#THE SKULL GRINDING GUN???

[randomcollection-o-stuff]

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA WE ARE SO BACK BABYYYYYYYYYYYY

[konigsblog]

my thots on this post.

guns ‘n blowjobs...

simon riley who holds a gun on the back of your head while you're sucking him off.

his grunts are guttural and quiet as he gazes down at you, watching as you frantically suck him off sloppily, with drool and spit dripping from your chin. simon chuckles lowly, a cruel and taunting grin plastered on his face. “lower, baby. keep suckin’ me off... already got m‘finger on the trigger, don’t wanna see you’r guts.”

your eyes glisten with tears as you gag, forcing your head further down his shaft as he teases you, letting out soft cooes at the sight of you desperately trying to please him. “there’s m‘girl... there she is.” your lips become puffy, wrapped tightly around the base of his thick and veiny cock, mascara and tears covering your cheeks as you babble and mumble, crying gently through fear of not doing good enough for him.

the muzzle pressed against the back of your head is enough to send you spiralling, desperately trying to prove yourself as a good girl, that you can suck him off nicely. you gag loudly, forcing your lips fully down to his base, your nose pressed against his pubes. you cry weakly, shuddering and trembling as he presses the muzzle of the gun firmly against the back of your head.

“look so pretty on you’r knees, all f’me, yeah?” he cocks his head to the side, one large hand pushing your head down further, feeling the way he bulges out your throat. “cryin’ ‘nd slobberin’ all over you’rself...” he smacks the gun against your head, listening to your soft sniffles and weeps as he continues to grind his dick down your throat.

you bop your head slowly, holding his length by the base while you look up into his eyes obediently, seeing his dark eyes harden and narrow in on you behind the mask. he looks down at you with disgust, and some sort of sick and twisted desire; a used cumsleeve.

throwing his head back, his breathing becomes heavy and hot behind the skull balaclava, his orgasm rushing through him as he shoots ropes of his arousal all down your throat. he bucks his broad hips against your face, keeping your mouth down at the base, taking every drop of his pearly, milky, butter load.

he watches you pant heavily, eyes glistening and cheeks tearstained and glossy. his dick hangs low, balls heavy and still full. he presses the gun between your eyes, pushing you down onto your back and slowly dragging the muzzle of the gun down to your lips, forcing it into your mouth. your lips wrap around the muzzle of the gun, his finger nearing the trigger as he begins to rub his bulbous, hot shaft between your slit and clit, easing inside slowly while you cry and moan around the gun. your pleasured sounds become muffled, your eyes filled with delirium and ecsasty as he begins to fuck you restlessly.

one leg over his shoulder, allowing him to fuck deep into your slick and wet cunt. you rub your clit, your other hand gripping his gloved wrist, arousal dripping from your pussy as he continues to pound into you. each thrust has you moaning, with your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your cunny latching onto his thick, meaty cock. you look into his eyes; already cockdrunk, stupid off of his big dick. you're barely unable to mutter a coherent sentence out, moaning through pleasure at the feeling of his balls smacking against your ass.

your gummy, tight walls pulse around his shaft as he thrusts into you, driving his thick hips into yours. simon's wet, slick dick twitches and throbs deep inside your hole, your clit sensitive as you stimulate it with your fingers, desperately chasing that desired release that keeps you on edge. you become dizzy, arching your back as you suckle on the metal material, your drool dripping from the weapon as he teases you for getting off to this.

“such a filthy thing’, gettin’ off to this... huh? such a dumb slag, can’t even speak -- jus’ a moanin’, dumb mess.” each thrust has your body twitching and squirming, the sensation of your orgasm rupturing through you, causing you to squirt against his muscular, hairy abdomen, your juices coating his scarred skin. you pant, breathless as he doesn't stop for a second, still chasing his own release.

it doesn't take long for simon to be stuffing your swollen, puffy cunt full with his white, hot cum, droplets and fat globs of his load dripping out from your hole. your legs shake and tremble, lips puffy and cunt drooling, your body used and raw as simon takes a deep breath, admiring the mess he'd made of you.

[moi5t-fk-fruit]

✩ Ghost Fucking You in a Alleyway ☾

Oneshot ⋆⁺Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem!Reader⋆⁺

⋆⁺₊⋆ Summary: While trying to avoid shadows, you and Ghost get stuck in between a tight alleyway. And sure Ghost’s gun is hard but not as hard as his dick pressed upon your ass. All your Lieutenant needs is a quickie!

⋆⁺₊⋆ Warning: Pet Names, Dirty Talk, Unprotected p in v, Creampie, Multiple orgasms, Semi Public Sex, Groping, Rough Sex, Praising, Breeding Kink, Gagging, Cummm. NSFW! SMUTTT! After Care? :3

⋆⁺₊⋆ A/N: This shouldn’t have taken me so long. Just enjoy plz and thx 4 reading cuties <3 Plz support by reposting ;3

Nsfw below the cut

Imagine…

Ghost and you sneak through houses and alleys, taking down any shadows in your way. Rain splashing with every footstep taken.

“Come here-" Ghost grips your forearm and pushes you against him as he leads you through the allyways.

You follow trying to pick up your feet to his speed.

Feeling your back on his armed chest as he tries to keep you close to him. He slows down and lowers his head close to your ear, you can feel yourself almost trip when his hot breath is on your bare neck.

“Trying to find somewhere secure. There's too many of them. Better to wait it out.“ he whispers close so only you can hear him. As you’re still trying to comprehend the situation, he brings you both to a stop and slides into a narrow alley.

He waves you over and you both try to get deeper where the street lights won’t expose you.

Running on adrenaline you both didn’t realize the alleys becoming tighter. Only when it was too late and you shuffle against him.

“No stop-“ he breaths out, you’re pinned against him and can feel him all around you.

“Fuck m’sorry sir.” you’re more than embarrassed, your hands are in front of you on the bricked wall.

“Just stay still.”

“Can’t stay still. Your so-hard against me-“

“What?” You can sense his eyebrows curling and even his lips forming a smirk but it quickly vanishes as your embarrassment got the best of you. You began to arch away from him and shuffle off of him.

“Y/n stop” He almost growls out. You ignore and try again, this time he’s had enough and his gloved hands grip the sides of your waist. Though the timing could’ve never been worse.

As he pushes you down you accidentally grind onto him, assuming the hardness on your ass to be a gun. Letting out a cut whine of discomfort.

Out of your sight, Ghosts head shoots back to the wall behind him, biting his lip to the point where blood could be drawn. Keeping quite.

“You mind moving your fucking gun lieutenant.” You stutter out.

“That’s not my fuck’n gun sergeant.”

His voice is somehow deeper and his accent thicker than you’ve ever heard, he’s desperate.

He’s hands are still on your waist as your eyes widen due to feeling the large imprint of his crouch on your ass. If your cunt wasn’t already wet from him being all over you, it’s soaked now. He lets his head fall to the crook of your neck. Your bodies fuming together. In defeat you let your head fall to his chest you can now see his balaclava and skull mask, his eyes are shut.

“Told you to keep still.”

Silence falls, you look up to the starry night. The storm now soaking you both more, feeling rain droplets fall on your face. Ghost focuses on your breathing and his hands that still grip on your waist loosen. Not wanting his gloved hands to leave your body you grab them, moving them lower to create a space in between the warmth your thighs. Your eyes flutter as he leads himself, his large hands squeeze and kneed your inner thighs. You turn your head close to his ear. Softly praising him to continue, he boldly moves his hand towards your clothed cunt and gropes you, you whimper and arch into his hand. He also turns his head to face you, admiring your slightly illuminated scrunched features as the pleasure gets to you. Ghost shuts his eyes when he grinds his dick against your ass again, much rougher, his lips parting open from the friction. You moan into his covered parted lips.

“Tha’s it. Jus like that pretty girl.”

He kisses you, it’s sloppy and full of hunger. You begin to kiss him back and his balaclava becomes wetter with the rain and the way both of your saliva starts mixing. He groans softly when you catch his bottom lip in between your teeth through his mask. Detaching after a slow tug.

“How about we speed this up-huh pet?" His other hand taking a hold of your throat and giving it a squeeze. You nod and with your own hands you unbuckle your cargo pants. Ghost takes his hands off your body and helps by pulling your pants down, below your ass. A short hiss leaving you as you feel the coldness of the night.

"Been wearing these along. Who could've known you were such a slut on the battle field." He says while soothing your cunt through your laced panties, his thumb applying pressure to your clit.

"Wear'em for you"

"Really?" He lets out a low cold chuckle, sliding your panties down to your pants. Moaning when he gives your ass a squeeze.

"hands on the wall sergeant"

You obey and hear him unbuckling his own pants, listening to him groaning when pumps his shaft a few times before tapping his wet tip on your cheeks. Ghost lifts you and slides his dick back and forth through your wet folds, feeling the girth and length as he humps you from behind.

“You okay with this doll? You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes. I want it, please Ghost-”

“Fuck’n hell. You’re going to be the end of me.”

Ghost slides the tip of his dick to your entrance and slowly lets himself in and out. Your mouth agape and his hot breath bleeding through his mask into the cold air of the night. Thinking of the sight someone could catch you both in. Bent over and holding yourself against a bricked wall, the storm coving the lewd sounds carried with heavy breathing while your lieutenant fucks you from behind.

You both holding in the satisfaction of him inside you but failing as he slides his tip back out of you and slams his lengthy dick fully into your pussy. His heavy balls making contact with your ass and a splash occurring with the rain. Your loud moan cut out from Ghost coving your mouth with his gloved hands.

“Let’s keep those pretty moans for my ears only. Don’t want the whole city knowing I’m fucking you like this.”

Ghost continues fucking you, his dick deep inside your pussy, his balls splashing and hitting your ass with every thrust. You can feeling yourself at the edge of your climax.

“Need to cum Ghost- can’t go any longer…”

“Come on then pretty girl. Cum all over my cock, need to feel that fuck’n cunt tighten.”

He fucks you harder, until you moan ‘Ghost’ out, loud enough for him to take one of his gloves off and shove into your mouth. You cum hard onto his cock, tensing when tasting the metallic in your mouth as you whine into the his glove. Ghost shutters behind you, his cock twitching inside you as your walls tighten and your juices cover him.

“Gonna let me come inside you doll?”

You gag on the glove and he takes it out.

“Please Lieutenant, I need you.”

Ghost groans in the crook of your neck.

“Want me to breed your pretty pussy badly, huh-doll?”

“Yes-!”

You’re cut off with a hard slap on your ass and Ghost’s thrusting becomes unrhythmic. You listen to his hushed moans and heavy breaths as he stuffs his balls on your ass and coats your walls with his seed. You whimper from the feeling of his cock pulsing.

“Good girl, take it all in for your lieutenant.” Ghost continues riding out his high and doesn’t stop thrusting into you. He pulls your head back to see your face, only to find you practically drooling.

“You’ve gone cock dumb sergeant.” He chuckles and slows down, his cock softens inside you. Wiping away the drool with his one glove. He takes a hold of your chin as you both lock eye contact. From just the sight of him, your eyes shut and you cum on his soft dick. Ghost praises you through your second orgasm. You both feel the mix of cum dripping from your pussy down his shaft, undoubtedly staining Ghost’s pants. He groans while he pulls out carefully and you whimper from discomfort.

“You alright love?” He holds you, taking your now rough and wet hands off the wall, he begins to slowly massage them with his own calist hands. Until their back to their soft form inwhich he loves.

“Yes sir” You give him a warm smile that makes his pulse quicken. You rest your head back on his chest and begin lifting your pants up.

“Let me take care of you love-” You blush harder as he calls you that again. “-promise I’ll get you properly cleaned.” He slides your now drenched panties back up and pants. Buckling your belt for you, adjusting to the right fit. With the space you have you lean forward for him to slide his briefs back around his waist and pants. Giggling quietly when you hear him trying to rub off the cum that got on his pants with the rain. He wished you could see the smile that spreads on his face as he listens to your sweet giggles.

“We should get going y/n.” You hum, remembering where you really are. He helps you shuffle off him, trying to avoid anymore physical contact. You both begin to retrace your steps, now knowing the shadows are far gone. The street lights becoming more visible.

Before you get your gun out and focus back on the task at hand, you’re halted by Ghost turning you over to face him. He traps you against the cold wall with his large arms. You look up to him. Rain droplets failing from his skull mask and helmet. His eyes not leaving yours.

“Lieutenant?”

He detaches his skull mask and slowly lifts his balaclava up to his nose. Revealing the bottom half of his face. You observe his stubbled beard and slightly chapped lips, scars scattered around his face, one larger one extending across his lips. He looks down to your lips and his hands find the sides of your head. Ghost smashes his lips with yours. You both finding pleasure with his controlling mouth. Though he backs up and slides his balaclava back down, along with attaching his skull mask on.

“Let’s finish this mission and continue this later eh-sergeant?”

“Yes Lieutenant-”

“Atta girl.”

[saintshigaraki]

please, if you have the time and/or are feeling generous, please expand on that horror soulmate ran idea where he likes flexing his influence and power over you while you’re on shift….what kind of restaurant does reader work at? is the high-end kind where customers who look as rich and charming as ran come often…..or is it some regular diner/local favorite and ran likes coming over to call you sweetheart and darling and he likes tipping you $50-$100 bills………………………..he tips bigger and orders so much when he brings some work associates over during their lunch break or something 0_0

dior im so glad you ask bc I've been ruminating over these very questions for like a month....

yandere tw, ran is harassing the shit out of you at work rip, soulmate au, she/her pronouns for reader

i think you work at a really small rundown sort of place open 24 hours. pulling 12-hour shifts 12 days in a row just to pay the bills. it's pure and total chance that ran and his...associates waltz into your establishment. it's late and you're so so exhausted. you absolutely do not like the look of them. they're dressed nicely, too nicely for a place like this and they don't even bother trying to hide the guns peaking out from their waistbands. and beyond that you can smell it on them. you know their type. the type that get too handsy, that hold their tips over your head. make you do a song and dance and for what? the two dollars they'll so generously leave you when all is said and done? it's a fucking joke and you hate them all before they've even said a word to you.

your feet hurt so badly that you're limping a bit when you go to greet them and the smile you put on feels carved into your cheeks, throbbing like a wound. all their faces look the same to you. a big blur of dangerous man after man after man. you write down their orders without really listening. you want this over as fast as possible. you were set to be off in an hour, but with a group this big, you know that's now nothing but a pipe dream. god you're so so tired--

"and what is it you'd recommend, darling?"

something about the voice makes your eyes shoot up. airy, smooth, and nonchalant in a way that makes you grind your teeth and reluctantly pulls your attention. there's a nauseating sort of authority in it that has your hackles raised.

you're a bit shocked when you see who has spoken. he's pretty. long hair, obviously well kept, a tattoo on the side of his neck that makes you rather nervous, but it's his eyes that makes you step back. you feel the shift in the air when your gaze meets his, a crackling energy, two halves being made whole and all the other sappy shit people say when describing their first meeting with their soulmate.

no one mentions how scary it is, though. it's like you've lost a limb. or gained a parasite. you swear you can feel him in the back of your skull, already eating away at you. you don't want this. you don't want this. take it back you almost say aloud. please please take it back.

the man (your soulmate?) doesn't say a word. there's a slight quirk on his lips, but that could be anything. could mean anything.

you take a breath. you're tired—very tired—and now you're imagining things—delusional. your heartbeat slows. everything's fine. it's fine.

"ah ran, you've left the poor thing starstruck," a man to his right says, jostling him a bit.

the man—ran—tilts his head, still waiting, rather patiently, for a reply from his apparently airheaded waitress, struck down by his pretty face.

it's rather scary, being the sole focus of his attention. it's as though he's flaying your skin from your flesh, leaving you defenseless. like you're nothing but a young girl again, alone and cold and hopeless beneath his eyes.

it takes you too long to gather your wits. "the omelets are okay, good for a cold night." you just barely manage to keep the trembling from your voice, a shrillness that would in any way reveal your fear.

he smiles now, a real one. and it scares you. so amused by you, his little shaking waitress. "just okay?" he asks, taking pleasure in teasing you no doubt.

"this isn't a place you come to if you're looking for something gourmet." better to be honest than to get their hopes up. you can smell the money on them.

he laughs and you have to bite back your tears, you really dont like him. there's terror worming it's way beneath your skin. "it was a last resort, i'll go with the omelet, darling."

+

when you bring out their food you assume that will be it, at least for a little while. you'll refill their drinks again and again and again and pray they'll be gone by 2, but the worst of it is done. you'll hide in the back for the most part until they're gone. it'll be fine.

your hopes are quite quickly dashed once you set ran's food in front of him, avoiding eye contact but unable to keep the tremor from your fingers. before you can dart away his hand lashes out, forming a shackle around your wrist. tugging you far closer to him than you'd ever want to be. 

"why don't you join us for a bit. you seem tired. perhaps you're a bit hungry too?" he asks it like a question, but you know it's not. he has that sort of authority about him that lets you know he's used to be listened to. used to giving out orders and having them followed. you don't like it, and you make excuses even though you know it'll bode badly for you.

"i can't sir, i'm so sorry, but im still working and my boss will be--"

he cuts you off quickly and uncaring. "he won't mind."

he most definitely would, you think. your boss reminds you of ran a bit, in the way that he likes to exert power over others. quick to insult you, quick to admonish and threaten. he most definitely would care if he saw you sitting with some customers, even if the rest of the place was deserted.

"sir," you start again, "i could be fired please--"

"what's his name?"

you're taken aback. a bit confused, too. "your boss, darling. what's his name?"

there's a long pause before you say anything at all.

"hikaru," you tell him at last.

he smiles at you, tugs you in even closer. "thank you."

he smells good, you think absently. expensive. 

"hikaru!" he yells suddenly, causing you to practically jump out of your skin. your boss is quick to appear, looking like a beat dog. he seems to recognize ran, and he seems to be scared of him and you really, really don't like that.

"is there something i can help you with, sir?" he asks, timid as a mouse. your heart stops. there's something wrong here, you think. there's something very wrong and it's too late. its too late.

you're sitting beside ran now, his arm wrapped around you and his hand rubbing your shaking shoulder soothingly. "you wouldn't mind if she joined us, would you? we could use the company."

your boss' eyes flit over to you, just barely, before he bows his head again. "of course not, sir. it's no problem at all."

ran turns to you at that. "you hear that, darling. no problem at all." you look down and can't help but notice drops of red marring the pristine white of his dress shirt. it's right on the cuff. it's dried now, more brown than anything else but you recognize it for what it is.

you can't help but think you've stepped into a bear trap of sorts, and now your foot has been cut clean off. you’re screaming and screaming, trying to staunch the bleeding and ran won’t stop smiling. 

[vampsywrites]

balance of life

synopsis: "if you don't yield, we won't hesitate to kill the tsa-hik." as quadritch and his men launch a ruthless attack on your village, your life hangs in the balance.

pairings: olo'eyktan! aged up! neteyam x tsahik! fem! reader

tags: GRAPHIC VIOLENCE AND DEATH, mentions of guns, blood, gunshot wounds, violence, war, neteyam going feral, ambiguous ending hehe, mother neytiri suffering (again)

☄️part 2 💫

"Mawey! My people! Mawey!" Your anguished plea echoes through the air, tainted with a tremor of unbridled fear.

Gasping, you find yourself shoved to the ground as the weight of a marine's boot presses upon your back, mercilessly crushing you. A bone-chilling sensation courses through you as his rifle hilt presses against the side of your skull, the threat it posed abundantly clear.

The air fills with haunting screams, a cacophony of agony and desperation, as your people struggle frantically to break free from their restraints.

Quadritch chuckles, moving his gaze to the forest before him. "I know you're there, Sully. You and your little soldier boys."

Jake takes in the situation, clicking his tongue as he pressed his back further against the solid trunk of a tree.

Clutching his rifle tightly, he curses under his breath. The crackle of his communication device interrupts the tense silence as Neteyam's voice comes in.

"Sir? What's wrong? We have them outnumbered and surrounded…Why aren't we initiating an attack?"

Jake hesitates for a moment, a palpable fear gripping his heart as he struggles to find the right words. With a shaky hand, he presses a button on his neck, activating his device. His voice quivering as he delivers the news, "They've got Y/N at gunpoint."

Neteyam chokes, feeling the air get knocked out his lungs, his entire body tensing, muscles coiling like a tightly wound spring. From afar, Neytiri meets his gaze, and he can see the worry etched on her face as her hands shake immensely around her bow.

