#fic: the devil in star city

[lovebugism]

✶ ┄ HOUNDS OF LOVE !

part one | part two

summary: you and marcus live lightyears apart within the city walls when emperor geta takes a greater liking to you than expected. you start to find a strange sense of understanding within the crazed emperor, while general acacius plots your escape. (11k)

pairing: marcus acacius / f!reader, emperor geta / f!reader

contents: established relationships, angst, hurt/comfort, cw for mentions of war, mentions of sex work, brief mentions of emotional abuse (geta has anger issues he's working on), swearing, smut 18+ (dubcon, unprotected sex, exhibitionism & voyeurism) (this is another dark fic!! please heed the warnings!!)

“Meet me in the garden,” you pant against the General’s mouth as you kiss him with a desperate sort of fervor. It’s all wet and hungry and unforgiving, like biting into an apple. “At sunset, on the morrow. Say you’ll meet me there.”

Despite your delicate touch, you cradle Marcus in a most violent hold. You keep him impossibly close with one hand wrapped around his neck, tanned and taut with the strain of war. Your other twists in his hair, dancing through the greying curls of fine silk. You embrace the General within the candlelit crypt where, before now, only death seemed to roam.

Marcus stands as still as the statues of ghosts surrounding you. You lick into his mouth like you plan to breathe life back into his lungs, even while he withers into nothingness at your feet. A thin layer of your spit coats the scruff of his chin. He balls his calloused hands into fists at his sides and pretends a part of you isn’t glittering upon him. He holds onto plausible deniability like a shield.

“It is not safe,” Marcus murmurs in a gruff whisper when you pull back to take a breath. His lidded eyes dart over your kissed face — gaze heavied, lips swollen. Beautiful devil, fallen angel. “You know this.”

Not anymore, he wants to say. Not while you belong to Them.

“Why not?” you challenge, always so girlishly gentle in your stubbornness. “Everyone will be at the feast, Marcus— No one will see us, I’m sure of it.”

Your eyes flit between his kissed mouth and dark-eyed gaze. Universes shine in your irises despite the shadows of the labyrinthine tomb. Marcus feels a white-hot knife twisting in his chest as he resists the urge to hold you.

“It’s the world we live in now, petal. There is little use in questioning it.”

“But why?” you question, anyway. “Why must we live in this world, hm? The war is over— We could make our own, somewhere far away from the city. Somewhere no one could ever find us—”

You create heavens with your naivety.

Marcus burns them down with words.

“The Emperors would not stand for losing their general. For them, the war is never finished,” the General interjects in a sorrowful deadpan, aching when your face twists with grief. “And if they misplaced you? They… They would burn cities to the ground in their hunt… They would set the world aflame before they stopped searching for you.”

Marcus knows this because he knows himself — every star in the sky would burn out before he stopped looking for you. He knows this, too, because he knows the Emperors. Perhaps better than anyone else in the entire world. 

Geta and Caracalla were born with the belief that they possessed ownership over everything they touched. Anyone stealing from their Empire would meet a swift and tortuous demise. They were merciless gods who dangled life and death on their fingertips. Only those who kissed the ring would make it out of their rule alive.

And you knew it, too. 

That was the worst part of it all: you knew it.

Tomorrow comes and passes like rolling summer clouds, slow and heavy and suffocating. You watch from the royal garden as the sky turns from a glittering sapphire to milky shades of peach and lavender. Another day gone by that you’ve spent grieving on your own. 

Though time marches mercilessly on, threatening to untie unbreakable bonds, it changes little of how much you and Marcus have grown together. Like cherry trees kissed with the promise of spring, with your roots tangled gracelessly together. It’s a knot that cannot be undone, not even by the promise of death. 

And for that, you figure you must be grateful.

Because as you sit on the stone steps of an artificial lake, twirling your fingers in the warm water of the koi pond, you wonder how dreadful it must be for the multi-colored carp. To swim in circles your whole life, to think the world is only as big as the bricks holding you hostage. 

At least you know what it means to grow up in the rolling green of an infinite countryside. At least now you have gardens to roam in the greatest city in the world. At least now you get to live.

A breeze sweeps suddenly through the garden, rippling the crystalline water and rustling the bright green leaves over your head. It carries the soft sound of footsteps scraping the stone trail. Your ears perk, your heart stops, and your head whips over your shoulder. You hope to see Marcus standing at the steps below you.

Your chest tightens and deflates all at once at the sight of Emperor Geta.

He’s adorned in his white-gold cloak, with his laurels sat atop his strawberry-blonde curls, and carrying a jeweled ring on each finger. The sunlight paints the man in flaxen rays of light. The rainbow-colored flowers seem to bloom with every one of his steps. All you can think is how beautiful he is — much too pretty to be so cruel.

“I did not mean to frighten you,” the Emperor concedes, eyes wide and palms splayed in surrender. His sandals scuff the cobbles with each hesitant stride.

“No, of course not,” you blurt with a rapid shake of your head, a quickness sure to give away your choked-back terror. “I just… I only thought you’d be at the dining hall with the rest of the court.”

“I was. Until the handmaidens notified me of your absence.”

You meet his wide-eyed expression with a narrowed gaze, lips curling into an unsure smile. “How can I be absent from a place I do not belong, Your Majesty?” you quip, though your voice threatens to shake.

Geta’s brows furrow. His ringed fingers twitch at his sides. “Belong?” he echoes.

“The feast is for nobility, and I grew up in a brothel,” you answer, giggling quietly under your breath. “I am certainly the farthest thing from royalty.”

You flash him a gentle smile and playful gaze, but the Emperor only frowns. 

He can hardly stomach the thought of it — of his most precious thing living in the countryside, surrounded by filth, touched by unworthy hands. He’s glad you’re now, where only he can touch you. Where he can make you clean.

“There is a place for you there, nonetheless,” Geta tells you and takes another step closer. He stands at the bottom of the stone steps and tilts his chin to his chest. His chocolate eyes harden as he presses more firmly, “And I will see that you attend.”

His sudden glacial disposition makes your stomach wrench. You’ve grown so used to him now, learned all the ways to keep him satisfied, that you’ve forgotten how quickly angered he can be. You don’t want to remember his wrath. 

You nod at the invitation with a wavering smile, knowing you aren’t at liberty to turn him down, and rise from your spot by the pool.

You hold your gown in both hands as you descend the stairs, flinching slightly when Geta rushes to help you. Sometimes, you think he can sense your worry, or that he regrets snapping at you the way he does. Either way, his efforts to pivot the situation are apparent to you — like he never learned how to apologize, so he’s forced to improvise in the matter.

His warm, petaled hand engulfs you to ease you down the tricky cobbles. 

“I only mean that… it is strange. Being without there… Or anywhere, really,” he admits, talking slowly like each word is foreign to him. His gaze darts from yours to the vacant path ahead. “I find that I am looking for you in places I knew you could not be. It’s foolish, I know.”

His gentleness is perhaps more striking than his rage.

“It isn’t foolish, Your Majesty,” you insist as you reach the bottom of the staircase. You peer at him through your lashes and fake another smile. “I just didn’t know you were such a poet.”

Geta doesn’t understand your meaning. Where was the poetry in his words? How did such burdensome feelings of tenderness make him a poet? 

“Neither did I,” he muses, guiding you out of the garden with his hand in yours.

Though still riddled with feelings of uncertainty, Geta is strangely moved by how you’re looking at him now — with the sun sparkling in your softened gaze, more gentle than anyone deserves to be looked at. So he figures he can be a poet for you, if he must.

You bathe again in the rosehip oil Geta always insists you wear, and dress yourself in the fine silk gown you know he prefers. The pale blue fabric drapes off your shoulders and flows to your ankles, cinched at the waist with a jewel-encrusted belt of gold. Your skin and body are adorned, in this moment alone, with perhaps more money than you’ve ever seen in your life. 

The thought makes your head swim as you amble to the dining hall. 

The silent guards at your side make no effort to rush you for fear of the Emperors’ wrath. Still, though, the notion that they are commissioned to ensure your attendance is not lost on you. Any attempt to flee will surely be met with force — if not from the knights, then from Geta himself.

The feasting is long done by the time you arrive. Mingling bodies flit around the crowded manor in a blur. Live music swells distantly as rose petals fall from thin air to decorate the marble floor. You wring your hands nervously together as you weave through the bustling court, gravitating to the large open window at the back of the hall — where you know the Emperors rest on their plush, velvet chaises.

Caracalla notices you first.

The boy rises from his lounged position — laurels crooked on his blonde head and robe shifting up his pale thighs — and smiles at you with all his crooked teeth. His lone golden tooth glints in the sunlight. 

“You showed,” he announces to no one in particular, just before his wild head swivels to his brother on the other side of the couch. “See, brother? I told you there was naught to worry about. Did I not?”

Geta does not appear happy to see you. His features remain in an emotionless scowl while his smokey eyes rake over your form. “You did,” he responds distantly, if only to appease his younger brother.

Caracalla doesn’t seem to notice the tension caging him on both sides as he flashes you another toothy grin. “He threatened to send the Praetorians after you,” he lilts like it’s some kind of silly secret. 

The Emperors’ bodyguards line the wall behind them, as well as all the entrances and nearly every window. They were like your Marcus — military veterans, strong and sharp and ruthless — though you imagine the only soft side you’ll ever see of them is a fist. They are certainly not the kind of people you want sent after you.

“Well, you were right, Your Majesty,” you grin. “There was naught to worry about. I was simply making myself presentable for the court.”

Caracalla holds his ringed hand out for you as you near him. You bend at the waist to kiss the emerald on his ring finger. The motion is muscle memory to you now. “You look beautiful,” he slurs like a child. “Like a fairy, almost.” 

“You flatter me, Your Majesty,” you nod politely and rise to full height again. 

You feel his ocean eyes on your body as you pass him by, glassy and sparkling with a boyish sort of wonder. A stark contrast to the way his brother glares daggers at you. 

“You certainly took your time,” Geta monotones in place of a greeting.

You stand obediently at his side and twist your clammy hands into knots. “I was only getting dressed, Your Majesty. I wanted to look pretty for you—”

“Nonsense,” the Emperor spits and turns away. You’re always pretty, he’d say if he could get the words out. Instead, he softens his suddenly hardened edges and flashes you a gentler glance. “I thought you’d defied me,” he confesses, as though in lieu of an apology for his fleeting hysterics.

“I couldn’t,” you murmur with a quiet smile.

Not wouldn’t, he notices. Not shouldn’t.

But couldn’t. Like your body was fated to listen to his command.

A funny feeling sparkles like gold in his chest. It makes him fidget uncomfortably on the couch. “Sit down,” he instructs with a wave of his ringed hand before slouching back in his seat, pale arms splayed along the edge of it. His brows pinch when you descend onto the empty spot beside him. “Not there.”

You freeze in place. Your eyes widen and dart to his thighs, spread out and hidden beneath the skirt of his robe. You look to Geta once more and cower beneath his expectant look. You sink hesitantly onto his lap, feeling like your heart’s in your throat as you lean into his chest. 

Your unsure hands curl around his shoulders. His curls brush your cheek. He smells overwhelmingly of musk and wine and cinnamon. Something about it makes you dizzy.

You survey the room from your position in Geta’s lap. Most people aren’t looking, you find, too busy talking and flirting and dancing together. A few noblemen across the way leer incredulously at you, though, like they’re trying to gauge if they know you from somewhere. You presume you likely slept with one or more of their sons during the war, most of which are likely dead now.

A few women crowd behind the chaise — all dressed in muted shades of silk, all dripped in jewels and gold. They’re pretty, effortlessly so, as they talk into their goblets full of wine. Some looked relieved to have the Emperors’ attention off of them. Others sneer at you for it, having no idea you’d switch places with them in a heartbeat if you could.

Your eyes dart across the dining hall, almost instinctually so. They lock immediately with Marcus the moment he enters the room. 

The General wears his black-gold armor and a faraway look in his eye as he leads a group of foreign gladiators into the manor. A hush lulls over the crowd, which parts for him without thinking. Marcus navigates through it with an absentminded sternness, like every step is muscle memory. 

He softens only when his gaze meets yours. 

His puffed-out chest deflates with a wavering exhale at the sight of you, a lamb on the lap of a man who holds a knife to your throat. He blames himself for it most of all, knowing he’s the one that brought you to slaughter. 

“Finally!” Caracalla shouts into the silence, voice ringing through the hushed court. “Where have you all been— In the showers together?” 

A bout of laughter rolls over the crowd as the blonde boy leans over to you. You try not to grimace at the bitter smell of wine on his breath. “Who nearly missed the games, little dove,” he croons too close to your ear. 

The nickname makes you tense. You muster a smile, anyway, and remind yourself to breathe. “What a shame that would’ve been,” you lilt in response.

“The armor is tricky, Your Majesty,” Acacius confesses, voice deep like a cathedral organ. “Especially for those who have not donned it before. Such as yourself.”

There is a bite to his words despite their monotoned delivery. Caracalla pays it no mind as he lounges back on the couch, wine sloshing in the chalice he holds in a limp hand. “Get it out with it, then,” he slurs.

Each gladiator faces the other. One is tall and sturdy, like an oak tree. The other is shorter and lankier, much too young and far too pretty to fight in such gruesome battles. As Marcus’ voice booms throughout the quiet dining hall to introduce them — The Barbarian versus The Might Vincenzo — Geta presses his mouth to your ear. 

“Which one shall we bet on, little dove?” he whispers to you as his hand curls tighter around your waist. His other idles over your skirt, pale and jeweled and warm, though his long fingers threaten to dip between your thighs.

You blink hard to keep your head from swimming. “Hm?”

“Which one of these imbeciles do you think will win?” Geta repeats.

“Oh, um, I— I don’t know, Your Majesty,” you stammer in response. It’s hard to think about anything other than how close Marcus is to you now. How pretty and wartorn he looks. How desperately you wish to hold him.

“Just guess,” the Emperor presses, squeezing softly at your hip. “It’s only for entertainment, anyway.”

How could certain death possibly entertain you? your mind races as your mouth blurts, “The little one, then.”

“Really?” Geta hums in amusement. His dark eyes, smudged with brown liner, squint softly at your glossy profile. They flit across your features like he’s seeing you for the very first time, though you aren’t looking back at him to notice. “Hm. I would’ve picked the oaf.”

“Well, it is the most obvious choice, Your Majesty. Though, I find it’s often the smaller ones that surprise you—” 

You turn your head to look at him. Your breath catches audibly in your throat when you find the Emperor much closer than expected. He’s so close your eyes nearly cross to meet his gaze. So close, that the tip of his large nose threatens to brush the bridge of yours. So close, you get drunk on the alcohol tainting his breath.

Geta’s wine-stained mouth curls upwards in a cynical smile. “They do, indeed,” he croons quietly, raspberry breath fanning warm over your jaw. 

Chills pebble along your skin accordingly. It takes great strength from you to break his magnetic chocolate gaze. You turn away from the Emperor and focus instead on the gladiators circling one another. Vincenzo moves in seemingly practiced motions, unfazed by the brutality of such duels. The nameless Barbarian houses a great sadness in his young eyes — a hardened look of regret, perhaps, for what he knows he must do. 

“Let’s not entertain them for our amusement, brother,” the Barbarian mutters lowly to his opponent, blade hanging limp at his side.

The larger man charges like a rhino. A deep roar sounds in his throat as he thrusts his knife towards the younger boy’s neck. The Barbarian dodges the swing with ease, possessing all the swiftness of a snake as he ducks past his opponent and slices his muscular bicep with one fell swoop.

The crowd gasps in a mixture of horror and amusement as Vincenzo’s blood drips onto the floor like deep red wine. It stains the marble in fat droplets, blending with the rose petals littered at the gladiators’ feet.

You flinch at the sight. Your breath hitches as you turn away — eyes squeezed shut, brows tightly furrowed. Geta chuckles with merriment. You feel it rumbling in his chest as he murmurs, “Don’t be frightened, little dove. It’s only a game.”

Something in you aches when the Emperor reaches for the jeweled goblet at his side. Your fearful eyes remain fixed on his face while the hall erupts in a symphony of violence — of battle cries and laughter, of dropped blades and dull smacks. 

“Here,” Geta offers with the wine in hand. “Drink. It will calm your nerves.”

He presses the rim of the chalice to your mouth. His gaze never waves from your lips as they part to welcome the bittersweet raspberry. The wine pools like blood on your tongue. It tastes like guilt going down.

Dusk falls over the city like a wounded swan. The velvet darkness outside your window makes shadows of everything it touches, only partially diminished by blinking stars and waning silver moonlight. The crescent shape of the bright white orb would fit just perfectly beneath Marcus’ jaw, you think to yourself. 

The thought alone sends a warm, melancholic feeling down your spine — with such an intensity only the tenderness of twilight could elicit.

You slide from the crimson satin of your mattress with a tight chest. You migrate towards the entrance — bare feet padding faintly along the floor, thin cotton nightgown trailing behind you. You stand before your bedroom door and rap your knuckles rhythmically against the wood. 

Twice, once, three times. 

And then you wait.

“It’s me,” you hear Marcus murmur from the other side.

Your heart swells like sunshine in your throat. You smile wide despite yourself, with no one else around to see it. “It’s been Romulus for nearly a fortnight,” you tell him, panting slightly from where you’d held your breath in anticipation. “I was starting to think you’d been banished from your post here forever.”

“You know the Emperor likes to torture me,” he quips, though his usual monotone never wavers. 

It might’ve been easier on you both, if Geta had shipped him off to lead another meaningless campaign. At least then Marcus could miss you from leagues away. Instead, he has to guard your bedroom door and miss you from the other side of it. Torture is an understatement.

“Well, I quite like it when you’re here,” you confess quietly, tracing shapes onto the doorframe with an absentminded hand. “Makes me feel safe.”

You wait patiently for a response.

“Good,” is all the General can think to reply.

Your face pinches with concern. Your chest does, too. “Are you angry with me?”

“Why should I be angry with you?”

“I don’t know… Our conversations together have grown so short— I worry you do not wish to speak with me at all.”

Though you cannot see him, Marcus flinches at your words. He stands like a statue outside your door, in the middle of the dim corridor, and glares over his shoulder into nothingness. “It isn’t true,”  he insists, voice low but honeyed still. “I wish to speak with you always.”

“Then why do you not?”

“Because it isn’t safe,” he repeats, though you never seem to hear him.

“Will it ever be?”

Marcus goes silent as he ponders for a moment. Quiet engulfs the bedroom all over again, filled only by crackling candles. “No,” he answers after a few long moments. “Not for a long while.”

