#endgame can choke

[porquenolostodos]

This shit, this beautiful shit right here, is why I didn't bother watching Endgame. If you're gonna amatonormativity/no-homo this entire relationship into oblivion because you're mad a bunch of fans want gay, go fuck yourself.

Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield.

BUCKY BARNES & STEVE ROGERS in the MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE

[swordgrace]

𝐀𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐘.

༺ aemond targaryen x fem!reader.

SYNOPSIS: in the aftermath of rook’s rest, you seek aemond out to inquire about his wellbeing. instead, you find him somewhere else — somewhere unexpected. (set after S2 EP4).

༺ FORMAT: one-shot — not requested.

༺ WORD COUNT: 5.2K.

༺ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni) , spoilers for s2 ep4, public sex / risk of getting caught, knifeplay, imbalance of power, rough sex, darkish!aemond, dom!aemond, p in v sex (unprotected), oral (f!receiving), fingering, brief tiddy sucking, groping, biting / marking, hair pulling, choking, fucking right in front of the iron throne, inaccurate high valyrian, brief dirty talk, lots of aemond’s inner thoughts, breeding kink if you squint, aemond is extremely possessive of the reader to an unhealthy degree.

༺ AUTHOR’S NOTE: to preface, I am working on requests, this just happened to make its way out of my brain before anything else did. This was inspired by the single shot of Aemond standing in front of the Iron Throne in the S2 EP5 trailer, you can tell how desperate I got as soon as I saw it. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy! There will be a Jace fic dropping tomorrow, too! ❤️

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐄 — a seat of power constructed by Aegon the Conqueror in the aftermath of a bloodied war, forged from thousands of surrendered swords.

In the days of Aegon the Conqueror, it was said that the Throne was sometimes too high to climb, a jagged labyrinth of blades melded by dragon’s fire, a throne fit for any ruler. Men impaled themselves upon one another’s blades for it, turned against one another, endless betrayals and treacheries ensued all for the sake of the endgame, to see themselves upon the Throne.

Brother turned against brother — you didn’t expect anything less from Aemond, whose desire to exact revenge boiled just beneath the surface. The Battle at Rook’s Rest had proved a slaughter on all fronts, between the decimation of both Cole’s armies and the castle they laid siege upon, to the death of the Princess Rhaenys and her dragon, Melys.

Whispers spread through the Red Keep in regards to King Aegon’s condition, bones crushed beneath the weight of Sunfyre, who plummeted from the skies in a ball of fire. His flesh was scorched, half of his body melded to the Valyrian Steel armor he wore, burnt beyond recognition.

If they were to be believed, King Aegon was gravely wounded — and if a fatality ensued, who would then bear the mantle of King?

A restless dusk gripped King’s Landing as the surviving soldiers from Cole’s armies arrived at the city gates, King Aegon amongst the wounded. In what you considered to be a mass panic and hysteria, Maesters rushed to diligently attend to their King, who seemed to be meeting a simmering grave inside of his armor — it would be his tomb if they weren’t careful.

Merely a handmaiden and servant to nobility, the antics of your masters didn’t interest you — you were wholly preoccupied with your own survival and self-preservation, amongst other things. It was said that Aemond and Vhagar had swarmed the battlefield and come to King Aegon’s defense, but by the time they had, Aegon had been swallowed by dragonfire.

Part of you had difficulty believing that Aemond truly attempted to save his elder brother, given Aemond’s embittered sentiments. Your relationship with the Prince had transcended all bonds of propriety — and if anyone were to find out, they would likely have your head for sullying his virtue.

Nevertheless, as chaos swarmed around you, you knew exactly who to seek out. Queen Alicent had little desire to be hounded by handmaidens while her eldest son struggled to hang onto his own life, something you could understand. Instead, you made for Aemond’s chambers, the route embedded into your mind.

You sought him — all of him. His lilac hue, a maelstrom of forlorn emotions, and his silvery tresses, like cascading silk, embedded themselves into your mind. His cunning countenance and beguiled expression were like hot-iron brands cast onto your thoughts, tormenting you with each waking moment.

As you stepped closer to the Throne Room, no longer guarded by Kingsguard, you saw the great door ajar — no King atop the throne. You wondered if he would live, Aegon — a drunken, broken man who preferred his cups and whores over ruling — or if he would perish.

You knew who would sit the Iron Throne, should Aegon fall.

A heavy darkness had befallen the throne room, fitting for the many tragedies, like the gloom of a shadow haunting all who dared to enter. Curiosity gripped you as you stepped inside, a place well above your station, yet you wondered if there was anyone inside.

The doors remained shut, save for the one you slipped through, the gap slim. Flickering braziers provided some illumination to such a grandeur hall, but it seemed so dour and lifeless without the presence of the day, without subjects fluttering in and out. Instead, it provided an ominous sense of dread, as if luring those inside with dark omens and false promises.

A familiar crown of silvery tresses stood at the very center, before the throne — he didn’t need to turn around for you to know who it was. He seemed entirely unscathed by the battle at Rook’s Rest, hands carefully folded behind his back, posture poised and dignified.

Aegon’s dagger flashed within his right hand, clutched tightly at his side. You wondered how he had acquired the blade so swiftly after a tragedy — but you knew. You had always known of Aemond’s nature, of his restrained resentment towards his brother, the King of the Seven Kingdoms.

“Aemond.” Your voice reverberated throughout the throne room, carrying a fair distance as you closed the door behind you. The studded mahogany groaned in protest, yet bent to your will as it closed with a noisy thud. Admittedly, you were surprised to see him here, and not in the comfort of his chambers.

He didn’t move, rigid and still as you quietly approached, dresses sweeping across the smooth stone beneath you. His violet hues remained transfixed upon the Iron Throne, a throne that would soon be his, if fate favored him. So many swords, so much strife and conflict that forged such a chair — so much bloodshed.

Aemond often wondered what the weight of the crown would feel like upon his brow — and even then, he knew he would wear it better than Aegon ever could. He had stood by the wayside for far too long, learned in his studies and a talented swordsman, wondering if it would all have some reward, some payoff.

Now, his opportunity was swiftly approaching.

Whatever anger he’d often kept leashed, it had struck out, like the bite of a poisonous viper, sinking into its prey with all its bitter viciousness. It was the same tempestuous rage that had lashed at Lucerys Velaryon, and now it had struck his brother, Aegon the Magnanimous.

A stupid sobriquet for a stupid man — a drunken fool. Aemond would simply pass it off as an unfortunate accident, with Aegon carelessly stepping into the line of fire whilst tangling with the Queen Who Never Was. Swift decisions had to be made on his part, his brother a victim of such action.

Any silver-tongued words that would placate his Mother, he was prepared to let them fly. Aemond knew enough to know that the consequences would be slim, and those of true action and cruel intentions would take Aegon’s place — men like himself.

Soft footfalls fell across black stone, and you called his name again, like a siren’s song luring the sailor into deeper waters. “Aemond.” It was saccharine, dripping with genuine warmth that the Prince was simply unaccustomed to.

The unexpected lull of your voice broke his fixation, and he looked to you with a gaze full of desire. It was a farcry from the frustrated, despondent man you’d encountered days prior following the incident at the brothel. There was a newfound fire within his eyes, a confidence restored — a sense of triumph.

Admittedly, you were rather perplexed by this invigorated side to Aemond — that wild gleam within his lilac eye only seemed to grow in intensity as you approached him. “I heard the news of what happened to your brother,” You began, pondering his reaction. “You have my deepest sympathies.��

The admiration he had for you only seemed to blossom, knowing that you were simply keeping up appearances for his sake. Aemond’s mouth tilted into the ghost of a smirk, feigning melancholy despite the truth of his own actions. “It was a horrible thing, what happened to the King,” He uttered, glancing toward the throne. “I wish for his swift recovery.”

A facade was a mere understatement — you could almost taste the smug bemusement that rested within Aemond’s tone. The slight quirk of his mouth, the manner in which he spoke — his sympathies for Aegon were nonexistent.

“As any good brother would.” You replied, stepping closer until you stood before the Iron Throne, gaze falling upon the thousands of swords swarming the seat, blades of many shapes and sizes. You wondered about the people behind each sword — who swung it, what their lives must’ve been like.

A brief hum escaped Aemond, who observed you hawkishly as you approached, violet hue greedily drinking you in as he had many times before. You had stood so faithfully by his side, never admonished him for the brash actions taken against his family, never deemed him pathetic for what happened at the brothel.

He cared little for your station, little for your status as a lowborn — if he sat the Iron Throne, he could have whatever he wanted. It didn’t matter if you were a commoner, Aemond could envision you as his wife, a Queen — no longer bowing to the whims of greater men and women who cared little for you.

“Did my Mother dismiss you this evening?” Aemond questioned, digits tense around the pommel of Aegon’s knife — now his. Seeing as he was no longer fit to carry the weapon, it was only just that it pass to his brother, his next of kin.

“She did,” A gentle exhale escaped you, one that allowed you to maintain your composure. Being in Aemond’s presence seemed to make you dizzy with desire with each passing moment — not a new sentiment, but an intoxicating one. “I was coming to find you, to see if you were well after the battle.”

Shamelessly, Aemond became quite aroused at the thought of you wandering about the Red Keep with the single-minded desire to see him. His blood ran hot after the battle — the surge of adrenaline did not lessen in your presence.

His jaw tensed slightly as he appraised you, taking a step closer, brazenly closing the distance between you both. He could smell your perfume, the warm bouquet of flowers and a touch of honey. “How thoughtful.” His voice dropped to a low purr, dripping with the first inklings of lust.

Your breath hitched, words turning to ash upon your tongue as your fingers curled into your dress. Aemond enticed you in ways that no man had before — and he saw you, a woman beneath the gowns of a servant. The hammering of your heart within your chest had stirred something powerful — your want for him consumed you like a tidal wave.

Before you could utter his name, he descended like a starving wolf to kiss you, open-mouthed and bleeding lust. You shivered, wanting to coax him into returning to his chambers before things became heated. His hand dropped to seize your hip, hauling you closer to him until no space was left between your bodies.

You reciprocated his kiss, able to hear a faint growl of approval building up within his throat. It was fiery and hot, with little concern of who might see you. Aemond was growing emboldened, brazen knowing the power he now held within his grasp.

“We should return to your quarters,” You whispered, a strained whimper tearing past your lips as Aemond kissed your jaw, sucking at the flesh of your neck. “Aemond, we can’t — not here.” Your breathy pleas fell upon deaf ears — what better place to claim you than before his new throne?

“We can,” Aemond murmured, pushing your tresses aside as he claimed your throat, laying waste to your flesh in his rabid kisses and hungry bites. “The rest of the Keep is preoccupied.” His reassurance was threadbare at best, but you were beginning to slip off of the deep end, fingers clawing at his tunic.

“What if someone sees?” Fear trickled into your voice, a subtle fright that Aemond found to be enticing. You worried for your own skin — he could understand that. A moan escaped you as Aemond nipped at your jugular, squeezing at your hips.

You failed to comprehend that he would protect you, shield you if needed. He did not need to justify his obsession for you, just as Aegon never offered any justification for his nightly whore hunts. Aemond seemed quick to soothe your worry, hand clasping at the nape of your neck.

“Then I will have their head,” His delectable purr dropped an octave, scratching the itch within your head. “You needn’t worry, ñuha dōna. I can do whatever I wish.” Aemond assured you, a great fire burning within his lilac hue. The leather of his eyepatch concealed the listless sapphire beneath.

He only needed to serve himself — his family cared little for him, and the world was often against him. He looked forward to facing Daemon whenever the time came, should he be bold enough to challenge him. Aemond dismissed it all — Aegon, his mother, Criston Cole — the only thing that mattered were the both of you.

Aemond’s streak of possessiveness had grown into something uncontrollable, a festering desire to keep you close, spiraling into obsession. You were many things to him, many things he coveted for himself.

After a moment of hesitation, you decided to make things tempting for Aemond, loosening the bodice of your dress. His breath hitched, the noise subtle if one wasn’t observant enough. He seized the back of your head once more, hungrily pressing his lips to yours, consuming you in another heated kiss.

A dour portrait of dusk hovers around the Red Keep, its shadowy tendrils slinking into the throne room. Only moonlight and dying braziers are your guide, and Aemond is at his prettiest whenever he’s touched by the silvery rays. It strikes his narrow visage, paints his silky tresses in pale light.

He is closer to a god now than he is a man — fortunately, you were willing to return to religion if it meant that Aemond was who you worshiped. As much as you liked to believe it was the foundation of your relationship, he thought of it alternatively, the roles reversed.

Your digits slip beneath the overcoat he wore, marred by speckled dirt and brimstone. His broad, sinewy shoulders are concealed by his tunic, and he seems vastly overdressed compared to you, still wearing your servant’s clothes. Aemond had gotten you a dress to wear with him before — you never wore it otherwise.

There is a certain intensity in the way he kisses you, as if each embrace might be your last. In the aftermath of a battle, you understand such sentiments, given the fate of the King and the Princess Rhaenys.

A growl reverberates within the depths of his throat as he pries his mouth away from you, gesturing toward the flight of obsidian steps that ascend toward the Iron Throne. “There,” He uttered, more of a command than a suggestion. “Lay down.”

A shudder rolls down the length of your spine, followed by an onslaught of goosebumps that snake across your flesh like a fever. Your stomach churned with anticipation, filling with the sensation of sloshing heat, burning brighter as each moment passed.

Without question, you step toward the throne, noticing the sharpness of some blades, the dullness of others. You find your footing upon the last step, feeling Aemond stalk closer. The rustling of his belt makes you shiver, only to find the steely chill of the Conqueror’s knife pressed against the dip between your shoulder and neck.

Aemond closes in behind you, caging you against his chest, like a predator swarming hapless prey. His narrow nose brushed along your soft tresses as he dragged the tip of the knife from your shoulder to ribcage. “Shall I cut this from you?” He uttered, digging the Valyrian steel into the fabric of your dress.

Swallowing the growing lump within your throat, you brace yourself for the bite of the knife, for the unruly tear of fabric, but it never comes. Instead, Aemond’s mouth pressed vigorous kisses against your neck, hand seizing you by the throat.

“Ao sytilībagon naejot nyke.” Aemond purred, feeling you turn within his grasp. Desire oozed between you both, an onslaught of carnality soon to follow. His lilac hue flickered over your countenance, drinking in your beauty with unrestrained rapture. You belong to me.

From what little High Valyrian you’d learned in the time you’ve been with Aemond, you strung enough of the sentence together to know what he meant. “Iksan aōhon.” A soft whimper emerged from between your parted lips, noticing the way his pupil dilated with amorous intent.

I am yours.

A flame of obsession roared within his gaze, enough to burn you alive where you stood. Aemond reveled in your submission to him, drank in your devotion — a devotion that would prove fruitful, should he ascend the throne. The tip of the knife prodded into your sternum, and you absentmindedly leaned forward.

Aemond captured your mouth once more, laying claim to you — his paramour. There was nothing sweeter than your desperate mewls and reciprocated passion, the succor of your mouth, the saccharine scent of your perfume.

The both of you descended to the floor, icy and stony as it prodded into your back. He knelt between your legs, gaze momentarily flickering between the shadow of the Iron Throne and your mesmerized visage. Aemond kissed you again, nipping at your lower lip before rucking up your skirts, pushing them toward your hips.

With one knee, he bullied his way in between your thighs, breaths heavier, wrought with anticipation as he lowered his mouth to your collarbone. In one smooth tug, he loosened your bodice, wrestling with the coarse material as he buried his face into your silky skin.

The throes of passion filled the air — short gasps and labored pants accompanied by the constant shuffling of fabric. “Aemond,” You moaned, watching as he bit the leather of his glove, removing the garment in one jerk of his head. Flesh to flesh, he moved to drag his digits along your weeping slit. “Aemond.” Urgency crept into your voice, strung-out by need.

“Hm,” His cajoling hum sent shivers down your spine, heat sloshing around within your stomach. Arousal pooled between your thighs, nectar sticky and gathering swiftly. “What a delicious gift you’ve given me.” Aemond uttered, slender digits continuing to stroke at your cunt, his pace agonizingly slow.

Lifting his fingers to his lips, he let them rest upon his tongue, gathering your juices to taste. A satisfied grunt of approval escaped him, one that made you meld into the floor. It was an uncomfortable surface, yet any thought of discomfort dissipated the moment Aemond’s lips pressed against the inside of your knee.

Instinctively, your hands flew toward his crown of silken tresses, digging in with an ironclad hold. Aemond released a low hiss of satisfaction, pressing hot kisses along the inside of your thigh. He dipped lower, breath fanning across your cunt.

His tongue raked hot embers across your aching core, delivering a series of deliberate strokes that were sure to make you squirm. Aemond preferred to savor you, consuming every drop of your nectar as if it were the finest of wines.

“Aemond!” Your voice rose above the cacophony of lewd noises ensuing below, noisy enough to reverberate throughout the throne room. It worried you, the potential of someone finding you with the Prince-Regent between your legs, but pleasure began to outweigh logic.

His name felt sweet from your mouth — if Aemond had it his way, he would make you say it a thousand times over. The sharp bridge of his nose buried itself into your mound, cock twitching within the leather of his breeches.

Another breathy moan left you, stomach pooling with a rush of molten heat. It oozed between your legs as your arousal fell upon the Prince’s tongue, much to his delight. He did not waste a drop, mouth traveling wherever he pleased, lapping at every inch of your cunt.

The Iron Throne overshadowed the both of you, a jagged mess of swords surrounded by dusk. Slats of moonlight trickled in from the stained glass above, falling across his visage, violet hue sparkling with lust. His lips greedily kissed at your clit, causing your hips to lurch forward.

“Look at me.” A pointed demand spoken from an edged tongue, one that commanded your attention without wavering. With a strangled moan, you turned your head to him, furthering the fire within your belly. Your doe-eyed stare locked onto him, lips falling apart.

As your eyes flickered over his poised features, your hand tightened within his tresses, coaxing him closer toward the apex of your thighs. Aemond wasn’t sly at suppressing the delight he felt in that moment, greedily lapping at your cunt.

You watched, enthralled by the ministrations of his mouth, the flick of his tongue, the tantalizing efforts made to draw you back in. His features were carved like marble, by the steady hand of a sculptor — godly, in the best way possible.

Aemond hoped that your blissful cries would alert the guards — perhaps, all could bear witness to his carnal delights, know that you belonged to him and him alone. His lips crawled to a sluggish pace, made only to torment you as he peppered feather-light kisses against your clit. The lack of pressure nearly made you wretch, digits curling into a fist.

Every fiber of your being felt as if it had been set ablaze, washed within the fires of his affection. He knew your body well, as well as he knew his own, tongue dipping to have a taste of your core as it lightly jutted against your entrance. You whimpered, the noise pathetic and pitiful, yet overwhelmingly eager.

“Please,” You moaned, breathy and clawing for some shred of release, canting your hips forward. Aemond retreated, just enough to leave you writing upon the steps before a sly chuckle reverberated between your thighs. His torture of you was playful and intimate, intended to make you beg. “Please, Aemond!”

How could he deny you when you sounded so sweet?

With a soft hum, Aemond returned to devour your cunt, drink from the nectar that oozed between your legs. His hands situated themselves against your thighs, nails digging in enough to leave behind traces of angered crescent marks.

The heat between your legs intensified, arousal stinging your bones, body bent underneath Aemond’s will as he lapped at your core. His lips were accompanied by his spindly digits as two fingers prodded at your entrance, feeling the crescendo of your whimpers before sinking themselves into your tight cunt.

Squelching intermingled with that of brazen pants and your myriad of moans, a cacophony of lust that permeated the throne room. It felt sinful, to defile the steps of a seat of power, but that shame swiftly contorted into bliss — it felt good.

It felt good to be desired, for Aemond to feel not an ounce of regret or remorse for being with you or for the carnage his actions wrought. The darkness that festered within his eye only grew, once a flickering shade, now growing into something sprawling.

At last, his lips pursed around your clit, stimulating that sensitive clutch of nerves. Your back arched from the stone, thighs rattling like falling leaves as he brought about your ruin. His digits viciously pumped in and out of your cunt, preparing you for the act that was to follow.

His tongue lashed across his lower lip, not wasting a drop of what sweetness you provided him with. Aemond’s mouth hastily abandoned your cunt, yet the curling of his fingers seemed to make up for the loss of pleasure. You felt his wet lips purse around the pebbled peak of your breast, suckling like a greedy babe.

Aemond’s senses drowned in desire, cock throbbing within his trousers, desperate to be inside of you. It wouldn’t be much longer now as he bit and kissed your chest, letting the work manifest as love bites, evidence of his carnal want for you.

“I need you, Aemond. I need you inside of me.” The suddenness of your words left him reeling, a snarl stirring within his chest as his teeth gnashed into the soft flesh between your breasts. You longed to feel his cock lay waste to your cunt, for him to fuck away his anger, his frustration.

Hastily, his hand flew to the ties of his breeches, loosening the threads of leather. You grabbed the front of his tunic, enough to effectively grab his attention as you pulled him in for a hot kiss. Passion bled through, and you could taste yourself upon his tongue as it danced with yours.

The warmth of his cockhead prodded against your folds, already slick with your cum and his own. It was messy, an entanglement born of desire, of the will to possess one another — a claim eternal. Aemond’s hand snaked toward your hip, the other keeping himself afloat before he snapped forward.

His cock invaded your cunt without any sluggishness to it, the deliberation gone entirely. A wild shimmer glistened within his eye, a domineering edge that seemed to wrestle with itself. Aemond wanted to submit to you, but in the wake of Rook’s Rest, adrenaline and a desire for power simply wouldn’t allow it.

As he fucked you like a hound, as Aegon had colorfully put it, Aemond could see you seated beside him, a crown upon your brow, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. A commoner, crawled from dirt and from nothing, into his arms — into a seat of power that none would dare challenge.

Fantasy consumed him, making him mad with lust. He wanted to crawl beneath your flesh, reside there, hear your heart hammering within your breast. He seemed pleasantly surprised when you claimed his mouth, your tongue advancing past his parted lips.

With your skirts having fallen to the swell of your hips, you hitched one leg around him, hand clawing at his back, between his shoulders. “Aemond,” You moaned, overwhelmed by his barrage of erratic thrusts. His stamina was something to witness as he kept a rather vigorous pace. “My King.”

A low growl stirred within his throat, a stark warning not to continue with your current line of thought. Aemond bit at your lower lip, prompting you to moan into his mouth, but you surprised him again when you reciprocated. Things were intense, far more fiery than they ever had been before.

Battle made him hot — such a sensation wasn’t aided by your presence, intensified tenfold. With Aegon wasting away inside of his chambers, steel melting into his flesh, swarmed by flocks of Maesters, Aemond felt no remorse — none at all as he fucked you before the Iron Throne.

He felt no remorse when he ordered Vhagar to burn his brother, he felt no remorse when he brought you into his bed — and he would feel no remorse when he ascended the throne and made you his Queen.