"Oh, my sweet girl," she rasps, watery eyes peeking at you from behind a tree.

Neteyam's teeth grind together, his jaw clenched so tightly that it might as well break. Swiftly, he pushes through the green foliage, moving closer and closer until you were in his sights. His heart plummets, and a nauseating feeling spreads through him as he catches sight of you.

Tears mar your dirt-streaked face, mingling with the soil as a soldier forcefully presses your face deeper into the ground. His heart shatters as he catches fragments of the frantic prayers that escape your trembling lips.

In the midst of the chaos, Quadritch's voice slithers through the air, its lethargic slur accompanied by a thick, heavily accented drawl. "Let me make something abundantly clear," he enunciates, his words laced with malice, "If you don't yield, we won't hesitate to kill the Tsa-hìk."

In an instant, Neteyam's snarl tears through the air, his fangs bared in a primal display as his instincts roar, urging him to protect you at any cost. The soldiers swiftly pinpoint his location, their weapons trained upon him.

Unwavering, Neteyam prepares to draw his bow, poised to take action. However, before he can make any moves, a hand firmly seizes his shoulder, dragging him into safety just as a barrage of bullets whiz through the air. He finds himself taking cover beneath a fallen log, with Lo'ak gripping onto him tightly.

"Bro," Lo'ak seethes through clenched teeth, arms wound tight around Neteyam in a chokehold as he struggles to hold the raging male down, "Listen to me! If you make any hasty moves, you'll only end up getting yourself killed."

Neteyam's muscles strain against Lo'ak's grip, his chest heaving with a mix of anguish and fury as his eyes dart to the direction where you're held captive. Eventually, Lo'ak's words begin to sink in, and he reluctantly relents, slowly easing his struggling.

Gritting his teeth, Neteyam focuses on the situation at hand, his mind scrambled and racing. The weight of his helplessness settles upon him, but a fiery resolve ignites within his core. He locks eyes with his brother, an unspoken understanding exchanging between them.

"Lo'ak," he growls, "I need you to cover my right flank."

.

A muffled sob bubbles up your throat as the sky demon circles you, his monstrous gaze drinking in the sight of your fear-stricken figure.

"That boy's takin' his sweet time, ain't he?" The colonel chuckles, his boot nudging against your cheek, forcefully lifting your face up. A low, contemptuous whistle resonates from deep within his chest as he scrutinizes your features with an unsettling gaze. "Well, well, ain't you somethin' to behold? No wonder he went ahead and crowned you queen."

The colonel's sadistic chortle then drops abruptly, his smug expression contorting into a frown as the forest echoes with a thunderous war cry.

A surge of adrenaline courses through your veins, compelling you to lift your head defiantly, your eyes locking onto a figure emerging from the shadows. "Ma Neteyam!"

Neteyam moves through swiftly, drawing his bow back and knocking an arrow dead set into a soldier's skull. The RDA, caught off guard, attempt to mount a defense. Their weapons swing and shoot haphazardly, their strikes frantic. Neteyam growls, easily avoiding their feeble attacks.

With a low hiss, he strikes, his blade digging deep into a marine's skin, leaving behind jagged, gaping wounds that mar their flesh. In a blood-soaked frenzy, his vision narrows, focusing only on his enemies, while the world around him blurs into a backdrop of carnage.

More warriors surge forward, joining the relentless attack. Arrows streak through the air, finding their targets with deadly precision, striking down the soldiers that had once surrounded you.

In almost no time, the weight pressing onto your back eases as the marine holding you hostage falls lifelessly to the ground.

Without a moment's hesitation, you propelled yourself onward, stumbling amidst the grim aftermath, desperately seeking sanctuary and cover from the chaos.

You were in such a state of blind panic that you failed to notice the piarcing gaze fixed on your back. Quadritch watched as you moved along the edge of the fields, a wry grin spreading over his lips, "Hey there, pretty bird."

In a single, fluid motion, he raises his weapon and mercilessly opens fire, his shots striking and finding their mark in your chest, sending a searing pain coursing through your body. You stagger back, a choked scream slipping from your lips as you feel your legs giving in.

"Y/N!" Neytiri's piercing shriek fills the air, her desperate cry reaching your ears as she swiftly drops down beside you, enfolding you in her protective embrace.

The crackle of gunfire intensifies, another relentless barrage of bullets tearing through the battlefield. With nimble agility, she hauls you into her arms, racing towards the nearest cover.

As her back finds respite against the rough bark of a tree, Neytiri's attention immediately turn to your injuries. Panicked, she assesses the extent of your wounds, her hands becoming stained with your blood as she applies pressure.

"My sweet girl," Neytiri's voice trembles in despair, her words saturated with raw emotion. Tears stream down her face, mingling with the dirt and blood that now stains her skin.

Sobbing, your body goes limp in her arms, sending the woman into a frenzy. Her voice rises in a haunting wail, a soul-piercing cry that reverberates through the battlefield.

"No. No. Great Mother! No!" she beseeches the divine with all her being, as if her fervent cries alone could alter the cruel course of your fate.

In that heart-wrenching moment, a figure drops down beside her, and Neytiri turns to see Neteyam, shrouded in blood as his usually steady temperment crumbled.

"Oh, Ma'Eywa, Great Mother, please no," he falls to his knees, his arms reaching out for you as he frantically takes you into his embrace. You whimper and stir, your head spinning as it falls onto his chest.

"Yawne? Hey, syulang. Hey, it's me," he cradles you closer, his lips gently pressing against your temple as you heave and shake in his embrace. "Shh, shh. I'm here now, right by your side. I'm here. I won't let you go."

"Ma'Teyam," you rasp, your eyes fluttering as the abyss of sleep beckons. "I…I am so tired."

With quivering lips and a voice choked with grief, he whispers your name, his voice a fragile plea."No, no, you have to stay awake, yawne. You have to stay with me," he presses in a hoarse whisper, his words trembling with a vulnerability you rarely see.

"Please," Neteyam's tears drip onto your pale face, fingers trembling as they brush against your blood-stained skin, gliding across your flesh with an almost desperate tenderness, as if his touch alone could heal the wounds that mar your body.

The battle rages on around you, the chaotic sounds of war blending into muffled ringing. In this moment, time stands still, and the world around you fades into shadows.

"'Teyam…" Gasping for breath, you feel a final heave escape your body before everything is consumed by a blinding light.

07/16/23 — I am writing a part 2 due to popular demand 🙈 I have a taglist ready as well! So feel free to comment if you would like to be added!

☄️part 2 💫

[dantakeyoman]

Hi! Is it ok if you write a neteyam x reader angst where instead he's dying its the reader? Thank you!

You Take the Bullet For Neteyam, and Nearly Die In the Process (Angst / Comfort)

Reader is Fem! Omaticaya

CW: near death experience, blood, wounds, lots and lots of crying, distraught Neteyam, i cried while writing this X (

Everything was going so well.

You and Neteyam had managed to make it back on the enemy ship, freeing Lo'ak, Tsireya, Tuk, and Spider, and getting ready to leave.

You all were fighting together, taking out enemy soldiers like a cohesive unit, a synchronized team.

Everything was going so well.

You and Neteyam had let the youngest get in the water first, shooting the soldiers that were trying to follow you.

"Get in the water, (y/n)! I'll hold them off!" the boy exclaimed, shooting another soldier between the eyes.

"No! I'm not leaving you!" you dismissed, shooting two soldiers of your own.

"Dammit, (y/n)!" Neteyam shouted in frustration, pistol whipping an oncoming human when he realized his gun was out.

That's when you noticed man with a skull tattoo aiming his gun directly for Neteyam, your gun having just ran out of ammo.

Everything was going so well.

"NETEYAM!" you screamed, tackling him into the water before the bullet could land.

The two of you landed right next to everybody else, Lo'ak, Spider, and Neteyam letting out shouts of victory.

But you knew something was wrong.

Especially when you were starting to lose your ability to keep yourself afloat.

Shit.

"My Neteyam," you gasped, clutching your chest, only to realize that there was a fair sized hole where your heart should be.

He whipped around quickly, his face etched with worry. "What's wrong, (y/n)?"

"I've been shot."

All the air in the world seemed to be sucked out in that moment, everything becoming slow, loud, and warped.

"Shit!" Lo'ak exclaimed, realizing that the water around you was turning red.

"(y/n)!" Tuk screamed, shaking as she clung to Tsireya.

"GET HER TO THE ILU NOW!" Neteyam shouted, picking you up by your shoulders, Spider and Lo'ak getting your feet.

The three carried you over to one of the ilu, propping you upright against Neteyam's chest, Tsireya and Tuk screaming when a large splurt of blood squirted out the hole.

Your world seemed to be going in and out. Sound, no sound. Touch, no touch.

And everything was becoming bright, and you were becoming sleepy.

"Neteyam......I am tired," you weakly spoke, laying limply against the boy.

At those words, he feverishly looked down at you, brushing some hair out your face.

"No, no, no, no. Keep your eyes open for me, my love. Do not go to sleep," he pleaded, making tsaheylu with the animal and zipping off towards the village, everyone else following close behind him.

"Neteyam!" His father shouted from a nearby rock, where he, his mother, and Kiri stand.

"Help!" Neteyam cried out, his voice hoarse and broken as pulled up.

"It is (y/n)!"

"Shit! Get her up here!" Jake shouted, running over and helping the boy carry you onto the rock, Lo'ak and Spider helping out as soon as they reached you.

The family carefully laid you down on the ground, trying to assess the damage.

Judging by your frantic sputtering, the bullet had pierced your lung.

Jake lifted you up, only to find the exit wound, which was spouting blood like a waterfall.

"What can we do?! There has to be something!" Neteyam shouted, frantically looking at the faces of his family.

"Here!" Tsireya exclaimed, grabbing some moss off of the rock and rolling it into a ball.

"Put this in the wound! It will slow the bleeding!"

Neteyam practically snatched it from her, quickly stuffing it in the hole in your chest.

"AYYYYYYYYYY!" you screamed in agony, writhing in pain.

"(y/n)!" Tuk cried, hiding her face in her mother's chest, scared.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please don't leave me. Stay strong," Neteyam sobbed, kissing away your tears in a frenzy.

This wasn't real. This had to be a dream. This couldn't be happening.

He had to be home. With you curled into his arms, napping in his tent, the sound of his grandmother grinding herbs in the background putting you both to sleep.

This had to be a nightmare.

"NETEYAM, PLEASE! Snap out of it and put this in her mouth!" Tsireya screamed, shaking her hand so he may take the the bottle, which had a special syrup inside.

But he was in a daze. Numb. Unable to process what was happening.

Jake huffed, taking the bottle and popping the cork open with his teeth, Neytiri opening your mouth as he poured it in.

When it was empty, Neytiri closed your mouth, massaging you throat to help you swallow.

"We have to get her back to my mother right away!" Tsireya stated, quickly quickly wiping her tears.

"(y/n)! Can you hear me? We're gonna get you fixed up," Jake nervously asked you, scooping you up in his arms.

You were still breathing, but no longer responsive.

He sat the both of you on an ilu, and rode as fast as he could back to the village, the rest of the family in tow.

"Neteyam! You need to snap out of it! (y/n) needs you!" Kiri sniffled, desperately shaking her brother.

"Bro! C'mon!" Lo'ak socked him in the arm, trying to see if pain would do it.

But it didn't

To Neteyam, you were everything. The moon. The sun. The air. The clouds.

He ate, slept, and breathed all for you.

You were his love. His woman. The future mother of his children.

His secret mate.

But in an instant, it was all being taken from him. In a way so violent, he wouldn't wish it on his worse enemy.

This couldn't be it. He couldn't live without you.

The Great Mother could not be this cruel.

When the family arrived at the village, Jake had already dropped you off at the Tsahik's marui, and was now nervously pacing around outside the closed doors.

"TSIREYA! COME HELP! QUICK!" Ronal exclaimed, sensing her daughter's presence.

The girl quickly got off the ilu, rushing into the room to assist the woman.

Lo'ak scooped up his brother, handing him off to his father, who decided it would be best to keep him as far away from this as possible.

...

Comatose.

That's what Norm called it.

You had been comatose for a week, and showed no sign of waking up any time soon.

In that time frame, Neteyam had not eaten or slept, only leaving the family marui to bathe.

It was worrying the Sully family. And every member had tried, in their own way, to get him to go out, get some fresh air.

But every time, he refused.

No air was fresh without you. Nothing was anything without you. So what was the point.

It had gotten to the point where Tsireya had had enough.

She snuck into the Sully marui late at night, knowing they were out for their weekly outing, and came face to face with Neteyam.

He was sitting on the ground, slumped against the wall with an empty look in his face.

A broken look on his face.

It physically pained her to see it.

"Neteyam. I am not here to convince you to leave. I am here to let you know that (y/n) is awake," she whispered, smiling as the boy's ears perked up, his face having life for the first time in a week.

"May I got see her? Please!" he pleaded, jumping up from his seat.

"Yes, yes. But you must be quiet. I am not supposed to be doing this," she shushed, placing a finger on her lips.

He nodded, and followed her to the Tsahik marui, where you lay sprawled out on the ground, staring up at the ceiling, fiddling with your fingers.

"My love!" Neteyam quietly exclaimed, running towards you.

You immediately perked at the voice, knowing exactly who it was.

"My Neteyam!" you smiled, allowing him to tackle you in a hug, painfully.

Tsireya's eyes nearly bugged out her sockets.

"FOR EYWA'S SAKE, NETEYAM! BE CAREFUL!" she whisper yelled, turning around and walking out the room to give you two some privacy.

"You...don't...know...how...worried...I...was," he smiled, peppering kisses on your face at each word.

"It is alright. I am okay now. See," you smiled, moving the blanket so you could show your patched up wound.

Being able to see your smile again....it was the best blessing the Great Mother could've given him.

It actually brought him to tears.

"My Netetam, why are you crying?" you aked, concerned as you swiped the hot tears from his cheeks.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, giving you a quick squeeze to make sure you were real.

Since he went a week without sleep, he frequently hallucinated throughout the day. And every single one was about you returning to him.

So he was a little skeptical.

This seemed too good to be true.

"I see you, (y/n). I see you so much, it hurts," he confessed, resting his head on your chest.

You blushed, running your fingers through his braids as you processed his words.

"I see you, Neteyam. I see you," you smiled softly, placing a feather-light kiss on his head.

And while this may be real, and you may be in his arms again, he would not forget this situation for the rest of his life.

The image of you lying on a rock, unresponsive and spilling blood, would be forever etched in his memory.

The smell. The sound. The feeling.

He would never let himself forget this.

This would fuel his determination to keep you safe more than ever. And he now knows that, without a doubt, he would lay down his life for you.

In a heartbeat.

[americanwh0rerstory]

KINKTOBER DAY ONE

gun play - tate langdon

tate langdon x f!reader

WARNING: gun play, degradation, m!masturbation, spit kink, slight dacryphillia

BACKGROUND INFO: the guns i would like you to picture is an m16 rifle and a pistol. if you don’t know what that looks like/gun anatomy here you go

NSFW BELOW THE CUT. CONSUME AT OWN FAULT

the cool steel of the rifle was nuzzled between your folds, the muzzle nudged your clit every time you rocked back and forth against the barrel eliciting soft whines from you all the while you looked up at tate through half-lidded eyes of lust.

he looked down at you with an equally lustful look, stroking his shaft in time with your movements against his gun. he rolled his thumb over his slit and worked his bead of precum into him as lube, his eyes trained on your every movement with a cold but lustful stare

“fuckin’ slut. speed up, i know you like it fast” he instructs in a tone as equally cold as his expression, but that facade faltered when you did speed up; a small tremor could be heard in his tone as he stroked himself faster whilst holding back his own moans

he grabbed a small handcanon from his desk with his free hand, pointing it at your tits before moving it to your head “i’d threaten to shoot you but you’d get off on it wouldn’t ya? dirty bitch, you’d like it if i shoved my gun down your throat, threaten to shoot you”

you rutted against the gun faster, his words only turning you on and making you leak over his gun even more. soft whines and ragged breathes escaped from between your slightly parted lips. you looked up at tate, moaning his name whenever the muzzle hit your clit at the perfect angle to make you see stars. throwing your head back in euphoria, you ground against the gun like it was your last day on earth.

he did exactly what he said he would do and put the handcanon in your mouth, making you suck it off as if it were his cock. the front sight nudged against the roof of your mouth with every pump tate made of it sliding between your lips. drool leaked out from the corners of your mouth from being forced to keep you lips so wide open to accommodate his gun, but you didn’t care. hell, tate seemed to be loving the way you drooled all over his gun.

a familiar knot began to build in your stomach, you bit down on the gun instinctively whilst letting out muffled whines of pleasure. your orgasm shook through your whole body, making your eyes flutter back into your skull and your entire body arch from how good this feeling was. your cunt clenched around nothing, wishing it was tate inside of you. his gun was drenched in your juices, dripping off of the barrel and puddling beneath the gun.

the sight of your own orgasm caused tate to finish too, his own release spurting out in hot ropes which splattered onto your body. this continued for a second or two before it slowly came to a stop. he let out a guttural moan, a low moan of your name spilling from his lips.

he carefully pulled the gun out from under you and gave the barrel a quick lick to taste the sweet release that came out of you. he flipped the gun so the heel was pointing towards you, flashing a cocky but teasing smirk before grinding it against your swollen clit. this elicited another loud moan from you, tears of pleasurable overstimulation threatened to spill from your glassy eyes; this didn’t stop tate at all

“youre pretty when you cry” he murmurs “with pleasure, i mean” he added as he ground the heel into you. “think i’m gonna stop cause you came once? course not. we’ve got all night”

[boyinatown]

SIT ON MY FACE, CALL ME DADDY.

Pairing: Lookism men x f! Reader

Summary: facesitting on lookism men, and how they would eat you out. 📼

Warning: face sitting, pussy pleasing & sexual theme.

JAKE KIM 👑

This man LOVES pussy, a real munch. he’ll be between your thighs for almost hours lapping your juices and biting your thighs. roughly slapping them when you try to move away from his grasp.

He’d just pull you back against his face by your thighs and throw your legs on his back. When you pull his face away from your cunt by his hair his scar is covered with your slick and cum. Honestly makes your hole throb on nothing.

He fingers you during his session, his favourite moment is when your body twitches and your trapping him between your legs almost crushing his skull. he continues sucking like his life depends on it happily grunting below you.

You’d wake up with him sucking on your clit , litereally just nose diving into it, obviously with consent. He’d do this so much to the point you threatened him with no sex or pussy for a week.

He cried in his sleep having to hold it together to not rip off your panties and just dig in. But he just loves his girl so much so he doesn’t mind the punishment <333

“Jake…get your hands away from my clit , now.”

“I can’t help it , it’s calling my name.”

he pouts continuing to suck on your hardened nipples all while rubbing your spot, hands flying to pull him away from your sore breasts but quickly giving up when noticing this man isn’t going anywhere.

JAMES LEE 💿

now I’m not 100% sure he’s as obsessed with eating you out like Jake , but if you were lying on your back legs spread and panties showing from underneath his oversized blouse he’ll be on top of you in a second ripping the blouse off and the buttons popping off.

He’s observant while sucking, Each move or small moan he goes deeper or faster. Ofcourse he’d tease from time to time but stop when he notices the small pout forming on your face.

like Jake he’d finger you with 2 fingers pumping in and out at a rapid speed causing you to twitch into the air with your hips and his long tongue making circling 0’s on your clit.

He’d also come back up with your juices on his lips , smiling from ear to ear and happily laying on your bare chest to give the abandoned breasts some attention.

“You taste good , it’s very addictive I might make this a hobby.”

“Please don’t, your fangs ruined my thighs. Look at how many marks you left.”

“Whoops, I’ll make it up to you promise-“

GUN PARK 💳

He’d ONLY eat you out from time to time, he’s not as pussy obsessed like Jake or James, but he’ll do it when he hasn’t seen his darling in weeks due to his business.

Would get disappointed when you only hover above his face not fully setting your weight down on his face. Slapping your thighs Harshly before taking matters into his own hands, literally.

forcing you down by the thighs, immediately latching onto it roughly sucking and making sure your thighs stick against his head. Grinding down back against his tongue for more friction and begging for your sweet release.

he’ll tease by saying to hold it in, only allowing it when he’s satisfied before you yell out his name letting go of yourself and cumming on this man’s face.

would continue sucking to make you sensitive, he wants to fuck you afterwards to make the experience worthy and overstimulate you after all hes an asshole. Just because he’s your boyfriend doesn’t mean he’ll be gentle.