You feel like he’s stabbed you with a freshly sharpened blade, right between your ribcage and into your bleeding heart. It would hurt less, anyway.  “Why?” you wonder aloud in a pained whimper, knowing the answer will do nothing more than twist the knife.

The answer sits ready on Marcus’ tongue, as though the question of why has plagued him long before you asked it.

“Because I… I ruined you. By bringing you here.”

“You saved me,” you correct.

“I destroyed you,” he retorts, voice heavy with choked-back emotion.

“I would be dead if it weren’t for you,” you remind him of the blatant reality, which threatens to consume you every time you see his face. You wish you were holding it now, cradling Marcus’ bearded cheeks in your supple palms, so that he might understand the weight of your words. “I would’ve lost everything if you hadn’t taken me with you. I would’ve been tortured, probably killed. But now I get to—”

The word gets caught in your throat. You swallow hard and fake a smile at nothingness. The pretending comes naturally to you now.

“Now I get to live. Both of us do.”

There is a brief moment of knowing silence. This isn’t what living is supposed to feel like — fleeting touches in dark crypts and whispered conversations through bedroom doors. Both of you know it, but it’s a truth too brutal to admit out loud.

“Marcus?”

“Yes?”

“You know… We aren’t unspectacular things, Marcus,” you speak slowly and with a strangled intention. “We’ve already come so far. We’ve survived so much— We can survive a little more, can’t we? Until it’s safe again?”

“I don’t presume we have any other choice.”

“We don’t,” you sigh. “Because I love you.”

“I know,”  Marcus nods, with an air of surrender in his words. “Because I love you, too.”

You fall into the heavy wooden door as though it were your lover’s body. You did not need to see him to feel held by him. He hadn’t touched you, and he didn’t need to. His presence alone affects you in such a way that it feels like he has been caressing you for a long, long time.

Marcus’ heavy armor clunks faintly on the other side of the door as he stands up straighter. Emperor Geta enters his line of sight, a shadow slinking down the candlelight corridor. He clears his throat. “Your Majesty—” the General announces, for you and you alone.

He hears your feet pad against the floor as you scurry from the entrance.

“Dog,”the Emperor greets in a cynical deadpan. 

His sandals scuff the cobbles when he stands before the taller man. The torches hanging on the walls bathe Geta’s face in flickering amber hues, highlighting his tired features where the makeup had worn throughout the day. He seems weighed down by a certain kind of grief. The kind that makes Acacius feel ten feet tall.

“Have you been guarding my Empress like a good little hound?”

Marcus nods politely, though the term of endearment catches him momentarily off guard. To be the Emperor’s whore was one thing, but it was entirely another to be referred to in such high regard. The General tries to contemplate what that must mean as he answers, “Of course, Your Majesty.”

Geta grins despite his visible fatigue. “Good boy.”

You’re already back in bed by the time the door swings open. You lounge along the expensive satin sheets and pretend you’ve done nothing but wait obediently for the Emperor, while simultaneously swallowing down any remaining feelings of longing and heartache.

Geta enters the room like a rolling storm cloud. He wears all the chaos of the day in his mussed blonde curls, smudged makeup, and wrinkled garb — a palpable sort of disarray. You scramble on the mattress to greet him, like you often do, until he dismisses you with a wave of his hand.

“No. Don’t,” he commands. “Stay there. Don’t get up.”

You obey, freezing partially upright, with your elbows holding most of your weight. Your face swirls with concern at his look of annoyance. Your heart drops to your stomach in fear.

“Are you alright?” you ask him, though the Emperor pays you little mind as he migrates to the table by the window. 

He pours himself a chalice of wine. The glugging flagon fills the heavy silence. You swallow hard and stare timidly at the back of him. “Are you angry with me?” you repeat once more — a question that seems to accompany womanhood, especially when bound by the innate violence of man.

“I couldn’t be,” Geta answers like it’s obvious, sparing you a fleeting glance over his shoulder. He turns away to down the full goblet in three lengthy gulps, then wipes his stained mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s only my brother,” he confesses through labored breaths. 

Your worry lessens, but only slightly.

“Is he alright?”

“He’s acting like a child,” Geta spits, angered all over again, as he pours himself another cup. “More so than usual.”

“Has something happened?” 

“Nothing that should concern you.”

“Well, it’s certainly bothering you, Your Majesty,” you coo in slow and calculated measures as you rise from the many cushioned pillows. “So, forgive me, but it cannot help but concern me as well.”

Geta is unaccustomed to such tenderness. He tenses beneath it, glances hesitantly over his shoulder like he plans to find a ghost sitting in your place — as though he’d only heard the words in the wind and not from your mouth. A foreign feeling swirls again in his hollow chest, like a blizzard of snow or a flurry of rose petals.

“He’s jealous of me. Just as he always has been,” the Emperor tells you as he stalks toward the bed. He gestures mindlessly with his hands, and the wine sloshes over the rim of the gold chalice until it hits the stone floor. He raises it to his mouth, tips his head back, and down the bittersweet pomegranate.

His neck is long and milky white. His protruding adam’s apple bobs with each languid swallow. A drop of deep red trails from his mouth and down his chin once he’s finished. He rubs it away with a fist. You forget to stop staring.

“Lay down,” he commands, chest heaving. 

Your body obeys without a second thought. You lie back on the velvet cushions, docile and willing, in a way that comes naturally to you now. You’ve been Geta’s thing for so long that a part of you has grown used to it. Needy for it. 

The mattress dips beneath the Emperor’s wait as he kneels beside you. Your mind starts to reel. 

Your brain seemingly anticipates an inevitable pleasure, which comes to you like clockwork most nights. It makes your mouth water like a drooling hound that knows when it’s feeding time. A funny feeling stirs in the pit of your belly and pools like honey in your undergarments. Your thighs clench together when a subtle throbbing begins to pound between them.

You should be grateful when Geta crawls beneath the sheets only to rest his head on your chest.

You’re shocked, most of all, by such a foreign act of tenderness.

Your breath catches when his cheek presses to your breast. He nods gently to rub his burning skin over the smooth cotton. A deep exhale fans from his nose as he rests his body weight against you. 

You cradle him with hesitant hands and remind yourself to breathe. Your fingers scratch lightly over his clothed shoulder while your others comb through his strawberry-blonde locks. It’s a warmth so foreign to the two of you that it threatens to bring you both to tears.

“He says he wants someone like you— my brother,” Geta admits after a few moments of long silence.

“A whore?”

“A paramour,” the Emperor corrects, face twisted in irritation at your use of the term. He focuses on the muffled sound of your heartbeat when anger threatens to consume him. A heavy sigh deflates his chest. His anxious fingers twist in your nightgown. “I told him he could have his pick— Between us, we have plenty of women to go around, but… He insists his mind is stuck on you.”

Your bated breaths come to you in trembling inhale-exhales. You hope he doesn’t sense how frightful his words have made you. 

Geta is cruel, yes, but he is at most times predictable. Though Caracalla may be kind, he is most of all volatile. And there is nothing more dangerous than an erratic, easily excitable ruler.

“And what did you tell him?” you wonder with a feigned sense of curiosity.

“That you were mine, of course,” Geta blurts like it’s obvious. “He offered to share, to which I told him that he should be grateful that I’m sharing the throne alone with him… And now he’s off with his monkey, crying like a child…”

You feel strangely comforted by his words. You breathe a sigh of relief through your nose and rake your fingers through his blonde-brunette curls. “Your brother is a fragile thing, Your Majesty,” you advise in gentle murmurs. “You must be gentle with him.”

“I don’t know how to be gentle with anything,” Geta confesses, half-muffled into your chest. “Least of all, with someone like him.”

“Shall I speak with him? Perhaps I can calm him— make him understand?”

“It’s my burden alone.”

“It is mine as well, Your Majesty. So that mustn’t be true.”

Geta turns slowly to face you, with all the hesitance of someone unused to such kindness. His chin rests on your clothed sternum and bobs with each word. “You shouldn’t have to carry it,” he whispers into the honeyed silence of the candlelit bedroom.

You muster a small smile. “I know. But I will, anyway,” you shrug. “When you care for someone, your brain has little say in the matter.”

Geta falters at your admission. A foreign emotion swims in his chocolate button eyes. He’d rather blame it on the flickering flames strewn around the room. “Is that what this is?” he mutters, almost to himself, when he finds the breath to say the words.

Your fingers in his hair slow to a stop. “What do you mean, Your Majesty?”

“This… This tenderness,”  the Emperor answers, spitting the word like it’s the first time he’s ever tasted it. His face scrunches distantly, as if it were sour on his tongue. “Sometimes it overwhelms to the point of tears. It’s a… a blinding radiance, like… a knife— lodged somewhere deep in the body…”

You cup Geta’s freshly shaven face between two, gentle hands. He swears he sees the sun.

“Why do you speak of love like it hurts you, Your Majesty?”

He swallows hard. “Because it does,” he confesses before rising from your body. 

You mourn his warmth as he swings his legs over the side of the mattress. He sits with his back facing you. His dove white robe hangs off one pale shoulder when he bows his head.

“I never believed in it as a child— the permanence of it all, of… love. And yet, I… I find myself longing for it anyway. Like a fool.”

You rise on one elbow and resist the urge to touch him. “Wanting to be understood by someone doesn’t make you a fool, Your Majesty.”

“I know that I… That I haven’t been the most gentle with you at times. But I am… I am sorry for it,” Geta tells you in near inaudible murmurs, flashing you a sheepish glance over his freckled shoulder. “I understand it must be difficult for you.”

“What, Your Majesty?”

“To be caught between all that was. And all that must be.”

Your stomach wrenches at his words. Your chest tightens beneath the weight of them until you have to fight for every wavering breath. You take a trembling inhale and rise so you’re sitting at his side, taking careful calculation in the following words you speak.

“We cannot… We cannot choose who we love, Your Majesty. We can fight ceaselessly against it, perhaps, but it doesn’t change fate.” 

You reach out for him with one tremoring hand. You rake a rogue curl behind his ear and hope he doesn’t know Marcus’ face is the one stained permanently behind your eyelids. 

“We love who we love, Your Majesty. And the rest stay ghosts.”

Geta’s eyes glitter with an emotion you’ve not seen from him before. His dark eyes flit between both of yours, as though searching for something in your gaze — sincerity, perhaps, or maybe an equal sense of longing. 

You blink, and his mouth is on yours. Geta kisses you back onto the velvet-satin and settles over you once more. It’s wet. Hungry. Unforgiving.

You kiss him back with a similar intensity, clutching his robe in both hands, desperate to understand him.

Marcus remains on the other side of your door — an invisible ghost, an unwilling witness. He hears all of it, as clearly as he would if he were seeing it with his own eyes. A hollow feeling of yearning and hunger gnaws at the pit of his stomach as he tries to imagine your pleasured form. The painting behind his eyelids is blurred and distorted with time.

He wishes he could see you now, even with Emperor Geta fucking you into the mattress.  He could pretend that he was the one fucking you, at least, and let the image alone bring his withered form back to life. 

You’re together in his head, entwined still, with your mouths bruised in a relentless kiss.

Marcus hopes you’re still together in yours, too.

General Acacius spends most of his nights in the crypt, which he feels is rather fitting for a half-dead thing like him. When he is not surveilling your bedroom door, or being otherwise taunted by Emperor Geta, he finds a strange sanctuary in the dreary tombs. It is perhaps the only place where he is left alone. 

Caracalla is petrified by thoughts of ghosts, and Geta detests history, so neither is likely to show their face in such an ancient mausoleum. Which is ideal for someone plotting an insurrection.

You find him there in the wee small hours of the late, late night. He wears a deep red cloak over his white robe, perhaps to conceal himself, as he shuffles around the room to snuff out flickering candles. You wonder who he lit them for because you know he does not need them. He’s grown too used to navigating in the shadows.

Your sandals scuff suddenly against the damp cobbles. Marcus does not seem startled by the intrusion. He knew you were there by the sweet scent of your perfumed body alone. There is nothing about you he would not immediately notice.

“What are you doing here?” he wonders with his back facing you, voice low with a timbre that bounces off the tomb walls.

“I wanted to see you,” you answer sheepishly.

Marcus says nothing in response.

You wring your hands into knots and shift your weight on your feet. He extinguishes the torch on the far wall, and shadows engulf the windowless crypt — save for one lone candle flickering atop Emperor Commodus’ cracking tomb. Your eyes flit from the flame to Marcus’ silhouette, gaze swimming with uncertainty.

“May I ask you a question?”

“I don’t see why not,” he monotones and flits across the room like a ghost.

“What do you do down here?” you ask. When your voice inevitably trembles with distant alarm, you quip, “I only mean it mustn’t be healthy— Spending so much time in the dark.”

“It’s none of your concern,” Marcus insists with a venom that makes you flinch. He hooks his pointer finger around the hook of the candle holder, and the dancing flame paints his statuesque features in shades of amber. He softens immediately at the sight of you.

“I just do not wish to incriminate you,” the wartorn man confesses.

Your chest aches with an immediate concern. “What does that mean? Please do not tell me that you’re doing something perilous—”

“No,” Marcus interjects firmly, then amends. “Not yet, at least.”

“Explain it to me, then. Help me understand.”

“It’s best you do not know, petal. It’s safer that way.”

The word alone makes you cross. You wish he’d stop using it.

“But I will tell you when the time is right, I swear,” he assures you, though his voice threatens to tremble with wavering strength. His dark eyes flit between both of yours, heavy with an emotion you cannot place. “I will keep you safe no matter what, you know that—”

“It’s not me I’m worried about, Acacius,” you murmur with a stern glint in your eye, clutching the downy fabric of his robe in your fists.

“There is naught to worry about, petal. I assure you.”

Marcus takes a step closer to you despite the voice of reason in his head telling him otherwise. He lifts his free hand and swipes a callused palm over your cheek, soft and warm with sleep. You lean into his touch like a cat. A funny feeling blossoms in his chest.

“I’ve been thinking… About what you said some days ago… Making a new world for ourselves…” He talks slowly and deeply and nearly to himself. You nod against his palm to egg him onward. “You were right. We deserve better than this— Why should we have to live like dogs?”

Marcus swipes his thumb over your jaw and takes another daring step closer. You feel the heat from the candle he holds in his free hand, though your eyes remain on his face. You couldn’t look away from him if you tried. A part of you is hesitant to blink even, for fear that you might miss him for a millisecond too long.

He angles your gently head upward with his weathered palm. You can smell the musk on his tanned skin from here, as well as the ale and mint leaves on his breath. It’s dizzying. The ground seems to sway under your feet at the dwindling proximity between you.

“We love each other, don’t we?” he murmurs in a honeyed voice.

You nod without a second thought. Your mouth waters with the hopes of tasting him.

He nods with you. “So fuck the war.”

Marcus ducks down to press his mouth to yours. His lips swallow your own in a kiss, lingering and languid and deep enough to drown in. 

You melt into his touch with a heavy sigh exhaled through your nose. The warm breath fans across his unshaven cupid’s bow while your hands migrate to his hair. You twist the greying tendrils in your fingers, keeping him impossibly close against you. 

When Marcus goes to grip the fabric of your nightgown in both his hands, the candle holder tumbles to the ground. The gold clatters audibly across the cobbles. The wax light falls on his side, and the flame begins to dwindle on the murky stone floor. 

You wonder, briefly, if it will take fire — if the smoke will give you away, or if the tomb and all its history will burst into flames, or if the inferno will take you and Marcus with it.

Though it snuffs quickly out, bathing the two of you in a navy blue darkness, you figure you wouldn’t care if it did burn you to ash. Not as long as Marcus was there to kiss you into embers.

Marcus’ face consumes your dreams. 

The details are blurred with the haze of sleep, but he was there — touching your face, asking to try again. You merged into one another like ghosts. Like drops of melted honey. Like lovers of Pompeii turned to ash. Every day, you tell yourself that it is unsafe to love him more than you do now. And yet he haunts your dreams, and yet you find more love in you for him.

And yet…

A violent hand pulls you from your gentle slumber. It jerks mercilessly at your arm, snatching you from your peaceful dreams and waking you into a nightmare.

“Wake up!” a strident and familiar voice bellows into the quiet bedroom, lit only by the faint blue of an early morning. The words are punctuated by another rough tug at your wrist. You awake to the sharp aching in your fingers.

“Wha—” you slur, trying to blink away the bleary mist as you lift your heavy head from the pillows. “What’s going on? What’s happened?”

“Up!”

You’re urged from the mattress by the unforgiving fingers digging bruises on your arm. You squint through the sleep and ebbing darkness to find Geta looming over you — blonde curls mussed on his head, swollen eyes wide and wild, velvet robe askew on his shoulder to reveal his pale chest. His skin there is flushed red with anger. You don’t know what you did to deserve his wrath.

“Geta?” you gasp through a faint whimper in your throat, trying to pull your wrist from his grip. He only holds you tighter. “What are you doing— You’re hurting me.”

“Liar!” is all he shouts in response, like he doesn’t even hear you.

The crazed Emperor drags you out of bed just to drop you to the cobbles. The thin sleeves of your nightgown slip off your shoulder; the skirt of it bunches at your thighs. You make yourself as small as possible as you shrink away from the man towering above you. 

“I don’t understand,” you squeak through the heart in your throat.

“Liar!” he shouts again.

His voice rings through the shadowed bedroom. You cower in response. He sobers at the fear twisting your features, but only slightly. His heart pounds hard against his ribcage, beating red-hot rage through his veins. He can hardly hear you through the rushing in his ears.

“What have I done?” you whisper, voice trembling.

“You have made…” Geta trails off, swallowing the emotion threatening to strangle him. He blinks away burning tears and spits, “A mockery of me.”

Fear ebbs into confusion. “I have not—”

“You lie!”

“I do not!” The volume of your voice startles even you. You blink up at him with wide, pleading eyes, searching for any ounce of mercy within him. 

You find none. 

Just a man made of towering orange flames, threatening to set you ablaze. 

“I have given up everything to be here,” you whimper. “To be at your side. To understand you—” 

“Make no mistake… Your lies no longer have an effect on me, little dove,” Geta interjects through a bout of cynical laughter. He shakes his head and grins despite the tears glittering in his eyes. “You think you are so clever. That you were brought here, to my Empire, to be cherished...”

The Emperor takes slow, daunting steps towards you. You shrink away from him and choke back a sob bubbling in your throat. Tears fall from your lashes in fat droplets down your burning cheeks. 

Geta grins like it pleases him.