His cock furiously battered away at your cunt, the lewdness of flesh and intermingled breaths being the only sounds that mattered. That lilac hue of his studied your countenance, the devotion and rapture that rest upon it, your complete and utter joy. Aemond had been blessed with the loveliest creature — you.

The stretch you felt as Aemond invaded your nethers was a pleasant one, your walls tight around his length as he continued to fuck you. Face to face, chest to chest — there was no room left for deception, nowhere left to turn to. With a groan, Aemond kissed you yet again.

“Kesan mazverdagon ao ñuha dāria.” I will make you my Queen; he growled into your ear, biting at the shell, the act enough to make you whimper. He filled your cunt with his cock, the only one that it would ever take. In the heat of the moment, he bit at your neck, hand gripping your thigh so hard that it was bound to leave bruises.

Darkness swallowed the hallowed halls — braziers flickering out completely, leaving only moonlight. Even through the silvery haze, Aemond’s face remained a picture of living perfection, his brow creased with concentration.

The fervor of his pace began to slow, cock throbbing with an onslaught of arousal, one that flooded his body with waves of bliss. He wasn’t neglectful of your needs, swiftly placing a hand between your bodies, thumb rubbing circles around your clit.

Heavy footfalls of guardsmen resonated from outside of the sealed doors, a nightly patrol, prompting you to shiver from worry, but Aemond did not stop — and he wouldn’t. His blazing eye bared down upon you, glistening with the sheen of lust, of obsession, a man starved of the love and devotion he so desperately chased.

Your lips felt swollen, a byproduct of Aemond’s biting, of the many shared kisses that had turned into hunger. You were ravenous for him in ways that you had little knowledge of, scraping the surface of what desire truly meant.

Silky, pale tresses fell through your digits as you threaded them within his hair, gripping it in fistfuls as you continued to kiss him until every wisp of air was stolen from your lungs. Aemond did not relent, continuing to adopt a rhythmic pace of fucking you, cock halfway out before he thrust forward again and again.

As the both of you approached the precipice, falling into a white-hot abyss, you could hear him murmuring something in High Valyrian, strings of sweet praises and compliments. His thumb continued to circle your clit even after you had your release, milking his cock with an onslaught of your nectar.

Aemond grunted, forehead nudging against yours as he snapped forward one final time, cock sheathed inside of you as he found a warm place to spill his seed. The recklessness of it was of little consequence to him — an herbal tea could remedy it, yet the thought of filling you with an heir became tantalizing.

Not yet — not now.

If his seed were to take, it would sow discord across his house, and there was enough of that already. Aemond huffed, gathering his composure as your whimpers dwindled into soft pants. His claws sank so deep into you, talons wrenched into your heart, your body, everything.

He placed a kiss upon your brow, a subtle gesture that reminded you of his lingering duality. Aemond pulled himself out of you with an onslaught of stickiness, a mess that would only be remedied by a long soak in the bath — something he would need you for.

Your chest felt tight, both from exhilaration and the intensity of it all. As you adjusted your skirts back into place, Aemond gently coaxed you to your feet, pressed close against you as he stared at the throne. “Perhaps, once I ascend, we will have to make use of the throne.” His salacious purr made you shudder.

“There is no law forbidding us from acting upon that now,” You challenged, and Aemond had to restrain himself from acting upon such a lascivious impulse. For as coy as you could be, you were just as lustful as he was at times, a quality that he greatly adored. “Your Grace.”

As much as the teasing title seemed to provoke him, Aemond grabbed your hips, lips twitching into his familiar smirk, a near-permanent expression. “Aemond,” He corrected, pressing a kiss against your jaw. “For now, I will need assistance with drawing a bath.”

The Throne’s harrowing shape cast its shadow as the both of you abandoned the dark halls and into the light of Aemond’s chambers.

copyright @ swordgrace ; please do not attempt to steal or translate my works onto other platforms or claim it as your own.

[gureumz]

liar, sweetheart

rating: explicit

member: sunghoon

premise: your best friend, benj, is a twin but he's the complete opposite of his brother. his brother, sunghoon, is all kinds of sleazy, or so you've heard. knowing about your big fat crush on your best friend, this sorry excuse of a twin brother agrees to put in a good word, in exchange for a good fuck, of course.

notes: fem!reader, dom!sunghoon, sort of rivals-to-lovers, unprotected sex, slight breeding, dacryphilia, dirty talk, degradation, praise, clothed sex, accidental voyeurism, sunghoon is two people here lmao, lmk if i missed anything!

a/n: fifth entry for my 1k follower special! we're in the endgame now, people. one last after this and my 1k event is ending. how did that happen :') anyways, i really got back into my writing groove for this one so i hope you all enjoy!

"what do you think of sunghoon?"

your ears perk up as you turn your head to give your best friend a look.

oh, benj. sweet, sweet benjamin park.

awkward but in a cute, boyish sort of way, tall almost to the point of gangly, but handsome in the way supermodels were.

benj is a figure skater, a very good one at that. he's at the level where if he did well enough, he'd be international news tomorrow. you've seen him skate and to you, it was nothing short of mesmerizing.

oh, you. clueless, utterly clueless you.

honestly, it was all so predictable.

a situation right out of booktok's latest favorite friends-to-lovers novel by some up-and-coming author. the comfortable silence, the memorized starbucks orders, the pining, oh, the pining. booktok lives for the pining.

sitting here in benj's room as he casually games, fingers lazily moving over his ps5 controller, you realize just how utterly shortsighted you were.

of course you'd fall in love with your best friend. it's law. it's fate. a canon event, as the kids say.

but, you're getting out of topic here. right now, benj is asking you about his twin brother.

"what do you mean?" you ask, swiveling around in the office chair by benj's desk. benj is perched on his bed, leaned up against his headboard as he plays.

"like...what do you think of him...?" benj repeats, as if in an attempt to rephrase his question but ultimately failing.

your forehead creases even more.

"you have to be more specific than that," you chuckle.

benj pauses the game, setting the controller down. he shifts on his side so he can get a better look at you.

"do you like him?" benj deadpans, raising an eyebrow.

you nearly choke on your own saliva.

sunghoon. benj's twin brother.

the younger twin, as benj always reminded. your thoughts drift to the other park brother, complete in all his dark clothes and equally dark hair.

while benj afforded himself the preference of dying his hair an icy blonde, sunghoon kept his own hair jet black. benj wore sweaters and cardigans and loose-fitting shirts, but sunghoon wore button-ups, with the first three buttons popped open, paired with jeans ripped to the heavens.

benj is the shining star in this family, a star figure skater, an overachiever. sunghoon battles his way around ice hockey, dabbles in dance, keeps his triumphs to himself.

benj is the sun, while sunghoon is the moon. yin and yang.

you get the picture.

oh, and sunghoon is a complete asshole. benj is not.

"he's okay," you finally answer. benj looks at you like he's waiting for more.

"that's it?" benj asks after a second.

you roll your eyes. "i don't know what you want me to say. i barely talk to him since i spend most of my time with you."

benj cocks his head to the side, as if curious.

"weird," he says. "he asks about you all the time."

this piques your interest.

"he does?"

benj shrugs, returning his attention to the tv. he picks the forgotten controller back up, resuming his game.

"yeah. asks if and when you'll be coming over," benj explains. he shoots you a quick side glance.

"you're not hooking up behind my back, are you?"

you physically recoil at benj's words, the idea initially repulsive to you.

"absolutely not," you practically spit out. "he's not my type."

benj bursts out laughing, his eyes forming cute crescents as he does so.

"you basically just called me ugly with that," benj points out, eyes unmoving from the tv screen.

you stutter for a second. "that's not what i meant. it's just—well we're not close, at least not like how we are and—"

you sigh, cutting yourself off. you've embarrassed yourself enough, you think.

benj shakes his head, one side of his mouth turning up in a half-smile.

"okay, no need to explain, ______. i was just asking," benj says. "but the way you're so defensive about it is raising a few questions, not gonna lie."

you rub exasperatedly at your temples.

"i am not sleeping with your brother."

---

"hey."

you nearly jump a foot back in surprise. looking up, you're met with the stern gaze of sunghoon, black hair falling over his eyes. he's wearing one of those compression shirts, ridiculously tight against his toned upper body.

you turn away before it gets weird.

"oh, sorry, is benj home?" you ask, peeking momentarily past sunghoon.

"he's at training," sunghoon informs. "didn't he tell you?"

you glance at your watch. "he said he'd be done by now."

sunghoon raises an eyebrow. "well, he's not."

your mouth falls open, your mind momentarily going blank. you shift your expression to one of stony resolve.

"you know what, i'll just come back. sorry to bother you," you say, already turning away.

"i didn't tell you to leave, did i?"

you turn back, giving sunghoon a look. you stare hard, noticing just how much he resembles benj. but some things differ, naturally.

an extra beauty mark. the slightly sharper upturn of his nose. the seemingly eternal frown on his face.

"you can come in," sunghoon says with a sigh, stepping aside. you duck your head as you cross the threshold.

"and don't be so uptight next time," he adds. you can practically hear the smirk as he says this.

you glare daggers at sunghoon and he's still smiling as he closes the door behind him. he crosses his arms and studies you.

he leans back against the door and you straighten yourself up as much as you could.

"what's your problem, sunghoon?" you ask, planting your hands on your hips.

"what's yours?" sunghoon replies. you feel a twinge of annoyance spark in your chest.

"nothing," you emphasize. "and that's exactly it. i don't have a problem but if you don't stop acting like that, i might just have one soon enough."

"acting like what?" sunghoon questions, tilting his head to the side.

you swallow. you rack your brain for something to say, and don't be mistaken, you have a lot, but it's like your train of thought has halted altogether.

"like...that," you say, gesticulating vaguely with your hands.

sunghoon laughs, a hand coming up to run through his hair. you watch him, observe as his muscles shift beneath that stupidly tight, stupidly attractive shirt.

...what?

"are you this jumpy with my brother?" sunghoon asks, shoving his hands in the pockets of his grey sweatpants.

"i don't follow," you say, taking a step back. being close to sunghoon seems suffocating now, as if the air is stuffy with something you can't quite put your finger on.

"of course, you don't," sunghoon mutters under his breath.

it takes everything in you not to punch him square in the jaw.

"you like benj, don't you?" it's more of a statement rather than a question and it's so unexpected to you, you nearly stumble back in surprise.

"what?" is all you can say.

sunghoon snorts as if your confusion is oh-so-amusing.

"no need to deny it, _______," sunghoon reassures. "everyone with one working eye can see it."

you decide to stay silent. maybe if you don't react, sunghoon would drop the subject.

sunghoon seems satisfied with himself as he grins, nodding to himself, probably mentally patting himself on the back for his 'detective work'. he brushes past you and you get a whiff of his perfume and what you can assume is his body wash.

fresh. powdery. clean.

you wait a second before you hear his bedroom door close.

you let out a breath you weren't aware you were holding.

your phone vibrates with a notification and you're relieved to see it's a message from benj.

'are you at my place yet? i'll be home in a few. sunghoon will let you in. sorry, love u!'

you smile to yourself as you lock your phone.

---

you couldn't stop thinking about it.

were you really that obvious? or is it just some twin telepathy that's why sunghoon could tell? could benj tell?

you sit up, careful not to jostle anything in your immediate vicinity. you peer up at benj's sleeping figure from where you're situated on his spare mattress, positioned on the floor right next to his bed.

he seems to be deep in slumber, shoulders rising and falling steadily. you swallow, realizing how parched your throat has gotten. you get up on your feet, treading carefully around benj's room to get to the door.

you exit, walking down the hallway of the parks' penthouse apartment, trying to make as minimal sound as you can. you round the corner to where you know the kitchen is and you immediately stop in your tracks.

"shit—" you curse, startled by the figure standing by the kitchen island.

your eyes adjust to the dim lighting and you realize you've come face to face with sunghoon.

"hi, _______," sunghoon greets. "fancy seeing you here."

you huff, approaching the refrigerator. "ha ha. you scared the shit out of me."

you hear sunghoon laugh quietly from behind you.

you take the ice-cold pitcher out of the fridge, setting it on the counter before walking over to the cupboards where the parks keep their glasses.

you can feel sunghoon watching you, aware of the burning attention. you can feel your neck prickle with it.

you pull the cupboard door open and it's only now that you realize you can barely see. afraid to just reach in and possibly knock over and break something, you pause, willing your vision to adjust even more to the low lighting.

"hey, can you turn on the—"

your words are cut off when you feel warmth press up against your back. you flinch, watching with wide eyes as sunghoon's arm braces itself against the countertop in front of you. he reaches over you, his breath tickling the top of your head.

you shiver involuntarily.

you turn to face him, pressing yourself fully against the granite behind you. sunghoon pulls a glass down from the cupboard, handing it to you. his arm is still planted firmly to your side, half caging you in.

"here," sunghoon says.

you can just make out his face in the low light, his scent invading your senses once more. you take the glass from him and he steps away, freeing you.

you wordlessly return to the center of the kitchen, pouring yourself the water you desperately need. and boy, do you need it.

you gulp down mouthfuls of it, unsure why your legs are suddenly weak, your knees threatening to give out.

"hey," sunghoon calls out. you pause, turning to where he's still standing by the cupboards.

he has the same easy stance he had earlier in the day. leaned back, arms crossed. even in the dark, you can feel him staring.

"what?" it comes out a little more harshly than you'd like and you wince.

"do you hate me or something?" sunghoon asks brusquely.

once again, you find yourself rendered speechless by sunghoon.

"no," you answer simply, setting your glass down.

"then why don't you hang out with me like you do with benj?" sunghoon asks, approaching you.

"because benj is my best friend, you're not," you respond. sunghoon stops right in front of you and you have to crane your neck to meet where you think his eyes are.

"your best friend that you're in love with," sunghoon says, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"that's not true," you deny.

sunghoon snickers. "sure, keep lying to yourself, sweetheart."

you inhale at the term of endearment.

"you know, i never understood why you got closer to him but you stopped spending time with me altogether," sunghoon muses. "the three of us grew up together, remember?"

you do.

the afternoons spent in the local playground. you and benj sat on the swings while sunghoon pushed. you and sunghoon on the seesaw while benj attempted to balance in the middle (much to their mother's horror). the twins hiding while you played seeker.

a smile tugs at your lips at the memory. and then it falters just as quick.

"you were the one who stopped hanging out with us," you say, a little accusatory in the way you did. "you had newer ice hockey friends and when middle school rolled around, you decided those girls were worth your time more than us."

'more than me,' is what you wanted to say. but you swallow it down.

sunghoon stays silent at this. after what you estimate is a minute, he sighs.

"sorry," is all he says.

you shake your head. "it's okay, we all drift apart from our childhood friends at one point."

sunghoon steps even closer. you can feel him now. a strange crackle of electricity tickles your fingertips.

"that's not the case with you and benj," sunghoon observes.

it's your turn to say nothing.

"i can help you," sunghoon suggests. your head snaps up as you try to process sunghoon's words.

you can see him now, illuminated by the faint hallway lights behind you. sunghoon's looking at you, expression unreadable.

"help me?" you parrot back. sunghoon nods.

"i can help you get with benj, if that's what you want. plant the seeds, so to speak," sunghoon explains. "he is my twin brother, after all."

you consider this for a moment. there's no denying the giddy feeling you get in benj's presence. the comfort it gives you when you spend the whole day together. the butterflies in your stomach when he beams at you, all bright and shining.

this should be an offer you can't refuse.

"i just have one thing to ask of you," sunghoon cuts through your thoughts.

"what?" you ask.

sunghoon pauses, turning away as if gathering his own words.

"do you ever feel that there's this weird...thing between us?" sunghoon asks.

your whole body seems to stiffen. your hands turn cold, clammy.

"like tension," sunghoon elaborates. "something you can't really explain."

"no," you answer a little too quickly.

sunghoon chuckles. "there you go again, lying."

you avoid sunghoon's gaze, staring hard at a spot behind him where his shadow dances against the cabinets.

"if you agree to...try this thing with me just this once, i'll help you get together with benj," sunghoon concludes, bending lower so he's in your line of sight.

unable to avoid him any longer, you look into sunghoon's eyes. he's much clearer now, your eyes well-adjusted to the dark. he's looking at you, expression soft, unlike the other times you've come face-to-face with him.

"so, you're offering to be my wingman, but only if i let you fuck me?" you string your words out carefully. "is that it?"

sunghoon sighs, shrugging. "basically, yeah. sounds fucking weird but you can always say no."

"it is weird," you confirm. you cross your arms as you narrow your eyes at sunghoon.

"can't we just skip the part where we fuck and go straight to the part where you help me?"

sunghoon grins down at you, dipping even lower so you're eye level with him.

"it's as if you don't know me at all, _______," sunghoon says lowly. "that hardly seems fair, sweetheart."

you grit your teeth.

"besides, do you want to skip the part where we fuck?" sunghoon presses on the last word, holding your gaze as he said it. you feel a warmth spread all over your body.

you take a deep breath, steadying yourself. your mind is at war with itself, warning you that this is a bad idea. if you get together with benj after, what then? take the secret that you fucked his brother to your grave?

"just this once, and when we're done, you'll help me, correct?" you say, raising a brow at sunghoon.

sunghoon nods. "exactly."

you pause. you want it. what 'it' is, you're not so sure.

you reach your hand out.

"deal."

sunghoon grasps your hand in his, squeezing firmly. his fingers envelop yours easily, your palm almost cartoonishly smaller than his.

and he's warm. so warm.

your eyes meet his and it's like something snaps.

you feel sunghoon grasp at your waist and your own arms come flying up to wrap around sunghoon's neck. he kisses you fervently, harshly, desperately. you respond with the same enthusiasm, pulling him closer to you.

sunghoon pushes you against the fridge, the contents rattling within. you gasp as the cold metal presses through your thin pajamas, but sunghoon drinks in any noise from you with his mouth.

"fuck," sunghoon mutters softly.

"god, ______," sunghoon continues, hands splayed against your back, his lips exploring the expanse of your neck.

"sunghoon," you whisper, clutching onto his wide frame. you mewl softly when you feel him suckle on a spot just above your collarbone.

you pull sunghoon away from your neck, guiding his face back to level with yours. you kiss him some more, a strange feeling bubbling within you.

it's making you want more of sunghoon, as if your whole being craved him.

you hear a soft click of a door opening somewhere down the hall and your eyes fly open, your hands forcing sunghoon off you. he jumps back as well, a panicked look on his face.

footsteps echo in the hallway and a voice immediately follows after.

"_______?"

benj. it's benj. his voice is thick with sleep and you look over at sunghoon, eyes wide with alarm.

"i-i'm in the kitchen," you call out. "just needed a drink."

you rush out of the kitchen and into the hall, running right into benj's firm chest. he catches you before you stumble and he holds you at arm's length, looking at you through half-closed eyes.

"there you are," benj says with a laugh.

you let out a nervous giggle of your own, gently pushing benj back towards his room.

"i'm right here," you assure him. benj rambles on about hearing noises from his room and you quickly dismiss it as you just messing around in their kitchen.

just as you herd benj back into his room, you look back down the hall and see sunghoon sauntering casually towards his own door. he catches your eye and winks, stepping quietly into his room.

---

"i know what you were doing last night."

you stop dead in your tracks, hand frozen in midair just as you're unwrapping your hair from your towel.

you had just stepped out of the bathroom adjacent to benj's room, dressed in his shirt and your shorts from yesterday. it's the morning after your little tryst with sunghoon and you were nearly a hundred percent sure you had successfully lied your way out of an explanation to benj.

it turns out, you haven't.

"you were hooking up with sunghoon, weren't you?" benj says, looking at you expectantly.

you put on your best attempt at an appalled expression, eyes wide an lips turning down into a frown.

"no, i wasn't," you muster up with as much disgust as you can.

benj just laughs. "i've lived here for nearly half my life, ____. i know the sounds of this house better than you."

"well, you thought wrong," you argue, busying yourself with brushing through your hair. you keep your eyes trained on the full body mirror in front of you, setting your sight on your own face.

benj comes up behind you, looking at you as if he could see right through you.

you think maybe he can.

"you're such a bad liar," benj accuses.

"i would never hook up with your brother," you protest, raking through your hair aggressively. you're getting antsy and you pray that benj would just drop the subject.

"why not?" benj questions.

you look at his reflection, scowling. "i don't like him like that, benj."

"hooking up with him would feel like hooking up with you," you add. 'a red herring, yes,' you think. 'distract him, make him feel weird for even asking.'

benj gives you a look. "what's so bad about that?"

you stare open-mouthed at benj. a million thoughts are flying through your head and something pinches at your chest.

"you're my best friend, benj," you try to reason. "that's weird."

"and hooking up with my brother isn't?"

you groan, letting your head fall into your hands.

"i didn't hook up with sunghoon!"

benj nods, pouting as if not fully convinced. "okay, whatever you say."

he steps out through the door, leaving you in his eerily quiet room.

you sigh, turning back to your reflection.

"not yet," you whisper to yourself.

---

"aren't you leaving yet?"

you look up from your phone and you're met with sunghoon peeking through benj's door. his hair is damp and you can smell his aftershave from where you're sprawled out on benj's bed.

"nope," you reply curtly, turning back to your phone.

"you've been here two days," sunghoon points out, stepping into the room. you ignore the jolt of excitement in your gut.

"i'll leave once benj comes back from training," you say.

"oh sure, then the two of you will get caught up again in whatever nerd things you do, and then it's the evening and you'll stay another night, walking around in your skimpy pajamas," sunghoon rambles sarcastically.

you narrow your eyes him as you sit up. "what's wrong with my pajamas?"

"they make me impossibly hard, _______. that's what's wrong," sunghoon admits, expression unchanging.

your eyebrows shoot up in mild surprise. "that down bad, huh?"

"nah," sunghoon replies nonchalantly.

"whatever you say, sweetheart," you say, throwing the pet name back at sunghoon.

sunghoon lets his eyes travel over your body, expression darkening, and you feel every hair on your skin stand up under his unrelenting gaze. you shift around, unsure of what to do with sunghoon's undivided attention.

you watch as sunghoon approaches, his jaw set as he pauses right before benj's bed. he meets your eyes and before you know it, sunghoon is crawling over you, stopping once he has you caged in between his arms.

"you're seriously not thinking of fucking me on your twin brother's bed, are you?" you whisper. you're nearly nose to nose with sunghoon now.

"i am," sunghoon answers simply before kissing you, effectively driving you back against the plush mattress.

the same bubbling feeling reappears and you grab at any part of sunghoon that you can, hooking your legs around his waist. he grunts against your mouth and you feel him harden against your core.

"this is my shirt by the way," sunghoon grins against your lips. "benj stole it from me a while back."

you moan at the thought of it. you feel sunghoon reach under your—his—shirt, chuckling when he feels the absence of a bra. he cups one of your breasts in his hand, kneading as he continues his assault on your lips.

"lose this," sunghoon commands, his other hand tugging your shorts down harshly. you oblige, reaching down to discard the piece of clothing along with your underwear.