“Put your fucking weight down, why are you hovering. I said Sit.”

“It’s embarrassing, just give me a few gun..-“

“Alright enough, get your ass on my face I’m not asking again.”

“Fu-ah! Wait, don’t immediately start sucking ah!-“

“Be quiet, you wanted this. Now scream for your daddy.”

SAMUEL SEO 🚬

now when you asked him to eat you out, this asshole was mocking you saying he doesn’t wanna and he likes being sucked off instead. I’m sorry but he’s SELFISH.

After a while of begging he thought of a way to pleasure you both. 69 position. Now your currently bend over ass close to his face and hardened cock right infront of you. while sucking on his tip and trying to take him whole he just plunges fingers knuckles deep into you curling them.

gagging on his cock and moaning he thrusts roughly into your mouth deeper forcing your jaw to become sore and drool mixing with precum to drip down. He knew how to multi task that’s what he was known for

quickly forgetting about his dick you sit up reverse cowgirl position, ass still on his face he wraps his arms around your waist and sucks even harder. His fat rough tongue lapping up everything you gave to him.

Riding his face and moaning loudly he slaps your ass a few times hard leaving a hand print. His tattooed arms spurring you on even further when one of his hands play with your boobs. He’s filthy and rough slapping you all over. And you cum fast still riding on his face coming down from your climax.

“ yeah yeah, fuck! Daddy, daddy…!” the name makes him groan below you and you notice his cock becomes even hard and angry his veins on display. Poor abandoned dick right infront of you touching it slowly, but forgetting it again when he keeps sucking.

“call me daddy, and I’ll let you cum.” he smirks and you can feel it, obeying his request sure to let the neighbors know what was going on. Not giving a damn just yelling out his name and your throat going sore.

“That’s right, fuckin’ whore anything for that release huh? Let daddy pleasure you.”

[fawnpires]

LOCKED & LOADED — SIMON "GHOST" RILEY.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ synopsis: ghost loves two things the most; you and his pistol, but there was nothing better than the two combined. (AKA - ghost fucks you with his pistol.)

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ contents: gunplay, weapons, gun kink, slightly mean!ghost, oral sex (female receiving), pussy-slapping, dirty talk, edging, use of pet-names, mild degradation.

"You're fuckin' depraved you know that, don't you, sweetheart?"

His voice heavy of an accented tone sends a shock down your laid spine, your body quivering with tiny non-visible motions. The only lasting separation from your bareness and his lingering eyes were your bra and panties full of lace — with his difference, he had been fully clothed, draped in his military gear and tactical cloth considering his return from a month-lasting expedition a long couple of minutes ago. Through the front door and trudging towards your shared bedroom; your body laid already half-naked on the mattress — as if you in preparation for him — the view causing him to practically drop everything from his hold — duffel bags and a few of his more heavier rifles.

In the band of the utility belt, only a single rifle and a pocket of ammo to it — which is how you ended up with his much more towering, heavier frame suspending over you; the muzzle of said pistol to your clothed cunt, circulating in small and sensual gestures. He squints his eyes at how your panties leave a stain where the gun traces, a smirk pressed to his lips at the sight from underneath the skull of his mask.

"Gettin' off on my gun, huh?" he rasps to your ear, "You take anythin' I fuck you with, don't you, love?"

Your thrown-back head lifts itself from the pillow, staring right into the sockets of the mask. "Mmhm — waited so long for you, missed you s'much."

"I know, baby, I know," he said while his free-hand caresses the flesh of your clammy stomach, "Missed you too. Couldn't stop thinkin' about you and this pretty pussy." his eyes drift to your stimulated cunt, the confines of his tactical jeans growing tighter at the erection that bulges through the material.

"Please!" you whine, "Fuck. I need you so bad, can't wait anymore, Simon."

His edging maneuvers latch onto you, but they just weren't enough to your liking. For the duration of his absence away from you, you had craved more than just a gun running at the exterior of your cunt; some fleshy, physical portion of his body — not just the solid metal of a weapon running into you. It had just seemed to lack your needs — not to be demanding, but there had just been some missing addition that would peak up to your arousal. Your bottom lip was teared from the constant bite of your top teeth, nearly broken of the skin at the repeated sensations at the front of your panties; needy hips grind against your only source of pleasure, the muzzle of the unpredicted pistol — it could've been loaded, a hazard to your safety, or unloaded due to the amount of care that Ghost holds for you.

"Don't worry, sweet girl," he straightens himself back up and holds his stance between your bare legs which he spreads for you, resting them at both sides of his kneeled figure. "Won't torture you that much."

Your mind is left to ponder at his phrase, slightly curious and wanting to poke more at the topic of 'torture' he has in mind.

With his pistol still clutched at the handle in his right hand, he puts his left hand to use and wraps his fingers to the waistband of your panties, tugging at the elastic before slowly ragging it down your thighs. From your knees, and down to pool at your ankles until they were eventually shrugged off to be abandoned somewhere on the floorboards of the bedroom's ground; you were almost unconditionally bare, minus the lace of your bra cushioning your breasts that were nearly spilling out from the position the man above held you captive in.

The embarrassment of your cunt stripped of its fabric finally hits you, causing you to press your thighs together in an attempt to give some shielded cover. It had possibly been the span of time he had left you all alone but his usual superior disposition had left you a bit intimidated, meek to his eyes. He strips himself of his tactical jacket, then the black of his thinned shirt — somewhat equivalently bare to you.

"What'cha hiding from, baby?" he aims the point of the gun to one of your thighs, one hand brushing to a single side of your waist. "Seen you naked so many times for me, no reason to be so shy."

His words label an impact on you — warming up to his characteristic nature and steadily parting your legs wider for him, situating them back to the sides of himself. He can't help but bring himself to smirk at the act, pinning the bottom of his balaclava to the end of his nose and folding the blemished material for it to stay in place. "That's a good girl, openin' all up for me. Just like how she always has." he praises, his hand no longer at your waist but brought down to between your thighs — landing a flattened slap on the puffy lips of your glossy cunt.

Your body jerks at the impact, vibrations sent straight to your stimulated clit as a muted whine draws from your throat. You feel yourself pulsating from the cruel action, just about swollen and pigmented red. Ghost elicits a shallow, stifled chuckle at the reaction in which he extracts from you; directing the muzzle of his forgotten pistol to your cunt, nudging at the lips and placing it still there — no movements, motionless in place. Body engulfed in shame, yet you left yourself to do the disgraceful; revolving your hips at the muzzle, grinding onto the object much like the first time he set it into place — only more needier, more faster and desperate in each circular move. A shiver comes down onto your body at the cold of the firearm, but immediately warming up once the metal bumps at your swollen clit.

"Are you going to take this, huh?" Ghost graces your ears with the inquiry, watching as you hump yourself against his gun, slick drooling down the muzzle and all the way to the barrel — glistening and shined down to each portion of the weapon. He reaches a hand to your face, his large palm fondling at your features with fingers kneading into the skin. "You gonna let me fuck you with my gun, baby?"

"I- I dunno," you whine out, loudly and more extended, "but, Simon-"

"C'mon, don't be like that," he said, grim in tone, "don't'cha wanna be my good girl like always? Takin' what's given to her?"

You gasp as he presses the the gun further against you, prodding right at your clit; the new sensation of cold, hard metal causing your lips to part and your body to instinctually press yourself harder on it. Your left no choice but to nod swiftly — the only way you could really get further into the pleasure he edges you with. He feels his lips curve into a small grin, the grasp on the handle of the gun tightening.

He doesn't hold himself back anymore, no boundaries to stop him from slowly pumping the cooled pistol into the entrance of your drippy cunt. Your breath hitches, body squirming as one of his hands is pressed down onto one side of your waist; preventing you from breaking free of the stimulation. A shattered sound — something between a squeal and a moan — forces from your mouth at the operation of insertion. Your back arches, body tensed and moderately uncomfortable; still getting used to the feeling of a literal gun being shoved into your cunt.

"There you go," he said, eyes widening at the sight in which he gives power to. The abnormally loud squelching of your cunt while taking his gun and the released whines of your mouth were placing him into a personal paradise. "See? I knew you could do it, honey. Just for me."

Your body no longer writhes under the gun when it is at the limit which you can only take it in; right to the bottom of the barrel, slick painting the material.

"M' gonna start moving now, stay still for me honey. Just like this." he warns, leisurely pulling the weapon out of you before thrusting it back in a more quicker maneuver. Your hips lift themselves before being pushed back down into the mattress with the hand at your waist, a whimper pulling from past the teeth and tongue. "Love this slutty pussy s'much, sweetheart, you likin' this?" he questions, "You like — no, — love bein' this much of a slut for my gun?"

Through the continuous whines and towed moans, you can only manage a non-verbal response — another agreement from the nod of your head. He only grins, leaning down to your face to press a sloppy kiss to your forehead, kissing down the soft expanse of your chest and stomach before settling where his gun quickens in pace at your cunt, a delicate kiss from his lips places at your clit. The object pumps up into you more quickly now but is joined with his tongue giving one long, wet stripe up your lips past the gun. A high-pitched moan is plucked at the new sensitivity, back curved off the creaking bed, hips bucking and pressed down onto his face.

"Simon, fuck!" you moan, nearly coming out in a scream.

He smirks against your cunt, surrounding his lips around your clit and sucking on the bud. Ghost continues to thrust his gun into you, the rate of it violent and in carnal. With the supplement of both his pistol and mouth at your cunt, your mind is invaded of a stupefying cloud of haze. The muscle of his tongue repeats long, prolonged stripes at your puffy lips; occasionally putting time into lapping at your clit. Your brows furrow, collecting beads of created sweat as your chest rises with each heavy breath you take.

"Doin' so good for me, pretty thing." Ghost murmurs, his fingers wrapped at the handle for more leverage and pounding his gun to the warmth of your walls with that same violent pace.

His saliva coats your inner thighs, as well as the thrusting pistol; piling with the surface of your slick. Drool dribbles down the structure of his chin, using his utmost stamina to put strength into both fucking you with his gun and tongue. Your vision is blurred of tears, head in spirals while your left to leave your mouth expanded — no longer giving attempts to even muffle any of your noises, or suppressing right at your throat. An organization of heat begins to birth in your abdomen, threatening to spill of itself any second; any move of either his tongue or gun would be the root of that release.

"S'close, Simon!"

"Go on, then, love." his eyes flow to arching anatomy then to your fucked-out face, "I know how badly you were waitin' for me to come home, take care of this achy lil' cunt of yours," he cooed, "Want you to make a mess of my gun, of me."

The hastened blend of a pistol and his tongue vitalizing your cunt was enough for your head to be fully sent into a stage of dumbification and the birthed heat at your abdomen to be overturned; streams of rapture flood every crevice of your body as you gushed all over both the the gun and his tongue, covering both parties. The hand at your waist caresses your skin in gentle gestures, one last press of his lips to your clit before he lifts himself up — his mouth left to hang open, catching breaths. His gun positions still inside you for a minute longer before you feel the now-warmed metal of it being withdrawn from your sticky cunt.

When it's pulled out from you, almost the entire thing was submerged in your arousal; the liquid glinting from the illuminance of the bed-side table lamp. Your head leans up the pillow, staring at the stained object; then to him, with his alluring lips now smeared of all you.

"Shit, baby," he breathes, words ending in a chuckle while he stares down the slick-painted weapon, "You really did stain my pistol."

You dumbly smile up at him through your remaining orgasm, all lips, no teeth. "Don't you want a reminder of me when you're away?"

"Yeah," he replied, moving to your side and "and you were so desperate to make it happen."

You bite at the fleshy wall of your cheek with tearing teeth, more warmth rising to your face at his statement.

"I didn't say it was a bad thing, honey," he confirms while taking note of the silence you leave, bending himself down and caging you in with his body and two arms; one holding the pistol right above your head. His lips press to yours in a deepened, messy kiss before smaller ones are peppered to your face in comfort. "I like when you're desperate anyways, you get all pretty and fucked out."

[xfgpng]

𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 —

— : [ nsfw ] fwb, mutual pining, jealousy, name calling, choking, unprotected sex, rough sex, crying, dacryphilia

— : wc :684

“just friends” that’s what he had said you were. he told that to all your friends and just about anyone that asked about you two.

the problem was you knew exactly how he really felt and you were more annoyed at him being a coward than him calling you his friend because technically, you two were friends. great friends even. he’d do it on purpose so two could play this game.

“is this really okay?” he asks. you don’t even remember the guys name but you don’t really care, you’re not going home with him and a little dancing never hurt anybody.

“yeah” you grin, taking his hands and placing them on your hips. the music is so loud and you can feel the alcohol thrumming through your system and it’s not enough to get you drunk but just right to feel a light buzz.

you ignore the eyes on you, burning holes into the back of your head as you sway your hips. you’re single so you’ll do whatever you want.

you grin as you turn in the guys hold, pushing your ass against his crotch as he grinds against you. your eyes open and you make eye contact with your dearest friend, rindou haitani. he’s glaring at you, not finding any of this as amusing as you do and you’re only a little worried that he’ll reach for his gun but he doesn’t.

the dancing turns into grinding, the guy is clearing excited. you’re wearing a short skirt so you can feel his bulge against your ass and you’d roll your eyes but rindou is still watching you.

it’s only when you lean forward a little, ass pressed harder against the guy you’re dancing with that rindou snaps. he can see the guy ready to place his hands on your hips and he won’t be having any of that.

“make yourself scarce if you don’t want me to put a bullet in your skull”

“rin—”

“i’ll deal with you in a moment” he grites out, grabbing your arm tightly and pulling you away from the dance floor and towards a dingy hallway.

the dim lights make it look a little scary but you don’t have time to think about that because he’s grabbing your throat and pushing you hard against the wall.

“is that what you are now?”

“what rin?” you pout, feigning innocence

“you piss me off” he slaps your cheek. he doesn’t give you time to react as he kisses you, hard and al sloppy. you moan, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer

“what’s the matter?” you tilt your head to the side, his grip around your neck tightening just a little, “aren’t we friends?”

he unbuckles his pants and slips it down just enough to get his cock out. he doesn’t bother prepping you, fucking into you in one hard thrust.

“rin!” you cry out, tears springing to your pretty eyes immediately and he groans. he loved when you cried for him, because of him and him alone.

“what?” he grunts, fucking into you hard and fast. he doesn’t remove his hand from your throat and you gasp, clutching his arm as he leans in to kiss you again.

“can’t—” you whine, legs feeling like jelly. he doesn’t care though, pressing harder into you. he loves when you’re loud and breathy. he hopes anyone that walks by can hear just how good he makes you feel.

“yes you can slut” he grinds his cock inside you, pushing right up against your cervix and it hurts. not that you’d ever complain, he knows you like it when it hurts. “look at you, so fucking desperate for my dick”

you can’t even answer. your orgasm creeps up on you so fast that it’s almost embarrassing. he makes you feel so good and it should make you angry. he always seems to get his way but tonight was the first time you ever pressed his buttons.

“you’re mine y/n” he grins when he feels your pussy clenching around him, eyes rolling as you cum around him. “mine”

[gatorbites-imagines]

Kinktober day 8

Simon “Ghost” Riley + Gun and/or Knifeplay

I’m so tired, but the grind never stops.

Blood and gore warning, reader is also a mercenary who does everything for money. Also warning for reader not prepping himself, he and Ghost are both kinda pain freaks.

Kinktober 2023 masterlist

You were a mercenary, someone with no specific place to call home and no true loyalty towards any group or organization, you only cared about whoever paid the highest amount. Maybe once you would have cringed and flinched at the thought of killing innocent people, especially children, but after so many years and your past being pretty much erased, you couldn’t care less. After seeing everyone you had ever cared for dead, from your family to your former team in the military, there was nothing that kept you human anymore.

They called you Reaper for this exact reason. You wore a veil, similar to a sniper’s hood, dark clothes and armour, and always carried around more weapons than anyone would be able to spot. You title specifically was given to you after you made a veil out of a piece of fabric with a bleach stain shaped vaguely like a skull. Your ability to kill anything from the weakest to the strongest out there only made the title stick.

So, when you were paid to kill a specific target that clashed with the 141 group, you kitted up and went on your way. You weren’t a small guy, but you were fast and quiet, like the reaper you were named after. The many years of living in a constant state of fight or flight also made it possible for you to notice immediately that you were being watched. But before you could put a bullet between the eyes of whoever was watching you, you were tackled.

Your many years as a coldblooded killer had you grabbing one of your knives, slashing at the other person, someone as large as yourself in mass and muscle, and before you knew it you were both fighting. Armor was ripped off, fabric was torn, your veil was torn at the bottom thanks to a knife slash that came eerily close to your throat.

It was only after you two stepped back to circle each other that you realized who you had run into. Ghost, they called him. You only knew of him because of his past being similar to your own, with losing everybody he had cared for, and the fact that former contracts had jokingly referred to you as Ghost instead of Reaper. He must have recognized you too, or maybe he already knew who you were, as he seemed weary of you as you circled one another.

Neither of you were much for words but at some point, your fighting seemed to brew into something else, as you both ended up on the rough ground, hands tearing at clothes instead of each other. A strangled noise that must have been a moan seemed to tear itself from Ghost as he tore off your jacket and multiple different layers, exposing leather straps tied against your naked torso, covered in different knives and smaller weapons.

His torso was as scarred as your own as you ripped his clothing and armour off his upper body, a hissed noise leaving him as you give his pecs a cruel tight squeeze. You could feel how hard he was under you as you sat in his lap, both of you breathing harder than you had for a while, feeling almost feral as a feeling neither of you had experienced in a long time.

As he tried to reach for you, your instincts jumped and before you knew it, you had a gun pressed against his temple. Instead of widening his eyes seemed to darken with a stronger arousal, his hips grinding up into your ass as he groaned in that deep voice of his. You couldn’t help the entertained huff that left you, of course Ghost would be into violence like that, just as you were.

You must have barked some order for him to stay still, and by some gods will he listened, even as you used one of your many knives to slice open his pants and wish out his member. You had more patience with your own pants, kicking them off enough to free your lower body and pull down your boxers, your own length giving a twitch of adrenaline and want as Ghost groaned under you.

As you sat down on his cock, both of you wheezing and groaning as the burn from the lack of lube and prep sending a flare up your spine, your grip on the gun pressed against his forehead slipped downwards. Ghost must have moved on his own, pushing up the bottom of his balaclava enough to take the barrel of your gun between his lips, slobbering over it like he was sucking someone off, and looking like he enjoyed it just as much if not more than the act he was copying.

You pace was painful, your muscular bulk slamming down on his hips and knocking the breath out of him even as Ghost kept licking and sucking on the barrel of your gun, tonguing at the holes you had drilled in it as a silencer. You wanted to punch him, to break his face until he was unrecognisable, to leave him as a stain on the pavement, but maybe that was just what your body associated with lust these days after years of murder.

Ghost seemed to have a similar thought process, as even as you rode him with little care of comfortability, and your gun shoved against his uvula, he had grabbed one of the knives strapped to your chest, pressing it against the inside of your thigh where you both knew one of the bigger veins ran. Cutting it would kill you, as there was no way to get medical help out here, but if he did you could shoot him dead before you yourself would pass on.

You pace grew rougher, and you both growled and grunted like the animals of death and destruction you were, drooling and bleeding from cuts and bruises as adrenaline petered out little by little, leaving you both shaking and aching in the best way.

Ghosts free hand, the one not holding a knife against your thigh, reached for your dick, gripping it tightly in his still gloved palm, squeezing it like one would a snake about to bite. He couldn’t speak with your gun between his teeth, but the intensity in his eyes told you all you needed to know, and with a few rough strokes you were spurting thick ropes of white across his naked bleeding torso.

On instinct your finger near the trigger of your gun twitched, just barely pressing down on it, enough to tease you actually pulling it but not doing it. It seemed to be what Ghost needed, as his eyes rolled and his hips pushed up roughly against your own, warmth filling you as he groaned louder than before as he came.