“Let me be clear, so there is no longer any misunderstanding…” he tells you, speaking in slow, deep murmurs as he crouches before you. You can see the flecks of gold glimmering in his deep brown eyes from here. You can see the fire swimming within them, too, as he assures you, “You were created merely for me to destroy you.”

The throne room is absent of its usual bright red roses and ornate gold decoration. The chandelier overhead has not yet been lit. Instead, the spacious room is illuminated by an ever-rising sun — which basks everything it touches in shades of melancholy blue. 

The servants light torches along the wall while you and Marcus stand together before the scowling Emperor. Something about it strikes a feeling of nostalgia in your chest, though these circumstances are much different than the ones you were brought here under. Geta no longer looks at you with lust in his dark eyes. He looks at you, instead, with betrayal.

“Thanks to the civic virtue of some good men…” the eldest Emperor quavers into the silent room. “…Your insurrection has been revealed.” 

Your stomach twists at his words. Your mouth falls softly agape with shock. Of any explanation you could’ve been given upon your sudden imprisonment, you couldn’t have expected this one. You thought, perhaps, that he had somehow found out about your meetings in the crypt with Marcus. You would’ve been able to stomach that, at least. Your love for Acacius is something you’d be willing to die by.

But not this.

Not something you were completely unconscious of.

Geta continues tearily. “The honor… The dignitas that Rome has bestowed upon you— All this, you have forfeited by your treachery.”

“Emperor Geta, please,” Marcus sighs. His deep voice echoes through the empty throne room like a heavenly, sorrowful instrument. He bows his head and swallows hard, knowing now that he must beg for mercy. Not for himself. But for you. 

“Torture me, if you wish, but let her go. She had no part in this—”

“Forgive me,” Geta spits emotionlessly. “But I have no cause to believe you, General.”

Marcus turns to you then, tired eyes wide and pleading. “Tell him. Go on, it’s alright,” he urges gently, though your silence makes his chest ache. “Petal, tell him— Tell him you were unaware.”

You say nothing.

“Tell him!”he repeats in a shout that rings through the quiet throne room. His trained apathy splinters for the first time in front of Geta. He is perhaps more fearful now than he has ever been before. No war was nearly as frightening as the thought of losing you.

“What does it matter?” you mutter in response, voice fragile like glass. “He made up his mind the moment he found out.”

“Then take me if that’s what you want,” Marcus says, pleads to the merciless Emperor. His sandals scuff the stone floor as he takes a step closer in surrender.  “Put me in the Colosseum— Crucify me on the royal steps, if you must— But please, do not make her suffer for something I brought upon her. Do not punish her for my sins.”

“You are the Great General Acacius…” Geta croons bitterly. “What could one more splash of blood possibly mean to you?”

“Everything,” Marcus answers without a second thought, voice heavy with a predestined grief. “It would mean everything.”

Something in Geta shifts. You see it flickering in his dark, teary eyes. A surge of power, almost, like a stroke of bright white lightning. The corner of his pink mouth twitches as he tilts his chin upward. “Step back ten paces,” he commands suddenly.

Marcus’ brows pinch first in confusion, then relax a moment later when he inevitably obeys. His feet sound along the cobbles as he takes ten slow steps backward. He mourns the distance it puts between the two of you.

“Turn around,” Geta’s voice echoes through the vacant throne room.

You hear Marcus take a wavering breath in. He spins on the heel of his leather sandal until his back is facing you. His heavy eyes flutter shut as his chin falls to his chest. He searches for an ounce of hope within himself, knowing he’d lost all of it some time ago now.

The Emperor smirks. “Good dog.”

Acacius seethes.

Geta’s dark eyes, rimmed red with emotion, flit back to you. Something heavy settles in the pit of your stomach — dread, perhaps, or maybe acceptance for what’s surely to come. 

“Was it a lie?” 

“What?” you ask with bated breath.

Geta shrugs, then readjusts his robe when it falls from his shoulder. “Any of it.”

“No.”

“Tell the truth.”

“I am.”

Geta snarls at your subdued emotion. “I am the Emperor of Rome. I could have my pick of whores— You being here is a privilege. Do you understand?”

You nod once. “Yes.”

“You came from filth— to the greatest city in the world,” Geta spits the words like so many drops of venom. He waves his hands up and down your form, pale fingers now void of their usual gold rings. “You were just… some whore without a face before I made you better. I did this!” 

He gestures wildly around the darkened manor, voice breaking at the volume of his shouting. His robe falls askew to reveal more of his bare chest as spit coats his bitten lips. You remain in place while the Emperor inches closer. The fear has left you, as well as any instinct to cry — your grief is too violent for that now.

“I brought you here,” Geta convinces himself. His saliva splatters on your cheek in faint droplets. Tears glitter on his cheeks like stained glass windows. A fire flickers in the deep brown of his eyes. 

“I willed this— I cared for you with every bit of conscience as I was born with.” He takes a deep breath and steps back, shaking his head in disgust. “And yet…”

He turns away. 

You’re able to take in a deep breath for the first time in several minutes when he parts from you. The leadened weight on your chest remains.

“If you do not wish to be here, I certainly will not make you,” Geta rambles in teary blubbers. “One whore is as good as any other— Perhaps I can find one who is capable of pretending she cares.”

You step towards his retreating form. “Geta—”

“Go!” he shouts, looking back at you with a crazed look in his sleep-worn eyes. He wipes spit from his chin and quietens, strangled by an unavoidable emotion. “Now. Walk through those doors, and I promise no harm will come to you. Just do not stand before me and patronize me in this way, I will not stand for it.”

His promise makes your chest swell with hope. You remain frozen even still, stuck at an unnavigable crossroads. Such assurances of safety mean little to you when Marcus

has a sword to his throat. 

You look at the man over your shoulder. He has not moved from his spot some feet behind you. His back still faces you, though you notice his hands are balled into trembling fists.

Even if it were true — even if Geta really planned to let you go without a knight slitting your throat — it would mean little without Marcus. You would not know where to go without him. You would not be able to live with yourself if you left him here, not knowing what Geta planned for him. You would be away from the city, yes, but it would not be freedom.

Your instinctual will for survival is replaced by the primal need to keep Marcus alive.

To do that, you must reach for the bloodied hand of death.

You turn away from your lover — away from the opened cage door and the promise of freedom — and rush to the heartbroken Emperor. You clutch his cotton robe in your fists and tug at the gold trim to pull him closer. You meet him in the middle, entwining your mouth with his.

You kiss him. Hard. With enough ardor to snatch the breath from his lungs. His pink lips part for yours, almost instinctually so, and you swipe your tongue over the rough pad of his own. He tastes of sleep and honey and very distantly of wine. He gets heavy against you as he falls into your kiss. His hands cling to the skirt of your nightgown until his fists start to shake.

You pull away only when he’s melted for you all over again, when the red-hot anger has ebbed from his milky white body. A thin string of saliva keeps you connected until it splits against your chins.

“I know… I know you are hurt, Your Majesty,” you speak in slow murmurs, and through uneven breaths. Your fearful eyes dart over his face and find him utterly kissbitten — mouth swollen, eyes heavy, cheeks flushed. “And I know that it is difficult to forget pain. But I’ve found it’s harder to remember happiness. Glory.”

Each word from your mouth is stamped with intention. 

You speak of glory only with the hopes that he might remember his many useless wars, all of which Marcus has won for him without complaint. There would be no Empire to rule without the Great General Acacius, who dares not to sneak a glance at the two of you over his shoulder. He, instead, keeps his heavied gaze on the torch hanging by the door. The flame sears his vision until he can see you dancing within it.

“We have no scar to show from sweetness, do we?” you quaver with a forced smile, cupping Geta’s burning cheeks between both your hands. You swipe your thumb over a fat tear clinging to his cheekbone. “How can we allow ourselves to be blinded by anger when there is still so much love?” 

Geta snivels and rests his forehead against yours. His long lashes flutter against his glowing cheeks.

“I wept for you,” the Emperor confesses quietly, words weighed down by tears. “I had come to believe that… If I wanted something badly enough, the sheer strength of my desire would make it mine. I see now that it was foolish—”

“Perhaps it is true,” you whisper to him, breaths entwining and kissing both your cheeks. If he notices your voice shaking, you hope he confuses it with desire and not with fear. “Perhaps that is why I’m standing here now. Because I am yours…”

A moment of silence lulls over the blue hour. The quiet feels deafening in the large throne room, quelled only by the sound of heavy breathing. Yours hitches in your throat when Geta parts wordlessly from you. He sniffles once, then exhales hard through his mouth. 

Your gaze remains fixed on his face in an unwavering stare as you try to gauge his reaction. His features are emotionless, but his heavy-lidded eyes flit back and forth between yours — as though he, too, were trying to measure your sincerity. 

Your fate, in that split second, teeters on a knife’s edge. You hold your breath and wait for him to raise his hand. Not to hit you, maybe, but to sic his guards upon you like dogs — either to drag you into a cell or to be kind enough to kill you on the spot.

Geta lifts his palms only to cradle your jaw between them. His long fingers wrap around your neck like he intends to choke you there. He drags your mouth back to his instead. Your noses smush together with the intensity of his touch. It’s all teeth and tongue and spit. Desire and anger and grief. A billion things he licks into your mouth.

The weight of his hunger smothers you. Consumes you. He could kill you this way, if he wanted. There is little difference, you’ve found, between a bite and a kiss. It only matters how deep he buries his teeth into you.

Your chin shines with his spit when he parts from you. Geta’s chest heaves with labored breaths, flushed and swelling with proud. He hasn’t yet let go of your neck. You wonder if he can feel your thrumming pulse against his fingers.

“Show me, then,” he pants. “That you’re mine… Prove it to me.”

The Emperor goes to step back from you. Your hands dart for his wrists, holding him there when he threatens to pull them away. Geta’s eyes widen in shock.

“Don’t make him watch,” you plead in a delicate whisper.

His wide, chocolate eyes flit over your shoulder. He seems to forget about Marcus’ presence until that very moment. He looks back to you, at the plea swimming in your eyes, and nods once in response. 

“Take him,” he calls to the knights lurking in the darkness.

Their heavy armor clinks together as they comply without complaint. They lead Marcus to the door with their hands on the hilts of their swords. You watch him leave from over your shoulder, in the very corner of your eye. You hope he understands, but you wouldn’t blame him if you didn’t. You find it hard to forgive yourself even now.

Marcus always said that people find out who they truly are during times of war. Maybe this is who you are. Maybe you cannot kiss the devil without taking some of his sin.

The door closes with a heavy thud across the room. 

The weight of being alone with the Emperor washes heavily over you. Like drops of ice-cold rain. Like warm, melted honey.

Geta peers at you with a similar uncertainty. Head bowed slightly, wide eyes glittering from beneath his lashes. You do what you have always done — take care of this man the way he’s asked you to, placate his anger with your body. Giving yourself away is as natural as breathing most days.

“Sit down, Your Majesty,” you urge in a gentle whisper.

The Emperor listens as obediently as his knights. 

The sound of his sandals padding along the cobbles fills the suffocating quiet. He descends upon his throne like he was made for it, spreading his legs before him and propping his arms along the golden rests. He looks like a painting upon his seat of power, bathed in the deep blue of an early morning. An angel dragged to hell.

Geta watches you with an unwavering stare as you take slow steps toward him. His brown-eyed gaze goes glassy at the sight of you, an angelic thing all dressed in white. His thighs part to welcome you between them. He tenses under your palms when they smooth over his milky white chest, past the sparse chestnut hair littered there and down to the tie of his robe.

His stomach rises and falls in heavy, uneven pants under your touch. You unknot the string with bated breath, then brush the golden trimming to his sides. He’s bare underneath it, likely from where he’d been brutally roused from his slumber. His cock is on immediate display — resting on his fuzzy thighs, half-hard and glowing red at the tip.

You descend to your knees to take care of him on instinct. His hands dart to your shoulders to stop you. “Ride me,” he commands, though it sounds more like a plea as it spills his swollen mouth.

Wordlessly, you straddle his thighs. The cotton fabric of your nightgown bunches at your hips. You spit into your palm and reach between your bodies for his cock in a single practiced motion. He feels like velvet in your fist. 

Geta’s nostrils flare with a heavy exhale when your hand drags up the length of his cock. His head tips back onto his throne when your fist falls back down again. Your lips find the expanse of his long, white neck like a deep-seated compulsion. You kiss his pulse as though it were his mouth. He cradles the crown of your head and brings his lips to your ear.

“You love me,” he sighs within a moan when your thumb brushes the head of his drooling cock.

You can’t tell if it’s a command to repeat the words back to him, or an affirmation he repeats only for himself. Either way, you nod in response and line his stiff cock at your entrance. Geta’s mouth parts in a silent moan at the feeling of your silky cunt. 

“I do,” you whisper just before you mount him. 

There is a dull ache in your belly when he pierces you, though you’ve grown accustomed to his length with time. Your satin folds split to welcome every inch of him accordingly. Your hips rock back and forth over his supple thighs and your velvety walls pulse around him, swallowing him further inside.

Your breathy moans entwine and fill the air. You keep a white-knuckled grip on the back of the golden throne as you ride him, without break and without mercy — in spite of the burning sensation in your thighs. You tell yourself it’s to finish him quickly, though a primal part of you chases after your own pleasure.

Geta’s breaths leave his parted mouth in huffed exhales as you bounce on top of him. He mourns the sight of him disappearing in and out of your glistening pussy but fights to keep his eyes open to watch the rest of you. Your fucked-out face swirls in a mixture of concentration and pleasure as Geta lifts his hand for the collar of your gown.

He unties the dainty knot at your sternum and tugs the fabric down your chest, baring your breasts for him. His mouth waters at sight of your plush skin, moving in time with your rhythmic grinds over his lap. 

A strangled moan sounds in your throat when he takes your left nipple in his mouth. You caress the back of his head, twisting your fingers in his honey hair in an effort to keep him close. He runs the rough pad of his tongue over your sensitive tit and smiles when he hears you whimpering. 

“You love this,” he mutters against your chest. “You love when I fuck you. ”

You nod until the words catch up with you. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“God—” he grunts through gritted teeth, tipping his head back when one particular grind makes him twitch inside you. His hands grip your thighs over your skirt. His fingers threaten to sear bruises onto your skin. “Your pussy was made for my cock, wasn’t it?”

You nod again.

His right hand parts from you only to come down a moment later. The dull smack of his palm against your clothed hip echoes through the throne room. “I don’t think I heard you.”

“Yes,” you squeak with your face scrunched, trembling when your clit drags across the thatch of pubic hair at the base of Geta’s cock.

“Who’s cunt is this?”

“Yours—”

His hand lifts again. You hear the impact of his palm against your ass before you feel it, a subtle stinging you find a strange comfort in. Geta laughs in maniacal, breathy chuckles when you keen for him. 

“I can’t hear you.”

“Yours!” you exclaim in a feeble gasp, clutching the Emperor to your chest. You shudder on top of him when an orgasm rakes suddenly through your body. It flows quickly and without mercy, but never quite ebbs. You’re left a whimpering, weeping mess while the aftershocks of your pleasure consume you. 

“It’s yours,” you squeak in nearly inaudible blubbers, pressing your kissed mouth to the shell of Geta’s ear, repeating the phrase like it’s the only one you remember. “’S your pussy… It’s yours…”

The words alone are enough to make Geta burst inside of you. 

He tenses all over. His dull nails press crescent shapes into the skin of your thighs. His rosy mouth parts to exhale a guttural moan. You feel his cock jerk with your drooling confines right before he spits several loads of cum inside you. Your cunt pulses around him, instinctually milking him for every drop of liquid pleasure, and a whimper sounds in Geta’s throat.

You feel it bloom in the pit of your belly like a flower — something soft and warm and seeping. As the two of you relax against one another with wavering exhales, you feel his cum leaking out of you like drops of summer rain. It pools on his lap and drips down to the throne underneath him, tainting the gold with a mixture of your sin.

It proves a point. Marks a territory.

Geta swells with pride.

Your back slouches as you melt into his body. You hide your burning face in his neck as his feverish grip on you loosens. Geta twitches beneath you when your cunt pulsates around his softening cock. “Mm…” you hear him hum, mixed with a laugh you feel rumbling in his chest. His head tilts back as a lopsided smile tugs deliriously at his mouth.

He runs a gentle hand up and down your spine, a reminder of his being there despite your feeble efforts to dissociate your brain from your body. You can’t ignore the warmth of his touch on your tingling skin, or the way your hearts press together and beat to the same rhythm.

A distant feeling of acceptance pools in the pit of your belly along with the Emperor’s cum. Your grief is a much more discreet thing, however, and you miss Marcus like an unstitched wound that won’t stop bleeding. Like a knife lodged somewhere deep in the body.

“I think… I think I’ve found an adequate punishment for the General,” Geta pants, the crooked grin audible in his words. “Perhaps he will learn his lesson when I’ve fucked a child into you—”

You tense when the Emperor’s palm splays over your stomach.

“—Perhaps then he’ll understand that you’re mine.”

[fairyysoup]

the devil i know

chapter one: god you've got the blackest eyes

(repost)

fic tag | fic playlist | fic masterlist

pairing(s): crossroads demon!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: To summon a demon at a crossroads, simply cast a circle, make an offering, and recite an incantation. What happens from that point on is subject to your desire… and the demon’s.

cw: explicit, smut, dubcon elements, making a deal with a demon, inspired by american and european folklore, sacrilegious themes, horror, witch!reader, reader is 21+ in modern day, eddie is immortal, coercion (a bit), sex pact, marking, possessive behavior, animal death, trauma, reader is ostracized by her very religious hometown, dark comedy, tfw your accidental boyfriend is a demon who is obsessed with you bc he doesn’t know how to be normal about anything ever, dead dove: do not eat

please check masterlist and individual parts for content warnings before reading. this fic contains dark themes. your media consumption is your own responsibility.

a/n: Hi folks, for the month of October this year I'm going to be reuploading all the chapters of this fic onto tumblr, this time hopefully for good. I apologize for the time that it's been taken down. Genuinely, this fic has garnered so much kindness and support and I think of it as one of my biggest accomplishments. I hope you all enjoy it just as much the second time around as the first.

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

Through me you pass into the city of woe, Through me you pass into eternal pain, Through me you pass among forsaken people. Justice moved my exalted creator; I was wrought by divine power, Supreme wisdom, and primal love. Before me all things created were eternal, And eternal I endure. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here. -Dante Alighieri, The Inferno, Canto III

The book you’ve used for ages now, since late in your junior year of high school, has only one page in it that you haven’t utilized. You don’t know how much faith to put in it– you’re a little short on faith, these days– but, the spellbook lays it out simply, so you follow its directions to the letter. 