"but keep this on," sunghoon adds as he kisses along your jaw, referring to the large shirt swallowing your frame.

you kick off your shorts and underwear the same time sunghoon pulls back to undo his own joggers. he throws them off to the side unceremoniously before hovering back over you, his eyes scanning every feature of your face.

"if you're so in love with benj, why are you about to sleep with me on his bed?" sunghoon asks, his fingers trailing down delicately from your chest down to your stomach. you flinch, fighting the urge to curl into yourself at the ticklish feeling.

sunghoon continues down towards the space between your legs, wasting no time swiping through your folds. you gasp, back arching as sunghoon rubs up and down, finger circling teasingly around your entrance.

"you talk too much," you counter, voice shaking. "are you gonna fuck my brains out or what?"

sunghoon sneers, shoving two fingers in without warning. you yelp, turning to bury your face in benj's pillow. it smells like him, but you barely register that, seeing as his twin's fingers are knuckles deep in you.

"go on, run your mouth like you always do, slut," sunghoon taunts. you involuntarily clench down at his use of such a degrading word and sunghoon notices, of course, his mouth curling into a smirk.

"should have known you were into that," sunghoon wonders out loud. he moves his fingers in and out of you, pumping his thick digits into your wanting hole.

you clamp a hand down on your mouth, suppressing every noise that threatens to escape you.

"let me hear you, pretty, come on," sunghoon coos, prying your hand off your face. "it's just the two of us here."

you bite your lip but let yourself be heard as sunghoon continues to fuck you with his fingers. he curls them up inside you and you thrash about, the pressure building within your abdomen.

"gonna cum already? you're so fucking easy," sunghoon comments, leveling his face with your cunt. he blows softly against your clit and you cry out in pleasure.

you feel the wet heat of his tongue press against your bundle of nerves and coupled with sunghoon's fingers, you can't help but curse loudly at the sensations.

"shit, sunghoon!" you whine. "yes, just like that, please."

sunghoon wraps his lips around your clit, sucking and running his tongue over it alternately. you feel like you're about to lose your mind. you're seconds away from orgasm and you barely have any time to warn sunghoon.

"i'm gonna cum, sunghoon i'm gonna—"

you're cut short by your own loud moans as you feel yourself come undone, your whole body seizing up. you grip at the sheets beneath you with one hand while the other reaches down to thread through sunghoon's hair. you hear him grunt against your pussy as you tug at the strands.

eventually, you relax, easing up on sunghoon's hair. he comes up to face you, his mouth glistening with your release. he licks his lips, smirking at the way you watch him with awe.

"you still with me?" sunghoon asks with a raise of his brow. you nod weakly, hands coming up to cup at his face.

sunghoon leans down to kiss you tenderly and you moan as you taste yourself on his lips. he moves his lips against yours slowly, savoring each pass of your tongue over each other's, tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth as he pulls away.

you peek down and see that sunghoon's cock stands red and angry against the black of his shirt.

"fuck me raw," you say before you can stop yourself.

sunghoon's eyebrows shoot up.

"are you sure?" he asks.

you nod, angling your hips up. restraint be damned, you want sunghoon and you want him now.

sunghoon chews down on his bottom lip as he lines himself up against your dripping hole. he coats his tip with your juices and you throw your head back as he teases you with his leaking cock.

"please," you whisper.

sunghoon presses a kiss on your cheek. "i got you, angel."

you feel him push in, stretching you out more than you anticipated. your mouth falls open in a silent moan as sunghoon slowly but surely bottoms out. your heart races and your mind loses all coherent thought. all you can register is that sunghoon feels like he's splitting you open with his dick.

"fuuuuck," sunghoon drawls into your ear.

"so fucking tight and so fucking good," he continues, bracing himself on either side of you. he moves his hips experimentally, pulling out then thrusting in and the two of you moan at the same time.

"give it to me," you pant, pulling sunghoon closer. "don't you dare hold back."

sunghoon grunts as he snaps his hips forward. you whine and moan like a whore as sunghoon fucks into you with reckless abandon. he keeps his eyes on your face, observing every expression that passes over your features.

"look at me," sunghoon orders as you let your eyes flutter close. "i said, look at me."

you obey, peering up at sunghoon through your lashes. he grabs your jaw as he hammers even harder into you. you cry out brokenly as you feel him deep within you. he's like a man starved, eyes wild as he takes you like this. rough and uncaring and oh so desperate.

"waited so long for this," sunghoon grunts. "to have you moaning and begging under me."

you feel tears prickle in your eyes, half from sunghoon's sharp nails digging into your cheek and half from the way his cock repeatedly punches against your cervix. it hurts but it's a pain you'd like to savor.

"god," sunghoon says, his face scrunching up in pleasure. he momentarily closes his eyes as he moves his hips even faster. he turns back to you, and by this time, your tears have escaped, streaking your face.

"fuck yeah, cry for me," sunghoon curses. "my pretty slut, weeping over my dick."

"oh, fuck—"

it came so suddenly, so unexpectedly that you can physically feel your body jolt. your second orgasm of the day rips through you, brought about by the filthy words escaping sunghoon's mouth. you hear him practically growl above you as he stills, your cunt clenching down so hard he's unable to move. you feel him twitch inside you and a second later, the warmth of his cum follows, shooting deep inside.

you're full-on crying now, mind hazy from pleasure as sunghoon catches himself before completely crushing you with his weight.

you wrap your shaky arms around sunghoon's shoulders, stroking his hair as the two of you calm yourselves down. sunghoon pulls out a minute later and you wince, immediately clamping your legs together to keep all of him inside you.

sunghoon plops down next to you, breathing heavy as his eyes stare at the ceiling. you hug your knees to your chest, hoping that nothing stains benj's sheets.

"fuck, that's a good girl, keeping all my cum in," sunghoon says through breathless chuckles. you groan, swatting at his chest.

"get tissues or something," you demand weakly, rolling over to your side. sunghoon pulls you close and cradles you against his chest.

"later," he murmurs, kissing you on the forehead. "just wanna hold you."

you hum in agreement, letting your eyes droop close. the two of you lay there, unmoving for a few minutes.

you initially think it's your imagination but you can hear faint footsteps coming down the hallway from outside benj's room. just as your eyes fly open, a loud knock thunders against the door.

"are you done?" comes benj's muffled voice from the other side.

"as much as i wanted to stay and watch, that might not be something you guys are into, so i gave you your privacy," he continues.

you and sunghoon look at each other, clearly panicking.

"but please, for the love of god, don't do it on my goddamn bed next time!"

[gatorbites-imagines]

Maybe a Steve Rogers x Male Reader with a choking kink???🤔

Steve Rogers x Male reader

Headcanons

i miss stevie so much, i still live in denial about endgame to this day.

I’ve had so little free time to write for the past while, and I’ve been living off of energy drinks for the past couple of weeks, but I hope y’all still enjoy this :3c

Now, there’s two scenarios that could be put. Who’s the one with the thing for choking? You or Steve? It would be pretty similar either way, but seeing as Steve is a super soldier can do a bit more than you, or needs a bit more than you.

If you are the one that likes to be choked, Steve is your guy. I mean, have you seen his hands? Big, sturdy and he has super strength, and the training to control said strength.

He would also be all about safety, meaning he looks up different guides and diagrams on how to choke a person correctly, where to put pressure, where not to put pressure, for how long, and so on. There would be no fun times without safety being there.

But when you guys have set everything up, made safewords and safemotions, and have discussed what needs to be done, Steve is all for it, in private of course. He wouldn’t be the type of person to do anything like that in public, since choking can be dangerous if done incorrectly, and since he wants to keep it private.

When you guys are in private though, I could imagine Steve being a bit of a tease. Like when you guys are cuddling on the couch, Steve will hook his arm around your neck in what seems like a casual hold, but you both know if he squeezed a bit, your air would be cut off just enough to leave you lightheaded.

Steve would also be bold enough to grab you by the throat, safely of course, to pull you into a kiss, where he would dig his fingers in just right to make you a bit dizzy. So he would steal the breath right out of your mouth with his kiss, and keep you from taking more in with his grasp.

Steve also gives the best praise, his words almost making you just as dizzy as his hands and arms. You would regularly find yourself in a headlock, your back against Steves sturdy chest as he whispers praise into your ear, his arm releasing just enough for you to gulp down air when you need it, before he cuts it off again.

Afterwards, Steve would make sure you are fine, get you something to drink, and what else you might need for your neck. Being the man he is, Steve would most likely also run a medical check, just to make sure it didn’t cause any lasting damage. He’s not above dragging you to medical, if need be.

If Steve is the one that likes to be choked, there would still be a focus on safety, but you might have to put your foot down and have to enforce it at times since Steve has a habit of pushing himself.

Being a super soldier also means Steve needs more than just your arm or hand around his neck most days, if he really wants his vision swimming. That is, if you don’t have super strength as well, where you could just pull the same moves as if It were Steve doing it to you.

You might have to use some professional assassin moves, if you don’t want to use any equipment. Natasha doesn’t question just why you want to learn how to take down a guy like Steve by choking, but you have a feeling she knows.

You guys would have to tie up his hands and legs as well, since the body tends to react when being choked, and he doesn’t want to accidentally hurt you with his flailing, unless you can withstand it. He doesn’t have a preference, sometimes he quite likes his hands being locked together, since it helps him get into whatever mental state he wants to go into.

Steve is as much of a sucker for praise as the next guy, so please praise him and coo at him as you choke him out with whatever you are choking him out with. Be it your arms, your legs, or some kind of collar or even chain.

He doesn’t mind degradation as well, so if you guys are doing some kind of play don’t feel too bad pulling some stuff on him, since it always just helps him give up more of the control he wants you to take.

You always have to keep an eye out when you choke Steve, since like I said earlier, he likes to push his limits. Its nothing against you, he just doesn’t want it to end even when he knows he should safeword or safemotion.

But if he does pass out, you know what to do, just like he would know what to do with you if you passed out. This is where Steves long talks about safety come in handy, since you can get him into the right position and get him comfortable so you can take care of him when he comes too again.

All in all, it can go both ways, and either way, Steve finds safety most important for both of you the entire time, as he should.

[callofdudes]

What are you reading?? Part 2

A/N: So... It blew up, I didn't expect that to happen. And most of you wanted a part 2, so I made a part 2. You can find part one here.

CW: Sexual stuff. I don't know what I'm doing

Summary: After the boys find you reading a smut book, they take it upon themselves to tease you. This is the result of the boys teasing you.

After your meeting with Price your interaction with Johnny had sort of been forgotten. You still keep your book close as you walk back to your room for the evening, intent on getting some rest after the long day.

When you step into your room, you are surprised to see Johnny sitting on your bed.

"Hey, this is my room, Johnny."

Johnny hums. "I know." He motions you over and you hesitantly sit next to him. "Still got that book hey?" He snatches it from you.

"Johnny! Give my book back!"

You fight to grab it, pushing him against the bed and reaching for it. He chuckles, having you so close.

"You cheeky little-"

Johnny slips out from under you with the book. "Sorry sweetheart." He grins, his hand coming down and slapping you on the ass, making you gasp in surprise. "You've had your turn with this."

You turn around just as the door closes but you aren't sure what the hell to do. You just stare, blush forming across your face and your heart melts.

Johnny is actually just teasing you, I literally had no endgame for his... I tried to write one though

It was late when you finish your paperwork. You're tired and sore from sitting down all day despite how comfortable your office chairs are.

Finally, you signed the last piece of paper and stood, stretching out your sore muscles.

Now... Time to go try and get your book back from Price. Wouldn't that be a lecture? You hadn't forgotten what he'd said earlier, it made your heart pound in your chest.

You got to his office and knocked on the door. "Captain? Can I come in?"

"It's open."

You opened the door and slipped inside, Price had a cigar in his mouth and was idly sitting there relaxing.

"I uh... I finished my paperwork and I'd like my book back."

Price took a long drag of his cigar and looked at you. He motions you over, so you came. Price contemplates it. "Did you work hard Princess?"

Your insides drop.

"Yes Captain, I finished my paperwork." You try to ignore it but the things it did to you makes you feel utterly filthy.

John's free hand reaches your hip and strokes it with his thumb. He motions you down on his lap. Your heart flutters wildly in your chest. You maneuver to straddle him, all the heat in your stomach plunging further.

Price continues to rub your hip.

"Can't decide if you've been a good girl or not today, reading all those... Things."

You suddenly feel very inclined to make things better. Your heart leaps, leaning in and kissing his neck. "Captain." It comes out strained, trying to keep your breathing together.

Price continues to smoke his cigar as you kiss up his throat and down his collar.

He pulls you back gently and hums. "You've been a very good girl today, we all make mistakes darlin'"

"You've made daddy very happy. I think you deserve a reward."

You whine, that finally doing it too you. "Price!" You bury your head in his neck, hips pivoting and grinding against his thigh.

"Good girl. Tell me what you want sweetheart."

Your breaths come out jagged as you slide down to your knees and tug at his belt. Price chuckles.

He presses out his cigar and undoes his belt for you. You pry open his zipper and kiss along his stomach. Price's hand strokes the back of your head when you pull out his cock.

"That's it," he coos. "take daddy's cock like a good girl."

You whine, kissing his length and taking him in your mouth. His hand curls in your hair, letting you have a moment before gently guiding you down on his length.

He groans deeply, watching you choke when you reach his base. "There you go, such a good girl for daddy."

You come back up, choking on spit. He lights up another cigar while you bob your head down the Captain's length. Price watches you, tangling his fingers in your hair.

He brought you back down all the way and kept you there, watching you choke and swallow harshly. He grins and takes another drag.

Price did not let you leave his office until you had fully earned the rights to your book back in full.

I don't trust myself to write smut guys, I'm sorry if it's weird

Gaz stayed close to your ear as you read. Word after word. You read about each scene, the ideas of the lewd acts leaving an imprint on you.

Gaz's warm hands trailed down your collarbone. You tried to read, your breathing getting heavy.

"And he- Kyle-!"

Kyle kissed your lobe, hands sinking under your shirt. You whined for the touch but Gaz wasn't going to have it. "Keep reading sweetheart."

"Not like this-"

He pinches and twists your nipples. "Read it sweetheart." His tone remains smooth as honey as delicate as a flower, but his actions are commanding, telling you to read.

You gulp and keep reading, even as his hands groped and play, making your insides hurt so good.

You whimpered, shuddering when you flipped the page. Gaz's hands trailed back up your shirt and he rounded the couch. Finally you could see his handsome face in front of you.

"Kyle-"

"I doubt my name is in that book." He kneels in front of you, and you can see the bulge in his pants.

He pushes your knees apart gently with his hands and slowly pulls off your pants. You keep reading, your voice growing shaky and stumbling over words In anticipation of his next move.

Your bottom half completely exposed, Kyle moved forward, sinking two fingers into your cunt.

You gasped and moaned.

"Oh please, please Kyle-"

He slaps you gently, removing his fingers.

Tears start to fill your eyes, trying to read. Just two more pages, just two more pages. But you didn't want it to end.

You recapture your thoughts as much as you can and continue. As you as you start, so does Kyle, sinking in and pressing his tongue between your legs.

You jump, shifting your hips in excitement. Kyle keeps you steady, working you unwound so effortlessly.

You gasp and pant through your words, shaking and moaning loudly. Your thoughts begin to slur together with each stroke of his tongue.

His fingers dip into your entrance again, stretching you nicely around him while his tongue teases your clit with fast flicks.

You manage to finish the chapter and toss the book on the couch. You throw your head back and moan, pressing your hands through Kyle's hair.

"Kyle- more, more, more!!" He brings you undone so effortlessly. You rake your fingers over his scalp, canting your hips up against him in pleasure.

Kyle hums happily, sucking your clit. "Good job sweetheart." He mutters.

Everything feels hot and dizzy when you reach your limit, spasming and coming.

You pant, head heavy and empty. He laps at your spend and kisses your clit, making you jerk your hips.

Kyle kisses up your stomach. "You did so well for me sweetheart." He whispers. "Good girl."

You whimper when he leans over you, your hand coming up to stroke his cheek.

"Now, get comfortable. If you don't come a second time before they get back, I'll let them watch."

You slip into Ghost's room, the darkness making your skin crawl. The barren walls and the simple bed in the corner.

You reach the middle of the room and Ghost was back behind you, guiding you to the wall and pressing himself up against you.

"Should have known you'd come here for more."

His hand strokes your throat, pulling your head back and locking his thumb and forefinger into the sensitive spots under your jaw.

You moan, hands curling into fists against the cold wall.

"Ghost..." You whimper.

He grunts, rutting his hips down against you, holding you perfectly still like a doll. You gasp and fight for air in your lungs, your insides betraying how you should be feeling.

"You into this shit?" He asks, voice raspy against your ear.

"Please, please Ghost-"

He growls and presses you closer to the wall, his hand grabs your hip and arches your back.

Tears fill your eyes and you pull at his hand.

He scoffs. "You are into this shit."

He keeps you pressed against the wall though his hands leave you. You hear his belt buckle click and slide and it makes your heart race.

When he's ready he grabs your arm and turns you around. You look up at him, he grabs your shoulder and forces you down onto your knees.

"Ghost-"

"Shush. I didn't ask you to talk."

Tears slip down your cheeks, you inch closer and take his hard cock in your hand.

He watches you with his usual disapproving look as you take him into your mouth. You barely get halfway before you start to choke.

Ghost grabs the back of your head and forces you down. You choke and grab his thighs for support, more tears in your eyes.

He grunts. "You like this don't you? You and your weird fuckin' books."

You can't reply, trying to take Ghost as best you could.

He tugs your hair, rocking his hips against you. His hands slide down from your hair to your jaw. He cups your jaw and your neck, keeping you still while he uses you.

He went until your jaw was sore and all you could do was moan lazily.

"Fucking whore." He grunts, dragging the saliva on his cock over your bottom lip.

He forced you back up against the wall and wastes no time fingering you. It's not consistent or long, his fingers gone before you can enjoy it. He lines up his cock and is shoving into you. His girth stretches you wide and has you a moaning, melting mess. He shoves you further into the wall and your back arches. It's sloppy and his cock ruins your insides, your thoughts slurring until there was nothing left.

He kept his hand locked on your throat, watching you lose yourself with every thrust.

"Fuck-" he pounds into you, watching you writhe and whimper under him. He stretches you out and fucks you drunk on him.

And he was right, by the end of the night the story you'd read barely compared.

Alejandro came between your legs and stroked your chin. "Quieres tanto esto, ¿verdad? Quieres ser una puta sólo para nosotros."

Your bottom lip wobbles.

Rodolfo moves you out of your seat and forces you down gently onto the floor. You watch Alejandro stand over you, forced down on your hands and knees when Rodolfo leans over you.

He presses his chest to your back, hands groping your chest.

Alejandro undoes his belt and strokes your chin. It's all too much, watching Alejandro and feeling Rodolfo undoing his own gear and pulling down your pants.

"Se ve tan hermoso para nosotros como este." Rodolfo whispers in your ear.

Your heart pounds in your chest.

"Say the word amor, and we're all yours." Alejandro purred.

"Please... Please, yes." You whimper.

Rodolfo's hand pulls down your underwear, pushing two fingers into your entrance. You gasp and moan, arching into it.

Alejandro grabs your chin firmly and presses his cock to your lips. Rodolfo makes you moan, Alejandro fitting his thick girth down your throat.

Tears fill your eyes. Alejandro guides you along his cock while Rodolfo peppers your back in soft kisses, stretching you out nicely.

He is gentle with you, whispering sweet words in your ear and playfully squeezing your breasts.

Alejandro feels heat pool in his stomach watching his best friend treat you like that. "Mm, you gonna let Rodolfo ruin you?? You gonna let him use you amor?"

Your knees shake, hands balling into fists, hungry and eager.

Rodolfo retracts his fingers and lines up to you. He shares a glance with Alejandro before pushing in. It stretches and burns, his girth much thicker than you expected. And it makes you choke down on Alejandro.

They rock you back and forth. The soft front Rodolfo had put up soon gone as he pounds at an unholy pace deep inside of you.

"Fuck yes, letting us ruin you like this." Rodolfo growled. He fit you so nicely inside your walls. You come faster than you'd expected, clenching around Rodolfo and whimpering as you come.

It all went so fast, at some point Rodolfo had picked you up in his arms like you weighed nothing and slammed you down on the desk. Alejandro purring with each rough stroke, Rodolfo rocking you against the desk.

"Mira lo que le has hecho a Alejandro, puta."

Alejandro is a mess, movements frantic and desperate. He has a tight hold on your throat when he finishes, head falling back as he slows.

Rodolfo holds out, making you gasp and moan loudly before he finishes soon after, leaving you a mess. Feeling warm and destroyed.

Alejandro sees the tired hungry glazing over your eyes. He smears the last of his spend across your lips.

"You won't be needing that book back my dear." Alejandro whispers in your ear.

A/N: I don't write smut often, and not for XReaders, but I knew what I was getting into so I did my best to make you a worthy part 2 with the criteria I was comfortable with. It's a bit awkward because it's not a whole fic, but I think it's ok. And I do hope you enjoyed it. Now I'm going to go write something fluffy to reclaim my soul.

[mygnolia]

get better! | 6. join stream 4 special guest

SMAU! synopsis -› in which your neighbor and popular twitch streamer park sunghoon breaks his arm, so he switches to vlog style content that matches up with yours! now everyone’s curious why 1) you have a cute boy in your apartment, 2) sunghoon’s not on his grind anymore, and 3) when are you two going to date!?

[1.9K WC] To be neighbors in the same apartment complex is a blessing- especially when all of your friends are across town. When you knock on Sunghoon’s door, it’s followed by a loud sound akin to a crash (is sunghoon okay???), before Sunghoon opens the door running a hand through his hair, feeling nervous.

“Hi.” He chokes out. “Come in.” You glance at his cast to make sure he’s okay, and despite his tweet from earlier where he took it off, it looks fine.

“Hi..? You..okay?” and the boy in question gives you a tight lipped smile. Was he…nervous?

You take in his apartment- it’s minimalistic in the best way, with succulents on the windows and polaroids of him and his friends hanging near the TV. While much of the furniture is white, it looks clean, and you’re glad that Sunghoon really does take care of his space. Twitch must pay him well (or used to) to have an apartment this nice.

He ushers you to his gaming room, where you see his extensive set-up. With monitors, cameras, headphones, and a glowing keyboard, you’re enamored by the way he’s gotten everything set-up all without his wires being tangled.

“I’m live- but I’m muted.” He starts, and his camera records him saying something, but the live audience on the other side is curious as to who he’s talking to since you were out of frame.

“Wait, I need a chair, right?” And it makes Sunghoon pause his one handed typing on the keyboard, mumbling a quiet ‘oh,’ before he stands back up.

“Here. Sit.” Sunghoon pushes you slightly to the gaming chair before your can protest, his movement awkward and robotic as he makes you sit down. The thought of Sunghoon being as nervous as you makes you smile, before you remember who you’re in front of.