There was no aftercare between the two of you, you were not lovers, just tools used in war. So instead you patched up the worst of each other’s cuts and bruises, got dressed to the best of your ability, checked you both had all your weapons, and with a short nod of understanding you both left to go on with your duties, even if your gaits were a little uneven. You both silently hoped to run into the other again some time, as you had both scratched an itch neither of you knew was present, and now that it was scratched it seemed constant.

[inkformyblood]

speak truth into reality (Codywan Week24)

Day 01 Truth Serum/Spell - Obi-Wan doesn’t lie @codywanweek

Canon Compliant, optional Post-O66 section at end. Heavy pining with a palm kiss~

“Smells weird,” one of the newer cadets remarks — newer than Cody himself which isn’t by much all things factored in — and Cody gives him the good grace of ignoring him. Second thing he’d learnt in the Command track, compartmentalisation, and he’s gunning for gold, full marks, maybe even prizing a good job out of Alpha-17’s grasp on his way past.

Won’t make up for the fact he’s failing at step one.

“We ran into a spot of trouble on our last mission,” Kenobi answers, a smile as wide as a sunrise plastered on his face and just as fake as a politician’s promise. It’s for the benefit of the camera crew reluctantly tucked into one corner, the expression beginning to twitch into something closer to bared teeth, something violent, before Kenobi composes himself and continues. “Due to the rapid escalation of the war, quick repairs were necessary, hence the smell. I find the cheaper material does tend to linger.”

He turns his gaze towards the camera operator, and the camera by benefit of association. Cody tracks the movement, his bucket firmly in place, the perfect picture of professionalism at Kenobi’s side, and he dips into the holonet with a blink. There is a dizzying moment of confusion, the reverberation that the person dressed in his armour standing at Kenobi’s side isn’t him, couldn’t be him, carving a fresh bloody swathe through Cody’s thoughts, and it passes before it can squirm, weak-limbed and wet from the tube, into something more. He can see what the camera sees, what the holonet is bearing witness to right at this exact moment, and he knows the universe is twisting itself into a fresh shape because of it. It has to be. He can’t look at Kenobi as he is now and not come away changed.

Cody knows his General is beautiful. He’d been warned about it, in fact, three stacks of flimsiwork to sign in confirmation of receipt even before Alpha-17 attempted to scrub it into his head, the disjointed flat of his knuckles grinding against Cody’s skull as he repeated the first rule of Command again and again and again. He must have had an inkling, some latent Force-sensitive DNA spasming into life for that moment and that moment only, because he knew that Kenobi would be the ruin of Cody.

He loves him. With everything he has and everything he is and everything that he will be.

Kenobi smiles, his eyes flat and his teeth bared just within the confines of manners. “I just find it to be such a shame that the Senate doesn’t seem to prioritise the men fighting to keep them safe. That is why this was agreed on.”

The host looks to be barely out of her vat with how fragile she seems, her cheeks blooming a deeper shade of blue as she stares at Kenobi. Her throat bobs silently for a moment, the sharp pale edge of her teeth visible behind the swell of her lower lip. It is only when Kenobi straightens, his grin smoothing into something gentler, that she relaxes, her shoulders rising and falling noticeably as she composes herself. It’s a good show, enough to compel a few of the troopers into sharp professionalism as their fingers dance over the controls of the ships without looking down, conducting the engines into a low thrum of promised violence that would propel them into atmo with barely a ripple in the General’s tea. Beautiful in it’s own way and tragically unappreciated.

Behind the camera, the young man coughs once, a pale violet blush lying heavily over the soft swell of his nose and the host steps forward just enough to break the camera’s view of Cody. He doesn’t relax, not with a noose he’s tied himself around his neck, his choice to love Obi-Wan and to continue to do so, his choice to mark his understanding on Alpha-17’s piles of flimsiwork and proceed forward with his decision all the same. The camera is a regrettable necessary evil, a way of carving some understanding into the holonet’s collective conscious and they have chosen as their instrument of destruction, General Kenobi, his robe long since discarded on the back of a chair when the discussion of life on a ship had first been brought up, and his teeth safely tucked away as the conversation teeters on a knife edge once more.

“Yes, General Kenobi,” the host begins once more. Her voice is musical, pleasant enough to listen to, although Cody thinks it would begin to crack under a barrage, not enough pieces to be glued back together when there’s blood in the lines of her palms. “Thank you for mentioning that point as it brings us rather neatly into our next talking point. In the Senate, and the holonet at large, there is a rather interesting rumour circulating about you.”

Obi-Wan’s smile turns brittle and Cody’s hand doesn’t twitch towards his blaster. He has too much self-control to do anything quite as obvious and he is a Clone Commander. There’s several troopers with their hands on their blasters under his command, his authority, and at least one trooper with a wickedly sharp knife that Cody officially knows nothing about, no flimiswork filed and no denials holstered.

He’ll take just as much glory from this host’s death from another’s hand as he will his own. If it’s necessary. If it is needed.

“Oh?” Obi-Wan reaches back for his tea and Cody is already holding it out for him to take. The heat from the mug bleeds through his gloves, worn thin and stitched back together twice with thread whose colour didn’t matter. It would darken with ash and grime quickly enough and they didn’t have the resources available to be selective. Obi-Wan takes the mug, the tips of his fingers skimming against Cody’s in a gesture that would bleed professionalism if it could and yet meant so much more than that. He takes a sip, his next breath fogging in the air before he speaks. “Do enlighten me as to what that could be.”

Another blink for the holonet and Cody skims over the most recent comments, careful to keep his gaze averted from the devastation of Obi-Wan’s grin, the fragile porcelain of his countenance. His own name appears more times than he had expected, a handful of little pictures of fire and water droplets in some sort of code that had respondents queuing up in agreement, but that isn’t important. There are more commenters on Obi-Wan’s side than against from his brief surveillance, but the majority are locked onto what the rumour could be.

The minority insisting that they are about to get confirmation on the theory that Obi-Wan is dating Senator Amidala from Naboo are being resoundly shot down. Cody snaps a picture and flicks it through the coms channels to Fox before the host clears her throat once more.

Cody knows the thought flickering across Obi-Wan’s mind before it has even breached the surface, lining up the orders to make sure it would be a precision strike if needed.

“Yes, we and our viewers on the holonet would love to know—” She leans forward like she is sharing some conspiracy, her face tilted towards the camera to wink one glittering eye before she continues. “—is it true that you don’t lie?”

“That?” Obi-Wan sips at his tea once more, another puff of visible breath rolling across the surface before it vanishes. The faintest hint of florals works through the filters in Cody’s helmet, cut with enough sugar to send a shiny to medical. Apparently, it was a necessity for that blend. Obi-Wan places the cup back onto the table, his mouth drawn into a thin line in the brief moment of respite from his starving watchers, and he smiles as he turns back around. Tucking his hands into his sleeves, he straightens up to his full height, tipping his head to one side. “I wouldn’t have thought it would be a hotly discussed topic in the Senate of all places.”

One of the troopers dissolves into a coughing fit that sounds suspiciously like the clone’s bastardised Mando’a words for ‘because it is a rarity there’. Obi-Wan glances over, worry etched into the crease of his brow, the downturned corners of his mouth, and Cody leans back the inch or so he needs to get an eyeline on the coughing trooper.

It is a truly miraculous recovery.

“Your name is mentioned more often than you would think, General!” This is safer ground for the host, her shoulders relaxing by noticeable degrees, her stance widening as she tips into her hip.

One of the troopers misses his seat, a fine example of several thousand credits worth of training, not to mention the millions that went into the exact sequencing of his DNA, and he catches himself on the edge of the console before making a second attempt. His batchmate standing next to him helps, his shoulders held tight to contain his laughter. Cody is going to murder them both and mount their helmets on the wall.

The host doesn’t even notice. She continues, her hands splayed wide, open, inviting. “So, could you confirm for us?”

She bats her eyes, long lashes dark against the paler hue of her cheek, the smudge of colour on her lids. Cody wasn’t decanted yesterday, he sat through every module he needed to and the again for the supplemental material tacked onto the end after a handful of cycles with the Jedi. He’s not unfamiliar with people flirting with General Kenobi, already bloodied in that particular conflict in the moments after meeting the man, but this tastes different, feels different.

It’s almost a reflex, the final death throes of an insect after it threw itself into the candle flame. A dance that she has moved through the positions enough times that her body moves on instinct, sending her step by step closer to an abyss she doesn’t wish to stare into. This particular outreach team had been assigned to them, the orders skidding across Cody’s desk and marked with Fox’s heavy-handed subtlety, and he’s plotting something. Always is.

Never forgiven Cody for being lifted out of their tube three minutes before him.

Cody doesn’t jolt back into the present moment, he is simply there, like he always is. At Obi-Wan’s side.

“I don’t lie, my dear.” Obi-Wan croons the endearment like he wields his saber, all flash with one hand to hide the blade he holds in the other. He slips his hands from his sleeves once more, a few scattered marks across his fingers from the leather bands he wears, and inclines his head towards the door. “I believe, along with this full expose, you were promised a tour of the ship. I would be remiss in my duties if I didn’t uphold my side of things.”

There’s a twittering of pleasantries Cody doesn’t bother to remember, letting the noise wash over him, waiting for his orders. He picks up Obi-Wan’s tea, one hand flat beneath the base, the other cupping the side, and follows them. He’s a few steps behind, just outside of the gaze of the camera, so there is a moment of respite.

He doesn’t take it.

It wouldn’t be fair, wouldn’t be right, for Cody to be off duty when Obi-Wan is still having to play the part made for him. When the Kaminoans threaded his DNA together, some pieces must have been lost, drifting off into the filters of his tube or burrowing into Fox next to him, because Cody cannot stop. He just is, fiercely and entirely.

“The ship is a self-contained living and combat space.” Obi-Wan speaks easily, each word clearly defined and Cody is reminded of the mechanical voices on the training modules. “Comfortably, we can house nearly one thousand two hundred men on board. Currently, we are housing two thousand.”

The host’s steps slow, not enough that she would crash into the waiting eye of the camera held just behind her, but, in comparison to Obi-Wan’s easy stride, her shock is a scream. Cody doesn’t pause with her, maintaining his distance from Obi-Wan, and he draws level with her. Through the film of his visor, Cody can make out the tight press of her mouth, the sheen of her eyes as they dart up his helmet and then lower to the cup Cody still holds carefully tucked into his chest. Her expression shifts into something Cody can’t name but is wary of all the same, a blade pressing against the line of his ribs and he isn’t sure if it’s meant as a boon or a threat.

Cody looks to Obi-Wan.

A single nod and Cody settles back into familiar lines, head raised, back straight.

“Does that not prove a problem for resources?” The host asks. She colours a pale shade of blue, straying from her given list of questions, and Cody knows why Fox chose her to match with Obi-Wan and himself. Curiosity is a drug that devours itself, driving them onwards ever further, and he sees the bite of it layered over her shoulders.

Obi-Wan inclines his head to one side in acknowledgement. “Somewhat. We try to mitigate it as best we can but some situations are unavoidable. If you would follow me down here?”

The corridor isn’t one of the better ones on the ship, it noticeably buckles on one side, forcing them into single file about halfway down. It hadn’t been a secret Separtist weapon like the scrolling feed in the corner of Cody’s vision speculates, or the scar from some space battle, just flimsy materials buckling beneath a little bit of wear and tear. It’s a chilling thought, one Cody doesn’t care to linger on for longer than absolutely necessary, the idea that the ship he is forced to entrust his existence to, the lives of his men to, could come apart in an instant for no other reason than to make a politician’s bottom line fatter.

They wouldn’t be saved if that happened.

No. Cody adjusts the thought in the same instant. Obi-Wan would save them, no orders needed. He would hold together the decaying carcass of their supposed salvation for as long as he could for the sake of just one more life saved.

Cody falls back behind the camera on Obi-Wan’s silent instructions, letting the pair move ahead behind his General. Like this, he can see through the camera’s lens, the General’s back clear above the slighter frame of the host, their shadows stretching out ahead them, stark in the artificial light. There is a slight haze around Obi-Wan, not dissimilar to the way the horizon trembles beneath heat, a window into the impulses of the universe for a moment, and Cody’s breath catches in his throat, faintly floral with the tang of ozone.

“If you could pause a moment?” Obi-Wan asks in a tone that expects to be obeyed instantly, still mild and pleasant but steel running beneath it. Cody halts instantly, the sudden absence of his bootsteps echoing loudly, and he can make out the hurried sounds of movement in the room beyond through the vent above his head before Obi-Wan knocks on the door.

It opens to a trooper still in his blacks like Cody had instructed him to be. There should be two others behind him, similarly deliberately dressed down, a couple hands on cards scattered on the table in front of them. It might just be set dressing, a scream through gritted teeth for the humanity the leash is slowly choking from them, but it could be an opening. Obi-Wan may have played this game longer than Cody has, but he’s got a few tricks up his sleeve at least.

“Ah, Remy. I hope I haven’t disturbed you.”

“Not at all, General.”

There’s another volley of comments filtering through Cody’s bucket, some of them entirely little pictures of fire. He doesn’t know what that means.

“I was hoping to show our guests around a standard bunk-room,” Obi-Wan continues. His hands are folded in front of him, his thumbs resting against the delicate network of veins in his wrist and Cody knows, from furiously guarded experience, that his heartbeat will be as even as his voice, each pulse measured and exact, working towards the same goal.

Remy nods once, burnished professionalism instead of the deep-rooted network woven through Cody’s veins, but it’s a start. He’d polish up to be a fine trooper, not quite Command track but Squad Leader maybe. If he survives long enough. “Of course, sir.”

“If you’d follow me?” Obi-Wan sweeps into the room without waiting for an answer and the pair, boxed in unknowingly by a Jedi and his Commander, do as he instructs.

The camera swings wide first, devouring the regulation unpainted walls in the same grey shade as the rest of the ship, nothing to distinguish this as a room intended for sleeping except the rows of bunks spaced out from one wall to another, repeating across the room. Two of the bunks are occupied, the troopers doing a passable job of faking sleep. Their eyes gleam from behind mostly closed lids, a matched set of predators observing prey scurrying by. One trooper has even stripped to the waist, the blanket bunched around his hip, and his chest rises and falls in a mimicry of the rolling breath of dreams. Another volley of flames springs across Cody’s vision, but it isn’t enough to distract him from the slight tint to Obi-Wan’s cheeks as he turns to face them once more.

In the centre of the room, two of the bunks had been removed, shoved into the aisles instead to allow space for a couple of storage crates fastened together and then bolted to the floor. Remy has returned to his careful perch on the floor, resting high on his knees as he surveys the hand of discarded cards on the table, picking them back up one by one. Stacked neatly, two other hands sit waiting at his left, and the surface is cluttered with coordinated sets of a sabbac game in full-throttle, spent blaster refills serving the place of chips.

“If I may,” the host begins, glancing first at Obi-Wan who inclines his head towards the trooper. “What is this you’re doing?”

“Playing sabbac, ma’am.”

Cody, unseen by the camera, raises his hand to his bucket, first and second finger splayed wide and the rest curled into his palm. He taps his fingers against his temple before moving them outwards, the same battle sign they would use for an advance. It might not be the battlefield he’s used to but he trusts his men. He trusts Obi-Wan.

“I’m playing three hands at a time, using the blaster refills for tokens, and trying to refine my play style.” Remy grins up at her, wide enough that the ring pierced through his tongue could be seen for an instant as he continues. “Got to stop my batch mates gloating somehow.”

The host nods. She clasps her hands in front of her chest for an instant, squeezing tight enough that her skin discolours before she drops her hold, returning to the selfsame splay of her palms. It feels like a warning, something in the base of Cody’s skull twitching in alarm, a snake rattling its tail just to display there’s no mace involved, failing to declare the fangs it carries. Out of the corner of his eye, Obi-Wan’s grin sharpens to a fine point, the blue of his eyes shining in the glow of the lights overhead.

Remy’s gaze darts to Cody, then to Obi-Wan.

He doesn’t drop the grin. The ring in his tongue taps against his teeth, not loud enough for anyone who isn’t a clone to hear but the sound echoes in Cody’s bucket like bootsteps, refill, reload, aim.

Lying another set down, Remy plucks a blaster refill from one pile, adding it to his current selection.

“Why not use credits?” The host asks. Her thumb runs along the edge of the opposing nail, the habit of a lifetime banked but not yet extinguished. She orbits the camera’s gaze as she steps closer to the table, tipping her head to peer down at the cards laid before her, but she never crosses the unknowable line that would put her between the trooper and Obi-Wan.

Remy shrugs. “We don’t make any that we can get. Get a stipend from the Temple—”

“We try to give as much as we can,” Obi-Wan murmurs, loud enough to be picked up the camera but gentle enough that the host doesn’t startle too overtly when he speaks.

“Better spent on the refugees, sir.” Remy selects his next hand, fanning the cards out with a snap. “Our ‘wages’ are tied up in the renewal fund held by the Senate for our benefit. So, we make do with what we’ve got for things like this.”

There is a moment, Cody knows, when an audience is gathered in front of the altar of an empty space and a covering when everything stops as the covering is drawn back. He is used to the empty space being a patch of barren earth and the covering being a salvaged piece of cloth held up instead of what he is witnessing now; the slowly dawning expression of the host, curiosity with its teeth bared. Obi-Wan catches Cody’s gaze above it all, the revelation of his plan, the culmination of everything he had worked for over the past few weeks, and he looks to Cody first.

It’s humbling, feeling like the universe has knelt at his feet, palms upturned for something Cody cannot name. He holds Obi-Wan’s gaze as best as he can, his breath catching on every broken spur in his chest.

The host has a datapad in her hands when Cody takes stock of her once more; angled away from the gaze of the camera, a stylus scrawling across the surface of it. Her tongue is caught between her blunt teeth, her thumb jutting out to press against the broken edge of her nail. Focus has settled over her features like an exoskeleton, everything else blunted in its passage.

“This has been most enlightening, General Kenobi. Thank you.”

“Of course.” Obi-Wan bows, slighter lower than regulations required. His hair falls across his forehead and he pushes it back into place with one hand.

There’s another burst of comments across the scrolling feed in Cody’s bucket, numerous enough that one barely flashes onto his visor before it’s replaced by another. Water droplets, this time.

“We’ll do an establishing shot of the entire ship as we leave and I have your comm code, yes?”

“That is correct. I may not reply straight away, but I will answer in whatever capacity I can.” Obi-Wan tips his head towards Cody, a signal to begin leading them out paired with a grin that is smaller than the previous, but no less beautiful because of it.

The host nods. Momentarily outside of the gaze of the camera, the operator turning to point the watchful gaze of half the universe at Remy once more, she flexes her fingers, the jut of her knuckles pale as claws move beneath the stretched skin. The corner of her mouth twitches, the expression gone before it could be fully registered, but Cody knows rage when he sees it, bone deep fury that, finally, blessedly, had some weight behind it. The camera returns to her and she is gentle perfection personified, dainty as porcelain once more. Begrudgingly, Cody considers the possibility that Fox may have been right and dismisses it in the same instance. Fox would never let him live it down if he did.

The rest of the walk back towards the ramp is carried out in near-silence, the feed cut for a handful of moments of privacy. Obi-Wan doesn’t lower his guard. Cody can sense the tension in him, the pressure behind his eyes like an oncoming storm brewing on the horizon. It doesn’t abate until the camera operator and host have stepped off the end of the ramp, allowing Obi-Wan to press his thumb and forefinger into his eyes with a groan. He turns away from the entrance, orbiting Cody without needing to look and speaks without removing the blunt press of his hand. “This singularity of mine is often more trouble than it’s worth, but it seems to have helped in this occasion. People don’t expect a man who doesn’t lie to be dishonest.”

“No, sir. Do you think it will work?”

“I hope so. It’ll be worth it even if all that happens is a handful of seconds on a newsreel and some dedicated fans in the archives. It’ll be something more than what we — what you — had. And I want you to have everything, Cody.”

Cody swallows, the sound loud in the sudden silence of his thoughts. “Everything, sir?”

“Everything.” Obi-Wan drops his hand, his gaze landing fully on Cody, unobstructed by interlopers on their ship, and Cody tracks the movement of his eyes. First, to his helmet, catching the exact placement of his eyes beneath his visor, then lower, to his hands. Obi-Wan’s mouth parts in surprise, his cheeks flushing a rich shade, a near enough match to the red of his hair, and it shouldn’t be as beautiful as it is. “Cody?”

“Sir?”