To summon a demon at a crossroads, go to a place where two paths meet on the dark moon. You find peace and quiet in the woods, deep where you know no one walks at night but two paths cross in a small clearing banked with trees. It’s your favorite place to go when you want to do a spell– ritual– and you don’t want to be bothered. The whole thing can’t be more than twenty feet across. Above the overhang of trees, there’s no moon in the sky, only stars.

Cast a circle of protection. That took more research than just the book in your hands, but years of collecting information have given you learned knowledge– there are a million ways to cast a circle, and different circles for different purposes. You do your best to create one for protection. You draw a literal circle in the dirt with a stick, fill it with salt, and walk around the circle three times clockwise to cast it. You light candles to give yourself some light, and to free up your hands of the flashlight you carried to see your way through the woods. 

Make an offering of copper. Your hand pauses on the copper dog tag in your hand. You’d thought of just offering a penny, but you remembered reading somewhere that pennies barely contain copper anymore, and you didn’t have anything else that was entirely made of the one metal. 

You run your finger over the embossed name on it. Lacey. Your pet’s old collar feels heavy in your hand as you remove the tag from the leather strap and bury it in the earth, you guess, to reach the… Underworld? Hell? You can’t honestly say, considering the text you’re referencing only calls it the Otherworld.

It’s a big sacrifice. It’s personal. But, you guess, that gives it more meaning. Making a deal is personal business, and you have your reasons.

Recite the summoning incantation. A stanza of words you don’t understand. You don’t think it’s in Latin, but you try your best, all the same. You read them from the book before you, and feel your blood rushing in your veins as you do.

State your desire out loud in a clear voice. Well, that’s a little more difficult. What is it that you want?

You take a breath, go to speak, and then stop. You don’t know how to start. You don’t know exactly how to describe your pain. You don’t know how to voice your anger well enough, you just know you need to… you need to get it out, somehow. This is a very crucial step in the ritual, you have to do it.

“I came here to make a deal,” you speak frankly, clearly. “I’m prepared to do anything. I’ve run out of options. I’ve been hurt too many times, by too many people who didn’t care what they did to me. I’ve lost everything I genuinely loved. I’m… I’m angry, and desperate, and I’m frightened. And I feel so alone. It’s eating me alive, and I just… I just want the ability to make things go my way, for once.” Good enough, you hope.

Wait for an answer.

You do. You listen intently, to the song of the leaves in the trees rustling in the slight breeze, to the crickets chirping in the grass. You wait long enough that you start to rethink your approach. 

It could be that things will turn around if you just wait another month, or another month after that. Maybe you’ll get the car back. Maybe you’ll get the promotion that was given to the newbie that you trained. Maybe your ex will stop coming around your work to intimidate you. Maybe you’ll get a new dog to take the place of the one that he killed. Maybe the evangelical town you live in will stop shunning you and calling you a witch, like something out of the middle ages.

Unlikely, that last one.

Just when you swear it’s a failure, that you should just pack up and leave, that’s when a strong gust of wind rips through the clearing out of nowhere. The candles blow out– and then, oddly enough, relight themselves. There’s a slight scent of smoke on the breeze, and you look around to make sure none of the candles fell over in the wind.

They’re all perfectly fine. There’s nothing amiss, it seems, until you hear a cough and movement across the clearing. You look forward, and see a pair of black combat boots in the stream of light from your flashlight. You follow the boots up to a pair of legs, clad in dark jeans, and then further up, to a torso, and a head, and a pair of sparkling eyes.

“Hi.”

You stare at him, probably looking like a fish out of water with the way your mouth opens and closes. You’d fully expected the traditional scary depiction of a demon– maybe horns, goat hooves, et cetera. But the man that answered your call is… just a man. A pretty one. He has long, curly hair, which falls over his broad shoulders and stirs in the wind. His plush lips curve up in a relaxed, cocky smile, as he takes in the sight of you in return. 

He quirks an eyebrow at you. “Are you just gonna stare at me all night?” 

“Sorry, hi. Hello.” You shake your head. “Can you believe I honestly thought I’ve been doing it wrong this whole time?” 

“I can believe a lot of things. You know, there’s a reason why the demon summoning ritual is first in that book.” His voice is soft and resonant. You get a mental image of heat waves radiating from tar-black and glowing magma, rolling slowly over lava beds. The image disappears just as soon as it flashes into your mind.

“Well, to be completely honest, I wasn’t sure how I felt about making a deal with a demon first thing,” you explain, looking away shyly. “But I’ve tried all the spells in this book and not a single one of them worked. Just seems like everything is getting worse all the time.”

He doesn’t look away– rather, he keeps staring at you, unblinkingly. Like you’re the most fascinating creature he’s ever seen. He leans up against the tree that he appeared beside, his leather jacket falling open to reveal a shirt with a demon’s head on it. Fitting. He takes a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. 

“So, now you wanna make a deal with little ol’ me, huh?” He grins, a gorgeous smile that flashes bright, sharp teeth at you. He lifts a cigarette to his mouth and bites it gently between his teeth. He doesn’t pull out a lighter. Instead, you watch him light up with a small flame that erupts from the tip of his thumb. 

“Depends on who you are,” you retort, eyes following the movement of his hands. They’re weighed down by large, silver rings that reflect the light of the flame before it snuffs out. “What’s your name?”

He makes a short noise in his throat, shaking his head abruptly. He doesn’t look nearly as intimidating as you feel he should– more like he’s trying to warn you against something you don’t want. He peers at you from beneath his wavy bangs as he pulls the cigarette from his mouth and uses it to point at you. “Names are really powerful things where I come from, babydoll. Best not to bite off more than you can chew yet. Once we cut a deal– that’s when you get my name.”

You make a face as you mull that over. “So what do I call you, in the meantime? Demon daddy?” 

“You could,” he chuckles. The demon rocks to the side, crossing his legs at the ankles. “If you really wanted to. I wouldn’t mind, it’s flattering.” 

You grunt. “I think I’ll pass on that, actually.” He tilts his head with a sicker, watching you with an amused smile while you shift in place. “So, do I– I mean, you need to know what I want, right? Is that how this starts?”

“No, I know what you want.” He exhales a stream of smoke from his nostrils. “You want power. To get a fair shake, find your place, change your life. Defend yourself against the assholes making that life, well. A living hell.” As he spits out the words, his voice rings sharp through the trees, like the strike of a hammer on glowing metal, shooting sparks off into the air. 

“I want to take all this pain and just… return to sender. Give it back to them, y’know? I never wanted any of it,” you justify. Your voice is too small in comparison with his. “Maybe then I’ll be able to fucking breathe.”

For how little space you allow yourself to take up, he seems to consume the rest of it. He nods slowly. “That’s a fair request, sweetheart.”

“It’s selfish, I know.”

“Making a deal for power is inherently a selfish thing,” he shrugs. “Own it. I’m certainly not judging.”

You let out a shaky breath. You’re still so nervous, being so near him– ten feet away and growing closer every second, it seems, even though neither of you have moved. You feel like, no matter how far you pull back, the flow of fiery lava he seems to embody will keep creeping towards you until you’re burned alive.

His dark eyes glow like coals in the night as he looks you up and down, and then he quickly pushes himself away from the tree. You startle at the abrupt movement, and watch as he swings around it like Gene Kelly on a lamp post. 

When he rounds the tree, he uses the momentum to throw himself toward your circle. You flinch, and he frowns, but continues moving toward you at a slower pace, holding his hands out innocently. “Wanna know a secret? About how all this,” he twirls a finger in the air, indicating the ritual you’re in the middle of, “works?”

You nod, gazing up at him shyly. If you felt at all powerful while casting the circle and starting the ritual, he’s managed to take the wind out of your sails. You can feel the power radiating off of him in waves.

He smirks at you. “You make your petition– when you say the words in that little book,” he points at the volume at your feet, “and that petition is answered by whichever demon caters most to that desire.” He points at himself emphatically, his eyebrows raised. “Me? Infernal majesty of freaks and misfits. I’m your demon daddy.”

You finally giggle, and it makes him smile fondly, like that’s what he’d been gunning for all along. He backs up a step and puffs his cigarette. 

“I’m here to help you, sweetheart.” He regards you for a second, like he’s thinking things over. “That is, as long as you agree to my terms.”

“Terms?” You echo, but you were sort of expecting that. Nothing for nothing, right? “What are the terms?”

“Ah, they’re simple. Very traditional,” he waves his hand like it’s frivolous. He holds his hand out in midair, and just like how he’d conjured the flames, he produces a weathered book. It looks like a composition book that has scribbles and doodles all over the front of it– the same demon head that adorns his shirt. “You sign your name with your blood in my little black book, you hop on one foot with your hand on your head and pledge your undying fealty to the dark lord Kthulu, and then you meet me on the sabbath to kill a child and make them into soup.” 

He smiles, fluttering his eyelashes at you innocently. 

“Are you fucking serious?” You blurt. 

“Of course I’m not fucking serious– what is this, the dark ages?” He snorts as he lowers the composition book. “Nah, we don’t do human sacrifice on the sabbath anymore, it was getting too difficult to evade the witch hunters.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He flashes you a disarming grin. You can feel yourself halfway smirking as well, incredulous but somehow enjoying his humor. Then he shakes his head and says, seriously, “No, you do have to sign my book, though. And then meet me back here on the full moon to fuck.”

You blink at him, reeling from the whiplash of that. “You… I’m sorry?”

“I find it best not to sugarcoat it, y’know.” He shrugs, “Think of this as a marriage, of sorts. I give you the power to smite thine enemies, live deliciously, blah blah blah, and then you meet me at the crossroads every full moon to be my whore and we fuck like bunnies all night. Simple as that.”

“That’s far from simple.”

“It doesn’t have to be monogamous, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he continues frankly, “except on the full moon. I won’t compromise about that– you’ll be all mine, and I’m all yours. No takesies backsies.”

“No– that’s not–” You exhale, holding your hands over your eyes. “I’m just… not promiscuous like that…”

“Sweetheart.” He waits until you’ve lowered your hands to look at him, and he hums, with a saccharine smile that reminds you of the power you’d felt sweep through the clearing when he arrived. “You won’t be the first good girl I’ve broken, and you won’t be the last. If you’re worried about promiscuity, well… I answered your petition. I know what goes on in that pretty head, and it barely scratches the surface of what I’ve seen and done.” 

The toe of his boot barely nudges the edge of your circle, and a spark crackles in the dark from the impact. The light dances in his eyes longer than it remains in the air, like they caught the spark and ignited. 

“Trust me,” he says, drawing you in with the low register of his voice. “I can give you more than power. I can give you protection. I can give you real happiness. Karma’s a fucking bitch, so I can be, too. This is just such a little thing in return. And who knows… you may even like it.”

You shiver at that, even though his presence feels hot, like his stream of lava is surrounding you, crowding you in, boiling you where you stand. He’s right– you absolutely might like it. 

Because there’s just something magnetic between you, isn’t there? You can sense it, more than any heat and any sort of primal fear you might have instinctively at his presence. There’s a certain pull you feel toward him, emanating even through the salt barrier on the ground. 

You want to wrap yourself in him. Boil you alive, burn you to a crisp, destroy you– you don’t care.

“Or… is it that you don’t like this body?” He wonders aloud, striding backward two steps. He turns, his hand lifting his seemingly ever-burning cigarette to his lips. “Figures– y’know, I can be anything you want me to be, babydoll.”

Confused, you watch as he transforms in front of you. In the length of two steps while he paces across the clearing, his face and body stretches and contorts, until you’re not staring at the same visage anymore. He stops, and he turns to you with his palms up, like he’s waiting for your approval. 

You’re looking at Tom fucking Cruise. 

“Oh, no, absolutely not,” you shake your head vehemently, scowling. You wave your hands demandingly, “Put it back. You were so hot before– please, please go back to the way you were.”

The demon grins and turns his head, throwing the cigarette away. His hair grows back to its previous length, his face morphing as if made of clay until you meet the same pretty smile you’ve come to enjoy looking at. 

He chuckles, grabbing a lock of his hair and drawing it across his lips. “You think I’m hot?”

“Of course,” you murmur, but you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he can hear it. His eyes are embers, blazing at you from beneath his bangs. “Is that what you normally look like? Is that your true form?”

He makes an iffy sound. “It’s what I looked like when I was human. My true form has more horns and unhinged jaws and claws and all that. You wouldn’t like it.”

“I thought you said you could read my mind. Do you know how much monster porn I’ve consumed? That’s hot as shit to me,” you argue, and he snaps his head towards you in surprise. You point at yourself. “Freak and misfit.”

He laughs, and it sounds like the roaring of an out of control fire, burning up everything in its path. He kicks his heel on the ground and steps up to your circle again. “I like you, baby. I really do. What do you say?”

“How do I know that I can trust you?” you ask, an annoying lump forming in your throat with the question. You’ve been burned before by people far less powerful than this demon, yet who still hold so much power over you. However much they have.

“You can’t,” he answers, more honestly than most would. He tilts his head with a crooked smile. “Not to get all preachy on you, but even if I wasn’t a demon… trust is built, not a given. ‘The devil you know,’ right? Better than the one that you don’t.”

“Yeah,” you agree, your voice coming out breathy and winded the longer you gaze up into his eyes.

“Trust me to be… intense, I guess,” he shrugs. “And probably impulsive. But I’ll always deliver on our deal. Be my witch, my wife, my whore– whatever you want to call it, but be mine. I think we’ll have so much fun together.”

“Yeah, I think– I think I will.” You’re nodding, and his smile grows with yours. “I want to.”

“Let me in, sweetheart.”

Your toe scuffs the boundary on the ground, breaking the circle. Immediately, your senses are assaulted by smoke, not just the tobacco he’s been smoking but the scent of a wildfire, of cities burned to ashes, of desolation and destruction and pyroclastic flow and roaring, exploding volcanoes. 

Your demon crosses the line you’d drawn on the ground with ease, producing the worn composition book in his hand again. The cover reads Hellfire Club in chicken scratch handwriting. 

“Are there others?” You ask, prompted by the word Club on the front as he flips open the book to a middle page. An agreement is already written out in red ink. “Do you have more than one, um…”

“Consort?” He whispers in your ear. Goosebumps rise on your skin, and your stomach flutters. “Not for a long time. I’m very picky about my partners. They have to be just as much of a freak as I am.”

Your heart thumps loudly in your chest, although the admission makes you feel… better, in a way. You squint in the dark, but with the exception of the candles around your circle, there’s nothing to allow you to properly read what’s written on the page. 

He sighs, shifting on his feet beside you. “Are you one of those people who’ll read the whole contract?”

“Absolutely I am,” you hum. The book feels heavier in your hands than it should. “Can you give me a light?”

“Jesus Christ.” He produces a flame from his forefinger just as you turn to give him a confused look. 

“Shouldn’t you, like… evaporate after saying that?”

In the yellow glow of the flame, he just blinks at you, looking amused. “Things aren’t as black and white as you think they are, believe me.”

You snatch his wrist and yank his arm closer to the page. His body collides with yours, and he grunts in your ear as he wraps his other arm around you, embracing you from behind. You’re engulfed in the scent of smoke and the heat of his flames, impossibly hot and comforting all the same. 

His hair brushes your shoulder as you read his contract. It’s just a few lines, but the weight they hold will seal your fate. 

The agreement made this night of the dark moon shall henceforth be enacted from the signing of this document, that hereby renders the human party’s soul bound to the infernal party. Witness that the first party must appear before the second party each full moon to lay in matrimonial fashion, and that in return the first party shall be protected and given the powers of the second from here until the human’s mortal passing. 

“Aww, that’s sweet,” you coo, tracing the red ink with your fingers. 

The demon over your shoulder rolls his eyes. “It’s a fucking pre-nup.”

“Doesn’t seem like a fair trade, though, does it?” You murmur. “I mean, I get the power to change my circumstances and you get– what– sex once a month?”

His hand tightens on your waist, and you pause. You turn your head to look at him, and his eyes flicker dangerously, so close to yours. They aren’t just glowing coals- this close, you can see the small details. You can see the swirling, the churning of lava within them.

“It’s not just sex, is it?”

“What do you think making a deal with a demon entails, sweetheart? Read the fine print.”

You look back at the page. There are no other words on it, save for the ones you’ve already read. “I don’t…?”

“It’s your soul, honey,” he mutters, pointing at the word. His mouth is muffled against your shoulder as he peers over it. “I won’t ask anything of you other than the sex, as long as you live. But right now, you’re offering up your soul. And once your life is up, you get to be just like me. Understand?”

“I… yeah. I understand.” You let go of his wrist, but pause over the pages of the book. “I don’t have anything to sign with.”

Wordlessly, the demon takes your hand. You let him caress your wrist, feeling your pulse with his thumb. Then, before you realize what’s happening, a sharp sting makes you yelp as he cuts your skin with his pointed thumbnail. 

He shushes you, letting the blood well up on your skin. “I did say you needed to sign with blood.”

Your voice shakes when you hold your dripping wrist over the page. “I thought you said you were joking.”

“Not about the book. Rules of the trade, I can’t change it.” Your blood splatters the notebook, dripping into the crease of the page. Once he’s satisfied, he lifts your wrist to his mouth and closes his lips around the small wound. It heals in a heartbeat. 

“Is that it, then?” You ask, mesmerized by the sight and feeling of his mouth on your skin. “Don’t you have to sign?”

Your demon kisses your wrist gently, his lips soft, inviting. “This is going to hurt,” he warns, and you nod. The heat of his breath makes your skin tingle, all your nerves on high alert. 

But then that tingling turns into a burn, that turns into a searing pain. You feel like your skin is on fire, an invisible hot brand held against your wrist. You cry out as he holds you close, letting you bury your face into his neck, holding you up as your knees threaten to buckle. 

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs to you as you whimper. He holds your arm as the pain fades into a throbbing ache, cradles your hand against his cheek as he coos into your hair. “You’re so strong. Not many people can handle my mark, you know. Fate works in funny ways.”

Your demon holds you until you can stand on your own, until your breathing evens out and you can compose yourself. He shushes you quietly, rocking you from side-to-side with a soothing hand stroking your head. Then he holds your face, and kisses your tear stained cheeks. The touch of his lips stokes at flames beneath your skin.

“I’ll look forward to our time together, little witch,” he whispers. And with a quick, chaste kiss to your lips, he disappears entirely. 

You stay in the circle for a while, clutching your throbbing wrist and crying frustrated tears. You wonder if you made the right decision, and yet, you don’t understand why you just want him to come back. You miss the comfort of his presence, even if you don’t know enough about him to justify it. All he did was hurt your arm and take your blood and kiss away your tears and make you a witch. 