‘IS THAT HIS GF’ ‘omg with yn rent free’ ‘YNNN I LOVE UR VIDS’ ‘bro they’re LITERALLY DATING’

When your eyes scan the messages, you call for Sunghoon to come back, who’s barely passed the door. “Let me unmute and introduce myself.” You suggest. And the streamer finds his palm becoming even more sweaty as he clicks a few buttons to turn the mic on. You watch him intently, and send him a warm smile as your thanks.

“Hi guys.” you wave at the camera before giving him the green light to get the chair that you need.

‘omg she’s so pretty’ ‘who is this wtf’ ‘where’s hoon lol’ ‘HIII YNNNNN’

A smile makes it’s way on your face with the last message. “My name is ____, and Sunghoon’s invited me over. Did he say anything to you guys?”

‘stream is called join live 4 special guest’ ‘nooo he never said anything’ ‘are you two tgt or what’

“We’re not together.” You confirm with a nervous smile, afraid of what would happen if his diehard fans found out about his relationship. “He’s just here to teach me bedwars.” The chat gets even faster- if it’s even possible. Questions and theories about your friendship with Sunghoon continue to pop up. “But don’t leave!” You say after you see some disinterest. “You guys should totally learn with me. Is there anyone who also doesn’t know how to play? Just..” You try to find the right words. “Think of Sunghoon as like, your boyfriend who’s teaching you bedwars.”

‘are he the one you keep tweeting about’ ‘YN IS HERE WOAHH’ ‘no yn you’re the gf he’s teaching’ ’so endgame couple!!’

The scraping of the chair as your neighbor tries to bring it in with one hand is funny to listen to outside of the door, and you giggle when you hear him curse, leaning out of frame to see if he’s okay or if he needs help.

“I heard that.” Sunghoon says when he’s in your range of vision, and it catches on the mic. With the way his viewers see your face light up now that he’s here, they automatically assume you two really have something going on. You’re only relieved to have him take over, no longer having to see some of the negative messages that fly by. At least on YouTube, you could ignore it all. Here? it’s all live, and you see it all.

Sunghoon sets up the chair and makes sure you’re comfortable before assuming his spot.

“What’s up bae-bees?” And you fight yet another smile at that stupid name. “This is Y/N. Makes vlog content but I think my gameplay is much more fun to watch. And by the way, check out our Q n A on her channel.” He glances over to you, and now that you’re properly able to look at him, you see the makeup that he had on for the photoshoot; and you can’t just not admit that Sunghoon is cute with his blush across the nose and freckles. You saw the after photoshoot post from him, too.

‘wait so dating rumors..???’ ‘DATING OR SIBLINGS’

“Are you two dating? Absolutely not.” He sends you a teasing grin, one that makes you swat at his shoulder with an indignant look- yeah, you’re not beating these dating allegations.

“Wow, you hate me? We spend like, 7 hours together the other day, and then you texted me saying you were outside- I thought we were friends!” And Sunghoon feels a flood of panic pass through him. Yes- he knows exactly what you mean. But his chat? his friends? Everyone who has just heard you speak? They have zero idea without context.

You’re not use to phrasing things as a streamer, and in an effort to calm his faster than light chat, Sunghoon stammers, “Yeah, we were cleaning so much of your new place. And those texts were all jokes- I’d never do that to a friend.”

Nodding in agreement without understanding the commotion you’ve caused, you try to read more of the chat.

‘pick me’ ‘ur too cute for her’ ‘she’s so cringe’

When Sunghoon sees the same things you do, his expression hardens, suddenly feeling upset. He was worried that this would happen. “Just because ____ isn’t in the gaming space or a streamer doesn’t mean you guys have the right to be mean to her. She puts in just as much effort into her videos and marketing her channel as much as I do for my gameplays. Please be nice, or I won’t be as willing to do special streams in the future.”

With appreciation, you pat his wrist, which is out of frame. You’re not really sure how to defend yourself against such baseless accusations, and considering Sunghoon’s not even your boyfriend, they have a reason to be so much more toxic and rude towards you without him defending you the way a boyfriend would.

“Maybe I should leave-“ You whisper to only him, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

Sunghoon shakes his head. “No, let me return the favor- plus, you wanted to learn bedwars. I’ll teach you the ropes.” His reassuring words make you feel more inclined to stay, not feeling as negative and embarrassed as before. He returns his attention to the chat after uncovering his mic, seeing some of his friends have seen the special title for today’s stream and joined.

“Hi Riki, Hee, Jay. Where’s Jake?” You peer over to see their verified badges with special colors appear, and Sunghoon reads their comments out loud. “Okay- enough of that. I’ll be teaching her how to play, now, so I might not be checking chat. As always, please be nice, and seeing as all my friends are in chat, there are even more mods available to ban you guys.” His voice is stern, but you can tell how much Sunghoon hates being mean to his fans.

simjake: ‘hi y/n please kick his ass so he’ll stfu.’

Sunghoon catches he quicker than you do, reading it with widened eyes. “Please kick his ass so he’ll shut the fuck up? Dude, If we’re on fortnite tonight, you’re last choice for squads.”

“But you can’t even play, Sunghoon.” You point out, and he frowns- trying his best to pretend that a kid on a bike wasn’t the whole reason he’s going bankrupt.

“I’m learning how to use it with the cast.”

“Don’t doctors tell you to literally not use it so it heals faster?” And he shrugs. Sunghoon’s arm really isn’t healing anytime soon, even if he swears it is.

“Well- anyways.” He uses his good arm to pull up the running tab for Minecraft, his avatar already in an empty lobby for you to practice. “Y/N is going to learn bedwars!”

Your face falls, and you look over to Sunghoon in horror. “I thought we were going to learn first. Without the stream.

He shakes his head with a half shrug, and moves his mouse around to make sure it’s still working like how he needs it to. “I think chat will find it funny to watch.”

You straighten up with determination and tell him to scoot over so you can place your hands on and familiarize yourself with the keyboard.

“Try the spacebar,” Sunghoon says with pride, and you laugh at how nerdy it sounds coming from him. After clicking the key a few times, and experimentally typing in the MInecraft chat, he begins to explain how to play, and you do your best to listen to him as he instructs you. “You know how to play, yes?” And your slight experience whenever you come to play on Sunoo’s set-up comes in handy for basic things like managing the game controls.

His 20k viewers all noticed a few things that neither of you picked up- both too engrossed in learning how to bridge without falling off, but also trying to fight and defend from other players.

They noticed how you liked to poke fun at Sunghoon sometimes- similar to your Youtube video where you’d make small but funny digs, and Sunghoon would go along with it. Everyone noticed how he was gently reassuring you with a hand on your shoulder or his fingers intertwining with yours when you stood up in frustration to pull it back to the mouse. Sunghoon here wasn’t the same flirty streamer who read his chat, called people his wife, or yelled at his friends (all in good fun!) when they lost match point; he was doting, and calm, with eye-crinkling smiles and praises everytime you bridged enough blocks to the other side. And after a bit more than an hour, you became tired of falling off the cliff from dynamite, or running out of golden apples to eat when you were running away- all to Sunghoon’s amusement.

You bid farewell to his chat, who all had fun watching you get excited while playing. For the gamers who watched Sunghoon’s channel, you le gameplay and reactions reminded them of the excitement it felt to play for the first time, and the problems they used to encounter trying to get better.

Sunghoon returns, with his chin resting on his good hand was he lazily reads chat. “He’s so in love.” He reads, scoffing. “Absolutely not, me and her are just friends. I’d do it for anyone.”

‘he’s so whipped’ simjake: ‘simphoon’ ‘someone get this man a gf’ heeonmic: ‘SIMPHOON BYEEE’

For the rest of his live, Sunghoon practices playing, blaming you offhandedly for cursing his keyboard and it was the reason why he was doing so bad. “Stop bothering ____ with us dating. Honestly she probably doesn’t even want a boyfriend.”

And how he was wrong.

prev. | ml. | next.

REN SAYS... i am my own writer. yes, i included sunghoon's selfie with biceps even though technically it wasn't needed because my brain needs it to be canon...

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[kaylopolis]

Alastor's Shadow (18+) - Chapter Six

Alastor x F!Reader, Alias: Thestral

Synopsis: There’s a new Overlord in town and it isn’t the Radio Demon. Six years after you fell into Hell, you have finally earned your seat at the table as Pentagram City’s newest and baddest and with the Extermination coming six months earlier than planned, it is now time to implement your ultimate endgame. After all, who doesn’t love a bit of power and chaos? Your plan brings you to the doorstep of the Hazbin Hotel as Charlie’s newest Redeemer, but who you find waiting for you will not only turn your entire plan upside down but also challenge your grab for power… 

Tag List: Slow burn, rivals to lovers, eventual smut

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

(Let me know if you want to be added to the Tag List!)

____________________________________________

Author note: Dear Hoteliers, VOX IS BACK BABY!

<3 Stay smutty

Chapter Six - A Stroll

Content Warning: Obsession, Choking, Graphic Sexual Scenes Involving Violence, Self Harm, Minors DNI!

Vox poured a cup of coffee into his “Fuck Alastor” mug and whistled as he exited the penthouse suite, heading for his office. 

“What has him in such a cheery mood this mornin’, hmm?” Val asks from his spot on the couch, flipping through various channels on the television. The moth demon sipped from his own “Pimpin’ Not Simpin” mug. 

Velvette sat on the edge of the countertop, a new phone in hand, tapping away. “Something about his mysterious Alley Girl. How the Hell should I know?” 

“The bitch staying with Alastor?” Valentino adjusted his rose glasses. 

“Yup.”

Val took another sip of his mug, before finally flipping to 666 News. “I can’t even get that lanky prick to return my calls, and Mr. Flat Screen thinks he can romance one of Charlie’s Redeemers without pissing off the Smiling Freak?” 

Velvette finally puts the phone away. Grabbing her own coffee cup, she jumps over the back of the couch to join Valentino in watching the morning broadcast. “At least he’s movin’ on.” She shrugs. “If I have to hear him bitch one more time about Al…”

The television chimed, interrupting their conversation and announcing the start of a special broadcast. “Travis Miku, a former employee of V Tower Productions, was found burnt to a crisp this morning just outside the Entertainment District…”

Val spit his coffee across the room. “What!?” 

____________________________________________

“Okay, Scales,” you laugh, pouring the coconut milk into the cup. 

“Ay’, nicknames are my thang, Hair clip!” Angel scolded from his seat at the table. 

“What do you think of this?” You spun, sending the cappuccino flying down the table. It sailed with such force that it flew right past the snake demon and crashed onto the tile floor next to a pair of black and red dress shoes. You were so distracted that you didn’t notice the run of static down your spine. 

Fuck.

“My, it seems I have stumbled across the old rough and tumble this morning,” the demon’s radio clicks onto a smooth jazz before he slips into his apron and starts the stove. He’s in a good mood.

You’re frozen in place for a moment, very aware of the Radio Demon standing right next to you and the mere inches the coffee cup had to spare before acosting him. The room has gone silent, nervously awaiting the Radio Demon and his temper. Yet, it doesn’t come. 

Your eyes flit down to his red and black shoes - not a speck on them - you wouldn’t - couldn’t - make eye contact with the demon. Especially after last night. Your cheeks heat with the memory of his lips on yours. 

Fucking Hell. You’ve never experienced this before. You’ve never wanted to do… sexual things. It wasn’t in your nature. Dad raised you on the belief that anything before marriage was a sin and so you spent the majority of your life believing the same thing. When you finally were free of him you found that you just didn’t have any interest. Not in men or women. It just wasn’t something you thought of. 

Your closest friend tried to talk you into it, she was as promiscuous as they get - she’d rival even Adam’s body count - but you just didn’t really want to. She’d go off and sleep with whatever had two legs, while you’d prefer a good book and a glass of wine in your bed. 

Now? Your thoughts and feelings towards those things were getting… confusing. Alastor was making those things confusing and you really hated to admit that. 

White-knuckled, the demon whipped a few eggs - clearly holding back his agitation from your almost attack. You wondered what it would take to break his smile, get him to try and frown for once. You wondered what you would have to do to wipe that smirk off his face…

Oh, and part of you would love to try but another part knows you needed to get on his good side. 

Rubbing the back of your neck, you grab a towel to…

“Oh, no, allow me, darling,” he snaps his finger and the pile of destroyed ceramic disappears. 

You swallow, “Thank you.” Turning back to the machine, you begin a new cup for Pentious and a hot cup of chai coffee for Alastor, listening awkwardly to the demon humming beside you. 

“So…” Husk starts. “Heard you were heading to Mimzy’s today.”

“I am,” you and the Radio Demon respond at the same time. His radio skips a beat, the jazz song turning to static as he meets your eye - God, that was starting to get annoying. His left eye twitches ever so slightly betraying his mask of a smile. 

You side eye the barkeep over your shoulder. You knew what he was doing. He was tasked to watch after you, which meant reporting your movements, especially when it involved the Overlord’s acquaintances - not cool Husk, not cool. 

“And what business would you have with ~my~ darling Mimzy?” Alastor’s radio clicked back to a smooth jazz. Did he play anything else? 

My Mimzy? MY?

“Just picking up a few things,” you turn back to the coffee, doing your best to concentrate on your coconut creation and the chai brewing next to it. 

“Seems we will be running in the same circles today then, Ms. Thestral,” his voice purrs. 

“Seems we will,” you wipe the rim of the cup before turning to the table, mugs in hand. You kept your eyes down, not wanting to catch Alastor’s gaze. 

Perhaps if you coordinated, you could find a time to get to the club when Alastor wouldn’t be there…

“Care to join me?” The demon purred. 

Your heart sank through your stomach and onto the floor. You practically dropped the mugs in your hand before setting them gently on the table. Finally, your eyes caught his. 

He looked rather domestic like this - frilly pink apron, spatula in hand. If no one knew who you were they’d think you a couple, getting ready for a quiet breakfast at home. Good thing your audience knew better. You were more likely to kill each other than anything else. And, underneath all of that, the demon looked utterly exhausted…

You shoot him your prettiest, most sincere smile, fighting the blush creeping up your neck. “I would be delighted,” you answer through gritted teeth. 

“Delightful,” the demon beams at you, his irises lighting up like crimson crystals.

Angel leans over to whisper to Husk, “What is happening?”

“Breakfast!” Alastor abruptly drops the pan, making the entire room jump. “Enjoy.”

The three blink before digging in, doing their best to ignore whatever pissing contest you and Alastor had found yourselves in - except for Angel. The Porn Star loved drama. 

The Radio Demon leans in, his gaze boring into you. You feel something tickle the peripherpy of your power. It wasn’t his shadow and it wasn’t him probing your power. It felt like his radio static had brushed up against your fire, like a caresse across your skin. It was eerily similar to the feeling you got when you and he made the deal atop the radio tower. 

Could he feel that too?

Your cheeks heated as he came closer, his gaze suddenly changed. From a look of pure anger to something else… “You’re not afraid of me.” 

The statement sent a shiver down your spine. 

Taking a deep breath, you leaned in closer, pushing all thoughts of his lips from your mind, of his hands on your throat, of his thigh between your legs, his chest flush with yours…  “Seems Charlie left that part out of the tour.” You smirked, your red lipstick contrasting against your white teeth. You wished you had more prominent canines for a situation such as this. 

God, why did Alastor make you feel so… so… angry!? That was the only way to describe what was happening. He made you angry. 

He laughed, a deep rumble from his chest, not the fake showman’s laugh you normally heard from him. His face lit up in a way you hadn’t seen before from the Overlord. Then he fell silent, uncharacteristically so. His eyes dipped down. Not to your neck. No, his gaze didn’t drop low enough. 

Was he… What is he… Your face grew warm as a blush crept up from your collarbones.  

He was staring at your lips. 

“Um, excussssse me?” Sir Pentious’ question broke the tension, bringing you both back to the room. 

You cleared your throat, finding your seat at the table. 

Ignoring the looks Angel Dust was shooting you from across the room, you pushed the cappuccino to the snake. 

“...I don’t eat eggssss.” The serpent smiled. “May I have pancakesss?” He beamed. 

Alastor’s smile strained. “Of course, my slippery friend.” 

You were in no place to point out that pancakes still had eggs in them.

“...With chocolate chipsss?” He blinked, his eyes growing big. 

The Radio Demon snapped the spatula in half in his hand. “Right away.”

You resisted the urge to laugh, finding your own mug of hot coffee. The static returned to the room, switching angrily between stations before returning to a smooth jazz. 

“Morning!” Charlie yawned. She had a small bouquet of blue flowers in her hand. “Thestral these came for you.” She placed the bouquet down in front of you before finding her seat. 

There’s a card. 

Your blood runs cold. 

Holy fucking shit. 

“Who they from?” Angel asks.

You crumble the note in your hand. “Nobody important,” you quickly lie. 

Fucking blue Forget-Me-Knots. How fucking hilarious of him. How in the Hell did he find you and know who you are!? You’d burn these to a crisp if you didn’t have so many eyes on you. 

You went over to the garbage and aggressively tossed the flowers in, irritation prickling the back of your neck. Before you had a chance to register what was happening, Angel slipped his fingers in yours, and pulled the crumbled note from your grasp. You lunged for the paper, but one of his hands pushed down on your head, placing you thoroughly out of range of his many appendages. 

The spider demon’s mouth dropped. “Vox!?” 

Shit. 

The room went silent. 

Vaggie grabbed the paper from Angel and read it herself. “Why is an Overlord sending you flowers?”

Ah, how to explain…

“I…” You pinched the bridge of your nose between forefinger and thumb. “I fixed his bowtie…” You grumbled. 

“You fixed his bowtie?” Angel repeated, absolutely dumbfounded. 

“Why were you anywhere near him?” Vaggie was in your face now, challenging you from her even shorter stature. 

“He ran into me, quite literally, on my way to the club, after Rosie’s,” your eye’s flit to Alastor, but he was nonchalantly perched behind black and white text, sipping the coffee you had made him. Was he ignoring this conversation or just not interested? “His bowtie was tangled, so I fixed it for him, but he had no idea who I was. I didn’t even give him my name! I have no idea how he found me or why he’d even send me flowers…” You slammed the lid of the garbage can shut. 

“Wait, you went to Rosie’s!?” Vaggie challenged. 

“She’s my tailor…” You were now thoroughly irritated. “That doesn’t matter!” You fell into your seat with a thud, arms crossed in front of you, you slumped onto the table. A wave of coolness puddled beneath your ankles as you sat - Alastor’s shadow you assume. 

“You had a meet-cute with Vox?” Angel was still stuck on that part. 

Alastor flipped the page of his newspaper rather aggressively, his shadow twirling around and around your feet. He wasn’t Vox’s biggest fan, so you’re sure the entirety of the Hotel crew obsessing over your interaction with him wasn’t sitting well with the Overlord. 

You shot the spider demon a confused, yet exasperated look. Vaggie and Charlie shared a look of concern. Husk poured more alcohol into his orange juice.

“Why the fuck, do you hang around so many Overlords…” Vaggie started but, Charlie interrupted her. 

“What Vaggie means to say is, we’re worried about you,” Her voice was sweet as she came to sit next to you, crouched so she could catch your eyeline.

“Was it hot?” Angel wiggled his eyebrows at you. “Was there tension of the… sexual nature?” He beamed. Your face turned scarlet.

“Angel, I don’t…” You start but are interrupted. 

SNAP! 

The Radio Demon’s newspaper disappeared as did his music. Summoning his microphone, he stormed from the kitchen, leaving the rest of you in a wave of silence. His shadow followed, almost as if it was pulled away rather aggressively. 

“What was all that about?” Vaggie snapped. 

“He looked kind of mad, maybe I should go check on him?” Charlie started to stand but Vaggie pushed her back down. 

“Uh, no! No way! You are not going after an Overlord with an anger issue.” 

You sighed into your arms. This day was starting off great…

Charlie’s eyes shot to Husk. Pouting her lip, she silently begged the barkeep. 

“Ugh!” Rising to his feet, he chugged the rest of his drink. “I don’t get paid enough for this shit.” He disappeared through the flapping kitchen door. 

“Not to change the subject, but has anyone seen Nifty?” Angel asked.

“Not since last night. I swear if she’s stuck in the ventilation shafts again…” Vaggie swore under her breath in Spanish. 

“Maybe we should go look for her?” Charlie ran her hands through her hair, still watching the kitchen door swing on its hinges. 

“Good idea, let’s split up into teams. I call Thestral!” Angel practically dragged you to your feet. Pushing you out the door, he called back, “Hair clip and I will check this floor!” 

“This conversation isn’t over!” Vaggie called out after you. 

Next thing you know you were following him down the hallway, coffee-less and grumpy. You weren’t yourself before that first cup of joe and the Hotel Natives had not yet learned what happens when you don’t get it. Plus, the whole Vox situation was just tipping you over the edge. 

Static found your spine as you walked - Alastor. His shadow was following you.  

Angel made a great deal of effort to check every nook and cranny as you walked, but your eyes were on him. “Thank you for rescuing me,” You stop walking, irritation prickling your skin. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the shadow of the table twitch ever so slightly. 

He takes a glance down both hallways, ensuring you were alone. “You know what just happened don’t ya’?” 

You raised an eyebrow in question. 

“Flirting with the Radio Demon like that and then throwing Vox in his face. Are you nuts?” He grabbed at his hair.  

“What!?” You barked, your jaw practically on the floor. 

“I saw the way the two of yous… Owe! Owe! Owe! How are you this strong!?” You dragged Angel by his ear to the foyer and out the front doors. Husk was at the bar, shooting you weird looks, but eventually he shrugged it off and went back to cleaning up broken glass. 

You didn’t stop until you were standing in the middle of the cobblestone road, in broad daylight, with the closest puddle of shadows at least thirty feet away. Alastor’s shadow could still reach you if it wanted to, but it didn’t know that you knew it was following you - so, it would have to stay hidden. It was now, thankfully, out of earshot.

“What the fuck was that for?” Angel rubbed his ear as you released him. 

“Let’s get this straight. I was not ~flirting~ with the Radio Demon. I hate him. What you saw was me not backing down to his intimidation. I refuse to cower before someone who thinks they have some sort of power over me.” You gritted through your teeth. “Also, I did not ask for attention from Vox. I did not ask for flowers. I didn’t want it brought up but you had to go and snoop into my business!”

Angel blinks at you, before something clicks in his mind. “Oooh, I get it now! You wanna hate fuck him.” Angel beamed at you. 

Goddammit. You’d rip his head off right here if you didn’t like him so much. 

“Look, if Smiles is what does it for ya…” 

“Angel,” you bite, but he continues over you.

“…then I’m not one to judge, but you should know one thing. Never, in the history of Hell, has the guy been seen with anyone.” 

“Wha… What!?” Your face was turning red, not out of embarrassment but anger. How could Angel think that this was what you wanted to hear right now!? 