“Oh, you wonderful man.” Obi-Wan steps closer, already reaching for the mug Cody offers him once more. He scoops up the mug with one hand, replacing the weight of it with his other hand, curling his fingers around Cody’s as best as he could.

“It won’t be warm, not now, but I can—“

“It’s perfect, Cody. Thank you.” Obi-Wan squeezes Cody’s hands tight, the leather indenting with the motion, and Cody is used the the bluntness his gloves bring, but he feels Obi-Wan’s touch clearly. Warm skin against warm skin. He curls his own fingers around Obi-Wan’s as best as he can, clumsy from inexperience but steady as he had been trained to be.

Obi-Wan sips at his tea, his gaze drifting to the wandering motions of the departing pair. “They should be out there for a moment longer and then we will be on our way once more.”

Cody’s heart clenches, an old familiar bitterness coating the back of his teeth. They should have been able to exist longer in this in-between moment, the breath taken before leaping to the next objective, the next battle, the place where they could be something other than a General and his Commander.

But, that isn’t meant for them. For others, maybe, but not them. Not yet.

Obi-Wan’s thumb presses against the seam at Cody’s wrist, the rough callus scratching along his skin.

“I would like to kiss you, Cody,” Obi-Wan murmurs, his words undeniably true and Cody wouldn’t think to question them regardless. He is no closer than was before but Cody burns with the rush of heat from his skin, the only point of contact Cody’s outstretched hands, the press of Obi-Wan’s thumb against bare skin. “But if you’re agreeable, I have an idea of what will do for now.”

“Yes, Obi-Wan. Please.”

Cody couldn’t guess at what Obi-Wan is going to do, but he’ll follow where the other man leads gladly. He loves him too much, too fiercely, not to.

Obi-Wan squeezes his hands once more, and kneels in front of him, one leg braced high while the other extends behind him. It puts him on level with Cody’s hands and he leans forward to kiss the space his hand was occupying. His hair falls across the spread of Cody’s wrists, his beard rasping against the tips of Cody’s fingers, and Cody senses the grin better than he can see or feel it through his gloves.

It’s there all the same. He knows it.

Obi-Wan kisses his palms, soft, delicate, once more before he rises. “Shall we return, my dear?”

Cody nods and Obi-Wan walks towards the bridge, Cody a few steps behind. His palms are burning, an ache he hopes will stay as solid. as the memory will.

⁂

There is a holoclip encoded into the receiver at his wrist, transferred into his new bucket so seamlessly that CC-2224 doesn’t think to question it. He doesn’t question orders.

He doesn’t recognise the figure in the forefront, a blueskinned woman baring her teeth in a grin at the camera, but he recognises the set behind her, in the distance. The traitor Kenobi kneels in front of a trooper before pressing his face into the outspread clutch of the trooper’s palms, kissing them.

CC-2224’s palms burn as he watches the clip. He doesn’t remember why.

[elsweetheart]

hi!! i love your fics sm!! im such a whore for ellie and abby 😭 i just read your ellie headcanons and the one where you said she has a daddy kink is all i can think about.. i was wondering if you could write more about it? ty and love u!

i did say that yes … thank u for asking because i have been dying to talk about it 😋

this won’t be everyone’s cup of tea so if it’s not - keep scrolling !!

ellie williams x occasionally being called daddy

• so the two of you have jokingly been throwing around the word for some time. it’s one of those things that are kind of a joke but there’s some weird tension and weight behind it that you both refuse to address (because she’s thinking why do i kind of like this? what does this say about me? and you’re thinking the same…)

• it started when the two of you were doing some target practice deciding to clear out a few infected from outside the building you were staying. two slow moving corpses stumbled towards the two of you from the across the alley and she nudged you with her arm. “bet i could clear ‘em out with one bullet.” she promised, raising her gun with a confident but focused expression.

• “yeah right.” you denied, swinging your legs on the wall you were sat on behind her. you watched the two infected naturally fall into a single file line, and when ellie had the perfect shot she pulled the trigger— and alas, one bullet tore through both their skulls sending them straight to the ground. your jaw dropped, impressed as you jumped off the wall and walked up behind her. she turned around with a grin, jokingly flexing at you. “thats right, who’s your daddy?”

• it was obviously a joke, but her smile almost dropped clean off her face when she saw the speed at which your eyes glazed over, expression becoming lustful just for a split second before you got yourself together, covering your reaction with a giggle. she chuckled back at you, eyes lingering on you for a moment as the tension passed and decided to pocket that moment for later.

• after a few more instances where she’d throw the noun out jokingly it was etched into your brain and you were starting to realise that it was kind of becoming a thing. the two of you didn’t know how to discuss why that be, so you didn’t — however one night, when ellie had you face down in the pillows taking her strap pressing kisses to your back you were so fucked out that your mouth took control without your brains permission.

• “mm—mmph please daddy!” it was muffled and whiney but ellie heard you loud and clear. she didn’t stop to address it, infact after it slipped from your mouth you felt her pace pick up — a surge of stealth taking over her from the once jokey, now incredibly hot nickname. she placed a hand on your waist, pulling you to fuck against her and she sighed against the back of your neck.

• “thats it, daddy’s got you. fuck, babe.” she cursed at the way you were squeezing and grinding back against her strap which equally felt good for her. her calling herself daddy was the tipping point that pushed you over the edge, making you cum hard.

• when it was all over you lay in her arms, both of you catching your breath and cooling off— and when enough time had passed you looked up at her, and she looked down at you, the two of you bursting into simultaneous giggle fits.

• she pressed her mouth together in a smirk and raised her eyebrows. “well, well, well—” she starts and you giggle even harder, placing your hand over her mouth. “stop, don’t!” you squeal and she calmly pulls your wrist away with a smile, stroking your cheek as if to calm you down.

• “hey, i’m not judging. shit, i think i’m pretty into it.” she confirms and you smile softly, pushing yourself further up the bed to kiss her. ellie always gave you anything you wanted.

[cakerybakery]

Adamsapple week story for the Teeth prompt.

Lucifer’s mouth was achey. Thousands of years and he still wasn’t use to the feeling, the instinct that over came him to chew. He gnawed on the ice, the cold helped numb the soreness but he needed to sink them into something for substantial, to grind them down during this time of rapid growth. To sharpen them against something harder and less yielding.

It was a shame he didn’t have time to get something with a more satisfying crunch. A nice thick bone, something like a femur. A big hip joint from wrath cow would be nice. He could practically taste the marrow and wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth.

The intercom buzzed to let him know his ten o’clock appointment was down from heaven. He grabbed his cup of ice and made his way down to the nearly empty lobby of the embassy where the delegates were waiting.

Heaven insisted on inspecting Charlie’s hotel before agreeing to an official meeting to discuss halting the exterminations. To see how it works and if it could work as a long term solution.

“There you fucking are. We’ve been waiting.” Adam huffed angrily. He was leaning against the empty reception desk while Sera and a set of exterminators stood by.

Lucifer rolled his eyes and tossed another cube in his mouth. Crunching down hard and wishing it was something more. Maybe Adam’s throat. Shut his bitch mouth up.

He ignored the first man and his little friends in favour of holding out his arm to Sera for her to take.

She smiled warmly, “good day, Morningstar.” Sera was always so formal. She must be in a good mood to have merely addressed him as Morningstar instead of The Morningstar.

“I’ve told you dear sister, call me Lucifer.”

Placing a hand on Lucifer raised arm she agreed and allowed herself to be lead to the front doors.

They were barely into the blazing heat of hell’s sun when armed sinners sprung out.

“What the fuck? It was a trap!” Adam shouted accusatory. He and his exterminators rushed to protect Sera from the holy guns.

They barely took more than a step when a sinner started to pull the trigger and Lucifer burst past them.

He landed on the arm, pushing it toward the ground and the holy bullet buried itself into the steps. Lucifer launched himself towards the sinner’s neck. He dug one clawed hand into the sinner’s face, shoving the head back with a crack and sunk his other hand into the sinner’s chest. With a quick snap he buried his teeth in the sinner’s neck and tore.

He could hear the crunch of bones. Feel the elasticity pull and snap of tendons. Taste the hot blood as it sprayed from the sinner’s neck.

The crowd barely had time realize the shot rang out when Lucifer used the crumpling sinner’s body to launch himself at another.

She screamed as his unhinged jaw snapped closed around her head. He twisted and she could scream no more. He spit her severed head straight up and caught it between his aching teeth to mash the bones of her skull.

A third sinner pointed a gun at him.

Lucifer spit the crushed skull out and turned himself into a serpent to zip along the ground and fly at the sinner’s arm. He bit down and turned back into himself, the combined momentum and weight allowing him to twist and tear the sinners arm off at the joint. He tossed the arm into the air, unhinged his jaw again and swallowed the limb whole.

The remaining sinners had scattered. Rightfully fearing for their lives.

He didn’t bother to wipe the blood from his face. Turning back to the delegation he apologized for the rudeness of his people. Lucifer didn’t bother to step around the corpses on his way back up the stairs, only pausing to grip the leg of one of the corpses and pull it off.

He snapped the leg off at knee and tossed the lower part to the ground. Using his claws he tore away the muscle and flesh so he had a fresh bloody bone to gnaw on during the walk.

“Holy shit.” Adam’s axe was still out and the guards raised their weapons at him.

“By all means,” Lucifer opened his arms wide to invite them to try their luck, “my teeth still hurt and I’d be happy to use your bones instead to soothe the ache as they grow.” He snapped his jaw at them and Sera commanded her people to stand down.

When he offered her his arm again the smile was less easy and she had to use her fingers to avoid the blood stains.

They strolled through hell like that. Sinners sprinting away or offing themselves to escape becoming another stain on Lucifer’s jacket.

By the time they reached the hotel Adam was huffing under his mask. He whined, “We couldn’t have flown or better yet, fucking drove here?”

Between the heat and the walk, even Sera was perspiring a tad.

Lucifer turned back at Adam and grinned. It had the desired effect and Adam took a step back. Even through the mask and sweat from the journey Lucifer could smell the tang of fear and- he grinned, arousal.

Adam had always been a bit of an adrenaline junkie. Too curious for his own good. He only lived so long due to Adam’s busy hands, never idle enough for the devil to use, to temp him into danger. Adam was too busy raising kids to raise hell.

But now that’s he’s dead, what bigger rush was there than slaughtering sinners? Apparently, it was watching the devil slaughter sinners.

He could work with that. Lucifer had been lonely these last several years. Maybe instead of sinking his teeth into a femur, tonight he’d gnaw on Adam. Lick the glistening sweat from Adam’s heavenly body and listen to him scream as he was marked.

“My people seem to have forgotten their place if they dared to attack my guests.” Lucifer left Sera’s side to face Adam directly. “I thought a stroll through hell might remind them of my power over them. That they live because I do not deem them worth the dry cleaning.”

Making eye contact with Adam, his forked tongue darted out and he licked a long dribble of blood from the bone before cracking it open with his teeth.

Lucifer discarded the end and shards before sucking on the opened end of the bone for the marrow.

Adam spiked arousal and Lucifer circled him. A shark on the hunt for his prey. He reached around with his free hand and gripped Adam’s generous side, digging his blood stained claws in just enough to sting.

“You must be hot in that outfit on a day like today. Why don’t we go inside. The hotel has air conditioning.” He pushed Adam along, up the hill towards the hotel. “Perhaps if you’re interested you could rest in one of the rooms for a while.”

Out of earshot of the others Lucifer hissed. “I can show you how sharp my teeth really are.”

[hwaightme]

Bang bang

THIS IS 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI FOR STAR'S SAKE (nsfw tags under the cut) (masterlist) (join taglist)

⚫ pairing: gangster/mafia!seonghwa x stripper/afab!reader ⚫ genre: smut, mafia!au, noir, ganster film style, bits of angst ⚫ summary: Bang bang, he shot me down / Bang bang, I hit the ground / Bang bang, that awful sound / Bang bang, my baby shot me down... the words never sounded truer as you hunt for the man who made you fall from grace. ⚫ wordcount: 14.6k ⚫ warnings/tags: barely edited (written in a chaotic flurry), gangsters, murder, guns, blood, attacking, language, strip club, slight objectification, rudeness, bickering and arguing, emotional manipulation, revenge, death [of a side oc], yandere themes, obsessive behaviour, alcohol, money, seonghwa driving expensive cars, betrayal mention... lmk if anything else. ⚫ perma-taglist: @legohwas @doom-fics @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @honey-lemon-goose @byuntrash101 @shakalakaboomboo @starillusion13 @hongthoven @cqndiedcherries @uwuheeseungie @hoshischeekss @frankenstein852 @charreddonuts @miriamxsworld @mingigoo @michel-angelhoe @innsomniacshinestar @foxinnie8 ⚫ a/n: HAPPY SEONGHWA DAY!!!! May our brightest star be blessed with everything and more <3 (and never venture into what this fic contains lol); much love and appreciation to nora for going unchained over mafia hwa, and for supporting me through the blackout that was the writing process for this fic. Much love, all reblogs, comments, thoughts welcome~

⚫ nsfw tags: hate sex, car sex, fingering (receiving), sub-leaning reader but a hardcore brat, dom-leaning seonghwa but he enjoys the degradation, degradation (whore, slut, cock slut...), pet names and praises (doll, precious angel, darling, baby, sweetheart), a bit of impact play (slapping), orgasm denial, doggy style, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap), blowjob, deepthroating, hair tugging/yanking, manhandling, grinding, spit play, come in mouth/swallowing... whew

⚫ playlist: bang bang (from kill bill) by geek music, showed me (how i fell in love with you) by madison beer, you put a spell on me by austin giorgio, i've got to see you again by norah jones, who do you want by ex habit, woman by emmit fenn, bad drugs by king kavalier, often by the weeknd, chills (dark version) by mickey valen

Bang bang… he shot me down…

You had given up on seeing him again. Searching for him, hellbent on getting the last word. You had been confident that finally, after all this time, your tortured soul could get some rest. That was until your eyes locked with his in a silent duel, that shit-eating grin on his face growing wider as he studied the wounds he had left behind. The invisible scars that were the start of your metamorphosis.

It was not that you had never imagined meeting the fiendish man again – in fact, you swore that it was your only relief: to fantasise about what you would do if you were to physically cross paths somewhere in this forlorn city, and many nights you would wake up in cold sweat after hearing the intoxicating low-toned laughter resonate in your skull. He haunted you and you knew that he was watching your every move like a sadistic predator. As such, the only thing that had driven you out of your madness, the flimsy umbrella that you clung onto amidst your fall from the life you had built and hoped to have, was to wish that one day, you could do the same. And seeing him right there, in front of you, in his tailored suit and jewellery bathed in blood as the spotlights made him look like the devil himself, the notion of hoping returned.

When a strobe light flashed across his faced you saw him lean and whisper something into the ear of one of his goons, evidently excited to having spotted you. After the ever so slightly shorter, but impressively built, undoubtedly a dark-souled man armed to the teeth, surely his bodyguard, nodded a couple of times, and in turn called over one of the waiters to continue the chain only for the latter to shrink and rush off into the backrooms, your nightmare ambled towards the bar. With a quick unbuttoning of his suit jacket, he settled in one of the stools and spun around to face the stage. To face you. Subject you to a mocking scrutiny while you had no choice but to continue dancing.

As he mindlessly took a black card out of his pocket and passed it to the bartender, without sparing a glance behind him, the object pinched between his pointer and middle fingers, you were in your lonesome on the stage, fighting an uphill battle for every coin and paper bill. Spinning in circles like an animal trapped in a cage, clinging to the pole as though it was a thread connecting you to existence itself, even though experience had shown you that in this, you were skilled only in going down. That man who made living seem easy, despite, or perhaps thanks to the darkness from which he was undoubtedly spawned. Your first love, your first heartbreak, your first glimpse into how the world could chew you up and spit you out – life that was a forbidden fruit so beautiful, so tantalising to where through atrocious flavour and agony one would bite through to the rotten centre and willingly lose their senses to keep a piece to themselves.

His eyes tirelessly accompanied your every move as you went through your routine. Grinding against the pole, crawling across the stage as onlookers and perverts – those who you had to call revered guests because they could spend, and spend a lot, ogled you and yelled heinous remarks, you had not felt so humiliated in a long time. The transition to your present career had been a follow up to a series of events that had shut all other doors – you considered yourself lucky that you had even had the chance to catch yourself on these professional branches during your painful descent. And you had to admit, it did pay well. In a couple of months, after you had definitely breached all work hour regulations, you had managed to pay off your fines and numb yourself to your revoked medical licence. Things were looking up, like the heels you wore. Not quite sky-high, but nevertheless, not in the sewers. But now that being sat at the bar, devouring you with his smouldering gaze and using you for cheap amusement, made you feel filthy. With his pristine, clean, supreme ‘I am above you all’ aura, he might as well state that he owned you. Maybe, in a way, he did. Since his ‘company’, or as one would say ‘bunch of organised hoodlums in suits’ behind closed doors, owned this club among many others dotted around the metropolis.

You climbed up, approaching the finale of your performance. Soon you would be able to leave that creature’s gaze and hide in the rank bathrooms until the coast was clear. Even if that meant you had to abandon the bills. Or no, no you would have the time. You had rent to pay, what were you thinking? And you still needed to return the money you borrowed for the funeral, despite you being told that your now ex could be left to rot just fine. The act was more for you anyways – you wanted to prove to yourself that you still knew honour and tradition, regardless of how far you had been swept up by the unforgiving currents of the underworld. So now, to pay for your illusion of honour, you put on a show and flaunted what you had, fuelled by an undercurrent of indescribable disgust.

To the numbing bassline and an addictive beat you went higher and higher, letting the sensuality envelop you once more. If the months that stacked themselves like cash had taught you anything, this passage of time that you had spent nomadic, performing in one club, another, until you ended up in the one where you were now centre stage, it was that professionalism came first. You were surprised to find out just how many of your academic and practical skills had actually been put to good use – well, maybe not things like knowing components of the limbic system but having a steady hand and being able to manoeuvre out of uncomfortable situations in a cool and calculated manner certainly did their wonders. As you performed a high kick hold, and let your toes discreetly push off the ground for more momentum, you were already thinking a couple of steps ahead. The fairy, the floaters transition, you mentally listed and promptly ticked off the items, going from one move to another. It was nothing more than an elaborate ploy to convince those ogling you, some even unceremoniously palming themselves through their trousers, to give you their ‘hard earned cash’. Though, you never wanted to know where exactly that cash came from. It was not your problem, and you were quick enough to realise that it was better to keep your mouth shut and ask less questions. What these men wanted to see was a pretty doll spinning on a pole as if just for them, a fantasy just a couple of steps away from them. Not some amateur interrogator. 

His figure burned into your retinas as you amplified your dramatics, and stole the night for yourself with flair, flipping yourself upside down, only to recover and descend into your final pose. Due to the sweat and the light body highlighter that you had applied to make your features pop, you were an impossibly entrancing vision. A deity of the underworld that just so happened to find it entertaining to grace the local scum with her presence. 

The handsome black-haired man, an enticing, lethal ‘bella donna’ flower continued watching the forbidden apple of his eye. He had finally gotten you within his reach after so many months of playing cat and mouse. You were unbelievably easy to track, never having attempted to hide yourself, but for him to restrain himself for so long and not hunt you down at first opportunity was borderline torturous. Park Seonghwa was never one to wait. If he wanted something, or someone, he got it instantly, handed to him on a platinum platter. But your hatred was like an addictive scent that brought him to an unprecedented high. Each time he had news delivered of you discreetly asking after him at a club, or you trying to frequent an area where he had been spotted, evidently on a mission to do exactly what he was doing to you, it brought Seonghwa an excitement that shook him to the core.

But now that you were here, in his lair, his first club that he had opened, still a junior in the business at the time and coincidentally, still having been in what could be called a relationship with you, he could not resist. His mind had been screaming Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, every hour of the day, and his primal desires grew stronger than ever before. As he inspected the way in which you bent down to take bills from eager hands, coy and purposefully demure so as to attract even more tips, sinful musings clouded him. He could not ignore the curve of your back as you tapped another fowl man’s chin and took what was definitely over his budget right out of his beggarly hands. Seonghwa was tense as he focused on the white dancewear that adorned your body, elegant lace providing a dizzying contrast to the lewd scene as you let another imp paw at your ass as he hooked the waistband of your thong to leave more crisp notes.

