of your forehead.“ He rubbed his thumb against the creases to smooth them out, ”I guess you want me as much as I want you.“

”I want you.“ You confirmed.

He got down to the ground quickly and encroached on your space once more. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, mindful of the scars on his back. The kiss you shared was more heated then the previous ones.

The time for affection was over as lust emerged. It heated your body as you both laid in the grass. His hands explored your body. He ran fingers across your own scars. He felt every curve that you possessed, he felt the moles and the raised scars from your dedication to training. You heard him hiss into the kiss as he grew more aroused by the feeling of you so close to him.

In over two hundred years he never had the fortune of a lover like you.

He laid you out on the grass, he gazed down at you. He kept himself up as he dug his hands in the grass under you. He took a moment to admire you. He had seen many mortal nude during his time on this planet. But there was a connection between you two that he couldn't deny. It wasn't sex for the sake of a meal. It was sex built on a foundation of trust.

For the first time in a long time, Astarion trusted you. In his eyes you could do no wrong.

If he was a star, then you were the angel that hung him up in the night sky.

”My darling." He said softly as he grabbed you by the waist and rested himself on his heels. His cock stood at full attention as he rubbed it up against your cunt.

You covered your face with his hands, “Astarion.”

“Don't hide yourself from me. I want to see how I make you feel.“ He replied as he reached to your face and pulled away your hands, ”Don't make me pin them down.“

You swallowed, ”You don't have to."

"Good.“ He replied softly. He brushed his cock up against your wet slit. He exhaled sharply from the feeling. It made his cock twitch with excitement. He soon guided his cock into your sweet sex.

He tried to pace himself so as to not cause you discomfort. He kept his eyes on you for any signs of pain as he sank further into you. His jaw tensed as he felt the warmth of lust spread from his gut. Soon he had every last centimetre inside of you.

You had taken him so well. He leaned down to pull you into a tight kiss, his hands were back on your hips as to guide them up and down his cock. You let out a high pitched noise that was muffled by his lips on yours.

”You feel divine, darling.“

”Shit, Astarion.“ You replied. Your heart drummed in your chest, your breathing was heavy as you laid in the soft grass. When he thrusted up into you it felt like his cock was pushing your insides up into your throat or maybe it was your heart trying to make a quick escape from the amount of pleasure you felt through your body.

You'd dare to say that your intimate encounter was romantic. Two bodies together in the depths of lust. He leaned over you and you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him into a kiss. In an effort to keep both of you quiet as you rutted like animals.

He played with your breasts as you tighten your legs around his waist. The sounds of your love making filled the open night air. You were thankful that you were far enough away from camp that there wouldn't be any curious members trying to seek you two out.

As if Astarion wasn't going to let the others know in his own sly way. Especially in front of Gale, who he thought had his eye on you. The vampire could have a jealous streak run through him like a splash of light in a dark sky.

Your hands roamed his shoulders, your fingers dipped low enough to touch the scars on his back. He melted into your touch, a sign of comfort towards your hands on him.

When he broke the kiss, he continued to thrust inside of you.. His eyes met yours once more, ”You look lovely under me.“

You reached out for him and held his face as you moved in time with his thrusts. You replied, ”I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.“

”Good.“ He said, 'Because I have no intention of letting you under another man or woman. For as long as your heart beats, you will be mine.”

You leaned up to kiss him on the nose. It was so intimate as you replied, “That sounds good to me.” Then you two kissed once more as you felt yourself nearing climax.

Hands roamed, bodies moved. Lust filled the night air as the two of you made love under the moonlight. A life with the vampire didn't seem so horrible. You tightened your legs around him as he rocked back and forth against you.

Your heart fluttered at the feeling of intimacy between you two. Trust was all you could think of. It was the adhesive that kept you two together, that and an undying, unwavering commitment to one another.

Astarion, the vampire and you, the mortal, rutted against one another in the dead of night. You gripped onto his shoulders as the intense feeling of climax flooded your bloodstream and made you light headed.

You yearned for the release. You wanted to orgasm on his cock. You could feel the grass stick to your sweaty back as the two of you moved together. The gentle sounds between you two as the urge became stronger.

You were no longer alone in these travels. You didn't only have a party to rely on, but also a vampiric lover who wanted nothing more than to devour you. You were his; mind, body and soul. But he too was yours in the same way.

Matched in wits and skill. Fighters till the end. The thought excited you. What would become of your future?

With another searing kiss, you both climaxed in each other's arms. You clawed your nails down his arms as his grip bruised your hips. With a final thrust, he finished inside of you. He marked you as his, and the thought made his body run hot.

When he pulled away, he looked down at you. He said with a smile, ”Forever mine.“ Before he pulled out of you and laid beside you in the grass.

Your breathing was laboured as you laid next to him. You could feel his cum stick to your inner thigh as he spooned you. You held his hand as he held you by the middle.

His lips grazed at your neck. He sighed with content, ”I could turn you tonight and we'd be together until the sun melted the earth.”

You chuckled softly, “How about we finish our quest first. Then we can spend eternity together.”

He replied, “I can be impatient. But I will be patient for you, my love.”

You relaxed into his arms and felt your eyes grow heavy, “Good. Now let's kill Cazador.”

He chuckled, “Of course, my dear.” Then laid one last kiss onto your heated skin. He was scared at the thought of seeing his master again. But maybe, just maybe, with you by his side, he'll gain the courage to break himself fully free of the chains he carried.

If you believed he could be free, then he'll trust you and believe it himself.

#bunny writes #baldur's gate #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #bg3 #astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion #astarion smut #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate astarion #astarion bg3 #bg3 fanfiction

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