“Yup, better believe it. Overheard Valentino and Vox talking about it. Apparently the guy’s a total loner. I’m not saying he’s a virgin but there’s a possibility.” 

You could feel the heat bubbling beneath your skin, threatening to break through. 

“Although come to think of it, Vox talks about Alastor’s sex life quite a bit. Wonder what…”

“Angel Dust,” you snap. “I don’t care about Alastor’s sex life.” You were seconds away from ripping the hair out of your head - reminding yourself that this was Angel, you did your best to contain yourself. 

“Oh, well you should.” He crosses his arms, a smirk across his face.

Pinching the bridge of your nose between forefinger and thumb, you do your best to take a breath. “Why would I care about who Alastor has or has not slept with?” 

“Because he’s heading this way,” the spider demon points over his shoulder. You spin, blush creeping into your skin, turning the pink to a bright red. You pray he hadn’t heard you talking just now. 

The demon slips through the front door, his cane clacking against the ground as he descends upon you. You're helpless, your mind blank as he comes to stand just feet from where you and Angel had been hiding from his shadow. 

You were so irritated with Angel and focused on Alastor’s shadow you had missed the static creeping down your spine alerting you to his impending presence. 

“Hello, darling, you wouldn’t be leaving without me, would you?” The demon’s smile gives nothing away - if he heard you, he made no show of it. 

“Oh, no. She’s all yours, Smiles.” Angel practically shoves you forward. “You, me, bar, later!” He demands as he heads for the safety of the Hotel. Behind Alastor’s back, Angel sends you a quick wink before disappearing inside. 

You had grown quite attached to Angel Dust in the short time you’ve been here. So much so that his innocent flirting and quick sex quips brought a smile to your face. And because of that - the muscle twitching in your jaw - you still couldn’t find the room to hate him. Angel Dust was pure - despite his choice of profession - and you found yourself again wondering how Valentino could lay his hands upon such a wonderful person. Even if he can be a twat sometimes.

“Actually, we were looking for Nifty,” you crossed your arms, willing your heart to stop pounding. He could probably hear it from where he stood. 

“Ah, it’s a good thing our effeminate friend headed back inside then. The Little Angel has found herself wedged within an air shaft on the ceiling of the library.” He saddles up next to you, your head coming to the height of his chest, before holding his elbow out to you. “Shall we?” 

You thought the Radio Demon didn’t like to be touched?

Begrudgingly, you loop your arm in his, your fingers coming to rest atop his jacketed forearm - did he ever wear anything else? - doing your best to ignore the fact that you were touching him. He was warm - not something you expected from him. His shadows always felt so cold when they wrapped around you, you had assumed he would be much the same - cold and dead. 

You took a sniff to try and grasp his emotions, to see if he smelled of deceit and indeed had overheard your conversation, but instead of the lemony tartness of the emotion, he smelled of musk, of the deep woods after a rainstorm. It was… unexpected… Especially considering you hadn’t been able to scent anything off of him before this.

And his attitude? He stormed out of the kitchen not twenty minutes ago and now he appears here, his smile seemingly normal, not an ounce of stress in his eyebrows. You wondered what happened to change his mood so quickly?

You did your best to keep your eyes on the path ahead as you walked. “You don’t seem so concerned for someone in your… services?” 

He laughed, “Oh, darling, I see you did some homework. Yes, Nifty is a soul I own, and yes she does find herself in a bind quite often.” He helped you down the curb and into the street as you crossed. Despite the smiles on your face, the tension between the two of you was so palpable you could cut it with a knife. “But the difference is, that I trust them to take care of her.” 

You scoff, sidestepping a dead rat. “If not I guess you have Husk to tattletale later.”

Out of the corner of your eye, something in the demon’s demeanor turns dark. “You would be surprised how difficult that barcat can be…” 

You wonder what happened after Alastor and Husk left the room. There was no shouting or arguing but apparently some broken glass? Perhaps it was Alastor’s anger towards the barkeep. Perhaps it was his irritation with Vox. Whatever it may have been, he appears unphased now. That or he’s really good at putting on a show.

You pass the Entertainment District, V Tower looming overhead. Alastor stiffened slightly, his other hand coming to rest on your arm against his. 

Yeah, definitely a Vox issue. 

Your heart skips a beat as his gloved fingers settle atop yours and you resist the urge to pull away. 

His fingers on yours… 

Your face heated. 

Shit, think of something else. 

You fixate on V Tower. God, the past few nights spent perched on rooftops and just listening and watching Vox and his little gang bitch about absolutely nothing were really starting to get to you. 

But last night you had slept. Which doesn’t sound like a lot but you haven’t truly had a decent night’s rest since coming to the Hotel. Now, with Alastor’s radio, you could finally catch a few Zs - despite the dream. You were ignoring that it even happened - as best you could. 

At first the music was used to drown out the screams of the Sinners those first few days in Hell, then it became something you needed. It made you feel weak to rely on something so trivial, but, hey, this was Hell - suffering on some level had to be involved. 

“Thank you,” you finally managed, looking down at your feet. “For the radio.” 

Alastor’s shoulders dropped ever so slightly, his fingers twitching on your arm. “Of course, my dear. Whatever I can do to help.” He didn’t sound as cheerful as his words. His mind fixated on the media demon’s tower looming over you. 

Might as well address it directly. You didn’t work well with… complicated emotions, but anger? Fuck. Anger was your best friend. 

“Vox has been quiet lately.” You prod. “Ever wonder why he hasn’t flat out tried to take you down?” Heaven’s Clocktower came into view. 

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “I suspect his systems are still reloading,” he answers coolly. 

“Hmm,” you ponder. “For a seemingly all powerful Overlord, the man has one major weakness.”

“And what would that be, darling?” The edge of Cannibal Town was coming into view. You took a right - heading for the old section of the Entertainment District. 

You ignored the butterflies in your belly, now kicked up in a flurry at his purr of “darling.”

You wonder if Alastor is technically not allowed in any part of the Entertainment District - seeing as how it is the Vees’ territory. But what did they care about an old jazz club tucked away in the far less frequented parts of Pentagram City?

“Unplug him,” you smiled at your own joke. 

And, to your surprise, the Radio Demon tips his head back and laughs. Not his corny showman laugh, but a deep rumble that emanates from within his chest. You’re shocked for a moment, not sure of how to take his change in emotion, but then your quiet giggles join his. 

At least Vox was something you both could agree on. 

“...back to you Katie!” A crowd was gathering around a storefront, television screens turned on inside - granted they were older models, 1950s-esque, but 666 News worked on everything. 

You hastily listened as you passed, Alastor having no desire to join a forming crowd - watching a television no less - to a breaking news podcast regarding another murder. 

“Travis Miku, a former employee of V Tower Productions, was found burnt to a crisp this morning just outside the Entertainment District. His ashes have been returned to his wife…”

You chuckle. 

It was his wife who gave you her soul for the hit. A minor deal, but Rome wasn’t built in a day and neither was your power as Overlord. 

“On a lighter note, if anyone has any information on how to contact the Shadow, you can call the studio tip hotline. Asking for a friend…”

The buzz of the picture box is drowned out by the hustle and bustle of the Vees’ territory. Cars honked as they drove by, people on cell phones, clubs playing music for patrons who had still been there from the night before. 

“Oh, please do enlighten me as to what has peaked your fancy now?” Alastor’s question brought you from your thoughts. 

“I find the growing desire to unmask the Shadow to be fruitless.”

The Overlord stiffened next to you. “How ever could you mean?”

“It’s simple. Unmask the mask and what do you get? Just another mask. No one in Hell goes by their true name and the ones who do are now dead twice over. It doesn’t matter who this Shadow is, they still remain a threat regardless of their identity. It would be like learning your name was actually Alex instead of Alastor. You’re still the Radio Demon - nothing has changed.” 

“Spoken by someone who sounds like they have nothing to lose?” He raised an eyebrow.

You sigh, your heart knotting itself in your chest. “I don’t…” 

Everyone you knew was topside - Heaven - and wherever the Hell your father was. No one left on Earth to care for you now. Not even friends… Even if anyone were to find out who you truly are, they’d have no leverage. Well, you did care for Rosie, but she could take care of herself.

Alastor didn’t ask further, content on finishing the walk in silence. His fingers wrapped around yours were warm and oddly comforting. Actually, silences were oddly comfortable with the Radio Demon - considering his radio never truly left you alone. 

You walked the rest of the way in a background of music. The demon changed the channel every so often to find something that he liked - you questioned whether he was picking up actual radio waves or just cycling through his memory like a CD multidisc drive. 

Did he know all these songs or were some of them new to him? Did he only listen to music of the twenties and thirties or had his tastes grown in time? You wondered what he would think of jazz now - it had changed so much in the last hundred years. 

You were a block away from your destination when the curiosity got the better of you. 

“The radio thing you do,” you began awkwardly, “is that something you can turn off completely or…?” 

The demon thought for a moment before you heard what you believed to be the sound of a needle gently lifting off a record. No music. No static. Something weighed heavily in his eyebrows, making them crinkle ever so slightly. He didn’t look at you when he answered, “It is uncomfortable.”

And that’s all he said before his fingers found the front door of “Bob’s Barber.” Alastor held the door, motioning for you to go first. What a gentleman.

Bob’s Barber was a stereotypical barbershop, complete with leather chairs and red and white twirled poles. Inside was a shark demon, dressed in a white apron, sweeping the floor of hair. 

“It looks like acid rain today,” the barber muttered. 

“Yes, well, it’s a good thing I always carry an umbrella*,” you answered.

The barber stopped his sweeping to smile at you. “Since when do you take the front door, Loca?”

You pounded his fist with your own, “And who’s this?” His smile dropped when he turned to Alastor, standing at your side, hands placed gently on the top of his microphone. 

“A friend.” 

Not a friend. 

“And since when do you have friends?” The barber was not backing down, smelling blood in the water. Smart guy.

“Didn’t say he was my friend, Luis,” you smiled. 

The shark demon turned to you, his large hand - fin? - ruffling the hair atop your head. You hated when he did that, but also loved it. 

“Alastor,” the Radio Demon held out his claws for a handshake, “perhaps you’ve heard of me?”

The shark demon looked from his hand to his face and back to his hand again. “No.” You didn’t hold back your laugh. “But if Loca says you’re cool, then go on ahead.” The barber leaned behind the front desk and cranked a lever. A panel in the mirrored wall popped open - oh, the fun of speakeasies. 

You felt Luis’ eyes bore into Alastor as you made your way through the wall and down a set of stairs. You were suddenly very grateful for the overprotective shark demon who had become something of a friend over the years. 

“Mimzy did always love her theatrics!” Alastor’s tone was light, but you could tell he was irritated by the bruise in his ego. Narcissist. 

It was early, the club technically wouldn’t be open for hours. The lights were on revealing the slick wetness of a newly polished wood floor that gave way to red carpeting. The bar was at the very back of the establishment, wooden and antique with a backdrop of rows and rows of bootleg liquor - the original stuff. Seems nostalgia wasn’t lost on the old guard of Hell. Moonshine was still made from white sugar, the bottles were random containers of glass wrapped in handwritten labels. 

Booths lined the back of the establishment, their red velvet cleaned weekly. Closer towards the stage were tables, white clothes covering their tops, complete with candle centerpieces. It was a truly classic Prohibition Era establishment. Complete with a grand piano at the middle of it all. How Mimzy still managed to pull all this off after a hundred years you didn’t know. Your job was to show up, learn the music, and play. 

“Seven years and it hasn’t changed a bit!” Alastor twirled his cane, having come to rest at his back as he surveyed the establishment. 

“Alastor!?” A small, rather portly woman popped out from behind the stage curtain. 

The Radio Demon’s lips curled as the woman ran over. “By the way, darling,” he leans into you, his lips brushing the crest of your ear. In a low whisper, his voice deep and raspy, the demon spoke, “I’m not a virgin.” 

HOLY SHIT. Before your brain has time to process his words, Mimzy runs over.

“Alastor! I thought I heard your voice!” Dressed like a pink flapper, complete with feather in hair, the club owner practically tramples Alastor as she brings him into a… hug? You try not to let your jaw hit the floor. “Sweetie, Doll-face, So good to see you! How've you been? Good? Good.” She turns to the barkeep. “Rex, bust out the good rye, we’re celebratin’!” 

God, she was the sweetest, loudest person you had ever met. 

“Mimzy, dear, so good to see you,” Alastor’s radio was back to his jovial tune. Mimzy led him to a booth, completely ignoring your presence. 

As the demon was whisked away, you felt his shadow twirl about your ankles before joining your own. 

Oh, no, no, no. He doesn’t just get to say something like that and walk away. You spin and kick at the shadow, but nothing comes of it - well, nothing you wanted to happen. Instead, you manage to pop a blister. 

“Fuck,” you mumbled, pulling off a heel. Red blood bubbled on the side of your foot. 

Great. Just great. You were going to half to walk home, across Pentagram City, shoeless - again. Can’t fly home in daylight, too many eyes would be on you and you couldn’t risk anyone following you back to the Hotel. It would be too easy.

You limp a few steps to a table, but stop when Alastor’s shadow beats you to it. The thing grabs a napkin and brings it back to you. Hesitating, you turn to the booth where Mimzy and Alastor were now sitting, chatting away. The demon doesn’t even glance in your direction, completely entranced with whatever joke the two of them were laughing at. 

The Radio Demon was a superb multitasker if he could tell jokes and watch you through his shadow at the same time. Or, was it not conscious control? Was it a mindless minion like his shadow imps that fixed the Hotel wall the first day you moved in? Or was his shadow a soul he owned, someone tricked into servitude for the rest of eternity? 

“Thank you?” You accepted the token, using it to wipe up the blood from your foot. The shadow quickly zips away, melting into your own. You could still feel it’s presence, however, as you pulled off the other shoe to storm off into the back room. 

“Oh, no you don’t!” Mimzy’s call stopped you in your tracks. “Yeah, I see ya’, come ova’ here!” 

White knuckled, you rounded the corner to face the two of them, drinks being poured at their table - Alastor with his usual rye and Mimzy with some sort of gin and tonic. 

“Don’t think ya’ can just sneak by me,” she chastises. “Ya’ skipped out on me last weekend. It ain’t gonna happen this week.”

Oh, the look on Alastor’s face right now. He was relishing your scolding. Asshole. Why was he even here anyway? 

“Sheet music is on the piano. You’re fillin’ in for Roxie.” 

“Two days!?” You protested. “You want a full headliner in two days!?” 

“You gonna complain? That’s showbiz, kid!” She took a swig of her drink and hiccuped. 

“Oh, go easy on the poor dear, Mimzy. She’s…” Alastor smiled, but you cut him off. 

“I do not need your sympathy.” You stomped over to the black piano and swiped the music sheets atop it. 

Mimzy looked between the two of you. “You let her talk to you like that?”

“He doesn’t let me do anything. I do whatever I want,” you answered for him and stormed out. 

____________________________________________

“I’ll see you later, Luis,” you called to the shark demon as you stomped back onto the streets of the Entertainment District, very aware of the Radio Demon’s shadow following you. 

No way in Hell were you going to practice with an audience - and in front of Alastor no less. Ugh! You’d take the music and practice back at the Hotel, hidden away in the old music room where no one would bother you. 

Jesus, you needed a cup of tea or a yoga session or something! You were wound so tightly after last night and this morning that you were grinding your teeth as you walked. Maybe you should make a stop at Rosie’s on the way back, bounce a few ideas off of her, figure out what she thinks you should do to solve your Radio Demon problem. Maybe…

“Need a ride?” 

Fuck. As if you needed another problem right now!

A black limo slowed its pace to match yours. The window rolled down to reveal Vox in a newly pressed suit, a sly grin on his face. How the fuck did he find you?

You rolled your eyes and kept limping walking, a familiar ache building in your feet. Angel had done a great job in patching your blisters, and these new shoes helped a ton, but you had still walked all the way across Pentagram City this morning - perhaps you bit off more than you could chew. Regardless, you were not getting in that limo. 

“Hey, where you goin’?” Vox awkwardly chuckled. The media demon practically fell out the door onto the ground, landing on all fours. He brushed himself off and sped walked until he caught up with you. Falling in line, he grabbed both his lapels, sauntering next to you. Lesser demons noted the Overlord’s presence, and quickly parted for you to pass. 

“None of your business,” you snapped through gritted teeth, speeding up. 

“Mind if I join you?” He flashed you a grin. 

“I do, actually.” 

God, this guy can’t take a hint. 

“Oh, well okay then…” Vox’s smile faltered, he turned his attention to the path ahead, but he didn’t leave. “I guess I‘ll just head home then… Which just so happens to be in the same direction…” He continued alongside you another block before you put the breaks on. 

“Vox, what do you want from me!?” You snapped, your hands curling into fists, crushing the sheet music you walked all the way here to get. 

Vox took a step back, hurt flashing across his screen before it was replaced by his neutral grin. “I just wanted to know if you got my flowers?”

You could feel the artery pulsing in your temple in agitation. You took a breath, stifling the flames itching beneath your skin. “Yes, I got your blue Forget-Me-Knots, very clever.”

“I’m glad you liked them,” he beamed, his confidence newly restored. 

God, this guy was like a golden retriever. 

“Is that all?” You ground your teeth. 

“No, actually.” He pulled another flower from his jacket pocket, offering it to you. “I was wondering if you would like to join me tonight?” The media demon painted his best grin on his face, his eyebrow cocked in question. He looked smug, his aura wafting off scents of rosemary - the scent of pride. He thought oh-so highly of himself. 

Your eyes flit between him and the blue flower, a dumb look on your face. You blinked a few times, “What?” 

“He’s asking you out!” Some random dude screamed from the growing crowd. 

Oh God, there were cameras. Demons were filming. This wasn’t good. The blood instantly drained from your face. “You’re… what?” 

The demon cleared his throat, preparing a rehearsed speech. “You’re the first demon in a long time to not take one look at me and flee. To look at me and not immediately idolize me. To look at me and not want something from me. In fact, you wanted nothing to do with me.” The media demon grabs your hand, his thumb brushing over your palm. Small sparks of static electricity dance their way up your arm. It felt different from Alastor’s static, Vox’s was more metallic and surface level whereas Alastor’s melted into your bones. 

You felt the Radio Demon’s shadow stir beneath your feet twirling about itself in agitation. Did the shadow know you could feel it? Did it know you could sense its agitation as easily as you could smell the emotions wafting off of others? 

“You’re absolutely breathtaking, but I’m sure you already knew that.” He chuckles. “There’s just something about you… I don’t even know you and yet I do not feel worthy of you.” Another chuckle, then a pause, a hesitation. “I would be truly and deeply honored if you would join me for…”

SCREECH.

“Hello, old pal,” Alastor was suddenly behind you, his radio pure static defeaning your ears. You jumped a few steps back, putting as much room between you and Vox as you could muster. You clutched your hand to your chest protectively, Vox’s electricity diminishing with each second his skin wasn’t on yours. 

The Radio Demon took a step in front of you, blocking your view of the media demon. He twirled his cane before slamming it against the stone pavement, green sparks flying from where it made contact. His shadow found its place beneath his feet once more. 

A pair of eyes and a mouth appeared in the shadow, as if Alastor’s own smile and irises were blocking the darkness. It shot a look of pure hatred at the media demon, its ears curling as if horns, its mouth widening in a razor sharp grin. His shadow looked absolutely lethal, but Alastor looked as cool as a cucumber, as if he just so happened across two friends during one of his outings. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Vox spat, returning the flower to his lapel. The demon’s left eye patterned red and white in anger. 

“I happened to be in the neighborhood,” the demon sang, cleaning his monocle as if Vox wasn’t worth giving his full attention to. 

Why was he… Oh, wait a minute. Now you get it. Alastor and Vox were fighting over you, not the lover’s triangle kind of fight, but the “Vox has something I want” kind of fight. You were a toy and they were two toddlers throwing a tantrum about who got to play with you. 

That’s why Alastor offered you his arm as you strode across town. That’s why he played the gentleman as you passed V Tower. That’s why he clung to you, his hands on your fingers, as you walked through the Entertainment District. You were a toy, an object for the two of them to stake a claim in owning. 

You weren’t a valuable toy to either of them - you felt the need to point out - this fight was about power, not about you at all. Figures…

“This has nothing to do with you, you Old Timey Prick!” Vox’s screen began to glitch, his voice cutting in and out with his screen. “So fuck off!” 

Alastor took his time fixing his monocle back into place before responding. “Hmm, yes. I do believe we have overstayed our welcome here in the Entertainment District, darling. Care for a lift home?” He eyes you from over his shoulder, his elbow out in anticipation. 

Vox looked to you, his face visibly saddening. God, it was pathetic. “She’s coming with me. I have already offered her a ride!” Vox motioned to the limo. 

Jesus boys, just whip them out and measure already. 

“Thestral is a guest at ~my~ Hotel and as such she is ~my~ responsibility. What would our dear Princess Morningstar say if I let her prattle about with the likes of you?” The demon’s eyes narrowed at Vox, a green aura emanating from his form.  

You know, part of you really wanted to see them duke it out right here, right now, so they could finally see who the real winner was between the two of them, but another part of you wanted this nightmare to end. 

Something in your line of sight caught your eye and gave you an idea. Spinning, you snuck off, deciding upon Option C. 

____________________________________________

“You did fucking what!?” Angel practically choked on his drink. 

“I left them there,” you sipped your Cabernet, letting the tannins dance across your tongue. “Right in the middle of the Entertainment District.”

Angel was laughing so hard he had whiskey coming out of his nose, “I would have paid so much fucking money to see the looks on their faces!” 

“And Vox just let you take his ride?” Husk raised an eyebrow, busying himself with the glasses behind the bar. 

“The Computer Monitor was too busy short circuiting to do anything about it,” you shrugged. And you offered the driver a lot of money. A sum the shark couldn’t refuse. 

“Damn, kid. You got some balls,” Husk shook his head. You know he didn’t approve of the stunt. All it did was increase the magnification on the microscope you had now found yourself under. 

You spun the half empty glass across the countertop, “Hey, where is Alastor anyway?” 

Husk shrugged, cleaning another glass, “Haven’t seen him since you two left this morning.” 

Good. You needed an evening without the overbearing Overlord and his snooping shadow following your every move. Tonight, you could relax. 

“So you gonna take Vox up on his offer?” Angel wiggled his eyebrows at you. 

You stopped your twirling and shot Angel a dumb look. 

“What?” He threw his hands up in defense. “You can’t blame a guy for trying. Especially…” He pulls up Vitter on his phone and showed the both of you the video which had now reached over a million views. “After a declaration such as this.” 

You watched as Vox repeated his mantra and then the video and audio filled with static - Alastor’s doing you assumed - before it cut out completely. Nice trick. You were going to have to figure out how to do that yourself. 

Vox’s words were nice, but coming from an Overlord they just sounded pathetic. Like one of your victims begging for their life before you burnt them to a crisp. 

“I have absolutely no interest,” you turned your nose up. 

“Because of Smiles or…?” Angel winked. 