The act of a sensational seductress, you practically glided off the stage, the platform heels doing little to diminish your resolve. You were even better than what he could have ever imagined from the stories that his closest allies and bodyguards had relayed to him. And while, San, the man who he had entrusted with observing you particularly closely once news had gotten around that you joined Club Estelle, had expressed your resounding success and renowned desirability on a number of occasions, now that Seonghwa had seen it he was nothing but proud. His masterpiece, his project, his precious little cherub was doing so well. All for him. How could he not grace you with his presence after seeing such a show?

You knew there was no way of escaping the monster, even if you had the ability to turn invisible, so you were not too surprised when you had found the man who had been next to him for the duration of the performance standing in front of you. What you were taken aback by, was how in just a flash, the man’s intimidating aura dissipated to reveal a charming, heart melting smile and twinkling eyes.

“Miss L/N Y/N?” voice equally as sweet, he inquired. Though you had no doubt that his was just airs preceding the request for you to accompany him to his boss.

“Yes. And you are?” remaining amiable, albeit distant, you responded, crossing your arms in a subconsciously protective manner.

“Merely delivering the request for your audience with my chief.”

You motioned for him to accompany you to the back, signalling that you needed to store the cash before any further discussions were made. The sweetheart obliged, and let you take the lead. In your peripherals, you spotted Seonghwa gripping his drink a little too tightly to be indifferent. As questionably possessive as ever, it seemed. Once you and the muscular bodyguard who you discovered was wearing a double holder were behind the curtain that served as a door to a dark corridor, you continued the conversation.

“A request or an order?” 

Absent-mindedly, you checked the quantity of the bills which you had collected - the rest were already waiting for you in the room, courtesy of the waitstaff whom you had actually managed to make something of a deal with: you did not tell anyone about their habit of permanently borrowing beverages from the bar, and they did small errands for you. Maybe this man with cat-like features was in a similar agreement with Seonghwa, though the likelihood of there being blood involved was too high.

“A request that I would definitely advise you to follow.” he insisted, holding open the door to the changing room as you inspected the bucket that had been left for you in the corner, with neatly collected, crisp notes. Your favourite sight as of late.

“If you answer my question.” you threw out while organising the money inside of a sports bag - the storage of your professional life. Once you were done, you shoved the item into your personal locker, sealing it shut and spinning around to face the man again as he beckoned you.

“Kindly, follow me, Miss.”

“Who am I following?” you repeated, desperately curious to know of this man’s identity. Nevertheless, your feet carried you forward, and you yielded to his summons, heading back out into the club.

“Mister Park Seonghwa’s man.”

“Ooh, his man…”

“Right hand man.” he elaborated, making you roll your eyes.

“So no name to pair with such a handsome face?”

The answers were almost automatic. It was not foreign to you to flirt with strangers, since that way you amplified your chances of financial success, but never before did you catch yourself being so passive, even when the intonations were well practised and near identical to what you would normally say. But there was no one, nor nothing, to blame except the hardwired response to the nearing figure of a very specific gangster, on whom your gaze immediately settled as soon as you reached the edge of the prolonged bar counter.

“I believe that Mister Park would not enjoy hearing such words from you.” of course he would not. When did he ever enjoy you complimenting anyone else except him? San steeled himself as he lowered his head, while you let the fingers of your right hand flitter over the counter as you sauntered over to the man who could not even be bothered to approach you himself, despite having evaporated from your life for an unbearable collection of months.

“Then he would not have sent you to fetch me. He should know that I appreciate beauty-” you were testing your luck, uttering the words when within the gangster’s earshot. Thankfully for San, he chose to take the matter into his own hands and, setting aside the glass of cognac with a delicate push, addressed his bodyguard.

“Sannie, is Y/N giving you a tough time?”

Your name sounded precious, meaningful when he said it. Like it had a genuine purpose in this mortal realm. A melodic uttering of simple sounds that drowned out the pulsing beat that zombified the visitors of Club Estelle. Whether that music was on or not made no difference to you - either way, you would only hear Seonghwa. His voice was like a rumbling of an oncoming thunderstorm amidst a nighttime quiet. The rolling growls of heaven’s rage as steel grey clouds stalked across the sky, wrapping the defenceless earth in a catastrophic promise. With nothing but a foggy trepidation in your chest, you slid onto the seat that was to your nightmare’s right, turning to have your back to the bar and rest your elbows behind you on the elevated table. 

“Uh, not at all, sir.” San’s shift in mien was comical. In a flash, he had stepped down from the pedestal of a man who made the demands, to a servant who you struggled to imagine acting a step out of the lines that his boss had drawn out for him. You raised an eyebrow, giving the guard a onceover.

“Sannie?”

“Yes, darling. San. Like a mountain. Isn’t it cute?” Seonghwa interjected again, not letting the man who you were addressing as much as regard you. Apparently, being under his command also meant that you were instantly off limits. How dull.

“Interesting word choice…”

“He is a cutie, though, aren’t you, Sannie?” smirk gracing his lips, Seonghwa teased the cutie, who, judging by the sheer broadness of his shoulders, could probably snap a person in half with his bare hands. Not that the person would complain since the last thing they would see would be that pretty face… but that was besides the point. No one in the mafia was soft and fluffy. And if there had ever been, they had not survived long enough to establish themselves as the sole representative in history. 

“No comment.” 

“See? How fucking adorable,” with an icy tone, Seonghwa concluded. “Now, could you give us some time to speak tête-à-tête?”

“Of course.”

As rapidly as his appearance had been, so was his departure into the lingering crowd. A newbie - even more new to the business than you, was beginning her performance, and had caught the attention of a couple of the regular patrons, and the lewd chatter had picked up considerably. It was apparent, however, that it was not enough to capture the interest of the man in front of you, who shifted his seating to face in your direction, and officially broke open the door into your life once again. Not because you had been tirelessly searching for him. But because he found it beneficial for himself to make himself known to you.

“Greetings and salutations, Y/N, it’s been a while. We have much to catch up on, don’t you think?” you blinked slowly, suppressing a rude scoff. People were still watching you, that much you were aware of. Those were the perks, or the faults with wearing stripper dancewear. You were the fixation of lustful eyes, the cool glass of water that was just out of reach for the hoards of parched scum.

“I have nothing to say to you, Seonghwa.”

“Ah how I missed you saying my name.”

“And I’d rather you keep mine out of your mouth.” a total lie, had you considered your instincts and how your legs had instinctively tilted closer to the brunette, but you were not about to throw away months of fantasising the man’s demise at the first interaction. You had at least some restraint left.

“Only if you can silence me. I know a couple of ways.” he winked, but you pretended not to catch it as you stared down at his hand that was lying on the counter, studying the ornate decal on the fingerless leather glove.

Taking notice of your preoccupation, he tapped his fingers on the surface, making the silver studs that ran down each digit and surrounded the opening on the back of the hand shine in the glimmering lights. You counted the holes that revealed his knuckles, for no reason other than to try shifting focus. You were not opposed to this kind of interaction. Gestures. Hints. Symbols. It was a horrifying craving that started in the abyss that Seonghwa had left in your tarnished soul, an affliction caused and amplified even by the most mundane details. You could feel those same fingers wrapping themselves around your neck, tracing your jawline, making a ghostly descent down your body. A shiver ran down your spine as you tore yourself away from the sight that had turned into a sinful recollection, forcing out a jarring taunt to convince yourself that there were no undertones to Seonghwa’s phrase.

“With a gun?”

He was not buying it. His precious flower, barely dressed and yet graceful to the extent of rivalling divinity, squirming from his mere presence. This was what he had been searching for, all this time that he had denied you contact. You had been a bad girl. Running, thinking you were pure and angelic. He did not want you that way, so he took his time winding you up, making your world collapse so that you would be ready to take the real him. Not the foolish goon that he had been before. You had been so sweet, doting on him and showing him off to your friends. But what he yearned for was the animalistic antagonisation of his very being. The fire in your heart that drove you to a vengeful insanity. Seonghwa’s tongue pushed at the corner of his mouth before running over his bottom lip, disappearing to give way to a smug grin as he noticed your eyes dart to the action. He comprehended your capabilities properly. More than any of those quacks who you had looked up to ever could. Your demons were loud, and yet you had gone to great lengths to suppress them, even when you were the most beautiful like this. The mortal embodiment of Discordia. Truly, the one deity he would worship. The only one who he would continue sacrificing for.

“Ah, that reminds me. Heard about your boyfriend, such a shame really. He was so young…” he pondered out loud, not a single bit apologetic.

“That’s rich coming from the man who put a bullet between his eyes.” you hissed, crossing your arms as a man walked past and openly gawked at your breasts. 

Though that quickly resulted in a not so subtle threat, with Seonghwa leaning back to adjust his jacket, only to reveal the grip of a menacing handgun, tucked away into a leather holster. The visitor, who had purposely slowed his pace, bolted from the spot, giving the gangster one final look before rushing to the other side of the club. As if looking for your praise, or approval, Seonghwa hid the gun from sight once again and gazed at you, softer and more affectionate than before, his eyes transforming to take on more of a doe shape and inducing an uncomfortable pain. When you did not satisfy him, he clicked his tongue and ran his hands over his hair, shorter at the sides and revealing a buzzcut design that had begun to fade with growth. The new style suited him, you decided. Almost too well. It was frustrating.

“Ah, ah, no. Not me. My hands are clean, sweetheart.” he raised them, a hilarious attempt at trying to prove his innocence which you chose to ignore. No matter how obsessively he washed his acts away, blood was more than a rusty red liquid. It was a curse that stained the skin of those who wished to draw it with an eternal permanence, passing from generation to generation until the Earth was saturated with the hue. Ignoring the blatant bullshit, you mused the fate of the man who you had used to fill the void.

“What the fuck did he even do to you guys?”

“Oh you know how it is. Got a taste of success, got a little too greedy… and kaput. Didn’t keep a clean inventory and clean percentages, you see. And I don’t like when things aren’t clean.” you did not have to be brought into the matter any further than that. You certainly did not need to be let in on the fact that your ex was actually one of the best dealers in his district. He was just a little too close to you for Seonghwa’s comfort.

“Sure you don’t. You said the word, what, four times already? That’s why you even launder your money…” you muttered, not noticing how Seonghwa’s elbow slid closer to you until his hand began to play with a lock of your hair.

“Ah, so attentive, counting what I say…” twirling it around his finger, he observed how the myriad of colour from the club’s lights managed to change its shine, and let it fall back into an alluring cascade, “... and not only that, we also do pest control. The last thing we need is lowly vermin poisoning our supply chains and ruining user experience for our end clients, right?”

“I still don’t-”

“Funny how you got involved with him. Of all people. A drug dealer.” it was easy to make you shift focus. One mention of your failed career, and you were gone. So, in a dire situation such as this, Seonghwa would be a fool not to use this fact.

“Guess he was the only one there to actually support me in the shitstorm. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“Now, now, no need to thank me, darling, when I did nothing-”

“I was blacklisted, Seonghwa. Do you know what that means?” slamming the counter with your hand, you stood up off the stool and glowered. Oh, how adorable it was when you got so riled up. A darkness flashed across his eyes as he imagined you to be a tiny predator, ready to pounce. How endearing.

“I can try to guess, though something tells me you will provide more details.” he egged you on, enthralled by how you tried to hover over him, but still retained his favourite fragility.

“It means my dreams have gone up a rat’s ass. I wanted to be a nurse, Seonghwa. And yet, as soon as I get to work, the next day after helping you and your stupid goons, I get kicked out and sued.” The only downside that he could see was that he would not be able to have his way with you were all professional and in a dainty nurse’s outfit. Though… he would have had to make some adjustments to the scrubs for that. A few rips here and there would not hurt anybody.

“It really was only basic supplies that you permanently borrowed, and for the greater good at that. I still think the hospital over-exaggerated.” you had been more than benevolent. Overlooking status, background and appearance you had dashed to lend a hand. Seonghwa had counted on you to do that so that he could drag you down closer to himself.

“In the eyes of the law, I am a thief who has gotten away with far too light a punishment.”

“And I see a saviour.” a merciful fucktoy who he had initially simply been playing around with, only to discover that you were so pathetically trusting that he could not help but fall in love.

“Poetic.” you responded sarcastically, raising your eyebrows. Seonghwa was bearing witness to the dissolution of your resistance. As much as you wished you could keep the game up, his charming falsities and unforgivable seduction were a delight that you could not withstand. 

“You know one of those ‘stupid goons’ celebrated his wedding anniversary with his wife two months ago? And then the other sent his daughter to primary school not long ago… Like I said, you made a sacrifice that those bureaucratic little shits, hidden away in offices, would never make. You care for people.”

His hands snaked to your hips, and he pulled you closer to him until you were trapped with his legs on either side of you. Even though physically you were the one looking down, every passing second you felt more and more like a lab experiment or a sample under a microscope. He was dissecting you, tearing you apart and rebuilding you once again so that you would be just right. Just for him. His favourite doll.

“Seems I care for the wrong people.” you alluded to the man in front of you, a shallow, staggered breath escaping you as he gripped a little tighter.

“Do you regret it?” his eyes. Two dark pools which housed your tailored terror, but had to be so lovable. The devil always took on the most beautiful form.

Your silence told him everything he needed to hear. You could have pushed him away, slapped him across the cheek. Hell, you could have told San to get lost - though in that case you would have probably been disposed of and continued your existence as an addition to a faraway landfill. But that was besides the point. Because you were not indifferent. And the boundary between love and hatred was nearly invisible.

“So happy to have you here. At last.” just as he was about to bring you into an embrace, drunk from the elation of your first meeting in what had to have been an eternity, you pressed down on his shoulders, narrowly avoiding the stark white collar of his shirt that was laid over his jacket, and pushed away, hostility written over your features.

“That’s why I bet you are proud of having sold me out.”

“Who said that?” confused, Seonghwa inquired.

“I just know it.”

“And I am asking, who told you that I sold you out?” stuck in what could only be equated to a tug of war, the two of you were challenging each other to ‘try their worst’.

“My e-”

“The druggie. Right. Of course he did. I bet he told you a lot of things.”

“Like how you used me…”

“Uh-huh,” his hands glided up your body until he stood up, and your arms were limp at your sides once more.

“Corrupted me…”

“My love, you’re still an angel,” he cupped your chin and gazed deep into your eyes, noting that it was as if you were reciting something that you had practised time and time again in front of a mirror until it made no more sense to you than white noise.

“Then betrayed me…”

“Something I would not do under any circumstance. You know what family honour is.” Seonghwa did not betray. He acted in ways that benefited him. And if it just so happened to leave others hurt, it was their fault for caring so much.

“Family. What the hell do you know about family?” you were seething. He was burning you. Again, and again, and again. And you were readily giving in every single time.

“Certainly more than you. Oh sweetheart, I know how lonely you have been-” he wanted to comfort you, even if that made him nauseous, but thankfully, you were not in the mood and stepped away, making him let go of you.

“Don’t touch me.”

“I only want to-”

“I said. Don’t. Seonghwa. Look. I- I hate you. Okay?” music to his ears. How you desperately tried to get away from him and from your own feelings. Scared little pet.

“Are you trying to convince yourself?” the phrase echoed within you as you took another step backwards, realising too late that you had let him wrap himself around you like a hungry python. You needed out. This was it. Final. You needed some air. Or better, to return home, climb into bed, and pretend this never happened. Future you could handle this problem, present you was irrational, risk-seeking and a harm to the self.

“N-no. I. I need to go.”

“You know you can’t.” Seonghwa whispered out loud as he watched your determined departure, right up until you were behind that heavy velvet curtain. 

He picked up his glass and studied the clear, russet contents, and let the liquid slosh around to take in the aroma. With a quick sip, he was back to his usual self, and the smile that was on his face was instantly erased. Bored, the dangerous man leaned against the counter with the weight of his body, imitating your earlier posture and commanded:

“San, I know you’re lurking, come here.” Indeed, in a matter of seconds, his bodyguard appeared from behind one of the pillars that was located closer to the kitchen.

“Yes, sir?”

“You see that man over there?” raising his glass, Seonghwa pointed in the direction of one of the very dedicated hounds who was by the stage. He had been particularly involved in your act, and from the moment Seonghwa had first noticed him, to the very last moment that you were up there, the tipsy man had probably dropped at least a couple thousand dollars’ worth of cash. He was the perfect candidate for the gangster’s plan.

“The one in the green hoodie?”

“Yes, that sleazy bastard. How about we cast him as the bad guy, huh? Payment upfront.” San nodded. The method was simple, and had shown tremendous success in the past. He hummed in agreement, waiting for Seonghwa to add his usual:

“Temporarily, of course. All in good fun.”

“Understood. What should I lay over?”

“That a certain Y/N is particularly ravishing after her performances, and will be at the back exit in about twenty minutes.”

Bang bang, I hit the ground…

Maybe what that gangster had said was true, and that you were too good for the ‘overworld’. It was an attractive thought. Perhaps after the doors to the medical field and consequently a wide range of other careers you had considered had been shut, due to your newfound, albeit light, but nevertheless a serious enough criminal record, you ended up simply tapping into your true nature as a creature of the underworld. While out there, you had always been average, here you were a saviour. A goddess. A queen. Maybe you indeed were celebrated and had gifts thrown at your feet exactly because you deserved nothing less. The chasm that was the dark side of the corrupt city might be your true home, and you had simply been in denial, running away from it. 

How easy it was to fall back into your patterns. As you sank into Seonghwa’s eyes, you recollected your time with him. The attentiveness that he had shown you. The way in which he would patiently listen to you explain obscure medical terminology, convincing you that, to him and him alone, it was interesting. You had felt blessed then. And that was exactly why you wanted to erase him. As you strutted down the corridor that ran behind the main hall of the club, leading you to the back rooms that were for staff and artists only, you shook your head. Wishful that this would help you get rid of the reminiscing of the last ‘easy’ time of your life. Before you revealed to yourself that you would commit a crime in the name of love. Even when that love was merely an illusion. Confused by your own feelings, still seeing a glowing red target over Seonghwa’s evil heart while making out golden glimmers on its surface, you stormed into the changing room and let out a sigh of relief as you saw it completely empty. You could meditate on your frightening conversation with the devil himself.

There was something therapeutic about the wind down from your performances, if you were to forget about the side eyes you were being thrown after having been caught talking to the owner of the establishment, and according to some of the whispers, a very desired man. How they could overlook the fact that he was more cold blooded than a snake when it came to satisfying their need for a happy and tranquil life amazed you. With the thumping of the music feeling so far away that you were practically enveloped in a sea of cotton, and the lights emitting a more familiar fluorescence, like a late night grocery store rather than the strobes, sickly colour selections and kaleidoscopic reflections, the changing room was a sort of safe space. You were trying to stuff the bills that you had collected, and the chunky stripper heels into a nondescript sports bag, after having covered yourself up with something more appropriate for a ‘so late it could be considered early’ trek back home.

You needed time to yourself before you were going to black out and make some foolish decisions concerning that conniving man. It was a curse, without a doubt. Not dissimilar to the very drugs you had smuggled, he was hard to quit. And you hated him for it. At least this was what you had been openly declaring, and were not going to give up on. If anything, this was your new habit. Imagining revenge on Park Seonghwa. You were going to get it. Eventually. You still had some hope left in you, even though your feet were currently struggling to hold you up, even in your sneakers, a hint of a fire in your chest as your memories of the man were refreshed. Did he have to look more handsome than before? More refined? More demonic?

When you had met him during a night out with your friends at a bar in the classier side of town, Seonghwa had introduced himself as an ‘intern’, which you now understood as one of the lower ranking goons who did the dirty work. Now, he was all white shirt and spotless sleeves, smooth skin and perfectly manicured hands, only a breath away from being a model rather than a hardened and ruthless criminal. Perhaps it was this contrast that had resulted in the man having cemented the nickname ‘Mars’ for himself, as you had found out from a few tipsy insiders who would do anything for a private show. The god of war, destruction, bloodshed, all in the name of an interpretation of peace and prosperity. The dangerous balance on the tip of a razor, by which you had undoubtedly been slaughtered.