It’s too late to go back on your decision now. There’s an all-encompassing fire you can feel burning in your veins, emitting from the pulsating wound on your wrist. His power. His fire. 

You pull your hand away from your wrist to finally inspect the mark that he branded you with, declaring you his in the same chicken scratch that had been on the cover of his book. It’s small enough that a well placed bracelet would cover it, but you don’t know that you’ll want to.

Eddie.

Your demon’s name is Eddie.

[zepskies]

BETWEEN THE CITY & THE STARS || Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: In the fall of 1945, Dean is having a difficult time assimilating back into civilian life after the War. He’s visiting his brother Sam in New York City, where he’s beginning to build up his law firm. At two minutes to closing time, you interrupt their evening to solicit a solicitor. Your request? You need help in order to divorce your husband.

AN: Here we go - my last short series for @jacklesversebingo, and my first time writing a 1940s AU! I've had a lot of fun on this one. 🥰

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Historical Epic

Series Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Angst, PSTD/trauma, WWII history, mentions of infidelity/cheating, eventual smut, lawyer!Sam, soldier!Dean, hurt/comfort, fluff, heavily inspired by The Clock (1945), starring Judy Garland and Robert Walker.

🎵 Listen While You Read:

Music Playlist: Youtube || Spotify

Playlist Poster || Moodboard (coming soon!)

Chapters:

Part 1: Legal Grounds

Part 2: Devil May Care - (Read it now on Patreon!)

Part 3: A Moment

Part 4: Dried Ink

Part 2 coming to Tumblr/Ao3 on 2/14!

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@jc-winchester @charmed-asylum @fromcaintodean

[millenianthemums]

I wanted to share the official playlist I made for this fic! I always make playlists for stories of mine, but I honestly really like this one and wanted to share it. I went way overboard on the cover, but it was still fun. I’ll probably reuse it when I post the first chapter of the fic, which I’m hoping will happen in the next couple weeks!

tracklist under the cut! the songs don’t map directly onto the plot or anything, they’re just vibe-based. there’s a lot of cheesy pop and angsty stuff right next to each other, because i feel like that’s gonna be the tone of the fic in general.

* Ruler of Everything - Tally Hall

* The Saga of You, Confused Destroyer of Planets - Lemon Demon

* Kiss Me, Son of God - They Might Be Giants

* Beady Eyes on the Horizon - Jukebox the Ghost

* The Next Dimension - Lemon Demon

* Look Who’s Inside Again - Bo Burnham

* Hollywood Baby - 100 gecs

* Problems - Mother Mother

* Something Glowing - Lemon Demon

* The Guide to Success - Joe Iconis / Eric William Morris

* Flap Flap - Patricia Taxxon

* Hot Air Balloon - Owl City

* Baby One More Time - Britney Spears

* Cilantro - Patricia Taxxon

* Shooting Star - Owl City

* Mamma Mia - ABBA

* Swear To God the Devil Made Me Do It - The Front Bottoms

* Teenagers - My Chemical Romance

* Big Wheel - Patricia Taxxon

* Fine - Lemon Demon

* Perfect - Marianas Trench

* Alone Together - Fall Out Boy

* Modern Day Cain - I Don’t Know How But They Found Me

* Bloodeater - Girls Rituals

* Against the Kitchen Floor - Will Wood

* Kill All Your Friends - My Chemical Romance

* Scare Me - Ludo

* September - Earth Wind & Fire

* Wow Wow - Neil Cicierega

* Have It All - Jason Mraz

* I’m Still Here - John Rzeznik

* Yellow Horse - cats millionaire

* Honest - Patricia Taxxon

* Son of a Gun - Joe Iconis / Eric William Morris

* Peach - The Front Bottoms

* …well, better than the alternative - Will Wood

* Candy Store - Heathers

* When the Chips are Down - Hadestown

* Aurora Borealis - Lemon Demon

* Goodbye - Bo Burnham

* Twin Size Mattress - The Front Bottoms

* Dumbest Girl Alive - 100 gecs

* Killer in the Mirror - Set It Off

* A Sadness Runs Through Him - The Hoosiers

* Bad Guy - Set It Off

* My Alcoholic Friends - Dresden Dolls

* SAD - Lemon Demon

* Happily Ever After - He Is We

* True Kinda Love - Steven Universe

* Everything Stays - Adventure Time

* I Bet on Losing Dogs - Mitski

* Love Love Love - The Mountain Goats

* Goodbye to a World - Porter Robinson

* King - Lauren Aquiliana

* Stand By You - Rachel Platton

* Ready Now - Dodie

* Seventeen (Reprise) - Heathers

* Gone, Gone, Gone - Phillip Phillips

* Time To Pretend - MGMT

* Die Young - Kesha

* Good Time - Owl City

* Anything For You - Ludo

* Monster - Adventure Time

* You Love Me - Kimya Dawson

[inklore]

if it's one thing your girl is great at it's making a million different google docs full of lists full of resources, ideas, etc that will help future me when it comes to posting fics.

fic titles are literally one of the biggest lists i have and not even in a perfect world where i write ten fics a day would i ever be able to use all of these, and i don't like to see things go to waste, and i know there's people out there that struggle with titles as much as i do. so i hope this list comes in handy for someone!

i don't think i need to say this but just in case: no one owns fic titles, anyone can use these, a dozen people or one or none. these are literally just words and letters. no one owns them. sharing is caring, enjoy lovies!

★ — ONE WORD.

overboard 

runaway 

repercussions 

sledgehammer 

stargazing 

symmetry 

deathless 

honey 

retrograde 

stitches 

gravity 

helpline 

hollow 

suffer 

pushing 

warrant 

want 

wonder 

emotions 

nonchalant 

lavender 

daydream 

nosebleed 

jigsaw 

static 

float 

limbs 

hologram 

careless 

lush 

rotting 

phonograph 

hypnotic 

splinters 

magnetic 

wasted 

lithium 

dealer 

she

candles 

sabotage 

secrets

better

crescendo

deny

phenomenon

nights

guilty

move

criminal

blue

rise

thirsty

strangers

clockwork

closer

hectic

change

somebody

more

misery

like

sour

lowkey

peaches

she

nervous

sympathy

scars

disappear

melody

gemini

cruel

persona

supernatural

nectar

obsessed

casual

tryant

xo

dare

honestly

yummy

out

paradise

nuts

groin

heaven

lost

stardust

tangerine

monolith

lunch

pov

perfume

dealer

tough

arson

★ — TWO WORDS.

hush hush

night away

heart stop

stone heart

waiting for

black rose

sad kids

spine breaker

look here

autumn leaves

for you

spring day

love maze

bad decisions

take two

wild flower

blue side

rainy days

face off

slow dancing

polar night

like crazy

club heaven

deeper water

romantic devil

hold me

angel eyes

picture you

after midnight

twilight zone

drain me

sorry sorry

pretty please

how sweet

bubble gum

empty box

love therapy

play me

red velvet 

cherry bullet 

midnight guest 

cherry wish 

code words

ghost walk

bad intentions 

atlas hands 

broken crown 

crystallized words 

filthy pride 

fresh eyes 

heavy feet 

hungry ghosts 

imaginary paintings 

neon jungle 

perfect storm 

slow hands 

stop signs 

sad farewells 

untranslated stars 

after hours 

bad liar 

bonfire heart 

bruised lips 

cherry bomb 

damaged goods 

dead end 

fire away 

gunpowder hourglass 

lonely together 

lost language 

old moons 

one dance 

paper knees 

sleepy eyes 

stolen dance 

vice city 

artificial heart 

cry baby 

daylight fading 

dream awake 

empty bottle 

exit wounds 

ghost orchards 

moving stones 

paper walls 

oceans away 

playing fiction 

something wild 

wild thoughts 

everybody’s fool 

eyes closed 

storms incarnate 

writing tragedies 

stereo driver 

soul searching 

party’s over 

backseat driving 

fearful heart 

backwards directions 

nosebleed seats 

high hopes 

lovers rock

wet dream 

selfish soul 

washed away 

rose rogue 

midnight sun 

teenage fantasy 

wandering romance 

sure thing 

wildest dreams 

rock candy

losing momentum 

ruin you 

heart holiday 

sink her 

cut splinters 

hot mess 

frozen devotion 

little star 

blind faith 

favorite crime 

romantic homicide 

those eyes 

play pretend 

plot line 

pretty poison 

intimidate you 

pretty face 

strawberry kisses 

lovers rock 

worlds apart 

desperate/separate ways 

those eyes 

the blonde 

loving machine 

spill blood

someone’s someone

★ — THREE WORDS.

got my number

happy without me

not over you

crazy for you

back to you

flame of love

just one day

let me know

hold me tight

make it right

closer than this

love me again

still with you

out of love

never let go

love in space

ready to bleed 

bleed for love

between the bars 

can’t be still

cold morning mist 

in cold blood

matter of time 

piece by piece 

ship to wreck 

taut with love 

waste a moment 

can’t see straight 

down and out 

in a blackout 

just like fire 

notes on tenderness 

across the room

fire with fire 

going half-mad

loving to ruins 

rust to gold

send my love 

talking in code 

cradling a dream 

cut to black 

dear to me 

run me dry 

dancing with demons 

kiss and tell 

if you care 

the cry out 

steal this night 

just for now 

heart on fire 

hold my head 

nobody but you 

simple and plain

a familiar sound 

fool for you 

drown your memory 

falling into you 

just like heaven 

warm like beaches 

love that stings 

rotting in places 

moves on you 

save your tears 

a single tear 

light my cigarette 

long nights, daydreams 

boys like you 

love me forever 

hands on me 

like a phonograph 

taking over me 

dug so deep 

touch the ground 

heart shaped box 

where’s my love

tears of gold

lover of mine 

love me wrong

kiss or kill 

exes and why’s 

love is easy 

stupid in love 

easy to love

lost with you 

glimpse of us 

keep you safe 

death with dignity 

just like heaven 

heart of glass 

baby i’m yours 

pull my strings 

★ — FOUR+ WORDS.

love me a little

happy without me

you can't hold my heart

wishing on a star

give it to me

around the world in a day

waste it on me

this mess is yours

feeling like i do 

on a war path 

blood on the surface 

corner of the sky��

do the divine love 

drinking the corinthian sun 

everything is laced in (add word) 

lost in the moment 

in the nick of time 

mouth like a pomegranate 

the bones you’re made of 

when the mania speaks 

all desire & no thought 

blue in the face 

collapsing and relapsing 

middle of the night 

sail to the sun 

lay down your arms 

falling into the sky 

take me where your heart is 

she’s like the bad weather 

kill for your love 

the cigarette and the smoker 

the match and the fuse 

saint, i’m a sinner 

when the sky comes falling 

pretty little hand in mine 

even when the sun don’t shine

staring at the sun / sunset 

tangled up with you all night 

paper airplanes flying 

maybe i’m a fool 

tastes like rock candy 

blood in a lemon

(a) heart ready to die 

fate is losing its patience 

at least we feel alive 

death for your secrets 

someone’s gonna ruin you 

dancing in a crowded room 

smell you on my clothes 

always taste like you 

leave me wanting more 

hunger for (insert here) 

swim before you drown 

put your hands on me 

drink my (these) tears and cry 

i’d sleep all day just to dream of you 

so high we never stood a chance 

i’d break down anytime for you 

maybe i’m wrong, or maybe it’s true 

i only breathe so that i breathe with you

a worn out cassette 

lips on my cold neck 

talking in my sleep 

make me feel like someone else 

locked inside your heart 

hooked on her flesh 

it’s bloody and raw 

the angel of small death 

just a couple sinners 

smiles cover your heart 

charmer and the snake 

stuck on your thumb 

if i killed someone for you 

dancing with your ghost 

i miss you, i’m sorry 

woman of the hour 

shut up and look pretty 

queen of the night 

devil in a dress 

the thought of you 

to be your lover 

falling over you 

just like a movie 

love on the line 

[xoxochb]

percy jackson master list ୨୧ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

blurbs ✧˖°

. don’t blame me love made me crazy

. I was enchanted to meet you

. you are in love, true love

. but I know I had the best day with you today

. morning loneliness comes around when I’m not dreaming about you

. now he’s thinkin’ ‘bout me every night

. I would fall from grace just to touch your face

. do I love him? do I hate him? I guess it’s up and down

. a band aid and a kiss

. when you aim at the devil make sure you don’t miss!!

. kiss it better? part two

. promises part 2

. pro tip: don’t study with your boyfriend!!

. maroon

. sun kissed

. loverboy and hatergirl

. you drew stars around my scars

. like flowers in your hair

. he was a skater boy, she said ‘see you later, boy’

. she was a girl, he was an idiot

. days blend to one

. the little mermaid

. diet pepsi

. the morning after

. certified music addict

. domesticity

. silver soul

. trick r treat

. little miss clumsy

. I can see you

. hot summer nights, mid july

. ocean lovers

. my good looking boy

. this love is ours

. I walked with you once upon a dream

. infirmary’s favorite patient

. birthday offerings

. that one convo

. sunburnt

. assorted berries

. prettiest eyes (ever seen)

. new york city

. guilty as sin? ꨄ︎

. wildest dreams ꨄ︎

. is it a crime to say I still miss you?

. saturdays are for sleeping in (or not) part two

. lavender haze ꨄ︎

. delicate (isn’t it?) ꨄ︎

. midnights like this

. inseparable idiot

. polar bears (or are they?)

. short n sweet ꨄ︎

. types of galaxies

. summer song

. cordiform pizzas just for you!

. hot as hell!

. untitled blurb ꨄ︎

. horror geek of a girlfriend!

. glitch ꨄ︎

. ice cube of a girlfriend

. cabin three

. untitled blurb ꨄ︎

fics ✧˖°

. a moment of warm sun

. looking at you got me thinking nonsense

. all because I liked a boy

. this love left a permanent mark

. to love a soul

. king of my heart

misc (hcs + series) ✧˖°

. sweet tea in the summer

. I’d stop the world and melt with you

. there is thunder in our hearts

. the one (master list) <- authors fav!

. feet on the dashboard, he’s like a poem I wish I wrote!!

. better than the movies (master list)

. random hcs

. untitled untitled 2 untitled 3

. cinnamon girl

. lust for life

. you must like me for me

. that silly tiktok trend

. rainbows, sunshine, and everything nice!

. here comes the sun

. pretty in pink

. wonderland (master list)

[cailinsblog]

Could you write a fic where Jack is dating someone who knows nothing about Hockey? He likes teaches her the rules and is just sweet about it?

Omg I love this idea thank you 💕💕😻

A Journey of Love, Hockey, and Skating | jack hughes

Jack hughes x reader

Masterlist

It was a crisp autumn day when Jack Hughes, star forward for the New Jersey Devils, found himself in a dilemma. It wasn’t about hockey, contract talks, or media scrutiny — it was something far more personal. His girlfriend, Y/N, had never been to a game of his. She didn’t know the first thing about hockey, and Jack was starting to realize that he had never really taught her the ins and outs of the sport that had shaped his entire life.

Y/N and Jack had been together for a little over six months now, and though they had spent a lot of time together, their worlds never really collided when it came to hockey. She had met him through mutual friends, and while she loved him for his personality, his kindness, and his easy smile, hockey was a world she knew little about.

One evening, as they sat on the couch in his apartment, Y/N casually mentioned, “I’ve been meaning to ask… what’s the deal with icing? Like, what does that even mean?”

Jack chuckled, surprised. “You’ve been with me for months, and you’ve never asked about icing?” He raised an eyebrow, teasing her playfully.

“I don’t want to look dumb,” she admitted with a shy smile.

“Y/N, you could never look dumb,” he reassured her. “Come on, let me teach you. I’ll explain everything. Hockey 101.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “I’ll need a lot of lessons, I think.”

“Don’t worry,” Jack said, his voice soft and patient. “We’ll take it slow. I’ll even show you how to skate. I want you to feel like you get it, like you’re part of it.”

The thought of skating, especially in the context of Jack’s world, made Y/N nervous. She hadn’t skated since she was a kid, and back then, she had barely been able to stay upright. Still, she loved Jack and wanted to share this part of his life with him. “Okay, I’m in,” she agreed, smiling.

### The First Lesson: Hockey 101

The next day, Jack decided to take her to a quiet rink in the city. It wasn’t a professional arena, just a simple outdoor rink where locals came to skate during the winter months. Jack wanted it to be a low-pressure environment where Y/N could relax and focus without the distraction of a crowd.

They arrived, and Jack pulled on his gear — the jersey, the skates — and Y/N stood by the bench, watching him in awe. He made it all look so effortless.

“Alright, here’s the deal,” Jack started, his hands on his hips. “In hockey, the objective is simple: score more goals than the other team. You have three periods, and each period is 20 minutes long. There’s a goalie whose job is to stop the puck, and there are five players on the ice at a time — including the goalie.”

He pointed to a few different areas on the rink. “The blue lines are where the players try to control the game, and the red line? That’s the center line. Icing happens when the puck is shot across both blue lines without anyone touching it, and it crosses the goal line. It’s a violation, and the game stops. But we’ll get into all the details later.”

Y/N nodded slowly, trying to follow along. She didn’t get all of it, but Jack had such a calm, patient way of explaining it. She didn’t feel dumb for not knowing — instead, it felt like they were creating their own little world, a space where she could learn and Jack could teach.

Jack smiled. “You’re doing great. Now, time for the fun part. Let’s get you on the ice.”

### The Skating Lesson

Y/N put on her skates, a little wobbly, and stood up. The moment her blades touched the ice, she immediately felt the unease of being unsteady. Her knees trembled, and she almost lost her balance.

“Whoa, careful!” Jack said, reaching out to steady her. He grinned. “You gotta bend your knees a little. Think of it like a squat.”

She followed his instructions, trying to stay as low as she could without falling. “Like this?” she asked, glancing up at him.

“Yeah, exactly. Now, just glide a little bit.”

Y/N pushed off tentatively, and for a second, it felt like she was floating. But then her legs went out from under her, and she collapsed onto the ice with a soft thud.

“Hey, you okay?” Jack skated over to her immediately, offering a hand. His expression was a mix of concern and amusement.

“I’m fine,” she laughed, brushing herself off. “I think I need more practice.”

Jack grinned. “No worries. I’ll take it slow. Just focus on shifting your weight and pushing off with your outside edges. That’s the trick.”

Over the next hour, Jack patiently taught her the basics of skating. He held her hands as she made tentative strides around the rink, supporting her whenever she lost her balance. It wasn’t graceful — her movements were jerky and uncertain — but Jack’s presence gave her the confidence to keep trying.