Your face turned red. “B.. Because of nothing!” You stuttered. “I have no interest in dating or fucking of any kind.” 

Angel did a double take. “We seriously need to talk about your priorities, toots.” 

“Not everything is about sex, you horny motherfucker,” Husk snaps. 

“Wrong,” Angel sang, holding his glass up for another drink. “Everything in the world is about sex, except for sex. Sex is about pleasure.” 

Husk begrudgingly pours himself another, rolling his eyes. 

You snort into your wine. “Did you just misquote Oscar Wilde?”

Angel blinks at you. 

“The quote is ‘everything in the world is about sex, except for sex. Sex is about power,” you correct. 

Angel blinks again, shaking his head. “No, I don’t think that’s right.” 

The two of you laugh, Husk rolling his eyes. 

“But you know what I mean?” Angel shrugged. 

“Uhm,” you hid your mouth in your wine glass. “I don’t actually…” 

Angel looked shocked. “Wait, don’t tell me, you’re a fucking virgin!?”

You finished off the glass royally humiliated. 

“Oh, this is fucking priceless!” Angel hit the bar, wooing in excitement. 

“Here we are!” Charlie kicks open the kitchen door, the bouquet of blue flowers in her hand. She rescued them from the trash can, fixed them up, and found a vase. “Like new!” The Princess places the vase before you, her eyes sparkling in excitement. 

Angel, looked between you and the flowers and burst into a laugh so hard he fell off the stool. 

“Oh my gosh! Are you alright?” Charlie helps him off the floor. 

You turn to Husk and motion for the wine bottle. He gladly gives it to you, his energy matching yours.  

Angel, wheezing, grabs a flower from the bouquet and tucks it behind your ear. You let him, shooting him a dumb look as he continues to laugh. 

“Why?” You huff. 

“Well,” Charlie bites her lip, still trying to process what was happening. “He went through so much trouble that I felt bad!”

Ah, yes, Ms. Bleeding Heart, you forgot.  

There goes the rest of your evening…

____________________________________________

“What? You think I'm fucking lying?!” Blitz cowered behind his desk. “1923, Chicago. Esther Hadassah.” Blitz flipped over a photo and placed it before the Radio Demon. “1937, Lae, New Guinea. Hannah Samuel.” Another photo. “1947, Washington, D.C. Miriam Amren.” Another. “1969, back in Chicago. Phoebe Corinth.” Another. “The last one we have is from 1974, London. Mary Beth Lazarus.” 

Five different photos; five different points in time; five different names, but one woman. All of the women photographed - although, different hair styles and clothing - looked exactly like YOU. 

“This bitch has strong genes!” Blitz awkwardly laughed. “But we haven’t been able to find anything past 1974, yet.” 

Alastor picked up one of the photographs of you in 1947. Your hair was curled into a cute little bob with waves more iconic of the 1930s than the late 40s. You had a large sun hat tipped slightly askew atop your head and a boa wrapped around your neck, which complimented your yellow dress beautifully. Your hair was blonde then, not dyed to silver like it was now, your skin was pink and full of life - you had a human disguise, but your eyes still shined their vibrant gold. You were sitting at a coffee shop reading a newspaper, a young lady sitting next to you, reading over your shoulder, her face hidden behind your hat. 

The hat covered part of your face as well, but he would know those red lips anywhere. 

The demon covered his face with his hand and laughed, an hysteric laugh. “Oooooh, someone’s keeeeeeeping secreeeeeeets.” He sang, a look of pure mania sprawling across his face as the music on his radio fizzled out to static. 

“I’m sorry?” Blitz was thoroughly confused, terror growing in his eyes at the sudden darkening of the room. 

You’ve been dead a lot longer than six years… He laughed again, the room turning green. Oh, Alastor was rightfully irritated after that little stunt you pulled today in the Entertainment District, but now? Now he was pissed.  

In a spark of green flame, the demon slowly burned the photo of you to ash…

Time to go hunting. 

____________________________________________

“Goodnight, guys!” You call over your shoulder, your thoughts muddled and the ache in your feet numbed by the wine. 

You decided you needed a night off from babysitting the Vees. Not like they actually did anything anyway. You owed Mimzy a full headliner in a few nights and were going to need all your energy to get up early to practice before Charlie’s onslaught of trust exercises. How trust falls and circle activities were supposed to get you to Heaven’s door, you didn’t know, but hey, you signed up for this.

So, a hot shower, and a night of jazz awaited you. Or, whatever was playing on the radio, which was almost always jazz. Was that Alastor’s doing or…?

CREAK! 

You spin, static zipping down your spine, but Alastor isn’t there. No one is there. Not even the shadows moved.

SNAP! 

Another sound, from the other end of the hallway this time. Was it getting darker in here… and green? 

AHHH! A scream. 

You spin again, and suddenly, you’re not in the hallway anymore. You’re… in a swamp? 

Crickets chirped in the night as the humidity licked your skin. Gigantic trees cascaded above you and around you, vegetation weeping from its branches as if the trees themselves were melting from the heat. The world was a mixture of browns and greens as the aroma of wildflowers danced across your senses. And stars… Through the canopy you swore you saw stars twinkling in the night. 

You hadn’t seen stars in years. 

In another situation, it would have been beautiful, but then the stars winked out, the world diving into a hue of green, the wind carrying the threat of radio static.  

Alastor’s cackles echoed around you, bouncing off the trunks, making it hard to tell exactly where the demon was. 

“This isn’t real,” you mumbled, the sweat sticking to your skin. “This isn’t real.”

It was a dream - a nightmare - it had to be. Last time the demon had you trapped you woke up in bed. Now, you were passed out drunk in your room, having a nightmare. You had to be. 

A flock of birds takes off behind you, causing you to jump. Where the fuck had Alastor taken you!? This wasn’t Earth - although it looked a whole Hell of a lot like it. A pocket dimension? 

Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! You spun in circles, eyeing the treeline. If he was going to attack, he would have done it already. That or he’s toying with you. Alastor does like his theatrics. 

You debated grabbing a stick and stabbing yourself; pain to wake you up, right? Wrong. That didn’t work last time. Alastor slammed you against the wall in the last dream and then nearly choked you to death - if that wasn’t enough to wake you…

“Oh, don’t look so scared.” Alastor cooed from the darkness. “I just wanted to have a little chat.” The demon materializes from the shadows before you, his smile twisted. You had seen Alastor’s barely contained anger before - in the way he held his shoulders, the tight curl of his lips when he smiled. This Alastor was barely keeping himself together. His eyes continuously flipped from irises to dials, a thread of green stitched across his smile, the antlers atop his head held a few extra prongs on either side. He could barely keep his demonic form contained. 

The demon sings, his hands coming to rest atop the microphone before him. “What’s a chat between friends?” 

You readied yourself. “Is that what we are now?” You were stalling. You needed to stall, to think of some way out of this. Think. Think! Think!

“I don’t know, darling,” he purred, “you tell me.” His static melted into your bones. 

“I’m dreaming. This is a dream.” There, a break in the trees, a glow of artificial light. That had to be something!

Alastor’s eyes sparkled in amusement. “Is it?” 

You take a step towards what you hope is salvation, but the demon melts into shadow and appears behind you. He wraps his arms around your body, his one hand on your throat, the other around your waist. “Mr. Alastor!” Keep up the façade, if this wasn’t a dream you couldn’t risk him finding out who you are. “This is hardly appropriate!” 

Alastor had every intention of confronting you tonight. He had every intention of demanding to know why you were here, at ~his~ Hotel. He wanted to know just how much power you had. You should have more souls than Carmilla herself at this point in time. You should be an Overlord rivaling that of Zestial. Yet you spent your undead years flitting back and forth between here and Earth? He wanted to know why. He wanted to know how. 

The I.M.P. had only recently uncovered such power, but there were others in Hell - most notably the Succubi - who could travel back and forth between the realms. He wanted to know how you had uncovered such power for yourself, being a Human Sinner and all. 

Yet, his eyes landed on the blue flower Angel had put in your hair, and now he couldn’t think straight. He couldn’t think about anything other than Vox and how he stood in the streets of the Entertainment District mere hours ago, holding your hand, trying to claim you for himself. 

He wanted your soul that very first day you stepped into the Hotel. He didn’t know why, he just knew he had to have you. He had to possess you. You had to be his. 

That night in the library when he probed you for your power, he couldn’t stop looking at your neck and the blood thrumming through it. How lovely you would look with a collar wrapped around your throat. How lovely you would look at the other end of a chain. Yet, his mind kept returning to thoughts of your blood. He had licked his lips in anticipation. He didn’t just want to own you, he wanted to taste you. 

Thankfully, you had caught on to his little game and shoved him away. He didn’t know what he would of done had you not. Sure, he was a Cannibal in this life and the one before it, but he never had the urge to devour before. He ate because he liked the power it gave him, not because of the power beheld by his victims. But you? Oh, you smelled divine and he knew you would taste delicious. 

So when he saw you hand in hand with Vox, well… He couldn’t have that now, could he? And then you rode off, disappearing and leaving him and Vox absolutely flabbergasted. You had shown him up. He couldn’t have you showing him up. 

It made him look weak. 

You squirmed in his arms, trying to break free. He clamped down around you harder. With his one hand around your waist, the other went to the flower in your hair. Holding it between his fingers, he summoned his green Hellfire and burnt it to a crisp. 

And then you had the audacity to laugh at him, “Jealous your little boyfriend is moving on?” 

Alastor growled, threatening to bite your head off. Then, something unexpected happened, he felt you suck in a shaky breath. Not because you were afraid - never because you were afraid - but because his growl had turned you on, and your ass was now perfectly aligned with his crotch. 

His cock twitched to life in his pants at the thought, and you both froze. 

Alastor was mortified. This has never happened before. He’s rarely had this ever happen in front of someone else, let alone because of someone else. The demon didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. It had caught him more off guard than it had you. He didn’t…

You ground your ass into his hips.

The demon’s breath hitched, his lips pressing into your ear. You rolled your hips again, and the wave of pleasure it sent through him had his dick hardening. The demon instinctively grabbed onto your hips, not to stop you, but to pull you closer, to give you leverage as you rolled again. 

His breath was shaky in your ear, his body leaning into you. You brought your hands up and went for his hair, threading your fingers behind his head for leverage. 

Something buzzed between the two of you, almost as if Alastor's magic was instinctively reacting to your body. His static reached out to caress your form, making its way up your thighs, over your hips, and curling around your breasts.

A small gasp escaped your lips that had Alastor's blood singing.

On the next roll, the demon moved with you, running his lengthening member up your ass as your hips moved down. 

“Fu.. Fuck,” he breathed into your ear, a wave of pleasure running through his body that had him practically bucking at the knees.

Your head fell back against his chest, your face flush with desire.

Shit, were you enjoying this as much as he was?

The demon spun you around, reaching out to cup your cheeks...

… and you side-kicked him square in the chest, sending him flying backward onto the swampy ground. Then you ran. Zipping past trees, branches smacking you in the face, you ran desperately for that source of light.

You didn’t dare summon any of your magic to get away. If Alastor didn’t already know you were the Shadow, this wasn’t the time to have him figure it out. 

You practically fell face-first onto a wooden floor, having entered a room through a hole in the wall. Yes, definitely a pocket dimension.

Not slowing to look around, you slammed through the door and landed in the hallway of the Hotel, kicking the wood shut behind you. 

Catching your breath, you sat and waited, waiting for the demon to barrel out after you. As you sat there and waited for Alastor to come and kill you, the scent of warm vanilla, orange, and mint hit your nose - coming from you.

Jesus, you smelled like a turned on victim.

The world behind the door remained silent. Not even the crickets of the swamp could be heard. 

“What in the fuck just happened?” Angel stood shell-shocked behind you. He wore a set of pink pajamas, Fat Nuggets tucked sleepily under his arms. The demon looked between you and the door: Alastor’s door. 

He gave you a knowing smile, “Did you hate fuck him?” 

Shit. Not a dream.

"Now kiss" *side kicks you and runs* "I said 'kiss' not 'kick!"

*Yes, that was a Captain America reference! Thought it would be funny to have that as the code for the speakeasy lol

-> Chapter Seven

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

Tag List (Let me know if you want to be added!)

@sirens-and-moonflowers @wonderlandangelsposts @saccharine-nectarine @goyablogsstuff

[chrisevansonly]

𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌𝒔𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒛𝒚 | 𝒐𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒓 𝒑𝒊𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒊

☁︎ oscar piastri x female reader

☁︎ oscar is experiencing thanksgiving with your family for the first time….and boy is it crazy

☁︎ no warnings just fluff and maybe a tad overwhelmed oscar lol

☁︎ i can’t believe october is starting to come to an end, these little fall fics have been making me so happy, i think ill do another one in december too to get ready for christmas 🤭 p.s thanksgiving in canada is beginning of october in contrast to the USA which is end of november in case you’re confused :)

Thanksgiving was a little chaotic in your family, when everyone gathered together and all sat down for the annual fall meal, only this year it was your boyfriend Oscar’s first time attending it with you. He knew you got your vibrant and extroverted personality from your parents, but now that he looks back on it, he’s pretty sure your entire family played a part in it.

“Oscar when do you and my little sunshine plan on having children hmm?” your grandma asked, causing you to choke on your water

“Nana!”

Oscar laughed patting your back gently to help with your coughing

“I think whenever the time is right, we’re in no rush”

“Well you’re only getting older!”

You shook your head at the old woman’s antics your mother stepping in before you

“Mom, leave these two alone, they’re both still in their early twenties, no babies for them, eat your turkey”

“Never too early to have a baby, such nonsense!”

Leaning over to Oscar you looked at him apologetically

“I’m sorry, she’s very persistent”

He only smiled, kissing your forehead as he squeezed your knee under the table

“I don’t mind at all, it’ll happen someday anyway”

The two of you may have been young but you both knew that you were endgame for each other, there was no one else on earth more perfect for either of you, and everyone was starting to see that.

“So Oscar, i’ve been watching your season, looks pretty good this year”

It was your father’s time to chime in, Oscar nodding as he gave your father 100% of his attention.

“Yes, it’s been going really well, the car feels good this year, so i’m looking forward to finishing the next few races and then having some time off” he replied, a bit hesitantly as he always did with your dad

“That’s good to hear, I’d love to come see a race sometime”

You smiled

“You should come to Las Vegas with us dad! You and mom have been wanting to go back there so why not?”

In hindsight you should have asked Oscar first if he was okay with this, but knowing him, he wouldn’t mind at all. He loved spending time with your family as much as you did with his.

“Oh that’s a great idea honey, i’m sure we can figure something out!”

The rest of dinner went off without a hitch, calm conversation and laughter shared between everyone, you could already feel the classic thanksgiving hangover hitting you as you lounged on the couch tucked into Oscar’s side, your eyes heavy and tired.

“NO YOU JUST SLAPPED ME WITH ANOTHER PICK UP UP 4 IM GONNA KILL YOU!!!”

Oscar laughed hearing your little cousins playing uno in the other room as you rolled your eyes. If anyone was the loudest on these holidays it was the kiddos.

“YEAH WELL YOU JUST SUCK AT THE GAME THEN!”

It wasn’t long before your aunt went in there and told them off, quiet chatter resuming after the mini scream fest over the classical card game had ensued. Truth be told you were nervous for Oscar to experience thanksgiving with your family because you weren’t always put together and fancy, you were loud and energetic, your family loved playing games, having treasure hunts and playing games of charades.

You knew deep down it wouldn’t everyone’s cup of tea but Oscar wouldn’t have it any other way. He’d never felt more comfortable and at home like he did with you when you visited your family. It made him feel normal and accepted, he didn’t have to worry about the media, the race track or the constant murmurs going around the paddock.

“How was your first thanksgiving experience love?”

He smiled down at you, his finger tips running up and down your back

“I loved it, really it was so much, I can’t wait to keep experiencing this craziness with you”

“Oscar loves the thanksgiving craziness…never thought i’d say that”

The Aussie laughed leaning down to kiss you

“Well now I get to experience a different craziness from yours everyday”

“Hey!”

You frowned jokingly but he was quick to once again bring his lips to yours, deepening the kiss enough to have your face flush, thankfully your family too enamoured in their own activities to notice your little display of affection.

“I love you and all your craziness darling, it’s what makes you, you.” he stated softly, taking his time to admire you

“I love you more.”

Oscar had all he needed right in front of him, he’d never felt more welcomed and appreciated than he did right now, curled up on the couch at your parents house after a delicious dinner, something he would continue to be apart of for years…and years to come.

[oliviasroses19]

Just thinking about how happy I am that we got a more complex, deeper friendship with show!polin. I did enjoy the book, don’t get me wrong. But at the start, book!polin was pretty one sided on Penelope’s part. We know she loves Colin literally from the first page, but Penelope was what feels like an afterthought for Colin. It’s only when he returns from his tour and spends more time with her that he starts seeing her as a friend. He said it himself, they were acquaintances, and only more recently does he consider them being friends. He went from liking her company to Colin “my wife” Bridgerton real quick (this form of Colin exists in both bridgerton universes, thank GOD). Their story feels more like acquaintances to lovers in my opinion.

What makes show!Polin so magical, and I’m sure is the true reason for the choke hold they have on us, is the fact that we got to see their history as childhood friends develop to best friends and then to lovers. We can see the love Pen has for Colin from the start, and while he hasn’t come to his senses yet, he clearly adores her in the beginning as well.

Then we have the letters. My dear, sweet, completely inappropriate letters (only in regard to the lack of propriety). Yet another contrast between show and book Polin. Their letters truly fortify their friendship to the viewer and add even more magic to their story. Penelope is eager to talk to the man she loves and she is elated that he wants to talk to her too. And Colin gets the space to be himself in these letters. Penelope has never once made him feel silly for his rambling about the places he’s visiting while his family doesn’t shy away from brushing him off or chastising him for talking about his travels. He knows that there is at least one person back home that is excited to hear from him. His heartache confusion over not hearing from her on his second tour only solidifies how dear her letters and friendship are to him. Penelope plays such a large part in his life, he spirals when he thinks he lost her friendship. “Is there something wrong, Pen? Between us, I mean” gets me every time 😭.

We see the yearning from Pen for two seasons, see her protect and love Colin in secret, and heartbreakingly see her give up hope that he will ever love her in that way. We also get to see Colin look for her at every social assembly, protect Pen multiple times, and when he FINALLY realizes his feelings aren’t completely platonic, we see his own yearning. This makes the entire journey all the more gratifying for the viewer.

I can’t believe it sometimes that we finally made it. We got our Polin endgame. It’s been a long few years but those years just made the reward all the more incredible. The boost of serotonin I get watching them finally end up together is truly unmatched and hasn’t diminished no matter the amount of rewatches/GIFs/fan edits I see.

It’s been 6 months and not a day has gone by that i haven’t thought about my babies finally getting their happily ever after. I cannot, will not, do not want to give up the choke hold these two have on me.

——————————————

This post ran away from me but are we really surprised? Thanks for letting me dump out the contents of my brain, y’all are real ones.

[rookinthecrownest]

Bedtime Stories For a Demon, Night 3: The Girl Who Knew Despair (Lucanis x Rook Fanfic)

*Endgame spoilers for Veilguard ahead

** No seriously if you havent played to the end of the game dont read this

Soft candlelight flickering. An exuberant chorus of voices outside the door, celebrating victory. The smell of alcohol and Embrium and Elfroot in the Diamond’s infirmary. The Cantori Diamond, still standing like the rest of Treviso. Free of the Blight and the wrath of a God’s anger.

Thanks to Rook.

Madeleina.

Lucanis sits on a wooden chair by her bed. He asked Teia for a private room in the infirmary – a request she was happy to accommodate for Treviso’s saviour.

As grateful as he is for her help in Treviso – and he is incredibly grateful, he’s equally infuriated by her recklessness in battle. Not many can claim to have injured a Blighted dragon and lived to tell the tale, but even fewer would have been stupid enough to try and conceal a mortal wound until they were bleeding out on the ground.

He remembers the blood spilling like a crimson waterfall from her mouth. Choked gasps for air as she drowned in it. The thud of her body as it hit the ground while Viago was mid-sentence thanking her for her help.

A shard of ice from the dragon’s last attack before it fled had lodged itself into her chest, piercing her right lung. She must have quickly removed it before anyone else noticed, and her thick mage’s overcoat hid the worst of the damage. The dragon’s attacks only left them with enough time to worry about their own survival – hurling cold, sharp death their way with brutal force and terrifying speed. Even with Spite’s wings, he was barely able to dodge them.

He and Davrin quickly dragged her back to the Diamond, with the help of Teia and Viago to clear the way for them.

Madeleina was still choking on her own blood.

Hemothorax, he thought bitterly. Mierda.

The idiot actually apologized to him for getting her blood on his nice coat while her death rattles filled the air. He is fairly certain he told her to shut up. He desperately hoped those were not the last words he would ever say to her.

Lucanis started barking out orders for supplies – alcohol, a thick needle, and a mage who could heal. He needed to decompress the pressure on her lung and get the blood out before it completely collapsed. One of their mages, Lucrezia, stood at the ready to assist. She had given Madeleina a cloth to bite down on. Davrin, Teia, and Viago stood around the bed and held her limbs down.

Mercifully, Spite was quiet enough to let him get through the procedure. One he hadn’t done in a long time, but still remembered well enough.

He poured alcohol over exposed chest to sanitize the skin.

He inserted the needle through the fourth and fifth ribs in the mid-axillary line. The mage sucked the blood out of her chest, using wind magic to create a vacuum. The blood came flowing out and spattered onto the floor. Agonized cries through the fabric of the towel. Terror on her face, limbs shaking, while he stitched her back up. The mage casts a healing spell to help mend the rest of the damage and hopefully restore some of what was lost.

Then, silence as she finally fell asleep.

Davrin, the new member of the group, stood beside her after Teia and Viago had left.

“Is she going to be alright?” He asked quietly.

Lucanis didn’t have an answer for him. He was fairly certain she was out of immediate life-threatening danger. But she lost a lot of blood, and nearly lost a lung. Only time would tell how well she would recover. If she would fully recover.

“I’ll watch over her – you should go back to the Eluvian. See if you can help Neve and the others in Minrathous. It might not be too late” He answered, nodding towards the door. “We’ll meet you back at the Lighthouse when she wakes up”

When, not if, because he refused to let her die for the crime of choosing to help him. He didn’t need that on his conscience.

Mercifully, Davrin didn’t fight him on it and left soon after.

He’s not sure exactly how much time has passed. There’s no windows in the infirmary, so he measures it in forehead towel changes. Four by now, at least. Maybe a few hours he estimates.

A soft and pained groan, and the rustling of bed sheets fill the quiet room. He looks up to see Madeleina’s green eyes fluttering. She hisses and holds her right side, her face twisting with pain. She coughs, but this time, no blood comes sputtering out of her mouth. The warm towel on her forehead slips off.