He was a mastermind, a monstrosity in a beautiful guise as he ran, alongside the uppermost echelons of the mafia that effectively had the city, and at this point you would not put it beyond them - the country in a chokehold, the numerous operations that kept the underworld’s heart pumping. An inky fluid, viscous and bitter, one which you had accepted in a pretty glass of so-called love without thinking twice. Seonghwa knew how to make you happy. And the longer that went on, the more of a problem that became. He knew just how to spin thread out of you, how to wrap you again, and again around his finger until you were nothing more than one of the rings that he would occasionally wear to complete his outfits. And in such a hypnotised state, you thought you were doing the right thing when you broke into the place that was housing your professional dreams, and crept to retrieve some of the most sought after medication. Just for him. Oh how he thanked you then. How he had professed his love to you and praised you. You had been on cloud nine. Until you found out that someone had anonymously filed a report against you, provided all evidence, somehow all in the same night, and by the next midday you had already been summoned to court.

The day when you had stepped out of the courthouse was imprinted in your mind. Having received a much kinder sentence than one you had expected - more financial and reputational damages than anything else, you had been upbeat enough to engage in smalltalk with the state-provided lawyer whose name you had forgotten in a few hours. At least you had been that way before you saw him across the street. Lower body hidden by a jet black, matte sports car, black suit, black shirt, black hair… the reaper himself having arrived to taunt you and laugh at the death of your career. A carefree smile had been replaced by a deep scowl as the gears clicked, the puzzle completed itself in your head. Seonghwa. It had to be Seonghwa. It took every fibre of your being to restrain yourself from committing another criminal offence and attack him, and instead watch him climb into his car as though you had been nothing but empty space to him, and speed off in the direction of uptown. A murder most fowl. Of your soul, of your heart. And what mind you had left, you had promised to dedicate to hunting him down.

You sighed as you heaved the emergency exit door open, having avoided the main back entrance out of fear that Seonghwa might be there, or anywhere inside Club Estelle. What did you mean by hunting him down? Now that he was there. Within slapping distance, if you were to put it in an unceremonious manner. What were you actually seeking? Was it your mind twisting your desire for him to simply make a return and instead of stalling on your destruction, simply go on ahead with it and shoot you down? You shook your head, pulling the hoodie that was covering your otherwise scandalous outfit tighter around you as the cool air enveloped you. It was almost peaceful. Almost quiet. Almost.

“Hey Y/N~ you put on suuuuch a goood show, baby girl… fucking fantastic… damn. Was told I could catch you here and damn, you are a goddess.”

You snapped in the direction of the sound, finding a man who was rocking side to side approaching you. Relatively tall, scruffy, with dirt-stained clothing hanging off, unfortunately, a more athletic-looking body. So striking him with one of the heels in your bag and running was out of the question. Besides, who knew how he would act if he saw the cash? You backed away having been met by the stench of what had to have been at least three shots of the strongest liquor in the house, and found yourself with your back pressed against a wall of the dimly lit alleyway between the club, and a line of dumpsters, with this very drunk problem whose perverted grin was inducing an uncontrollable trembling. The longer you stood in this state of a showdown, much like a wild west film, the more he was suffocating you with the overwhelming, acrid stench of sweat, cigarettes and whatever concoction his stomach had made out of the alcohol he had consumed.

“Can I get a… private show, huh? Swear’ve been good just for you baby girl.”

You suddenly felt so alone. Abandoned. Terrifying conclusions running through your head. There was not a single performer at the club who you were more than acquaintances with, and even then, would they help? The club bouncers rarely got involved since the majority of the customers were high-paying, and apparently the rule there was: if they had cash, they could behave like trash. Maybe a dead stripper to them was just the usual night. Who would you have called in the past? You hated to admit the name, the face that floated into your brain as soon as you asked yourself the question. But Seonghwa had a way with situations like this. He had stood up for you before, to the point where you had to kiss away his pain and treat his wounds - though that was nothing compared to the scarlet sight that he had painted in your honour. It was horrific, and yet, he had made you smile. It had probably been the grandest gesture of adoration that you had ever received. 

Still managing to keep some distance between you and the disgusting creature, your brain went into overdrive. You were backing away from him, but there was only so much time before he would pounce. As much as you wanted to just scream your heart out and pray some, well, a very specific, knight in shining armour would appear out of nowhere, you were a big girl and knew that the stories you indulged in reading were not true. In real life, and especially your own life, you had to be your own hero. It was your mission to remind yourself that Seonghwa was a villain. So you tried to project him onto your temporary enemy.

Although the action made bile rise in your throat, you peered into the drunk’s eyes, trying to read his actions. Not quite walking straight, he took another step towards you, supporting himself by pushing on the dumpster to his left, your right. You immediately mirrored it, your hand feeling for the wall to your right. A couple more steps and you would be right beside a trash pile that you had spotted when you first appeared in the alley way from the staff exit – the bastard sure was persistent and did not want to give up on you. You sneered – it could almost be his redeeming quality, compared to a certain someone else who liked to drive into the metropolis and then turn into an omniscient poltergeist.

“Come on, why are you being such a tease? Weren’t you having the time of your life earlier? So sexy, don’t you want to use that?”

He was making your skin crawl. You were trying your hardest to not interact with him more than necessary and stayed quiet. One wrong move and you were going to be in much deeper trouble than this. The sort where the best-case scenario you envisioned was showing up in the news, not so alive and in a ditch. The situation reminded you of a short story by Rudyard Kipling, Rikki-Tikki-Tavi, but instead of a face off between a mongoose and a king cobra, there was a young woman with a flurry of ruminations and a myriad of regrets. Though the latter was definitely swaying like a snake.

“Hey, baby girl, are you not going to come to daddy any time soon? I am getting impatient, baby, and you don’t want to piss me off.” He growled, his previously aimless blabber turning into a threat.

Your body was screaming for you to just make a run for it, but you knew better than that. This guy, unfortunately for you, was sporty enough and lanky enough to catch up to you in no time. On top of his build, you had the brilliant idea to wear new heels for your show today, which had cut into your flesh just enough to hurt, as if scolding you and repeating ‘I told you so’ and leaving your feet exhausted. As you stole a glance at the more comfortable pair of shoes for which you had settled, it was as though a lightbulb went off in your head. That was right. You did have manoeuvrability. You just needed to get one hit. 

You neared the exit of the alley, judging your proximity solely by the light emanating from a lonely street lamp right back on the main street. You steadied yourself as you saw the man open his mouth again and crouched further down to reach for an empty wine bottle that was lying on top of the pile you had been counting on. Keeping it hidden from the man, you stepped to the side, obscuring half of your body behind the large trash bin.

“What are you doing you bitch, huh? Answer me. I’ll give you one more chance.”

You remained silent, sliding your bag off your shoulder for better movement, pleading that it would not make a noise. The first glide down your upper arm was smooth enough, though your relief did not last long as it accelerated and came down to crash on some debris. That appeared to trigger new aggression in your opponent, as he practically snarled and lunged forwards, arms outstretched. You jumped backwards, only nearly missing a pipe protruding from one of the walls, and made contact with one of the walls, tripping the man as you did so. You were not thinking clearly, vision a blur, your surroundings spinning. You had only one mission now – survive. While the man was picking himself up, cursing and inspecting his painfully grazed hands, your eyes focused on the back of his head.

What if this was Seonghwa? What would you do? He had betrayed you, didn’t he? He had no right to be in your life again, regardless of your instincts. Regardless of how terrific he looked and how much he wanted you. An otherworldly rage overtook you as you imagined the devil in place of this sinner. In his designer suit, with his slicked back hair and chains that would glitter like stars even in the dim light. The set up made your body act on its own. You were fuelled by your anguish, and each sensation in the present turned into a re-enactment of your inner turmoil that had built up over the time. The guttural shriek, the stinging tears threatening to roll down your cheeks as you shut your eyes and swung with all your might only to meet-

-nothingness. A strong grip of your wrist and a firm chest pressed against your back prevented you from moving. And again, that familiar scent. Your drug. Your demise. The emergency exit door snapped itself shut, suggesting that Seonghwa had only now made it into the alleyway, and an odd sense of calm enveloped you. For the time being, he was the lesser of the many evils.

“Oh, ‘s you! Mar-”

The stinging sound of a gunshot, lulled into an ambient slumber with a silencer. Time slowed, and you swore you could see the bullet soaring through the air, about to collide with the skull of the man whose fate had been sealed. But a blink before you could bear witness to the impact, darkness overtook you, and you were embraced in an overwhelming sweetness, vision sealed with a resolved, mercilessly protective hand. You were spun in a macabre dance, now facing the gangster, breathing against the crook of his neck and focusing on the freezing cold jewellery that caressed your cheek. Nothing more than a sigh, a tainted soul escaping from the mouth of the drunkard, before you heard a thud of his body colliding with the cold concrete. 

You sincerely wished you could feel remorse, but all that you could identify in your body was an insatiable curiosity, and a perplexing connection of the societally horrific event with what had happened to your ex. So, that was how he had been disposed of, huh. The same damn signature. And he was most likely lying when he was trying to assure you that it was not the same man. His hand was too stable, heart was too calm, and the way in which he pressed his soft lips to your jaw, and once your sight was returned to you, your cheek, were all telltale signs that this was not the first time he had killed with you as his prime motivation.

“You’re awfully calm for someone who was ready to murder, darling.”

The words rang out in your head and the realisation hit you, cutting through the comforting fog that had settled over your psyche as you drifted in black irises. The bottle which you had picked out of the trash to serve as your weapon suddenly felt unimaginably heavy, and it began to slip.

“Now, now, we don’t need to cause any more of a mess…” gingerly, the bottle was taken from you, and clinked against the smoking gun as Seonghwa was more preoccupied with keeping your full attention on him. While you were still tame enough for him to manoeuvre, He returned the weapon under his jacket.

Dizzy, you swore you were within inches of delirium. Darting from one one part of his face to another, you soon spotted a tiny splatter of blood on his cheek, and lifted a trembling hand to caress it. Eyes wide, you watched as the crimson spread under your thumb and left a trail whilst you were wiping it away. Lips parted, you were locked in a soundless scream. This was not a joke. That man, no longer a man, a soon to be carcass, crow food, was dead. And without a doubt, Seonghwa was going to tell you that it was your doing. Turning slowly, you caught a glimpse of the aftermath, and the dark dots that now decorated Seonghwa’s side that had been the closest to the drunkard.

“Look at me, darling. Look at me.”

“But I, but he-”

“I said. Look at me.”

“But you kill-”

A crash resonated as Seonghwa threw the bottle against the opposite wall, the olive-coloured rainfall covering the dead body and rippling over the dumpsters. Knees buckling, you wanted to collapse next to it then and there, only to have a gloved hand force your face to be right against his.

“You are a lethal flower, darling. Shame this had to happen.”

“Shame?”

“You’re shaking. Did this man touch you?” with a concerned air, Seonghwa inquired, his breath hot against your skin. Discreetly, he began to step towards the exit of the alleyway.

“N-no… but-”

“Did he scare you?”

“Y-yes… a lot.”

“For fucks sake, these idiots have no self control, hurting my precious angel like this.”

Precious angel. You were his precious angel. So he did care, at least somewhat. You had a space, a chance to corrupt what was left of his heart. Your forehead was against his as you allowed him to guide you out of the cramped space, careful to sidestep when he told you, lifting one leg, the other when he whispered that you should do so. This felt right. He was back. He was here. He was ready to do anything for you. This was where you wanted him. While you were busy processing what had just unfolded and fading into your beloved manifestations, Seonghwa pulled you into an embrace and began to direct two of his men who had snuck in through the emergency exit and were awaiting instructions. After a couple of raises of the eyebrow, and one point towards the bag which you had abandoned, they began to tiptoe around the area, ready for a rapid spring cleaning.

Wherever he was taking you, you had no choice but to follow. Such was the rule. Even if you had other ideas and plans, now that Seonghwa was back, you had to fall into his rhythm, and figure out a new strategy that would not cause a dissonance. Your clouded mind was lulled by his low instruction. Slow down here, now heading out onto the street there… you were a puppet in his hold. You were… a criminal. Weren’t you? You froze just as the two of you approached a parked car, and judging by Seonghwa’s immediate instinct to reach into his pocket, you assumed it was his. No, you couldn’t. This was… you needed to go home. Conflicted, the hold you had on Seonghwa’s jacket loosened.

“Darling?”

“I… I need to go home.” his soft smile fell, replaced with a judgemental grimace. Retaining a fraction of decency, he refrained from shoving you against the vehicle, instead choosing to subject you to scrutiny.

“You are home.”

“Here?” you surveyed your surroundings, figuring out that you were outside Estelle, and luckily, there were no longer any stragglers who regularly tried to make it through into the venue past doors closing. The street was ghastly, located in one of the most dangerous parts of the metropolis housing anything from cheap alcohol and sex to designer drugs and assassins. Anything one could desire, they could find here. Was this really your home?

“Yes. With me.” Seonghwa was reeling you back. A click, and the car was unlocked. Keeping you within reach, he leaned to open the passenger door. You shook your head.

“No… no… I don’t want to be a-”

“Don’t want to be a what?” he insisted, and squeezed your upper arms, as if he was about to shake the answer out.

“A criminal.”

“The fuck?” 

“I am… look… I was… Again I was so ready to-” the man who was probably still in that alleyway, blood spilling like wine out of a glass that toppled over, occupied your vision, and you gawped at the bloodstain on Seonghwa’s cheek. 

“But you didn’t. You did not kill him.” Sighing, he stated as-a-matter-of-factly, not wishing to deal with a breakdown, far too attracted to you physically to care for what effect his expression of affection had.

“But I made you…”

“Oh baby, no you didn’t. I did it out of love for you. You had no part in this except being my angel. Darling, Y/N, come on…” picking his words carefully, he permeated your barriers, crawling into the expanse of your mind palace like a virus.

“I am no angel. The law literally says I committed crimes. I should not be here. I should never be here-”

Evidently this caring approach was not functional. You were simply melting into him and turning into a sappy mess, instead of the coldhearted bitch who he had spoken to in the club. Where were you? Where was the goddess who wanted nothing more but to hurt him? He had deconstructed you a little too much, it seemed, you needed a bit more venom in your system. Seonghwa snapped.

“You know what. You are right.”

“Huh?” still too dazed to answer properly, you hummed.

“Who do you think got you out of a jail sentence in the first place, huh?”

“I- I don’t… What?” eyes narrowing, Seonghwa peered into your soul. He needed you to wake up if he was going to give into his obsession.

“Talk to me. Take a guess. Do you really think that the judge was benevolent? Fuck… girl, you’re naive. That bastard passes his bank account around the courtroom, you really think he woke up one day and felt like being nice just because? Oh no… sweetheart. I got you out. You hear me? I did. Because like hell are you gonna be anybody else’s. Huh, you tried your best with that idiot rotting in the ground. Bet you screamed my name as he fucked you, right? Tell me, is that right? SPEAK, sweetheart, don’t piss me off.”

Noticing how you could not contain your tremors, he released his grip on your upper arms, only to position your hands so that they rested on his waist, while his cupped your face. What was supposed to be an intimate gesture felt like a stare down with a wild beast. His expression was that of a predator, pupils dilated so he could refresh the memories of every piece of you, while his lips curled into what you interpreted as a crooked, pitying smile.

If you did not know better, you would have believed that your love that was reflected in his dark orbs was actually his. But he was a twisted, terrifying man, who could only take. As such, most you could expect was his suffocating coddling, his treatment of you like you were of his design. His cooing as he peered at you and saw how you were putty under his touch. You hated him precisely because you knew you could never escape.

“Oh baby… my lovely little angel, look at you. Don’t you know that I would do anything to make you smile? Come on, you know that right?” he wiped a stray tear with his right hand, and you swore you caught a quiff of blood and gunpowder, blending with a hint of alcohol that was still on his breath from earlier, all to be washed away by that scent you always adored, vanilla, flowers, coffee. Seonghwa. You nodded, which seemed to provide relief for the man.

“And I will never let your pretty hands get dirty, okay? If you need somebody dead just say it my darling and I will do it. Me. You are my angel. And now, let me prove it to you, alright?”

Whatever noise had existed before was now but a soft buzz of a streetlamp. No rustling. Not a single droplet. Suspended in an intimate fog, you studied the criminal, the hardened killer, the bloodthirsty demon in front of you. The one who was so hellbent on getting you to follow him to the realm below, even though you had never left. It was simple. He led, you followed. He told you to jump, you jumped. That was all he wished for. And perhaps this was indeed your fate. Not to be rushing around in hospital corridors, nor to be collecting banknotes in a g-string. But to completely fall from grace for the embodiment of an apocalypse, who more than willingly closed the space between you to taste the lust you had been suppressing, relishing your shared sin.

Bang bang, that awful sound…

The wind styled your locks as Seonghwa sped deeper into the night, abandoning the artificial lighting of the underworld district. From bars and clubs, to sleepy neighbourhoods, and finally, the inspiring expanse of rolling hills and rocky slopes, he was taking you to a place where you would never be bothered nor controlled, yet one that gave you a view of the city that was so breathtaking, that it was easy to believe you could destroy it. Estelle would be smaller than ever, and your problems would be nothing more than a haze on the line of the horizon. The cliffside had been your spot when you were something of an item, with you always begging for Seonghwa to take you there, if not for the alone time, then at least for the striking skyline. How oddly romantic of him to pick the spot now.

Relaxing into the leather seat of the Rolls Royce convertible, a new addition to Seonghwa’s collection - as he had informed before starting the car, you tested the strength of the breeze by stretching your hand out of the window and letting it float. After a couple of tries, you finally got into the right pose for minimal resistance, and pretended that you were a bird, soaring, cageless. The glimmering dots of the city even further from you than now as you spread your little wings and lifted yourself towards freedom. In moments like these, you were happy to be able to enjoy the simplicities, and it was easier than ever to pretend that you were not the Y/N who had fallen so irreversibly for a beast, that to you even his lies sounded like the truth. And, of course, it was easy to imagine that Seonghwa himself was capable of feeling love.

He did not bother taking off his gloves nor, which was uncharacteristic of him, clearing the remnants of the execution off his face, as if it was a badge of honour. Interestingly, the more you observed the gangster, the more you got used to the new additions and even took them as complementing features. While he kept one hand on the steering wheel, he continuously seeked contact with you, the other gripping your thigh as if to make sure that you were still there in the car with him and were not a hallucination. The exhilarating velocity at which the car dashed past trees, somnolent villas and road signs was barely letting you catch your breath due to Seonghwa choosing to keep the roof off, and so to stabilise yourself you returned the gesture. The smirk into which his lips curled was not quite as threatening as it had appeared before, however his aggressive slam on the accelerator made you start praying. What would the family that had not yet disowned you think, if they were to find you in a crashed car with one of the most notorious men in the region? You chuckled; they would probably agree that at least the last thing you saw was beauty himself.

Finally, you approached the secluded location, and fortunately, it was as abandoned as ever. Grinding to a halt on a gravelly clearing, beyond which were two lines of wooden fences that had been set up at the very edge of the small cliff, Seonghwa set the car into parking, cranked the handbrake and turned off the ignition. A deafening silence overtook you as you looked up at the night sky, twinkling stars reminding you of the collection of silver that hung around the enigmatic fiend’s neck and on his left ear. In the absence of machinery, you could feel his presence even more acutely, and the anticipation for what he undoubtedly had planned was reducing the supposed coolness of the hour into a mere deception. Your body was burning up, and as Seonghwa’s hand moved higher and higher until it was teasing you by playing with the drawstrings of your tracksuit bottoms you had to consciously remind yourself to breathe.

You stared out at the metropolis through the windshield, registering your beloved criminal’s movements towards you. As you studied the glinting whites, reds and yellows that formed the urban starscape, you could not help but ponder how, out of all the millions of people, in this architectural phenomenon that seemed to stretch on forever, on a day when you were not even supposed to be where you had ended up being, you had run into none other than Park Seonghwa. And as fate would have it, you were naive enough to let him take everything from you. And being the loved up, hypnotised fool that you were, you thanked him for the misery in which you found yourself, because at least he made you feel. With him you were a disaster, but you saw life in colour. With him it was impossible to tell whether there would be a tomorrow, but you could exist in an exuberant today. With him, the everchanging palette of emotion had a canvas to paint on. And tonight, you were going to let the masterpiece create itself.

“Take the gloves off if you want to touch me so badly.” you derided him for his eagerness, though did not see any dampening to it. On the contrary, he appeared to be more drawn to you than ever, mumbling a ‘sure thing, darling’ as he unbuttoned the leather, and slid the pair off his hands with his canines to speed up the process. The gloves found a home in the compartment underneath the wheel, to join the harness and pistol that he had stashed away there.