“Good job, Y/N,” he said, his voice warm and encouraging. “You’re getting it. I’m really proud of you.”

She smiled up at him, her heart swelling. “Thanks, Jack. I don’t think I would’ve gotten this far without you.”

Jack skated backward in front of her, keeping her steady with one hand on her shoulder. “This is fun. I like being here with you. Maybe next time we can practice more advanced stuff, like crossovers, but for today, you’re doing great.”

She let out a little laugh, looking at him affectionately. “I can’t believe I’m skating with Jack Hughes. This is so weird, but also amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” he said, squeezing her hand. “And you’re doing way better than you think.”

### A Quiet Moment

After a couple of hours of skating, they took a break by the rink-side, sipping hot cocoa from a small cart nearby. Y/N was still a little shaky on the ice, but she could feel herself improving, and the adrenaline from skating was starting to wear off. They sat on the wooden bench, Jack wrapping an arm around her as they watched other skaters glide by.

Jack, who usually exuded confidence on the ice, looked at her with a softness in his eyes. “You know, this is my favorite part of the game — the quiet moments. The ones when you’re with someone you love, and everything else just fades away.”

Y/N rested her head on his shoulder, her heart full. “I feel the same way. I may not know everything about hockey yet, but I love being here with you. I’m really glad you’re teaching me.”

He kissed the top of her head, his voice tender. “I’m happy you’re learning, but what makes me happiest is that you’re here. You’re not just learning the game — you’re learning a part of me.”

They sat there in comfortable silence for a while, the cold air around them only adding to the warmth they felt in each other’s presence. The rink began to clear out as the sun set behind the city skyline, casting a soft golden glow over everything.

Jack stood up and pulled her gently to her feet. “Alright, I think we’ve had enough for today. You ready to hit the ice again?”

Y/N laughed, her nerves forgotten. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

They skated hand-in-hand, slowly at first, then picking up speed, laughing as they went. Jack helped her through each little challenge, showing her how to lean into the curves and glide across the ice with more ease. As the evening wore on, she felt herself getting more confident.

By the end of the night, Y/N couldn’t believe how much she had learned. The ice no longer felt like a slippery obstacle — it was something she could share with Jack, something that had brought them closer together.

As they left the rink, Jack turned to her, his eyes sparkling. “You did amazing today, Y/N. I’m proud of you.”

Y/N smiled, leaning in to kiss him softly. “I’m proud of me too. And I’m really glad I have you to teach me.”

Jack grinned. “I’ll teach you anything. Hockey, skating, life... whatever you want. We’re in this together.”

And as they walked off into the chilly night, hand in hand, Y/N realized that it wasn’t just the rules of hockey she had learned that day — it was something far more important: how to trust, how to share, and how to love.

And with Jack by her side, she knew there was no challenge she couldn’t face, no lesson she couldn’t learn.

Please send in request

[waywardrose]

TO BRING YOU MY LOVE

star wars | kylo ren x reader | rated e | 9.4k

fem!reader, vampire!kylo, modern au, dracula inspired, dub con, predator/prey, kidnapping with restraints, derogatory language (not from kylo), guns, violence, blood and blood drinking, minor-character death, semi-public sex, historical inaccuracies

This fic fills multiple prompts (from sweet anons and the fabulous @thorfemmes) for vamp!Kylo, from his backstory to Reader affecting him to the possibility of Reader becoming a vampire. Thank you all for requesting! I hope you're still around. In case you need a refresher, the previous parts of Me and the Devil are here, here, here, here, and here. (Why don't tags work anymore? 😩) This fic can be read as a stand-alone, though! Title from "To Bring You My Love" by PJ Harvey.

“Biker gang? Pfft!” said your boss Vic in reply to a bar patron.

The agitated patron continued, describing a group of bikers led by a dark-haired man with a scar bisecting his face.

You suppressed a shudder as you mixed a simple cocktail. That sounded too familiar.

You’d begun working at Vic’s bar a few weeks ago. It was an easy job. Vic was gruff yet kind. They’d shown you around when they learned you’d just moved to the city. They even invited you home for dinner, where you’d met their sweet wife and dopey Pomeranian.

After a moment of contemplation, Vic said, “A scar…”

With a dismissive shake of their head and a frown, they poured the patron a double.

When all the patrons were distracted, Vic took you by the shoulder and steered you into the dim storeroom.

“If I’m right, and I hope to hell I’m not, that gang sounds like the Knights of Ren.” You stiffened at the name, but Vic didn’t appear to notice. “They haven’t been around here in years, but they’re dangerous. You keep your head down, got it?”

You nodded as if you didn’t know exactly who Vic was talking about.

“Why would they be back…?” Vic asked more to themselves than you. “Fuck if it matters. We’re closing early for the rest of the week. Ain’t no one living it up while they’re here.”

In a caring tone you hadn’t heard from anyone in months, they said, “Anyone hollers at you, you ignore them. Just keep walking, yeah?”

You nodded again, though you doubted ignoring catcalls would save you.

Vic walked you back to the bar and told you to polish the clean wine glasses.

With numb hands, you carefully buffed water spots from each glass and slid them in the rack above the bar.

The next evening, Vic’s wife called. She never called, so it must’ve been important. Vic rushed out with only an offer to return to help close. You’d assured them you could handle it.

Just as Vic predicted, there hadn’t been many patrons. One of the last — a regular — expressed his disgust for the way everyone was pussyfooting around at night. He didn’t think the sun was going to stop the Knights of Ren from striking.

Oh, little did he know…

As the regular swirled the last of his bourbon, he said, “If they’re out there, no lock’ll keep them out if they want in.”

You politely agreed with a hum. No lock could keep Kylo away.

You didn’t know how you’d make it to your place if the Knights of Ren really were out there.

“Thanks for listening, kiddo,” the regular said before knocking back the rest of his drink and standing. “You watch out, though, pretty thing like you.”

He left a generous tip.

Closing went quickly after that. You clicked off the neon signs in the window, wiped down the bar and tables, mopped the floor, and pushed in the chairs. After shuttering the bar’s front, you snapped the tarnished padlock closed as quietly as possible. It clunked against the latch just as something glinted at the corner of your vision.

The hairs at the back of your neck rose. Your heart leapt into your throat.

You bolted.

You didn’t dare look back. It would’ve only slowed you down. You didn’t want to see a flash of red eyes and black hair, either. That would’ve paralyzed you. And you needed to run. You needed to run as fast as your legs could carry you—

Though you knew you couldn’t win — not against someone like Kylo.

No. No, no, no.

You couldn’t think like that. You’d gotten away before. You’d do it again. It didn’t matter how he kept finding you.

With a pause, you scanned the unremarkable street. You were far from the bar now. You propped yourself with a palm against gritty breeze block. Your thighs ached and lungs burned, all the more obvious now that you’d stopped running. You panted, throat desert-dry and mouth sticky. Tilting your head back, you tried to catch your breath.

The inky sky was as empty as the streets.

And you didn’t know where you were anymore.

You bit your lip and silently berated yourself for not paying attention as you ran. It was especially foolish considering you hadn’t been in the city for long. Unfamiliar streets looked more so in the dark. Questions dropped from your mind to settle heavy in your gut.

Where could you go now?

Your place wasn’t safe.

Who could you ask for help?

You didn’t want to put anyone in danger. No one would help a stranger at this time of night, anyway. Especially not when the Knights of Ren had been seen prowling.

Did Kylo know you were here?

He had to have sensed you. Your blood called to him. It must be the reason they were here.

A soft shuffle behind you threw you into action. You dashed down the street, away from the noise, away from the Knights of Ren. Surroundings blurred. Streetlights punctuated the dark. Your ragged breathing drowned out all other sounds.

You turned right, then left, then another right.

Before long, you had to slow. Your legs nearly gave out. You felt like you were running in circles. Everything remained unfamiliar, yet a sense of déjà vu remained. That storefront looked similar to one a few blocks back. Same with the pile of leaking garbage bags at the curb.

Or were they new?

You skidded to a stop by an unlit alley and braced yourself with hands on your knees.

You were alone. Not even a rat skittered. You slumped against the nearest building. A bead of sweat trickled above your eyebrow.

Whispering a curse, you wiped it away and inhaled lungfuls of air.

“You made this game quite easy.”

You froze. That oh-so familiar voice came from the alley.

“It’s like you want me to catch you, sweetness.”

As if made from the misty shadows themselves, Kylo’s silhouette manifested at the edge of a cone of streetlight. He leaned a shoulder on the nearby wall, insouciant.

Fear, like jagged ice, kept you immobile. The connection you had with him yanked at your breastbone. You grappled with the lure of stepping closer.

“You must be exhausted.”

You staggered away, feet nearly tripping over each other in your haste. The cracked concrete went indistinct as you turned to sprint. Arms like iron wrapped around your middle and pulled you into the alley. You stiffened, though you knew better.

A victim was supposed to go limp. It made an attacker work harder.

You squirmed between stiff and limp, kicking your feet. You drew yourself up to scream. A huge hand — warm, he’d just fed — covered your mouth.

Your muffled cries fell on a deaf city.

He tutted. “None of that.”

You couldn’t stop. There was a chance to get away. If only you could loosen his hold. You clawed at the arm around your waist. No tugging or scratching earned you freedom.

Blood-scented breath ghosted over your neck. A nose nuzzled into your hair. Soft lips brushed the shell of your ear.

Kylo breathed, “I have missed you.”

You paused at his sincerity, eyes closing.

No, you couldn’t give in.

You pulled at the hand covering your mouth. When it didn’t move, you slapped it. He let his hand drift to your shoulder, but not before his fingertips caressed your lips. You wanted to spit the feeling off.

“Did you miss me?” he asked.

You hissed, “No,” and elbowed him in the ribs. “No.”

He tutted again. “You wound me,” he said, though he hardly sounded hurt.

He tucked his firm body against yours off-center and placed a tender kiss on your neck.

A shiver rolled through you, bringing with it memories of pleasure and promises.

“Stop it! Lemme go!”

“Back to that?” He sighed. “After all we’ve been through?”

Tears pricked your eyes.

“I don’t want to hurt you, my sweet.” His hand slid to your throat, making you stretch and inhale. “Yet every time you flee.” His grip tightened and voice hardened. “Every time you seek my wrath.” He canted your chin to expose your jugular. “And every time you lock horns with me, it’s others who get hurt.”

You’d caused someone to suffer. Or maybe die this time.

“Don’t fret. It was quick,” he said. “They didn’t have time to scream.”

Vic. That was what their wife’s call must’ve been about.

You squeezed your eyes shut. A delicate tear rolled into your ear.

You’d killed them. You hadn’t meant to choose them, but you had. By keeping their company, you’d sicced Kylo on them. You knew what he was capable of. You realized it years ago. He’d killed so many.

Your gut twisted.

Your voice cracked as you asked, “Why?” You shook your head as much as you were able. “I don’t— I never wanted—” You swallowed around a dry throat. “Fuck, why?”

Why me? Why do you want me? Why do you care? Why don’t you kill me already?

Kylo’s hold loosened. His hand traveled to splay across your upper chest.

“I want to give you everything. All of me.”

His hand disappeared, and two fingers guided your chin to the side. You complied and opened your eyes.

“Anything you want. Just stay by my side.”

You studied his dark pupils rimmed in red, seeing his hunger and ruthlessness and loneliness. None of that had been apparent when he’d barged into your life.

“Just give me your heart.”

“I don’t want—”

He cut off your protest with a kiss.

You hadn’t protested at the start. It felt good to be desired by a dreadful monster like him. He’d opened himself, answered every question.

He’d told you about his mortal life. His mother Leia Skywalker had been part of the dvoryanstvo — Russian nobility. She’d run away to the United Colonies, where she’d fallen in love with some reprobate. Being a proper lady, she’d married him, bedded him, and proceeded to get with child. Leia ran home when colonial life no longer suited her. She’d had her child — a son: him — during the crossing.

Since Leia was married, and Kylo not a bastard, they were welcomed at court. The reprobate soon followed. The tsarina found the Amidala-Skywalker and now -Solo clan quite the curiosity. The tsar enjoyed Solo’s hunting skills.

Kylo said he remembered standing with his grandmother and mother to watch the gilded debutantes being presented at court. His grandmother whispered innocent gossip to him between introductions. His mother appeared to ignore them, but she listened just the same.

On a snowy evening mid-season, Armitage Hux, a distant cousin of the tsar, returned from the west. Accompanying him was a peculiar Dr. Snoke. The tsarina was captivated by Dr. Snoke as though spellbound. She favored Dr. Snoke, going so far as to appoint him court physician.

Armitage took to strutting about every dinner and ball. He was obsessed with Dr. Snoke’s scientific experiments, discussing results in esoteric terms. He collected blood from the hares, foxes, and deer during hunting excursions. At first, Kylo assumed like everyone else it was for these experiments.

Then he found Armitage in Dr. Snoke’s laboratory with bloodstained lips, a beaker of fresh blood in his hand. In a frenzy, Armitage explained that blood wasn’t only a humor. It was the source of life.

You’d stopped him to ask why he’d been visiting Dr. Snoke’s lab. Kylo replied Dr. Snoke had wanted him to read a few books from his private collection. Dr. Snoke promised more knowledge than the tutors his mother hired. Naturally, Kylo had been intrigued.

Intrigued enough not to run from the laboratory.

Armitage showed Kylo a chart of his own making on the distillation of power — “a force connecting everything” — through the blood, from feeble insect to apex predator. Armitage was certain one could accumulate this power by devouring the essence of weaker creatures.

Kylo understood the logic, yet something about how Armitage explained it troubled him. With that reasoning, the most potent essence would be from their fellow man. That sounded taboo.

When he next saw Dr. Snoke, he mentioned Armitage’s alarming hypothesis. Displeasure flashed across Dr. Snoke’s face. Kylo thought he’d made a mistake by broaching the topic. However, Dr. Snoke explained he’d been putting off that lesson until Kylo had more scientific understanding.

In his arrogance, Kylo insisted he could grasp any lesson Dr. Snoke wished to teach.

He thought privately Armitage, who everyone knew to be a bastard, wouldn’t best him. It hardly mattered how many lies his father Brendol spouted. Brendol Hux hid some misfortune for the crown and used that fact to force his family upon the rest of the court.

Dr. Snoke promised Kylo wisdom beyond anything he’d been exposed to thus far. He asked when, and Dr. Snoke offered him an apprenticeship. Dr. Snoke would be journeying west once more in the spring. Kylo could join him.

His mother forbade it. She attempted to lure him into staying by introducing him to any debutante who would indulge her. She bargained. She cajoled. She bribed. When she remained unsuccessful, she turned their whole family against him. Their objections were all they’d discuss with him.

Towards the end of March, the ice broke on the river, and the snow started to melt. He left his family home in the small hours of the night. He met Dr. Snoke and Armitage at the harbor and boarded a ship headed for France.

At every port along the way, Dr. Snoke disappeared while Kylo and Armitage dined. He asked Armitage if he knew where Dr. Snoke went, but Armitage lied when he said he didn’t. Apprehension kept Kylo from asking Dr. Snoke directly.

Kylo said he realized much later he had asked Snoke, but Snoke made him forget.

In Gothenburg, he gathered the courage to follow Dr. Snoke. He feigned a sour stomach to avoid dinner. The sun had just fallen below the horizon. Townspeople lit their outdoor lanterns. None appeared to notice Dr. Snoke trekking through the streets, which seemed improbable since the doctor was exceptionally tall and dressed in foreign garb.

Dr. Snoke turned down a side street as if he were familiar with the city. Kylo waited at the corner to observe Dr. Snoke halt at an open gate. Dr. Snoke’s demeanor went from innocent visitor to ravening fiend in the blink of an eye. His shoulders hunched. His hands became claws. His shaved head suddenly reminded Kylo of a vulture.

Dr. Snoke darted through the gate. Kylo expected to hear the scuffling of feet or a scream, but there was only silence.

Kylo ran to the gate to find no one. He turned first to where he’d come from, then down the street. Both sides were deserted. He didn’t understand. No one simply disappeared.

He took a step forward to investigate. The lifeless body of a girl hit the stones before he could take another. Her dark braids wreathed the splatter of gore. Her joints bent at wrong angles. He stumbled backwards, heel catching. Strong hands caught his shoulders and spun him.

He found himself staring into the red, hypnotic eyes of Dr. Snoke.

“I see you couldn’t stay on the ship,” said Dr. Snoke, who tilted his head like a great hunting cat.

Kylo saw his fangs for the first time.

“And now you wonder if Armitage has known all along.”

Which was true.

“He has,” Dr. Snoke said, sliding his hands to Kylo’s neck and turning down the collar of his overcoat. “So, tell me, are you in danger?”

Tears welled in Kylo’s eyes as he whispered, “I’ve always been in danger.”

“Too right.”

Dr. Snoke struck then. His sharp teeth pierced Kylo’s jugular and drank deep. Kylo felt the sinful pull in his groin. Despite that, he shoved at Dr. Snoke’s chest. It was as though he’d lost his strength. He felt like a pup taking on a bear.

He opened his mouth to protest, though no sound came.

Dr. Snoke held him tight, pressed him to the nearest brick wall, and ground between his legs. Kylo’s gorge rose, but his body didn’t have the strength to heave.

He knew he was dying. Dr. Snoke was killing him. Dr. Snoke would use him until there’d be no more. A spark of anger flared in his gut. He balled his hands into fists and struck Dr. Snoke. His furious heart hammered behind his ribs. This wasn’t supposed to be his death. He wouldn’t end here.

He croaked broken words, groaning at the effort.

Dr. Snoke withdrew with a chuckle, blood trickling down his chin.

“Such resolve! Such strength!” He grasped Kylo’s chin. “You think you have the stamina, Young Solo?”

This was what Armitage had spoken of. There was power in the blood. Dr. Snoke had discovered a way to harness it. He had kept the truth behind Armitage’s collecting blood and his own scientific experiments hidden. They’d lied to him.

Kylo snarled.

Lovingly, Dr. Snoke said, “Beautiful beast,” and smiled, bloody teeth flashing.

Dr. Snoke unsheathed his blade and slit his own wrist. Blood, dark like a desiccated rose, oozed from the cut. The scent of it familiar and ancient.

He watched his hands bring the wound to his mouth. Blood smeared over his bottom lip and poured into his mouth like scalding rain. He dissolved into unknown pleasure, torn apart as if ravaged. He was destroyed and built anew with Dr. Snoke’s blood.