“L-Lucanis?” she asks quietly, blinking at him with glassy eyes. She groans again “Ahh… Venhedis…”

“Hey, take it easy” Lucanis holds a hand in front of her, “Try not to move too much right now”

Madeleina frowns, and speaks with no small amount of strained effort “We … won … right?”

“We did. But you almost died” He points to her chest, “Would have died, if that wound kept bleeding out. Why did you try to hide it?”

“Didn’t want … to ruin the …  ‘we survived… a Blighted dragon attack’… party” She smiled weakly. Her voice was raspy and uneven. She was gasping between words. “You … know me … I hate to bring… down the mood…”

Lucanis clapped a hand to his forehead, “Mierda… unbelievable”

His frustration only grows when he sees her trying to sit up, grunting with effort. “What did I just say? You’ll rip your stitches.”

I worked hard on those, he wants to add.

“Min…rathous …. Need to get … back” She winces as another wave of pain sweeps through her body. Madeleina manages to get herself upright and leans against the headboard of the bed. “Neve … Shadow Dragons…”

Lucanis frowned deeply, “You’re not going anywhere. And if you are, it’s back to the Lighthouse.”

Madeleina sighs and leans her head back, hitting it against the headboard softly. She looks utterly defeated.

“They need my help Lucanis…” she whispers, staring at the opposite wall. She’s starting to blink away tears. “I … I left my city to burn”

He’s not sure how to comfort her. He settles by saying what is in his heart, uncertain if it will be enough to assuage her guilt.

“But Treviso lives to fight another day because of you. Free of the blight, free of Ghilan’nain” He pulls his chair closer to the edge of her bed. “And none of us will ever forget it. I won’t forget it”

Lucanis realizes she was forced into an impossible decision. Madeleina was a Shadow Dragon, she was from Minrathous. He didn’t expect her to aid Treviso. But the relief that flooded his chest when he saw her come to his home’s defense was indescribable.

A tense quiet passes between them. He watches, helplessly, as she bites her tongue to keep a deluge of tears from streaming down her face.

“You saved a lot of people today” Lucanis says quietly.

Madeleina shuts her eyes tight and bit down on her bottom lip. Her voice is quivering as she replies, “And doomed so many more.”

“You don’t know that” He leans forward. “Davrin left some time ago to help, he might have- “

“Don’t” She hisses, her chest heaving. “Don’t … do that”  

His brows lift in surprise, taken aback. “Do what?”

The defeated look on her face as she turns to him makes his heart sink into his stomach.

“Give me hope …” Madeleina says weakly, as her shoulders start quaking. “I … I don’t … deserve…”  

He isn’t sure if letting her cry it out is the right thing to do, but lets the sound of her quiet sobbing fill the little room. The weight, the magnitude of the choice she had to make is not lost on him. How unfair it all was. Few things in life are fair, he knows that better than anyone. But forcing someone as young as her make that kind of choice had to be up there.

He sees Spite manifesting beside her bed, a purple doppelganger of him. Spite leans in closer, it’s face – his face, twisting with anger.

Smells like salt and ice and smoke. Not right. Not RIGHT. The demon howls. Lucanis pinches his nose bridge and sighs. Spite’s gaze drifts between Madeleina and Lucanis. He frowns at Lucanis, Make. Her. Right.

“Mierda, not now Spite…” Lucanis whispers, exasperated.

Madeleina sniffles and stops crying for a moment. Her eyes are red and puffy. She wipes her nose with the sleeve of her tunic. “Spite’s bothering you?”

Lucanis crosses his arms over his chest and frowns, “Don’t worry about Spite. You have enough to deal with right now”

She looks around the room, as if she could see him.

“Would Spite … like a story?” Madeleina asks, after a few moments of silence.

Spite tilts his head and leans in closer to Madeleina. He grins maniacally and nods. Yes. Story. That will make her Right.

Lucanis is quick to answer, “Absolutely not. You need to rest, Madeleina. Leave Spite to me”

He’s still not used to the feeling of her name on his tongue.

She sucks in a deep breath, one hand holding her right side. Then, she’s looking at him with an uncharacteristically stern look on her face. “You … always say that”

“Say what?”

“That Spite… is only your problem” She grips her blanket tighter.

“He’s my demon. Of course he’s my problem”

Madeleina sniffles again, her brows drawing together. “That’s not … how being on a team works, Lucanis. We help each other”

“You’ve helped me more than enough” He replies, gesturing around the room, “You saved my home. I can’t ask any more of you than you’ve already given”

Madeleina blinks slowly and draws her knees to her chest, considering his words.

“I … want to help …” She frowns, and she’s staring at the opposite wall again.

Spite’s apparition has disappeared, but he can still feel the demon rattling in the back of his mind.

“You can help by resting” Lucanis rises from his chair, “Are you hungry? I can bring you something to eat”

Madeleina shakes her head. “No… but … will you stay? Just for a little bit”

He stands above her for a moment, letting the request hang between them. He knows he should let her get some rest before they make their way back to the Lighthouse. Before she has to face the other side of her decision. Yet, he finds himself increasingly unable to say no to her bright green eyes and tired smile, and that worries him deeply. What it means, what it could mean.

He sits back down in the small wooden chair, and she gives him a weak smile.

“Thank you”

“It’s the least I can do” he returns the smile in kind.

Madeleina is quiet for a moment. Thoughtful.

She raises one hand, and it starts glowing a familiar blue.

“Madeleina – “

“Please – just let me tell the story” He knew her well enough to know that tone would brook no argument. He can do nothing but gesture for her to continue.

“At least one person ought to know”

Her face awash in eerie blue light, Madeleina flicks her wrist.

She looks like she is struggling to keep the illusion alive. He sees a bird’s eye view of a small village, nestled between a dense forest and a mountain range. It flickers in and out and lacks the usual care and detail of her illusions.

“Once… upon a time … in a land far, far away…” her voice is shaking, and she’s using her free hand to keep pressure on her right side. “There was a small farming village. And… in that village… lived a family.”

Another flick of her wrist and the mountainside village vanishes, now replaced by three figures. The man is tall and lanky. He has a lyre strapped to his back. His hair is wild and curly, much like Madeleina’s. His eyes look like hers too. The figure of the woman is maybe a head shorter, with long, pin-straight hair. She has Madeleina’s high cheekbones. The same nose and lips and heart-shaped face. Finally, he sees the figure of a young girl. A young Madeleina. All wiry limbs and wild curls.

“Eurydice, Orpheus and their daughter”

The figures rotate in the air between them.

“Eurydice ran the town’s bakery, and Orpheus played at the local tavern”

The figures ripple and a young Madeleina is now helping the figure of her mother bake bread.

Madeleina’s glassy eyes looked sorrowful.

“They didn’t have much. The village was small… there were no mages … only regular people.”

She smiled ruefully. “But they were happy. Orpheus,” She paused and waved him back into existence, “Kept their home alive with music and stories” He’s playing the lyre for his wife and daughter, while he chases her around an invisible room.

“And Eurydice made sure a warm meal was always on the table”

Her mother brings a plate of something to the young Madeleina, who wastes no time devouring it.

Madeleina sucked in a deep, shaky breath, before continuing.

“One day, their daughter discovers she can use magic”

The figure of young Madeleina is laughing as blue spheres of light dance around her. The figure of her mother brushes a hand through her unruly hair and pulls her into a tight hug. The figures ripple, and she furrows her brow to concentrate harder. They become solid again.

“Her parents are so happy for her. It means she will become Laetan, instead of Soporati. A chance for a better life. Her mother wants to do something for her”

Madeleina winks out of the scene, and Eurydice is pulling a garment out of a small chest.

“A new dress, she thinks… One from her youth. Her daughter is finally big enough to wear it” Madeleina blinks another tear from her eyes. “But wants to dye it her daughter’s favourite colour. She can’t afford a fancy dye but can make her own. Her daughter wants to help. She’s old enough to go pick the elderberries deep in the woods.”

The figure of the mother disappears, and a young Madeleina is in the forest bordering the village, placing berries in a large wicker basket.

“But the girl didn’t know what was coming for them, or she never would have gone to the forest that day”

He frowns, and a feeling of dread takes hold deep in his chest. He knows that whatever comes next is not likely to lead to a happy ending.

“A Venatori blood mage had escaped capture in Ventus.” The young Madeleina flickers out of existence and is replaced with a tall, cloaked figure, holding a stave in one hand and an amulet, glowing bright crimson, in the other.

“He held a dangerous amulet in his possession. The Amulet of Liberum” Madeleina whispers, “Forged by a Dreamer centuries ago, it held a pocket of the Fade inside it. Allowed the wearer to store an infinite number of demons and summon them at will with blood magic”

The cloaked figure arrives at the border of the village, her village. It takes a knife and runs it across his hand. The blood seeps onto the amulet in the other. The bright red glow becomes even more intense, and a horde of demons springs forth. They rampage through the streets, tearing the nameless and faceless villagers apart.

The scene shifts to her parents, backing away from the demons. The father, Orpheus, stands in front of the mother with a small dagger. It does him little good. They are both swiftly torn apart by demons.

The figure of the mage comes back into view, and sucks them back into the amulet, before disappearing.

Madeleina’s expression shifts between anger, grief and sadness. Something he is intimately familiar with.

“The girl comes back from the forest to see her entire village slaughtered”

The form of young Madeleina drops the wicker basket. She is walking through the main path of the village, by ruined houses and bodies torn apart. Bodies of people she once knew.

She comes to a lone house on a hill. Her home.

Madeleina breathes in sharply.

“Madeleina – you don’t have to …” He begins, but she holds a hand up to stop him.

“Yes, I do” she says, resolute. She shifts on the cot and brings the illusion back to life.

The young Madeleina is standing over the bodies of her parents, mutilated beyond recognition. She falls to her knees, and the figure starts screaming. He can almost hear it. The raw anguish rippling in the air like a shockwave.

“She screams and screams until her throat is dry” Madeleina says quietly, “Keeps going until she’s cried herself to sleep.”

The young Madeleina is still on her knees, her eyes closed, and the bodies of her parents disappear.

“In her dreams … a voice finds her in the Fade”

A faceless figure, layered in several layers of tattered cloaks, hovers above her.

“‘Have you lost all hope, child? Has it become too much to bear?’ The voice asks her. And it was … it was all too much …” Madeleina says, her voice barely above a whisper. “The voice offered to take her pain, her regret – everything, away. ‘So much for one so young’ it said”

Lucanis frowns. Spite’s rage prickled under his skin like a starved beast gnawing at the bars of its cage. Spite hates Despair.

He watches as the familiar blue glow of Madeleina’s figure starts to change colour. Veins of black light crawl up her legs.

“The Demon’s name was Despair. And it would eat everything she was, everything she would be”

As the tendrils of black light crawled further and further up her body, Madeleina continued.

“It ate her love, her hope, her joy” her lip quivered, and the figures flickered again. “It ate up her life until nothing was left”

Lucanis made a fist as waves of rage surged through the back of his head, the pressure behind his eyes mounting.

The tendrils were now creeping along the left side of her face. The figure only looked up at the Despair demon above it and continued to be consumed.

“But the girl didn’t know that the Templars who had tracked the maleficar had arrived at the village. One of them, a young man by the name of Tiberian Mercar, found her” She waved the figure of a tall man, adorned in Templar heavy plate armour, into existence.

“He would have been right to strike her down where she stood. She was becoming possessed. She was becoming an abomination” Madeleina wiped a stray tear from her eye with her free hand.

“To this day, she’ll never understand why he didn’t.”

The Templar, instead of drawing his sword, steps closer to the young girl. Lucanis watches with bated breath as he pulls the girl into a hug.

“’It will be alright child, you are going to be alright’” She says, her voice hitching. “Whether he really meant it, or he was just trying to comfort a girl moments away from dying, she’ll never know”

A bright, golden light shines from the figure of the Templar, and then slowly envelops the young Madeleina. The black light is dying out, overcome by the warm glow shared by the two figures.

“But that simple act of kindness brought her back from the brink of despair, from the brink of the abyss” Madeleina’s lips quirk into a sad smile. “He saved her that day, in more ways than one”

The Templar and the girl stand and begin walking away from the cloaked figure.

“The Templar couldn’t take care of her, so he asks his brother to adopt her into his family” She waves to life four new figures – a man, a woman, and two small boys. “His brother agrees, and she goes to live with them” The young Madeleina walks away from the Templar and towards her new family.

“The Mercars are a military family. One of a precious few non-mage families in Tevinter who enjoy more than a modest life” Madeleina explains, “She’s given an education, nice clothes, and a seat in the Circle of Minrathous. But everything comes at a cost”

The figures all wink out of existence, and are replaced by Madeleina, in apprentice robes, standing alone amongst a sea of other robed figures.

“She can never whisper her old name – the one her parents gave her. She can never tell anyone she’s not a true Mercar.” She fists her blanket, gathering the fabric in her right hand. “When the family agreed to take her in, they erased all of what she was. She was not a foundling, but a long-lost member of the family. She’s named after a great-great-great-great-grandmother, the last in their lineage to be born a mage. It gave them more legitimacy that way”

Madeleina’s eyes fall and all the figures disappear. “And in time… she forgets who she was before she joined them. Forgets her own name”

She brings her knees closer to her chest and wraps her arms around them. Lucanis releases a breath. He wants so badly to reach out. A hand on her shoulder. A hand on her arm. Anything to provide some kind of comfort. But all he can do is listen, as if some invisible rope binds his arms to his sides.

Madeleina gestures with her left hand, and a young Madeleina is standing next to an older, tall, rather handsome man.

“But she wants to help, so she finds those in the Magisterium working for the greater good” She continues. “She finds Magister Dorian Pavus, and he brings her into the Shadow Dragons. He gives her a cover to use so her family doesn’t grow suspicious. She tries to do good, tries to make use of the second chance she was given”

The figures blink out of existence a moment later. Her face falls. “But she never feels like she’s ever going to get there. Always feels like she's falling short of some unattainable goal”

“Madeleina…” Lucanis starts, but he doesn’t know where to go from there. What to say.

“That’s why I chose to come to Treviso” Madeleina is looking at him now. “I… I didn’t want another defenseless city to suffer the same fate as my home town – as Arvanitum did”

Lucanis clasps his hands together in front of him and leans forward.

“Whatever the reason you chose to help us … just know we’re grateful” He gives her a small smile. “Thank you for sharing that with me”

Madeleina gives him a weary smile in return. “It feels nice to have someone know … the Shadow Dragons, Dorian, Neve – I was never able to tell any of them. On paper, there are no survivors from Arvanitum. On paper, I am dead”

Lucanis rises to his feet and takes the towel from her pillow.

“For whatever it’s worth …. I’m glad you’re only dead on paper” He chuckles and twists the towel in his hands. “But you need to stop tempting fate, hm? Contract is no good if the employer dies”

Madeleina snorts, “I promise if I get another mortal wound, I’ll come right to you”

Lucanis grins, “Deal”

He motions to the bed, “Get some rest, we’ll go back to the Lighthouse when you’re ready”

Madeleina groans as she slithers back down into the bed. She yawns and turns to her side. “Alright … I should… need…. to check in with Varric soon ….”

Lucanis hesitates a moment before leaving the room. As he closes the door, he wonders to himself.

Who is Varric?

[avelera]

I know it's been a while since it came out but when thing I really appreciated about Deadpool & Wolverine is that it and the rest of the Deadpool franchise really understood what fans want in a way that MCU movies have otherwise failed to grasp for a rather bafflingly long period of time which is this:

Happy Endings.

That might sound silly or childish (I can hear Deadpool's snort at the rude definition of happy endings in my ear even as I write this) but seriously, when was the last time a Marvel movie or show just gave us an unequivocal happy ending without any ambiguity?

For so long, Marvel has been feeling the need to provide some sort of hook, to set up that "not all is well" in order to keep people coming back for the next film.

But the thing is, I watched Deadpool 1, and Deadpool 2, and I came back for Deadpool & Wolverine even though technically all three ended with a happy ending. All three ended with the hero getting what they wanted, and the age-old reassertion of domesticity that is considered so cliche in so many happy endings (ie, everyone went home with their heterosexual partner and lived happily ever after in their white picket fence after the adventure was over).

What I actually loved, nay, even adored about Deadpool 2 was that it took the time to (spoilers) bring Vanessa back to life. It was in the credits, sure. But Wade/Vanessa is hands down my favorite het ship in the entire extended Marvel universe because they actually feel like they're in love, not just that they're falling in love or might have the chance to be in love someday (like Steve/Peggy) but that they actually have been in a long term relationship and they don't just love but actually like each other too, and they have what it takes to go the distance or, continue to be friends if they part ways as lovers. Like. MCU is so bad at het romance you guys, it's insane, but Wade/Vanessa actually feel like a real loving couple so even if I ship him with Logan too, I love how Wade/Vanessa was handled. I still get choked up about the whole Calendar Girl sequence and I was devastated in the second movie when she died.

And that's why it's so important to me that they brought her back. They didn't just leave it on "the girlfriend got fridged and while the hero still mourns her, he has grown stronger through the trials he suffered in the aftermath, etc etc." No, they understood she's a beloved character too, and it's a fantasy movie, and part of the fantasy is, yes, in the credits using the awesome magical powers at our disposal, we took an extra 10 seconds to make sure you know, as a fan, that everyone was ok in the end. Everyone got to live happily ever after, we brought back people who died, everything got to be ok.

The MCU hasn't done that in ages! WandaVision ends with Wanda losing everything, it's beautiful and devastating but it's also gut-wrenching and unsatisfying, especially after Multiverse of Madness. Winter Soldier ends with saving the world, sure, but the hero doesn't get everything back because we need to hook into the next movie, so Bucky needs to still be on the run and not reunited with Steve. Even Endgame, the end of the whole damn arc, ends with beloved characters (at least at the point of writing this) being dead and staying dead even though we have literal universe altering time magic at our disposal to, theoretically, bring them back and let everyone end on a happy note where they got everything they wanted.

Look, I get it, an all-around happy ending where everything is nicely tied up and everyone is alive and got their loved ones back can feel a bit childish. But throughout the MCU it has felt just so relentlessly withholding that no one gets this unequivocal, unambiguous happy ending in ages. It's like in their rush to hook you to the next movie, they completely forgot that part of the reward for the audience in watching these heroes go on these adventures is the hero getting what they want in the end, and not just getting strung along to the next adventure.

Deadpool understands that. Heck, it understands that you can give the all-around happy ending and still have problems that emerge down the line. Deadpool 2 ends happily but Wade still has problems that emerge in Deadpool & Wolverine, part of them are the outcomes of getting what he wanted that had unexpected consequences but don't diminish getting what he wanted after Deadpool 2. He wanted the white picket fence happy ending, sure, but as a result his life got dissatisfying and his relationship fell apart in a completely normal, human way. That doesn't actually diminish Deadpool 2 and saving Vanessa, btw, because bringing her back to life means life will go on and sometimes life just happens that way. Bringing her back means she has the chance to go on living and sometimes that means making decisions that aren't all about Wade. That's a good thing.

And likewise, Deadpool & Wolverine might get another sequel. I'm actually fine if it does! I'm fine if another villain just pops out of nowhere to interrupt their peace and quiet.

But here's the thing it will be interrupting their hard-won happy ending. They got the happy ending. We got to see Deadpool save his world of 9 people and add Worst Universe Logan to it. We got to see Logan from the Worst Universe find a loving family, even if he didn't get the original one back. We got to see everyone in peace and at rest having got what they wanted and what they needed. We got to see characters we love be happy.

Deadpool as a franchise understands that. It understands that we love these characters and, at some point, we want to see them happy after their trials and tribulations are over. I wish the MCU would remember that more often in its other stories, that not everything needs to end on a hook. Sometimes it can end with happily ever after and that still doesn't mean the story is over forever. Maybe it's just for now, but whether or not the story continues, Deadpool understood we on some level want to see our beloved characters left behind in a good place.

[libby-for-life]

A Dragon's Tale part 2. Read part 1 for this to make sense. Adamsapple endgame

@inubaki

Adam woke up feeling content and warm. It had been quite a while since he felt this comfortable. That's when he heard a deep rumble and realized that he wasn't alone. Adam's instinct kicked in and bucked the thing off his back. The red and white dragon flew into another tree. Adam didn't look back this time and made a portal to his apartment in Heaven before closing it once he was safely inside.

He forced his true angelic form back until he resembled a more welcomed form of Heaven before sighing. "Jesus, I let that thing sleep on me?!" Adam growled. He didn't care that this was the first time in a long time he actually slept well. He didn't care that the dragon was more playful then anything. Dragons were evil. Everyone knew that. Sera said that.

Adam reassured himself that everything would be fine as he sank into the plush cushions of his couch. "I'll just take some time, maybe a month or two, and search for a new Ring in Hell where I can let loose." It seemed like a reliable plan to him - finding a different Ring with no unexpected surprises. And no dragons.

The next few months were hell for him and wasn't that ironic considering Adam lived in Heaven, a paradise made for souls like him. Every use of golden wings was a reminder that they weren't truly his. Every time he looked in the mirror, his fake face stared back, desperate for him to let loose and be in his true form.

"Stop it," he told himself as he shoved a donut into his mouth while he walked with Lute. "Just a few more days."

"A few more days of what?" Lute asked, her sharp bronze eyes looking at him in curiosity. Adam shook his head. As much as he trusted Lute, he would not put the burden of his secret on her shoulders. She was as loyal as they come. Having her lie to her home and friends was something he could never ask of her.

"It's nothing, Lute," Adam said calmly, trying to reassure his loyal lieutenant. Lute's skeptical expression indicated that she wasn't entirely convinced by his response, but she chose to trust him nonetheless. "If you insist, Sir."

Finally, the day arrived. Adam chose a secluded forest in Envy with a lake nearby. It wasn't as nice as the Ring of Wrath, but it would do. If Adam didn't let loose his true form, he might spontaneously combust from the strain of trying to hide it.

He breathed in and closed the portal. He let the disguise melt away until he was back to his true dragon form and he let out a laugh. Finally! He could let loose and run wild. Adam bounded through the forest, his scales gleaming in the low light of Envy.

He flew and hunted down small creatures before letting them go, not truly hurting any of them though Adam probably did scar a few animals. He was so busy playing around by himself that he didn't notice the red eyes watching him. He also didn't notice the creature creeping closer.

Adam yelped, letting loose a string of fire into the air as he was tackled. He snarled and hissed but choked it back once he realized he was looking at the same dragon from Wrath. "Oh, hell no!" Adam growled. "How the fuck did you find me?!"

The dragon simply looked down at him...in amusement? No. This was an animal. As smart as some animals were, they weren't that smart. Adam was just being paranoid because he was in Hell with the same dragon from a different Ring.

"Get off of me! I'm not playing with you!" Adam screamed and tried to bite at the dragon's jugular. The dragon simply rolled them to dislodge Adam's grip and get a firmer hold to pin down.

"No! Get off! GET OFF!" Adam yelled. The dragon obliged and immediately, Adam flew off. He should have known that wouldn't be the end. That damn dragon followed him and tackled him out of the sky. They hit the ground hard.