“Good?” he asked, giving you a mischievous grin.

“Good.” no more words were needed for him to pull you towards him, and lock your lips together in a feverish, thrilling kiss.

Oh, how you missed this. How you missed the mind-numbing sensation of his hand on the back of your neck, how soft his lips were compared to his sharp and intimidatingly stunning appearance. You moved in a familiar rhythm, having recognised one another’s alluring presence and only wanting more with each passing second. Frustrated with the remaining distance, Seonghwa growled into you and dragged you by your top; understanding his goal, you rose from your seat and promptly were settled on his lap, grinding against his growing erection that was concealed by too many layers of clothing for your liking.

Brushing his hair back, lightly tugging on it as you reached the ends, you were giving yourself up to the scalding hot hellfire. Your memory did not fail you: the action elicited a groan, and the kiss was further deepened until your lungs were screaming for oxygen. Pulling away, you gasped, only to be alerted by a stinging pain on your cheek, and a hostile grimace on the man, whose hand was hovering next to your jawline.

“Did I say you could pull away?”

“And since when are you so damn needy?” You challenged, slapping away the hand that had just collided with you, and placing yours on his exposed throat, not bothering to ease into the action as you pushed your digits into the sensitive skin, restricting his airflow and preventing him from taunting you with a mocking retort.

You continued to rock your hips forward, sensing your own arousal climbing further and further amidst the enjoyment of the man’s temporary obedience. You watched his eyes roll back momentarily, and he attempted to tilt his head towards you and steal your lips, only for you to wriggle in his lap until you were completely out of his reach, still holding his neck.

Seonghwa was seeing stars, and yet amongst them you still shined the brightest. There you were. This was who he was searching for. When he was at his limit, and could no longer withstand the restraint, he rapidly reached for your wrist and yanked your arm away, making you yelp. To prevent you from attempting anything similar, he used his hands as cuffs to keep you under his control, and pulled you to him. Giving you a smirk corrupted by lust, he kissed you again, only this time letting his long tongue part your mouth, and swirl itself around.

Wanton sounds filled your mind and preoccupied your ears as you parted, strings of saliva connecting you. Apparently dissatisfied, Seonghwa raised an eyebrow, and gripped your waist. Sitting up, he mumbled ‘back seat’ and stumbled out of the car with you wrapped around him. In seconds, you were lying on the couch-like leather, Seonghwa above you as he shifted his attention to your neck, leaving trails of spit, and nipping at the skin until he saw the beloved bruising begin to show. Sucking above the jugular vein, he imagined himself tearing you apart then and there. Destroying you. But the way in which your hands swiftly moved to unbutton his shirt was too enticing to not commend.

“Look who is needy now.” he teased, and reached for the zipper on your hoodie, unable to contain a pleased sigh as he saw that you had not changed out of the white dancewear. As soon as the hoodie was off, and flying in the direction of the steering wheel, he let himself devour the tainted goddess that you were.

Trailing over the fabric, he did not wish to take it off, the image of you around the pole still fresh in his mind and amplifying his lust. His lips made contact with your chest as he added more love bites to his abstract design.

“You drove me crazy earlier tonight with those moves of yours. How could you even consider anything else when you have a body made to sin?”

“I think you are batshit by default.”

“Do you want me to punish you again?” he threatened, discontented when it had no effect on you as you contended. 

“By what, hitting me? Two can play that game-” as soon as he saw your hand flying towards him, he caught it and forced it down by you, and chuckled.

“Be a good girl and you’ll come.”

“Big deal.”

“Says the whore who was grinding against me.”

He shifted to untie your sweats, and dragged the material down to reveal your matching white g-string, stopping for a second before moving to take it off too. The bra was going to be enough for him.

“Says the reprobate with a hardon from the bare minimum.”

He did not respond, too enraptured by the sight before him. Your form, laid out and so familiar, and yet, the newfound resolve and the bite in your words was boundlessly more attractive than the mellow nurse in training that he had fucked before. The blaze that had festered and grown within you, painting your psyche and very essence in the soot of detestation was a guiding light to him, a star in the pitch black that he gravitated towards, and wished to take over. Your strength and determination spurred him on and inspired him to make you reach the point of no return. How? He was yet to decide. But that came after he had his fill of your intoxicating body.

“Damn, Y/N, do I even need to get you ready for me? You’re so fucking wet-” he remarked, running a hand over your pussy, with it immediately receiving a dose of your slick.

“Guess you don’t.” you countered, attempting to shut your legs together, but to no avail as your brattiness only encouraged him.

“You know what. I am in a giving mood. A changed man. Ready to commit some good deeds.” he announced to you in a low, borderline monstrous tone as Seonghwa pulled you by your ankles closer to him and began to work at your arousal.

After a slow start, where he languidly circled your nub until you gave out a whine, the man dedicated himself wholly, and soon enough, you were sinking into a sensual paradise. The two digits pumped into you, while with his other hand Seonghwa was stimulating your sensitive clit relentlessly, rubbing the erect nub until you were barely able to produce any sound at all. Pressing his thumb right against its tip, he curled his fingers and beckoned you closer to a climax, stopping the motions, he kept his hand inside as he replaced the finger that was dominating your clit with another thumb, and instead took to rapidly building you up with practised, fast flicks, higher, higher, just as you were about to-

Your hips jerked up, only to be met with a total emptiness as you tried desperately to coax Seonghwa into giving you your orgasm, to which he only responded with a click of his tongue, and a demonstrative sucking of his digits as you watched him with a glazed over expression.

“You rude, unbearable menace.”

“Awh, is my precious angel angry that I did not give you what you wanted?” he asked, giving his cock a couple of pumps before making a circular motion with his index finger and ordering you.

“On your hands and knees, like the bitch you are.” immediately, you obliged, unable to contain yourself after he had denied you what you had been seeking, with that devilish grin suggesting just how much the notion had excited him. Finally, he undid his belt and trousers, letting his aching length spring free, a hiss escaping Seonghwa as the cool air hit it.

Finding your slick-coated pussy with the tip of his cock, he teased you, repeatedly moving it back and forth between your folds. When you let out a whine, rocking your ass side to side in an attempt to deliver your need for more friction, Seonghwa merely chuckled and pushed forward, keeping his member flush against your sex, but not offering any relief. Your wetness coated him as he continued the torturous act, pausing to flick your clit and snicker at just how desperate you had become for his dick.

“Tell me if you want it.” Seonghwa wanted to hear you beg, or sigh, or anything else to suggest that you were fully pliable, but what had come out of your dirty mouth surpassed all his wishes.

“You want this pussy more than I want you, judging by how fucking hard your cock is, Hwa.”

Without as much as a warning, he put an end to the foreplay and slammed his hips against yours, sinking deep inside and groaning at the warm invitation of your walls. As he heard you yell out, he mercilessly glided back until only his tip was between your labia, only to thrust and bottom out once more. And again. And again. Just as he had remembered from the nights he had you before, this left you trembling, and soon enough your body was pleading for more, to which he happily obliged, smacking you on the ass and speeding up.

The feeling of you spasming around him and the feeble moans were an unrivalled art. He positioned one hand to hook around you and held it against the area right below your belly, biting his lip as he felt his dick pushing deep inside you, the bulge detectable by his palm. Closing his eyes, Seonghwa focused on this sensation, thereby slowing down ever so slightly, and moving to hit the spot that accelerated the growth of the knot in your tightening core. 

“A-ah… Seong… hwa…” you mewled into each stroke, hazy and unable to form anything more than nonsensical babble.

“That’s right, darling, only I can make you feel this good.”

Seonghwa was despicable, because he knew exactly how to make you lose your mind and fall apart under him and forget that you ever hated him at all, driven only by a carnal passion. Having had enough practice to study you, you were at his mercy as he provided the exact fullness that you had been desiring for so long, the exact firm thrusts that were bringing you closer and closer to a total fall, and the honey-laden voice that had you turning even weaker.

“My- darling-”

Your climax came down on you hard and fast, and you crumbled into the shaking that washed over you, forehead almost connecting with the back of the seats if not for the fistful of your tresses that Seonghwa had grabbed. Not letting you ride out your high, he quickened his pace and each thrust was making your vision darken and your moans turn into pathetic wails, drowned out by the lewd slapping of skin against skin that was lubricated by your orgasm. Using you as a fucktoy, he chased his own high and pushed you into an abyss of violent pleasure, ceasing to abuse your cunt only when he deemed it necessary for himself.

He slid his cock out of your pulsating sex, dragging it over your clit before ushering you to kneel before him. Movements still too slow and lagging, Seonghwa proceeded to guide one leg, then another down, so that you were ready for him. Lifting your chin, he he peered into your hazy orbs and commanded:

“Open.”

As you slackened your jaw and opened your mouth wide in obedience, he spat into it, and upon positioning one of his hands at the back of your head and the other at the base of his member, he slid into the warmth, sighing as your tongue glided along his throbbing length, as if encouraging him to go deeper until his tip hit the very limit and bumped against the back of your throat. You struggled to suppress your gag reflex, but the salaciousness of the combination of yours and his spit and your orgasm dribbling around his cock as you began to bob your head was driving Seonghwa to the brink of insanity, and you desperately wanted to see him unravel entirely.

“Ah… that’s it. My good cock slut. This mouth is built… for me.”

You allowed him to choke you as he fucked your throat with abandon, submitting to the oncoming waves of his orgasm. Clawing at his thighs you seeked balance, to which he responded by pushing you even closer, earning a muted yelp. The vibration drove him over the edge as he pumped himself inside you only a few more times, before collapsing into a series of staggered bucks of the hips and a muttering of filthy curses.

“Swallow darling, I bet you were dreaming of this- ah, fuck-” he exclaimed. 

He threw his head back as you centred yourself, trying to relax into how his hand that was tangled in your hair kept you so close that your nose was pressed against his pubic bone, though it proved to be an impossible challenge. In an effort to overcome the pain that spread over your jaw as Seonghwa refused to let go of you, you blinked away the moisture in your eyes and focused on the sensation of the hot, salty cum coating and running down the back of your throat. 

When he finally released you from his hold and let you fall onto the floor of the car, you sputtered and gasped for air, vision having grown blurry. While he did not comfort you, nor praise you for how well you had taken him, even though judging from his state you could make your own conclusions about the performance, this roughness felt more real, more honest than the intimacy you had shared before. You licked the corners of your mouth, collecting the remnants of his cum and spit, and crawled up onto the leather seating to be met with open arms, a gesture which, in your exhaustion, you accepted.

Captured in a lazy embrace you admired the universe that surrounded you. The dawn was imminent, with some of the more enthusiastic birds already greeting you with their songs and the distant rumble of the city beginning to pick up, and yet none of this felt real. It was like you were floating in the air, tethered to the mortal realm only by the man beside you. You had taken the liberty of snatching Seonghwa’s suit jacket, considering that the outerwear you had been wearing had been unceremoniously discarded and thrown into the driver leg space, outside of your immediate reach. 

You pondered what was going to happen after this broken reunion, that had been as always, orchestrated by the evil mastermind with a pretty face, currently resting on the seats, one arm over the door, the other on the back rest, head tilted to the sky. When you inspected one of the dark spots on the right sleeve of the jacket, you had come to realise that the dead man, who you had left behind to chase your pleasure, had, amidst his departure from the living, was trying to greet Seonghwa. Using his gang name, no less. You wanted to laugh until tears would be streaming down your face. Double over and, hands hitting your thighs, fail to compose yourself and continue laughing at just how ignorant you were. Fooled once again. Of course that scene had been this criminal’s doing. How else could anything ever happen to you if not with Seonghwa’s meddling? This overly involved, human embodiment of jeopardy who you had voluntarily invited in to share space and time, so elegant as he was devoid of movement, counting stars in the sky, the unbuttoned white shirt gracing his figure like a heavenly robe. It was a shame that you had to have chosen him to glorify, especially since he fit the role well enough to fit into your delusions.

As you sat upright, only to put your elbows on your knees and lean to catch your head in your hands, you mused whether you truly despised this man or not. It was almost habitual, routinely, to curse his name again, and again until it was nothing but an incoherent collection of syllables. It was your shield and clarity, your comprehension of the incorrigible man who, come the opportunity, would shoot you down the same way that he did to hundreds, if not thousands of others. It was heartbreaking, gut-wrenching, but unfortunately true. In his eyes the individuals with families, friends, hopes and dreams, hell, even those with nothing at all, were nothing but sacks of bone and blood that he could scare into submission, or drain if they disobeyed. Such were his methods. Methods that you had looked the other way from, making yourself believe that you were above that amateur, unjust purgatory. No matter how much of you Seonghwa received as an offering, it was never going to be enough. The seven deadly sins were a bucket list for him, and one in which he would outshine every reckless criminal. He was systematic, calculating, and would not hesitate to remove a variable that no longer served him.

You were serene, a ghost of a smile dancing on your lips. Slowly, you blinked, immersing yourself in the sensation of the bites, the kisses that the man you had once felt something for gifted you. Sultry tattoos that you would wear with the pride of a person who had defeated themselves, come to terms with, and learnt to coexist with inner turmoil. Nothing short of a miracle. If this hell were to continue, then you would simply have to adapt to live with the ebbs and flows of a turbulent tide. Hilarious, how you were treating Seonghwa as if he was a terminal disease that you had to live with, but the analogy was comforting. Until the moment when you would receive a bullet between your brows, you would strive to live fully, and remain indifferent. As much as you had wanted to ‘get the final word’, you had come to realise that all you had to say had been said, and he was no longer worth your time. Looking at the horizon, you spotted the sun beginning to stir under its heavy blankets, getting ready to rise.

“You thought about me, didn’t you?” Seonghwa’s voice broke your peace, and you turned to him, regarding his bewitching demeanour with a tired onceover.

“Hm?”

“You were thinking about me, in that alley way. Weren’t you?” so, he had realised now, too. However, you were not bothered to continue this discourse. Fascinating how the mind of even the most evil of men could get fixated on the simple things like a random good-for-nothing becoming a gourmet meal for maggots.

“I am not sure why or how that matters.”

“Would you kindly get the gun for me?” Now that piqued your interest, so you obliged, and reached over the front seats, aware of how your ass was on full display for Seonghwa though he had just seen you in even more lewd tones. After a couple of tries, the hand gun was in your hands, and hooking it by the trigger guard, you tried to pass it to its owner. To your surprise, he refused and you remained standing in your perplexion.

“What are you getting at?”

“You definitely thought about me. As a matter of fact you were thinking about doing this for a long time.” you could not deny that, and thus remained silent, “Remember how I taught you to fire a gun?” the man continued, and you nodded along.

“That I do, but again. Not sure how it applies.” you crossed your arms, the pistol swinging ever so slightly from your index finger.

“Don’t you want to fulfil your dream, darling?” he raised an eyebrow and grinned.

Another game. Another dare. Another attempt at making you feel something when you had no more emotions to spare. You were spent. For the first time since you had first come to be acquainted with Park Seonghwa, Seonghwa, Hwa, Mars, you saw a stranger. A passing face who you would regard, but most importantly, go on your merry way and never wish to see again. No more yearning, nor begging. He was cute when he thought he was in control. You chuckled, earning a questioning gaze from the ghost of your past.

“What is so amusing, my dear Y/N? So delighted that you can barely contain yourself?”

Oh, if only he knew. You steadied your breathing, and through half-lidded eyes, took in the man’s form that you had once worshipped. Everything had finally clicked, and unknowingly, the symphony in your mind was now fully composed, all to Seonghwa’s rhythm. Your magnum opus, by the visitation of a brutal muse, completed. With the softness of a stalking cat, you bent forward and came face to face with this boy, and with both hands, pressed the gun to his bare chest, smiling languidly as it collided with the necklaces to make a noteless tune. Seonghwa’s eyes widened as he followed your ascension back to now leaning against the front seat further from him, stifling a laugh of his own as he realised your intentions. The world held its breath as you dispelled your nightmare, and, light-hearted, like you were discussing daily happenings or the weather, asked him:

“You said you’d keep my hands clean, right?”

“Yes.” breathless, he whispered.

“You said you would kill anyone for me, right?” you continued sweetly, studying how Seonghwa checked the magazine and clicked the hammer with practised motions, appearing almost impressed.

“Yes.”

“Do anything to make me smile?” you tested, and he conceded, brushing a hand over the barrel, and looking up to memorise your every detail.

“Yes.”

“Then prove it. And make me smile. One last time.”

You uttered, admiring how his perfect skin, his gorgeous eyes, his dark soul glowed, caught ablaze in the rays of the rising sun.

Bang bang, my baby shot me down.

[underratedgrapeju1ce]

You mentioned Sonic and Rouge are technically Shadow’s caregivers and he needs supervision. You also mentioned he hates it, how does he cope later on ? Does it change their relationship with them ? How do they learn to go through it ?

warnings for suicidal ideation and mentions of throwing up/gagging, proceed with caution!

this got long.

Shadow has always been hard headed. Stubborn. Independent. Insistent that he can handle himself even when he's falling apart. That was how he lived his life: show no weakness, take care of yourself.

So when he was left blinded, unable to trust his own thoughts, and scrubbed raw from the inside out, his every memory exposed and no longer his own, he didn't exactly know how to cope.

Sonic would say he had it easier. Shadow disagreed. Though he knew what Black Doom had done to him was likely worse, Shadow was, depressingly, somewhat used to it.

The manipulation, being seen as both worthless and a perfect target for blame--- it was all second nature by now.

Subjectively, he tries to argue, Sonic losing his freedom is a more novel, and thus more terrifying occurrence. Omega tells him he's intellectualizing his feelings again. Shadow doesn't answer.

Rouge usually stays with him. They were close before, for their standards. Sometimes mission partners, roommates for their collective financial benefit, trusting enough that Shadow smiles around her when he can muster it. Sure, they weren't arm-in-arm, ruffling each other's fur and throwing get-togethers, but they felt connected. And that was enough for them.

Shadow missed that now.

Now, Rouge watched over him like a nurse rather than a companion. Sonic wasn't nocturnal, so she had "night shift" as they called it. It made Shadow nauseous with guilt, how exhausting his presence was now. He was forcing his closest companions to do the equivalent of care for an infant, and he voices it as such.

They assure him they do it because they cared. Sometimes Shadow screams that he knows they're here because they pity him. A few hours later he cries to them and begs them not to leave.

After that, he feels the sickening dread that he's let himself be seen vulnerable and weak. Sometimes he gets sick from it, and Sonic has to hold his quills back. The cycle begins anew.

Technically, Shadow doesn't need to sleep. He voices this repeatedly. Sure the insomnia makes his useless eyes throb and his head feel as if it's being drilled with an ice pick, grinding his skull to dust, but he prefers that over the possibility of dreams.

He does not want to relive the altar. He does not want to see his father wearing his own face and using it to torture the ones he loves. He does not want to remember the collective of the hive embracing his every thought.

Black Doom is dead. He knows this deep in his soul and in his bones and in his mind. He knows this, because the deep, humming buzz in the back of his head for his entire life---an oddity he never took note of---went quiet when he was blinded. His mind is silent. Shadow sobs, quietly so Rouge does not hear, so he doesn't have to explain how utterly lonely he feels in his own mind. The guilt makes him choke and cough and gag. The Ultimate Lifeform was meant to cure sickness.

Of course Shadow had considered killing himself. All of Gerald's creations had a kill switch, right? If he simply knew.

Logically, it made sense to him.

He attracted threats to the planet. He was prone to violence and impulsivity. His father's blood rotted in his veins. He was a weapon. He was dangerous. And now he was a burden on his companions lives.

He had explained this calmly and simply, as if proposing a craft project. Even without sight, he could see Sonic's horrified disbelief. It only made Shadow confused.

Shadow was stubborn. Independent. Cold. Now, he doesn't know what he is at all. Weak, burdensome. About as good as a broken gun. He does not know how much longer he can logically allow himself to go on living.

But in the fleeting moments his hatred of himself and his weakness and his contempt towards his friends dissipates, and he clings to Rouge and lets himself cry, allows himself to sob and tell the empty room that what happened to him wasn't fair, he was a child, he didn't deserve this---god, he didn't deserve this, none of them did---and when his sobs turn to shaky hiccups and he allows himself to be seen,

Shadow does not want to die.

His last final "fuck you" to his father.

Shadow will keep living.