He experienced everything at that moment: the metal taste on his tongue, the hint of spring in the air, the way their hearts synchronized for a second, the emptiness of his veins, the magic in the blood permeating every fiber of his being.

It happened so quickly it was dizzying. It was a taste, then a fact.

The infinite stretched out before him, all possibilities spread like the fan of playing cards on a table.

He’d told you Dr. Snoke became simply Snoke and Armitage had been satisfied as an unaging thrall. When you’d asked what happened to Snoke and Armitage, Kylo replied he didn’t know. He’d escaped Snoke’s clutches decades earlier.

He’d said how grateful he was to have found you: a comfort like he’d never known. His eyes had been so warm.

Yet his eyes weren’t warm when he’d caught you.

You pushed at him, but Kylo’s grip was unyielding. Your protests only inspired him to strengthen his hold. He gripped your jaw to open your mouth. You mewled as he teased your tongue with his own. It knocked the breath from your lungs, as it always did.

The hard length of his cock against your hip made you shiver. Maybe shudder. You wanted him, yet you shouldn’t. He was terrifying, yet putty in your hands. He was a killer, yet wanted to be your weapon.

Gentle fingers crawled under the loose hem of your shirt, brushing the skin above your waistband. His arm tensed. He was going to tear you open, claw at your tender belly.

You thrashed to get away before he could.

Kylo broke the kiss and tightened his hold on your jaw.

“Stop this, or I’ll give you a fucking you can’t walk away from.”

Your breath seized. He meant— He wouldn’t— Oh God, yes, he would. He would force his cock in your ass and drink your blood until you passed out. While he’d never done that to you, he’d done it to one of Armitage’s lackeys. He’d said it was for a transgression.

You’d gone beyond a simple transgression. You’d been running from Kylo for over two years.

“Kylo, please,” you said as your vision blurred with tears. “Please, just let me go.”

You knew he wouldn’t.

He pulled away.

You teetered from a lack of support and weakened legs. He caught your upper arm and shoved you against the wall. You braced yourself on bent arms. The bricks’ texture caught at your shirt and palms. The scent of wet stone and musty mildew invaded your nose.

He cradled your hips and asked, “Let you go…?”

His lips caressed your neck, dragging up your skin. You wanted to flinch from his touch, but he moved down until his forehead rested on your shoulder.

“How many times must we go through this? This game of cat-and-mouse?”

A hand slid up your side and rounded your ribs to cup a breast. You closed your eyes as a frisson of pleasure had your nipple tightening.

“How many people must I go through for you to see we can’t be separated?”

He squeezed your breast just this side of too harsh. You bit your lip. His other hand wended around your waist.

“How many times do I need to fuck you for that to sink in, hm? Surely by now you understand your place.”

He released your breast to tug at the button of your jeans.

Your eyes flew open as you pushed at his hand.

“Kylo, no.”

“Yes,” he hissed. “You need to accept it.”

He undid your jeans and spread the fly.

You realized you’d been a fool to think you could get away. You’d been a fool to believe he wasn’t still Snoke’s, that your love alone would change his heart.

You batted at his forearms, then gripped his wrists. He didn’t budge at your scrabbling hands. He barely reacted to them. Instead, he brushed his lips against the side of your neck.

You stiffened, anticipating the bite of fangs.

“I can’t, I can’t— Kylo, I don’t— I never wanted—”

You’d only wanted the person behind the monster.

It was a tragedy they were one and the same.

Kylo stilled, his lips a scant centimeter from your skin.

You stilled. Your words had been a mistake. Just like leaving him behind had been a mistake. And the most egregious mistake: getting involved with him in the first place.

Despite that being true, Kylo was correct about never wanting to hurt you. He never had. He could and had hurt others, but never you. He’d bitten you, drank your blood, gripped your hips hard when he took you.

But he didn’t hurt you.

In fact, he made you feel good. He made you writhe and moan with blinding, white-hot pleasure. Your mind went blank when he thrust his thick, monstrous cock into you. That might be worse than any fist or fang. Pain you could get over, but pleasure not as easily.

He whispered, “I think you need a reminder of where you belong, sweetness.”

Those words reverberated you into the past. That night had been like this one: quiet, starless, and calm. Until it wasn’t.

The world had tilted on its axis when someone threw you into an SUV while you’d been checking your mailbox after work. Terror choked off your screams before they even gagged you. Rope looped around your wrists and ankles tight enough to bruise.

A long-fingered hand seized your chin and made you meet blue eyes as the vehicle started moving. The man would’ve been handsome with his angular face and long ginger hair if not for the contemptuous sneer marring his full lips. His gray suit was Savile Row crisp, and his black Chelsea boots gleamed in the overhead light.

“Ren’s precious little blood-whore,” he spat and threw your head to the side, where it bounced against the back of the bench seat.

“You sure about this?” the driver asked.

“He will capitulate for this one. Snoke foresaw it.”

At the name “Snoke,” you wiggled away until your back hit the door. Your kidnapper appeared bored and pulled a pistol from his jacket. He braced his arm between the seat and his chest to aim at your face.

You looked from the steady pistol to his face and back again.

“Listen well, you stupid slut,” he said. “You are in no position to escape. You chose this the moment you let that fool into your life.”

You wanted to protest that you hadn’t let Kylo into your life. He’d slithered in on his own.

A tiny voice replied, And you let him stay.

You had. You’d done nothing to stop him, even after it was apparent what a monster Kylo could be.

You’d curled into the corner to stare out the SUV’s tinted windows. They’d tied the knots at the back of your hands, so you couldn’t reach them. You certainly wouldn’t dare bring them to your mouth to work them open with your teeth.

When the SUV stopped, they manhandled you through an abandoned convenience store. In the stockroom, a bald man sat at a bare card table. Scars like melted wax trailed down one side of his face. He wore a gold smoking jacket, loose slacks, and velvet loafers. You nearly laughed. He looked like a Hugh Hefner cosplayer. The only thing missing was a white captain’s hat.

A hand on your shoulder forced you to sit in the folding chair across from him. When you met the bald man’s eyes, any witty remark died in your mouth. His gaze was too intense, too stern, too disapproving — and too ancient.

This was Snoke.

The gag fell from your face.

“You saw Kylo Ren yesternight, did you not?” he asked mildly.

His voice rumbled like strange thunder. He breathed in as if he could taste you on the air, like a snake senses prey.

Despite your mouth being freed, you could only bob your head.

“Yes, of course. Quite understandable now why it’s so difficult for him.” Snoke’s expression turned forgiving as he leaned over his crossed legs. “You are quite the delectable temptation.”

Your gut twisted and toes curled in your shoes at the compliment. You didn’t want to be a temptation for Snoke, nor did you want him sampling any part of you.

Crashing chaos erupted from the storefront. People screamed. Cracked steel and shattered glass exploded through the open door.

You launched yourself to the cold concrete floor, bringing your bound wrists to your mouth. The metallic pop-pop-pop of gunfire snapped overhead. You bit at the first knot and pulled. Hot bullet casings clanked nearby. The knot gave way to the next. You wrenched the next one loose, then shook your hands until the rope slipped from your wrists.

A tide of black vapor surged into the storeroom. It blinded you, but it didn’t stop you from groping for your restrained ankles. The rope there made no sense. You couldn’t find the knots.

Come on! you yelled at yourself, finding the knots. Come on!

You twisted and gritted your teeth and almost cried when you couldn’t undo them.

Light returned to the room as the vapor converged into a figure with broad shoulders and long legs. Unmistakably Kylo. It was the first time you’d remembered seeing him do something like that.

However, you couldn’t focus on him. He was fine. On the other hand, you had to free yourself and escape.

Black boots planted themselves on the floor, spread hip-width apart. Yards beyond them lay the lifeless body of your kidnapper, his head rotated at an unnatural angle. That lovely ginger hair veiled his closed eyes.

You pulled your gaze away to untie the knots.

“Ah, Kylo Ren,” Snoke said warmly. “Thank you for honoring my summons for once.”

Kylo replied with a tight, “Master.”

As quietly as you could, you pulled the knots loose and unwrapped your ankles. Snoke and Kylo had to have known you were still alive, but you didn’t want Snoke directing his attention to you. Nor did you want to distract Kylo.

Snoke’s voice sounded as though he had multiple voice boxes when he ordered, “Come. Kneel.”

Kylo staggered to Snoke and dropped to his knees.

Your mouth went dry. Your heart beat double-time. You were about to witness Kylo’s death. Snoke would take his head and drain you dry. Or worse: make Kylo kill you.

You couldn’t let either of them do that. You wouldn’t allow Snoke to torture him like that. Not like this. Not ever.

Even if it meant not being with Kylo again.

You eased to your knees and crept around your chair. Kylo’s back was to you, but Snoke faced the door. There was no way to leave without Snoke seeing.

“Where are you going, myshonok?” Snoke asked.

You went rigid, one knee hovering above the floor.

“Join me at the table.”

If you sat, what horrors would you witness? What would he make you do? How angry was he?

“Sit.”

“No,” Kylo ordered. “Ru—”

Snoke silenced him with a blow.

Kylo’s head jerked back, blood arcing from his face.

You gasped, already on your knees.

“I said,” Snoke repeated. “Sit.”

You were in the chair before you made the decision to stand. Your brain filled in the gaps: you stood, took the necessary steps to come around the chair, and sat.

“Stay. Be quiet.”

You glanced at Kylo. Blood bisected his cheek and tracked to his forehead. You waited for the cut to heal, but it didn’t. It just bled.

That didn’t make sense.

“Kylo Ren, I’ll give you a choice — like I do in all things,” Snoke said lightly, as if he hadn’t just wounded his progeny. “You can erase your presence from her mind, you can kill her, or you can turn her.”

“No, Master, don’t—”

“You’ve forced my hand in this matter. She knows too much.”

Kylo was quiet for a moment, then:

“If I take her memory, you’ll leave her in peace.”

“Her, yes.”

You mentally screamed for him to refuse. Snoke agreed to you being left alone, but not Kylo. You couldn’t allow Snoke to take him from you.

You willed through Snoke’s hold to say, “Turn me, Kylo, change me. Just don’t go, don’t let him—”

Snoke said, “You belong to him. It’s not your decision.”

The hell it wasn’t.

You wanted to race for the street, get away from them both, yet your feet wouldn’t obey. You gripped the seat of your chair hard enough your fingers went numb.

To Kylo, he said, “Do it.”

You shook your head as Kylo shuffled closer.

Please don’t do this. Please snap out of it. Please, please, please…

A single metallic pop rang through the storeroom. Kylo cried out, gripping his shoulder, and toppled against the table. Another pop. Snoke’s expression went from smug to shocked. Blood burst from his chest.

Snoke’s hold disappeared.

Kylo yelled, “Go! Run!”

You threw yourself out of the chair and sprinted through the store. Broken bodies, warped metal shelves, and shards of glass littered the floor. You sidestepped and leapt over each obstacle, not allowing your gaze to linger on any of it.

“Kylo!” Snoke bellowed and continued in a language you didn’t understand.

You couldn’t leave Kylo back there, though, bleeding and at the mercy of his maker.

Kylo yelled for you to go again.

You ran out of the convenience store and never looked back.

And you never stopped running.

Because nowhere was safe — not with Snoke out there and Kylo potentially under his control.

Kylo now sucked harshly at your neck, claiming you. Your thighs trembled as a big hand snaked inside your underwear to caress your belly. You couldn’t help but arch into his touch.

“Spread those legs for me.” He gripped the curve of your belly, fingers teasing your pubic hair. “I’ll remind you of your place.”

He cupped your mound. Two fingers dipped into your slit. It was mortifying to feel yourself slick.

He chuckled low in his chest.

“You’re going to moan for me.”

You shook your head and hid your face. You didn’t want him to see how you bit your lip to stifle your voice.

He pushed two thick fingers inside your cunt, filling and stretching. You gasped. It had been too long. He murmured soothing words against your neck while he massaged you from the inside. His palm pressed against your clit.

You tried not to move, to quiver, to make a sound. You told yourself it shouldn’t feel so good. You should push him away and run.

His other hand slid up your torso to cup one of your breasts. This time, he was gentle. The fingers inside you pumped slowly while he massaged your breast and teased the nipple. You were caressed, from the full lips nuzzling at your neck to the patient hand between your legs.

Kylo knew your body too well, and you hadn’t experienced his touch in so long. It haunted your lonely hours. Your own touch hardly compared.

“You’ll whimper my name and ask for more.”

He scissored his fingers to stretch your needy cunt.

You nearly asked him for more right there, but he continued:

“And you’ll come on my cock when I give it to you, won’t you?”

You jerked in his hold. He answered by pushing forward to grind the mound of his erection against your ass. He dragged the tips of his fangs over your skin, nipped at the sore spot he’d already sucked there, before placing the softest kiss.

“Exactly like you always do, my sweet.”

He pulled his hand from between your legs.

You opened your mouth to protest. He moved quicker than any human to turn your head, fingers wet with your juices, and silenced you with a kiss. His tongue swiped across yours, warm and exhilarating. You returned the kiss and tunneled your fingers into his thick hair, brushing the subtle point of his ear. He plunged his hand into the front of your underwear again.

Unerringly, he found your clit and swirled hypnotic circles around it. Your pussy became wetter by the second, easing the glide of his fingers.

Against your parted lips, he said, “That’s how it’ll always be.”

But you weren’t Kylo’s blood-whore. Your kidnapper had been wrong. They all were wrong about you.

Kylo kissed you, claiming and deep and wrong and so filthy, you couldn’t mute a moan. He found a rhythm on your clit that made your cunt flutter and breath catch. You fisted his hair as you panted between sharp kisses.

You wanted to cover yourself and hide when his lips curled in a knowing grin.

You tore your mouth from his.

“Stop,” you said, though it didn’t sound convincing even to your own ears.

He ignored you, his clever fingers sending sparks of pleasure down your spine.

“I don’t… I can’t—” You clenched your jaw as your thighs quaked and muscles tensed. You were so close, orgasm building. “Kylo, I— I’m…”

He slipped his hand from your underwear, leaving you desperate for relief. Your cunt weakly pulsed as your orgasm died. You panted and let your forehead fall against the damp wall. Your combined shadows stained the concrete.

Kylo held your heaving ribs. He trailed delicate kisses along your nape. It was at once a connection and a reminder he could tear your spine out.

Wet fingers traced your bottom lip. You smelled the tang of your own arousal and clenched your teeth.

Kylo nosed at your ear to whisper, “I want to taste you on your tongue.”

You’d done that for him countless times. It drove him mad. He’d suck your flavor off your tongue while moaning and grinding his hips. He’d hold you tight while growling praises in your ear and working his big cock deep inside.

You shook your head and squeezed your eyes closed, despite knowing you’d ultimately lose this war. The only thing you could do was oppose his every pleasure in this last battle.

“Why are you still fighting me, sweetness?” he asked.

Your breath went uneven and your chest trembled.

You didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want to fight him—

But Snoke.

Snoke was out there. He’d force Kylo to ruin what you two had.

The thought made tears flood your eyes and stream down your cheeks. When you sobbed, Kylo pushed two fingers between your teeth and pried open your jaw. You didn’t have to see it to sense his heated gaze. Kylo always — always — watched you.

The taste of salt and blood and musk coated your mouth. You refused to participate, remaining still as his fingers explored your tongue. Every measured stroke of his fingers tantalized — and aroused — no matter how much you denied it.

He withdrew his fingers and asked, “Why are you fighting me?”

“Please, don’t…”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t take me back to Snoke.”

Kylo nuzzled your cheek and shushed you. He kissed away your tears as slick digits smeared against your lips.

Your breath shuddered around a powerful unease expanding in your gut. You’d been foolish to think you’d get away. This was only delaying the inevitable. Kylo was toying with you. No doubt he had every intention of dragging you in front of Snoke where they’d decide your fate.

You were Kylo’s, and Kylo was Snoke’s. It was in the blood. Not even bleeding yourself dry would grant you a reprieve. The connection you had with Kylo wouldn’t fade, even with death.

“I can’t take you back to Snoke.”

“What? He’ll hunt—”

“No, he won’t.”

You half-turned to look into Kylo’s dark eyes and found him undaunted.

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m Master now.”

His eyes flared red, brighter than before.

You shook your head. What had happened in the time you’d been gone? Why hadn’t he told you from the start? Why had he hurt everyone around you?

“His power resides in me alone,” Kylo said. “And now I’ve come to claim what’s mine.”

Not giving you time to form a question or voice it, he put his hand around your throat and crashed his lips against yours. Flesh ground against bone. His fingertips bruised. You were the meat to his butcher.

He groaned after a moment, as though relishing the near violence.

“Open.”

This time, you did.

He kissed you tenderly, sucking on your swollen bottom lip. His fangs grazed your skin. He flicked your tongue with his. You shivered at the silken touch of his preternatural tongue.

He made a satisfied sound deep in his chest at the taste of your arousal.

“Where is your place in this, sweetness?”

You blinked through the haze in your mind. You couldn’t form a reply.

“I…”

With a merciful shush, he turned you to face away. You placed your palms on the dirty wall. His hands caressed your sides until his thumbs hooked in the waistband of your underwear.

He couldn’t— Not here—

The haze fractured.

“No, Kylo, we can’t!”

He pressed you hard against the wall and put a hand across your mouth. Your underwear and jeans continued to slip down your hips.

“We can. I own the night and everything in it.”

Which included you.

Your lower body followed his as he straightened until your back was a perfect arch. The clammy air whispered between your legs, cooled your inner thighs. He kicked your feet farther apart.

Your eyes widen. He was going to take you like this, for anyone to see.

Your breath hitched at the press of his fingers at your soaked hole. He teased with swirling touches. You tried to keep your hips still, because moving was agreeing. It was acquiescing.

Kylo slid two fingers inside. Your cunt clenched around the intrusion. He purred and encouraged you to rest your head on his shoulder. He pushed deeper, slowly cycling his fingers. You rotated your knees inward, though you couldn’t fathom how your legs kept you upright.

His fingers retreated and pressed in, languid and thorough, as if trying to touch every part of your cunt. You turned your head to lean your forehead on his jaw.

He braced himself with a hand on the wall. You touched the back of his hand with shaking fingers. The fingers inside you sped.

You gasped, then bit the inside of your cheek.

“It’s been too long, hasn’t it?” he asked. “Your sweet little pussy isn’t used to this.”

You bit harder. You could only focus on his fingers fucking you open. He twisted his hand until his knuckles rubbed over your g-spot. You squirmed and swallowed a whimper.

“Let go, let me hear you. It’s just me and you here.”

“Ky-Kylo, please! Don’t— I can’t…”

“Yes, you can.”