And the thing had the audacity to look smug about it. Adam was beginning to think this wasn't a normal dragon. Or at least more intelligent than Adam gave it credit for. "Look...just....I need this. I don't get to do this a lot. You have no idea how strict Heaven is. If I...play with you...will you stop being so aggressive?"

The dragon got off him and Adam sighed in relief. Right. Play. What would they even do? "Ever hunt before?" The dragon snorted and Adam realized how dumb that sounded. He just asked a predator if it ever hunted prey before. Adam would've snorted too.

"Fine. Help me hunt or whatever. We aren't killing them though. We catch and release." Adam instructed, wondering why he was bothering to explain this to an animal. As smart as this animal probably was, would it understand the meaning of hunting without killing? Even Adam, who wasn't an animal, found it hard to control his instincts like that in the throws of hunting.

For the next two hours, Adam and Lucifer hunted prey and let them go after successfully catching them. Lucifer seemed to be having fun, and he was no longer tackling him, so that was good.

But Adam was getting tired and the big-toothed yawn he produced wasn't subtle at all. He settled down on the surprisingly soft grass and grunted when he felt that wonderful all-encompassing warmth envelope him.

"Get off you dumb dragon," Adam hissed, his voice carrying a hint of annoyance but lacking any real heat. The adrenaline from hunting with the dragon coursed through his veins, leaving him simultaneously exhilarated and exhausted. All he really wanted at that moment was to lie down and take a nap.

Soon, he was asleep again. The red and white dragon simply smirked. "Look how cute you are." He whispered, gently licking the golden ear before sucking on it. Adam grumbled and Lucifer let go.

"Hmmm...perhaps next time."

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

I saw you were looking for requests. What about a Carol x Reader where R and Carol have been in a relationship for sometime. Reader is hurt during the events of the last battle of EndGame. Carol doesn’t notice R is missing until everyone is kneeling over the fallen Tony and Carol realizes she can’t find R. They all help search and R is found, Carol is so scared. Angst please! You can end it however.

Lost and Found

Carol Danvers x Avenger!GN!Reader

Word Count: 444

Warnings: a little bit of angst

A/N: sorry it took so long I lost inspiration for a bit

You lay there, amidst the rubble and chaos of the final battle against Thanos, pain shooting through your body as you struggled to keep your eyes open. The battle had been fierce, and you had fought alongside Carol Danvers, your partner, your love. But now, as the dust settled and the victorious Avengers gathered around Tony Stark's fallen form, you were alone, unnoticed, lost in the aftermath.

Carol, consumed by the urgency of the moment, hadn't noticed your absence until it was too late. She searched frantically, her heart pounding with fear as she realized you were missing. "Where are you?" she whispered, her voice choked with panic.

Meanwhile, you struggled to move, your body battered and bruised. You tried to call out to Carol, to let her know you were still alive, but the words caught in your throat as darkness threatened to engulf you.

But then, a familiar voice cut through the haze of pain and despair. "There you are," Carol's voice, filled with relief and anguish, as she finally found you, crumpled and broken but alive. She fell to her knees beside you, gathering you into her arms, her hands gentle yet desperate as she checked you over for injuries.

"I'm here, Carol," you managed to croak, tears welling in your eyes as you clung to her, grateful beyond words that she had found you.

Carol's eyes were filled with tears as well, her voice trembling with emotion. "I thought I lost you," she whispered, her fingers tracing the lines of your face as if to reassure herself that you were real, that you were still with her.

You reached up, cupping her cheek in your hand, your thumb brushing away the tears that stained her cheeks. "You'll never lose me, Carol," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'll always be here, with you."

For a moment, you simply held each other, drawing strength from the warmth of each other's embrace, grateful for the miracle of your survival, of your love. But then, reality intruded once more, and you knew that you had to move, to help your friends, your family, in the aftermath of the battle.

Together, you and Carol rose to your feet, facing the uncertain future that lay ahead. But as long as you had each other, you knew that you could face anything, conquer any obstacle that stood in your way.

And so, hand in hand, you walked away from the wreckage of the past, towards a future filled with hope and possibility, secure in the knowledge that no matter what trials may come, you would face them together, as partners, as lovers, as soulmates.

[thegreatestsandwich]

I was watching endgame the other day and I was wondering how would Namor react if he witnessed his s/o dissapearing in front of his eyes? Can you add a lot of angst? I really want to be destroyed :)

I reached and you were gone (Namor x f!reader)

Masterlist

Pairing: Namor x F!reader

Word count: 544 words

Summary: Thanos's snap not only affected the surface-dwellers.

Warning: Angst because Infinity War and Endgame destroyed me to the core

A/N: I went to see black panther again and let me tell you! I fell in love with him again and I'm not ashamed

Coments, Reblogs and Asks are happily received! I love to read your lovely coments :)

It started with an abrupt wakening and sweat covering your body. You didn’t knew what was happening, your body felt strange, like something wanting to claw its way out of your body with choking desperation. But you couldn’t place what was wrong.

You tried to put it away from your mind as today was an important day, you were designated by the elder to bring K'uk'ulkan his food for the week, it was a great honor, something you never thought you would be in charge of.

It felt good to believe that the elder see you as capable enough for this duty, so when they gave you the basket full of different kind of fruits and vegetables, you knew you couldn’t mess up. You were confident.

But that strange feeling was still inside of you, deep, deep down, there it was, that strange electricity that wanted to wash over your body with something, something you still couldn’t place.

You shook your head, trying to bring yourself back into reality.

It was quiet in his room, you noticed him painting on one of his murals, you couldn’t help but smile at his art. You carefully walked into the room, trying your best to not disturb his peace, you knew how stressful he has been after the several attacks the surface-dwellers had been made to each other, all of you could feel the vibration of the waters with their wars.

You stumbled with your next step making you frown so you stopped.

“Je'el u páajtal a p'atik te'elo'.” You can leave it there. He told you without taking a glance at you, his fingers taking a bit more of paint before touching the wall. “Níib óolal.” Thank you.

You carefully place the basket on the floor, you wiped your forehead, your hand coming away slick with sweat and you began wondering why your body was betraying you this way. This wasn’t the first time you had asked to bring something to K'uk'ulkan, why were you acting this way? You tried to move but you couldn’t the sensation was becoming stronger, you lifted your hands to your face when the numbness was starting to affected them. That’s when you saw it.

You gasped, tripping on the basked and falling to the floor. Namor quickly turned around, his dark eyes watching you crawling back towards one of the walls, he stood up quickly and made his way towards you.

His hands grabbed your arms, trying to keep you in focus. “Ba'ax le jéelo'?” What is it. Namor’s eyes searched yours and found only confusion. “(Y/N) t'aan tin wéetel.” Talk to me. He could see the fear on your eyes, your hands quickly grabbing his arms and he felt you shake in fear.

You opened your mouth to answer him but the only thing that came out was his name, your eyes becoming unfocused before everything turning to black.

Namor’s eyes widened when you slowly disappearing in a pile of dust, his breath quickened as he stood up, turning around his cave, trying to find you but he was completely alone. He felt a soft breeze and his eyes saw how the dust that covered his floor softly dispered.

You were gone.

And he didn't know what to do.

[elegantauthor]

Saving Grace Chapter 19

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Aurora Stark

Summary: Aurora relives the moments she lost Tony and Bucky, and how she lost her powers.

Warnings: allusions to Endgame & Infinity War, grief, husband-wife banter

Series Masterlist

Hours before dawn, Aurora awoke with a start. Snow was still falling, though not as heavy as before. Moonlight reflected on the ice particles, creating fractals of iridescent light on the window panes. If she was anywhere but confined in Zemo’s manor, it would have been a beautiful sight, indeed.

Realizing the room was dark, save for that light, she frowned. Zemo must’ve turned it off, and… put a fleece blanket over her. Throwing it off was a mistake. No sooner than she had, she began to shiver. Perhaps he was right; she was spoilt, but who didn’t have central heating? Then again, the manor was probably centuries old.

And that’s what fireplaces were for—her eyes alighted on it with a huff. She was not about to wake him to help her. Picking up the blanket, she burrowed into the warmth it provided.

The only good thing to come of her captivity was the time she had to think. No longer distracted by her phone, television, or anything else, all she was left with was her grief. Like being reacquainted with an old stranger, it overwhelmed her.

~ * ~

Six months ago

Aurora waited on pins and needles. As the Avengers endeavored to undo Thanos’ Snap at the Compound, she was told by her father to stay put at the cabin. It was an order she would’ve easily disobeyed, if it wasn’t for the severity in Tony’s voice when he left, with Steve’s shield in the trunk of his car.

Then, the most miraculous thing happened. Birdsong filled the air. The forest was alive again with birds, insects, and other fauna. She stepped outside, tears welling up in her eyes, as she cupped her hands over her mouth.

They’d done it. They undid the Snap.

Hours later, the familiar footfalls on the front porch roused her attention. She leapt up from the couch, flinging the door wide open. She couldn’t believe it. He looked no different than on the day he joined the Wakandans to fight Thanos’ army—long, disheveled hair and blue eyes that had seen too much for one lifetime, sporting a black bomber jacket.

“Bucky!”

He caught her in his arms, shuddering a husky-soft breath in her ear, as he held her against him. “Doll…” His voice cracked with emotion as sobs wracked her body. Every sniffle sent a pang through his chest. “I’m here, you’re okay, I’m here,” he murmured soothingly.

“Bucky,” she repeated, a whisper on her lips, as if she was going to wake up any second, and it all be a cruel dream.

He nuzzled his face in her hair, inhaling her scent. After the final battle with Thanos, it grounded him. She was back in his arms, everything would be okay.

At the sound of more people approaching, Aurora lifted her head. She looked directly at Steve, whose grave expression told her everything she needed to know, and yet she asked anyway. “W-Where’s Dad?”

~ * ~

Five years ago

“T-There are a-liens out there!” Body flush against Bucky’s, Aurora clung to his biceps. He was a head taller and larger in frame, especially now, with his new vibranium arm.

He cupped her chin with his vibranium hand, using his flesh hand to wipe her tears. “That’s why you gotta stay here. If anything happened to you—” He choked up before he could finish. The distress he felt was palpable. Aurora reeled in it from the moment T’Chaka brought him the new appendage.

Sleek black with gold inlay, it was Shuri’s finest piece of technological ingenuity, apart from removing the code words from his mind. She’d watched him earlier toss a tree like it was a piece of paper, but he held her chin as if she was made of porcelain.

“Always my doll.” His husky-soft breath fanned her face, words meant to reassure, to keep her going in the event the worst should happen.

“I love you, Bucky.”

“I love you, too. Now, you gotta be strong for me, okay? No matter what happens. Can you promise me?”

“I promise.”

“Good.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, squeezing her once more.

Helplessly, Aurora watched from the tallest tower. A slew of alien lifeforms tore across the field with speed that she could barely quantify. Calming her own emotions did little to assuage her.

Bifrost struck down from the sky in a ray of spectral light and starfire, as Thor appeared, adding a twinge of envy to her growing agitation. He was a god, with powers of lightning and thunder. What good was she, a demigoddess, doing up here?

To obey a direct order from her husband? Folly, but it was an err in judgement she was willing to make.

She sprinted to the elevator; it couldn’t touch ground floor fast enough. She ran in the direction she last spotted Bucky going. Through the trees, which she’d mapped out by memory, she followed the sound of automatic gunfire.

The gold flecks in her eyes gleamed, slicing straight to the heart of any enemy who crossed her path. Felled at her feet, like Moses parting the sea. Now that she could sense Bucky, she felt less erratic. His emotional signature reached her from yards away, guiding her like a GPS.

Reacting to the sight of his prone form flailing on the ground, canting his head to avoid being attacked, her voice echoed like a warble. One alluring command. “Stop.”

And the creature did, giving Bucky the opportunity to stab it with his knife. He scrambled to his feet, eyes meeting hers in a fury of recognition. “I told you to stay put!” he shouted.

“I couldn’t, not while everyone else is risking their lives.”

Holding his rifle aloft in one hand, he pointed his vibranium finger in her face. “We’re going to talk about this when we get home.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” Grunting, Bucky shook his head, though the slight curl of his lips did not go amiss. “Do you at least know how to take orders on the battlefield?”

“Yes, Sergeant,” she sassed.

“Doll,” he growled.

Aurora smirked, grumbles of “I swear, when we get home” reaching her ears. They fought alongside each other in harmony, issuing one-word commands, as long as she could tether to their heartstrings, while he gunned them down.

Suddenly, all went quiet. Where there was chaos, now there was silence and an unsettling stillness in the air. Aurora dropped to her knees, as Bucky rushed over. “Aurora?”

“I don’t feel them,” she gasped, clutching the middle of her chest.

Bucky straightened, catching sight of Steve, and walked toward him. “Steve?”

A handful of moments collided and folded in on themselves, before Aurora understood what just happened. Seeing Bucky turn to dust and scatter in the wind didn’t register as real until she could no longer sense him. Fingers digging into the loose soil, she tried to claw into anything, to feel something, other than the numbness slowly coiling around her heart. She curled in on herself, as Steve rushed over and held her. He rocked her gently, more for his benefit than hers.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Assistant 11

Warnings: this fic includes noncon/rape, cheating, creep behaviour, violence, anger. These warnings are not exhaustive.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: As an assistant at the Daily Planet, you’re rarely noticed. Until you are.

Characters: Clark Kent

Note: I expect we're near the endgame now.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Lord Farquaad loves unnecessary vowels. Take care. 💖

🖊🖊🖊

Clark lands with an impact that makes your skull rattle. Your ears ring as the world around you smears. He lets you go and you stumble away. He keeps you off balance as he grabs you again, spinning you as you whimper helplessly.

He rips your hoodie down your arms, tugging it free only to use the sleeve to restrain your wrists. He keeps you facing away from him, forcing you to your knees as he shoves his knee into your back. He puts you on your stomach and bends your legs up, securing your feet with the other sleeve so you’re facedown in the dirt.

You heave as your tears spring out unchecked. He parts from you, his soles mulching the dirt as your sobs echo. You squirm until you fall onto your side, bound helpless as you let your horror mount to frantic screams.

“Help! Someone!”

He hushes you and bends to grip your jaw. You quiet, choking on your voice as you look past him. Canopies of leaves ripple above him, you smell water nearby, a freshness that lends a coolness to the air. He snarls and drags you across the ground, placing you against the brush along the jutting rock wall.

“Scream all you want. No one out here.”

“Please, Clark, please,” you plead through pathetic babbles, “I didn’t–why– why did you– Richard—”

“You promised you loved me. That you would never hurt me–”

“I was scared–”

“You lied to me,” he growls as he paces back and forth, “you betrayed me!”

“No, no, I was just afraid. I was afraid you’d hurt me, Clark, honey, I swear–”

“Hurt you?”

“You’re married,” you whimper, “I knew we could never be together–”

“I know.” He grits out as he stops to face you, his eyes glowing eerie crimson, “you know. Lois is dead. This was our chance and you ran–”

“Dead? Clark–”

“Stop lying,” he barks, “I can hear your fucking heart amp up every time you do. So stop.”

You sniffle and shudder in the dirt. Prickly vines poke at you as you give in to the futility. You’re not getting away this time. Your lashes are webbed with tears, adding a soft glare to your vision. You look up at Clark and pout.

“I can be better… please,” you beg. “What are you going to do to me?”

He raises his chin and stares up at the sun. You murmur and curl your fingers into your palm. You wait in the deafening silence of the moment. The chitter of birds and scramble of critters is dulled by your dread.

“Make you better,” he says as he spins to face the sprawl of trees.

He clutches his fists tight and a sudden rush of air blows over you as he zips up into the sky. It feels as if the earth lurches beneath the force of his departure. You fall back against the rock wall, leaning your elbow on it as you gape up after him.

“SOMEONE!” You screech, even as you know he’s right, that no one will hear, “SOMEONE PLEASEEEEEEEE!”

🖊

Your lungs burn and your throat turns raw. You have nothing left. Your fruitless screams die as you lay in the dirt, wriggling only a few inches this way or that. Twigs and pebbles jab through your clothing and the dewy patches of grass stain the fabric. 

This is it. This is the end. The sheen of disbelief slowly fades. That denial that it couldn’t be real. You are just an intern and he is just a journalist. A lonely man looking for company where he shouldn’t. No, he is a murderer. You witnessed it. You’ve seen the rage in him, you felt it, the insatiability that cannot be denied.

More than that, he is inhuman. He is something else. He is lauded as a superhero yet lurks like a villain behind the mask of Clark Kent.

You quiver and let out a deep heave. Breathless, exhausted, defeated. You let your head rest on the ground as the warmth of the sun pools over you through a gap in the branches above.

Sweat beads over your forehead and dampens your cheeks. It gathers beneath your clothing and trickles along your neck and back. You languish there in the beating of the summer heat and wait. For what comes next. For the inevitable.

As resignation sets in, your fate doesn’t seem so scary. Death is a finality. It is an end. It means that you will be free, even if that freedom is nothingness. There is relief in knowing that those weeks of torture have come to a head. You’ve met the climax and now you’re in the falling action, plummeting towards the finale.

A gust sweeps over you and the earth shakes. You let out a yipe at the flash of colour and the clatter left behind. In a second, he is gone again, whooshing up into the expanse as the din of the forest resumes. You look over at the large ax leaning against the cliffside, a hand saw beside it, and few other tools you can’t place. What?

He returns, surprising you again. The clunk of a heavy chest hits the dirt. You flinch and try to turn your body. The effort leaves you hollow as you manage to roll against the jutting rock wall. 

Several more hurtling trips and Clark finally stands still, curls mussed from the excess but otherwise unshaken by his efforts. He grabs the ax as you stare at the wrapped packages of insulation, the bucket of plaster, and litany of materials. It can’t be–

He approaches a tree and swings the ax. He cuts through the trunk with a single strike. He lifts the gargantuan tree with a single arm and tosses it behind him. It bounces and rolls to a stop on the soft ground. He does it again, and again, and again. He clears at least a dozen trees without a glance or word in your direction.

You linger in stupefied silence. He approaches the pile of trees and pulls one out. He is little more than a blur as he works at breaking them down into neat planks. This has to be a nightmare. The distortion, the unreality of the moment can’t be true.

You gulp and lower your head. It makes you dizzy to watch him. You listen to the furor of his labour. The zip of the saw, the crack of the ax, and the rhythm of a hammer. When you peek over again, vision hazy with the beaming heat of the sun, there is a foundation built.

You shudder and blow out through your dry lips. You try to wet your mouth but your tongue is arid. You will against the ground, crushing your shoulder as you clench and unclench your fists.

You’re stunned by a sudden grip on your jaw that brings your head up. You nearly choke as Clark puts a bottle to your lips and pours water into your mouth. Your body gulps it down greedily as your thoughts remain disjointed and distorted.

He backs up and pulls the stump of a log over to sit across from you. He drains the last of the water and brings forward a paper bag. He doesn’t say a word as he reaches inside and takes out a granola bar. He wraps it and leans forward to offer it to you.

You stare at him. He presses it to your lips. You turn your face away.

“Eat,” he demands.

You sniff and push your head back against the side of the cliff, “why are you doing this?”

He sighs and retracts his arm. He breaks off a chunk of the bar. He doesn’t answer you.

“Clark, what are you doing?” You croak.

He gets off the log and comes closer, nearly straddling you as he drops onto his knees. He grabs your skull, turning your head straight, and forces the granola into your mouth. You murmur as he holds your jaw in place and your stare up at him with wide eyes.

“Eat.”

You don’t resist. You chew and swallow. He takes another piece and jams it through your lips; he does it again and again until the wrapper is empty. He backs up and perches again on the log.

You watch him as he looks over at his work so far. A whole wall built. It's not hard to guess at the goal, but you don’t understand why. Why doesn’t he just kill you? Like Lois. Like Richard.

“I’m building us a home,” he says as he drops his head into his hands and scratches along his hairlines, “just you and me.”

He sits up and combs his hair back. He stands and dusts off his palms. He stretches and peels off his shirt, revealing his broad chest and thickly muscled stomach. The hair along his torso speckles with his sweat.

“It must be done by nightfall,” he declares as he marches away.

You turn your attention back to the endless forest. You stare into the daunting sprawl and deflate. It isn’t a home he’s building, it’s a prison.

🖊

The house is complete. Clark carries you through the front door and puts you against the wall, just beneath the window. The interior is barren. No furniture, only a gaping fireplace and a small hoop anchored in the floor.

He unties you and stands over you, watching you as you sit up. Your shoulders and knees throb from being locked the whole day. He bends and pulls your left leg straight, he closes a metal cuff around your ankle and pushes a bolt into place. You kick your foot in fright as he lets it go and a chain clanks loudly as he lets it unfurl.

He attaches the other end to the loop in the floor. You whine and get to your knees.

“Clark, please, what are you doing?”

“I can’t trust you,” he sneers, “it’s for your own good…” he stands and looks above you, to the window, “you would only get lost out there.”

“No, please, you can trust me–”

He raises his hand and you quiet. You sit back on your heels and clasp your hands together. He shakes his head and waves you off, striding away without another word. He goes through the open door as you focus on the chain, touching the links in dread.

He returns and unzips a sleeping bag, spreading it over the floor. He leaves again, coming back with pillows and another blanket. He backs up, hands on his hips and looks over the makeshift set up.

“Tomorrow I will find a bed. Other things,” he turns and approaches the fireplace, resting his hand on the mantle above, “I will start a fire for the night. It’ll be cold soon.”

You want to scream. You want to wail. You want to call him a monster, tell him that he’s insane. But you know that won’t make this any better. You let go of the chain and raise yourself on your knees. You crawl on the blankets and make yourself small as you sit against the pillows.

“Thank you, Clark,” you squeak as you pull off your shoes and place them to the side.

He keeps his back to you, bowing his head as he sighs. Slowly, he shifts and glances over his shoulder. His eyes meet yours and he drags his hand off the mantle. He faces you as you carefully recline.

“I’m sorry, honey,” he says grimly, “but it has to be like this. Just for now.”

“I know,” you say as you wince and rub your shoulder.

He sniffs and reluctantly turns away. His steps are lighter as he goes back through the door, returning with an armful of split logs. He stacks them by the fireplace before he works at starting a fire. You listen to his efforts and close your eyes. Only to hide, not to sleep.

The scent of the fire fills the cabin and he pulls the door shut. He nears and his shadow looms over you. He tugs on the blanket as he climbs down next to you and swoops it over you as he wraps an arm over your middle. He draws you closer, his breath fanning across your hair.

“I know you’re scared but one day, you’ll see,” he rumbles as he bends his arm, fondling your chest. Your stomach knots as he presses his pelvis flush to you, “I saved you… like you saved me.” 

His hand trails down and you hold your breath. His fingertips touch the top of your jeans and he pauses. He brushes his arm back up and embraces you again.

“Not tonight,” he resigns glumly, “I don’t forgive you yet.”