A third finger eased inside to stretch you even more. Bolts of hot pleasure had you losing your breath. His fingers moved in measured thrusts, over and over. You clung to the wall as your knees almost buckled.

Then he pulled away. You twitched back to follow him or encourage him to continue. Full lips brushed your temple. His big hands took hold of your hips and raised you onto your toes.

“Just like that.”

Your heart leapt into your throat. He was going to take you here. If you tried to flee, he’d catch you within two strides.

Did you want to flee, though?

His touch left your body, giving you the opportunity. The metallic sound of his zipper opening held you in place. It had been too long. The weight of your connection to Kylo fixed you to the spot.

Heat smeared across your inner thigh. Knuckles brushed the underside of your ass. Then the thick tip of his cock parted your folds. You arched your back further, knowing what was coming.

Yet it didn’t come.

Kylo kept sliding his cock in your slit. He teased your stretched hole and the exposed bud of your clit. He did it until you rocked with him.

“Your place has always been in my bed.” He pressed his hard chest to your back. “Will always be. Beside me. With me.”

Your vision swam. The bricks blurred.

“Don’t ever forget it.”

A voluptuous pressure at your entrance made your eyes go wide. Hot tears spilled over your cheeks. You didn’t know how to respond, though you’d never forget his words.

Without warning, Kylo snapped his hips to impale you halfway down his cock. Beyond your control, a choked animal noise left your chest to resound through the empty alley. The bricks’ rough texture scraped your forearms and palms. Your body contracted around the heavy intrusion splitting you open.

Lips flitted along the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

“Just like this,” he murmured against your skin.

You groaned his name.

Kylo tensed and latched his hands to your hips and surged forward. He buried his cock completely in your pulsing cunt, pelvis tight to your ass.

You threw your head back with a piercing gasp.

He growled like the predator he was.

It was too much. It was like the first time with him. Every nodule on his cock woke nerves long asleep. You panted and shimmied and squirmed as your body acclimated. Each minute movement only added to your growing anticipation.

He gritted out, “Just like this — wrapped around my dick.”

He drew back. You protested with a small noise. He drove forward to start a brutal pace that had your vision narrowing and the edges darkening.

“Filled with my come.”

You trembled with every thrust. Your cunt got impossibly wetter with his words. He must’ve known, must’ve felt how they made you clench. Just like you knew your body — and heart — would accept him.

It had never hurt, and a part of you hated that. You hated how your body obeyed Kylo’s command. You hated how natural it was to kiss him, how easy your lips slotted with his. You hated how he fit so sublimely in you.

It was like you’d been made for him.

He angled his thrusts, somehow hitting even deeper, stroking every sensitive spot between your legs. The hands on your hips tightened as he pounded into you harder.

You moaned and pushed back. He hissed a “yes” and found that perfect rhythm. Your head spun. You clawed at the bricks while he continued an unrelenting assault.

You swallowed gasps and cut off another moan. One of his hands swooped to your jaw, tilting it up, stretching your neck.

“Don’t hide from me. Ever.”

Your breath caught.

“No, promise.”

His voice was black silk when he said, “Taking it so well. Such a good girl.”

You almost replied you wanted to be good for him. Only him.

He must’ve sensed it, because he stopped.

“No, don’t,” you said.

“Tell me. Tell me you feel it, too. Tell me.”

Tell me tell me tell me…

“I do! I feel it!” You shook your head as much as he’d let you. “Please, don’t— Please, I… I want to be good for you!”

Kylo groaned and tucked his face into your shoulder. His cock throbbed. He was going to bite you now. You knew it, could feel it.

His front teeth jabbed into your shoulder through your shirt. His fangs were so close. You hadn’t felt the sting and pull from his bite in so long.

You writhed in what you hated to admit was anticipation. At the same time, you mentally begged him to do it. Put you out of your misery. End the chase, the uncertainty, the killings. End you, if that was the culmination of this war.

He cursed and wrenched the collar of your shirt away. Stitches popped. Fangs pierced the juncture of your neck — a momentary pain. Hot suction followed, connecting your neck to your dripping, aching cunt. It gilded the coiling, molten pleasure building in your core.

He released your hip and plunged his hand between your legs. You bucked your lower body at the touch, torn between his hand and inhuman cock.

Then he began to thrust. He stroked your clit and sucked at your neck. You felt every mouthful of blood drawn from your veins, every slick-slide of his fingers on your clit, every harsh pump of his cock.

He worked your body, even as your muscles locked. You couldn’t move, couldn’t think. The tension and pressure built until you thought you’d explode with it.

But you didn’t.

You shook with each punishing thrust as he fucked you into a devastating orgasm. It burned through you like liquid fire. Wave after wave pulled you into its surge. Your mouth fell open with a silent scream. You couldn’t breathe. Heavy tears streamed down the outside of your face.

Kylo put a hand on your belly, smearing your come on your skin. His cock pistoned faster in your clenching cunt. He released your neck with a snarl. Warmth trickled over your collarbone.

“Kylo,” you mouthed.

He exhaled against your neck, breath tinged with iron.

“Plea—” Your voice broke. “Please, Kylo…”

“Please what?”

His soft tongue slithered over the tender puncture wounds.

Please, no more, you wanted to say. Please, don’t stop.

“Just… Please—”

Please take it all away.

He growled and snapped his hips forward. His pelvis slapped against your ass brutally — once, twice, three times. He buried his cock as deep as it would go before moaning. His cock pulsed. His come gushed, thick like honey, and filled you to overflowing. The warmth of it oozed down your thighs.

It was still for a brittle-edged moment.

Kylo placed his lips on your neck in a lewd mockery of a kiss. His breath puffed across your skin, as if his heart beat like a hammer. As if he had a heart.

You whispered, “Why do you keep hunting me?”

He wrapped his arms around your middle.

“Don’t you remember me saying I’d never let you go?”

Of course you did. However, people say that kind of thing in the throes of passion all the time. You assumed Kylo, despite being a vampire, was no different.

He said, “I call you my sweetness because you’re mine.”

His hands skimmed to your waist and steadied you as he eased his softening cock from your body. Your legs gave out, but he kept you from collapsing. You grabbed the bricks to catch yourself and leaned heavily on the wall, tilting out of Kylo’s hold.

Now that the sex was done, you yanked your underwear and jeans up over your hips. His syrupy come squished in your underwear and clung to the inside of your jeans. You cringed at the swampy feeling and the fact you’d let Kylo fuck you where anyone — everyone — could see.

The Knights of Ren couldn’t be far. They’d probably heard everything. Hell, they might’ve even watched.

You refastened your jeans and propped yourself against the wall in an attempt to muster a little dignity. It didn’t matter what stained your clothes now. They were already dirty with stress-sweat, come, and blood. Whatever garbage juice was splattered in the alley couldn’t make them grosser.

Kylo stood composed and less than a yard away, watching you. Always watching.

You resisted the urge to go to him and bask in his touch — the way he’d smooth your hair and cup your cheek. Like you were a beloved pet.

He’d made you his blood-whore.

The bite on your neck throbbed.

“I said I’m here to claim what’s mine. That still stands.”

You inhaled a stuttering breath and stared at his scuffed motorcycle boots.

“Snoke nearly took you from me,” he said. “You, who I want beside me every night.”

“But not forever.”

You were mortal. You would die. Time would end things, even if Snoke couldn’t anymore.

“Not forever if you keep running.”

You looked into his eyes that were the beautiful warm brown you adored. They went red. Your heart sped. They looked too much like Snoke’s.

“Stop running from me, sweetness.”

You blinked at the reverberating command. Your feet planted themselves to the concrete. You’d been running from Snoke, not Kylo. If Kylo told the truth, and Snoke really was dead, there was no point in running. You didn’t need to be apart from Kylo.

“You are everything good in my existence,” he said. “I refuse to be separated from you any longer.” He slashed at the air. “I won’t allow anyone to stand in my way.”

Not even you.

He’d made sure of that, too. Everyone you’d become friendly with in your mad dash from anyone vampiric had been killed. It’d been your fault. You’d acted like a spooked rabbit, running from burrow to burrow — and condemning every soul along the way.

He took a half-step closer.

“Am I not yours?”

“If you were mine, you’d know not to hurt people who’ve helped me.”

“Helped you?” He tilted his head with a huff. “Helped you? They allowed you to live in squalor.”

You let out a scornful laugh and crossed your arms over your chest.

Living in pre-furnished studio apartments or clean hostels wasn’t what you’d call squalor. It wasn’t a gothic castle overlooking a forested valley, either. Then again, no one you’d worked with lived in better conditions. Not even Vic, who only had a cozy one-bedroom.

Kylo held out a hand.

“Come with me. Let me give you what you deserve.”

You glanced at his broad palm and long, sturdy fingers. There was a time when those hands cradled you and loved you. There was a time when you didn’t know what they looked like covered in blood.

“I deserve peace,” you said.

“I can give you peace and safety. I’ll give you anything you want.”

You read between his lines. He’d give you anything as long as you stayed with him. If you explored the world on your own, you’d be exposed — as would he. You’d always be a weak point to exploit. You’d always be vulnerable. Snoke had figured that out.

You uncrossed your arms and looked into his eyes. Red encircled his irises, as though his vampire nature had been eclipsed.

“Give me your blood. Make me strong like you. Make me a vampire.”

He reared back as if you’d swiped at him. Astonishment painted his features.

“You want me to be your sire?”

“You want me beside you every night, don’t you?”

He breathed, “You love me.”

“Do you love me?”

He wet his bottom lip — such a human gesture — while his gaze darted to the side.

“I shouldn’t. It is a hindrance.” His dark eyes were like pools of deep water when they met yours. “You’ve seen what my kind do to each other.”

He indicated the scar going up his cheek. Snoke had missed ruining Kylo’s eye by millimeters.

You nodded and moved closer to touch the scar. It was a smooth, narrow groove in his blood-warmed flesh.

If Snoke had struck you like he’d stuck Kylo, it would’ve destroyed your jaw and cheekbone. You would’ve had implants and surgeries and weeks of speech therapy.

“I shouldn’t,” he repeated, and pressed your hand to his cheek.

“Neither should I.”

Not after all he’d done.

You’d hated him. You’d feared him. You thought about him every single day. You’d imagined different scenarios, from fighting him to falling at his feet to staking his heart.

He placed his other hand on your hip.

“No, you shouldn’t.”

You’d downplayed your feelings before Snoke had taken you. You’d told yourself you were satisfied with Kylo visiting a few nights every week. You had your freedom and privacy, a decent job and apartment, and a vampire lover. What more could you need?

Kylo lived in a different world, one he didn’t allow you to play tourist in. He’d said he wanted you to live a normal life. He wanted you happy and safe. At your insistence you were safe — and perfectly happy! — he exploded from the sofa where you two had been lounging. He’d flipped the coffee table and yelled you couldn’t possibly be either.

You’d ordered him out, telling him to leave and not come back until he wanted to behave. You hadn’t wanted to look at him right then. He’d rounded on you with a snarl, fangs flashing.

Then he’d been on you, kissing you, devouring you, tasting every inch of your body. He held you down and fucked you: on your knees, on your back, on the sofa, on the floor, on the upended coffee table, on your bed. You’d climaxed over and over again. He hadn’t stopped until dawn forced him to ground. You’d called in sick to work and sat in an epsom-salt bath for nearly an hour.

“I can’t leave this existence,” he now said. “I can’t leave you, either.”

“Then don’t.”

He shuffled you to the wall, his touch gentle. He always returned loving and tender, with sweet words and sweeter caresses.

“I’ll never let you go. I can’t.”

He grazed his fingertips across the clotting wound at your neck. You closed your eyes with a sigh. It should’ve stung, yet all you felt was him. He repositioned your hand from his cheek to his muscled shoulder. You slid your palm under the weight of his hair to hold his nape.

“Then don’t.”

You stared into his eyes, watching as red bloomed across his irises. It didn’t startle you any longer. The white of his delicate-tipped fangs gleamed. You drew him towards the wound and tilted your head back.

He made a desperate, hungry sound and wrapped you in his arms, supporting your head. You relaxed into his hold. Your breath shallowed.

This was the end. The end of running, of being scared, of the war you never wanted in the first place.

A faint star glimmered overhead — the lone witness to the ceasefire.

Kylo struck. He bit deeper than he ever had before. You gasped and clung to him as he drank the first mouthful. Your blood gushed with every beat of your heart.

Your feet left the ground. The night spun in a cacophony of dingy brick, velvet sky, and sodium lights. It spun and spun into a soft blur where nothing touched you and you touched nothing. Not even Kylo.

Liquid metal poured into your mouth, raging and carnal and animalistic. You swallowed. It was like swallowing a hot sea, like drowning. There was so much, too much. Energy filled you and flowed through you until you crashed against Kylo.

You opened your eyes and saw him as though it was the first time. You cradled his stunning face in your hands, his skin so new and electric. His eyes held all the warmth in the universe — its heat death quite improbable while he existed.

“I’m never letting you go,” you said, and kissed him.

[megalomaniacz]

…ELECTRIC LADY 📺💋🚬

pairing: 70s!ellie x reader

synopsis: the devil’s back in town and there’s no angel to save you.

author’s note: the lack of these ellie fics was baffling. LIKE THE MULLET IS RIGHT THERE! ib the lovely @ellabsweet

part one. > part two.

⋆˚✿˖°

“why’s she keep showing up?”

“well if you give a dog a bone.”

“oh fuck off i ain’t give her nothing but a good time. she’s the one asking me to leave with her to a different state.”

“road trip? maybe that’ll do you good.”

“you need to get fucked every which way and loose. you’re too uptight, doll.”

was why your feet were currently dangling outside the window of the ever charming girl’s 72 grey oldsmobile, cross hanging just above the dashboard. you bop your body a bit before reaching down to grab a tape she’d left on the passenger seat floor.

“aww man, jimi hendrix.” she nods, tapping her finger on the steering wheel. she’s leant back in the drivers seat, eyes cross with the road. cigarette tucked behind her right ear.

“you know, i don’t know you that well anymore. the city’s changed you.” you open her glove box to find a bottle of brown liquor and a light. “and yet you still agreed to come with me.”

“against my will.” you roll your eyes. it’d been three hours into the trip and you were feigning boredom. all the flavor had gone from your gum, and you weren’t in the mood for a book.

ellie was a country city country girl, cause it all happened in that exact order. a couple years ago she moved to where the buildings were brighter and the possibilities were endless. you’d actually been talking about her the day she came back.

“that’s ellie.” you point to the picture of the smiling girl pinned to the diner wall. “she’s a big star now, too good for us.” you explained to eilaine. she’d just moved into town and you two quickly bonded over music, makeup, and dancing. throw a little gossip in the mix while you’re at it.

you nearly chuck up your milkshake when the chime rings and the aforementioned movie star walks in. hands in her pockets and a smile on her face. she’d cut her hair into a mullet and was dressed like something you’d only seen in a magazine.

“speak of the devil.” you get up to give her a hug.

“and he shall appear.” she hugs back. “hi darling, i’ve missed you.”

a bit of light conversation over some drinks, nuts, and a game of pool that you lost had led you to be huddled up in the hot car with her. how the hell did she convince you to join her in that big city of hers? well it wasn’t all her, your roommates were dying to get you out of there.

“it’s only for a month? let her take you for longer!” dina says mid makeup. she hadn’t even evened out her eyeliner before she started sending you off. and abby was no help. “i can’t protest. i think it’d be good for you, we’ll have that sweet new girl cover your shifts.”

“did you guys plan this behind my back or something?” your eyes follow abby’s body swiftly moving to the closet to pull out a suitcase. “if we did you’d be gone already, now start packing.”

[thebus1boys]

Even though I read plenty of fics and have been doing so since I first started in 2021, this is the first time I actually noted down the names of the fics as I read them this month. I’m so thankful to our fandom’s wonderful writers for sharing these with us and it is because I read so many that I wanted to start noting them down so I can remember them. I was debating posting the list but fics have always been a source of comfort for me and if you feel the same, maybe these can bring you some comfort too.

🎃 The Serpent and the Lion by louiseparker @louiseparker [212k]

Seventh year Hogwarts AU in which Harry Styles is an asshole Gryffindor jock with daddy issues, Louis is just trying to get through the year, and Liam, Zayn, and Niall rarely ever know what the hell is going on.

🎃 Tainted Saints And Velvet Vices by Toomanytears @toomanydreamers [126k]

A self-fulfilling Hogwarts AU in which Louis is new to seventh year and Harry is the resident devil-may-care Slytherin set to make his entire experience a living misery. Due to less than favourable circumstances they're forced to forge an unwilling, tentative relationship for their own survival. Repressed emotions, decidedly unromantic ballroom dancing, Triwizard Tournament tasks, creative jinxes and twilight flying above the Forbidden Forest ensue.

🎃 You Drive Me Round The Bend by TheCellarDoor [77k]

In which Louis is a spoilt rich kid who’s always on the phone while he drives and Harry is a struggling musician making his way down the mountain. It’s just a matter of time before they crash and burn.

🎃 but me, i'm not a gamble by orphan_account [33k]

A Posh & Becks AU in which Harry is a star on the stage and Louis is a star on the pitch, but they're both inexplicably terrible at articulating their feelings. In the end, it only takes a season's worth of failed matchmaking schemes, platonic dinner dates, road trip holidays, and one very convenient David Beckham cameo for them to figure it all out. And if Niall knew all along? Well, he at least has the decency not to be too smug about it.

🎃 The Lone Hydrangea by sarah_writes @lightwoodsmagic [77k]

The post Hogwarts AU where Harry's a florist, Louis' a muggle who edits fantasy books, and they both have no say in how quickly they fall for each other.

🎃 The Sunshine Stays by quickedween @becomeawendybird [15k]

It's three years after One Direction got back together, and Harry and Louis have just come off a world tour. They're enjoying a much more relaxed schedule the second time around, allowing themselves to bask in married life. Until, one day, Louis surprises Harry on vacation, and there are some surprising consequences.

🎃 House Of The Rising Sun by @itsmotivatingcara [100k]

Witch Harry/Vampire Louis. The Originals AU.

🎃 Something Like This by multicoloredme [150k]

After leaving his boyfriend, Louis is a little sore emotionally and is ready for a fresh start in a new city. When a coworker tells him about a couple friends looking for a new flatmate, he decides to go for it. Little does he know, that one of his new flatmates is the gorgeous, captivating guy he met at a party a few weeks ago. A New Girl/Grey’s Anatomy/Relief Next To Me inspired AU.

🎃 Say That You Can See Me (I'll Speak Up I Swear) by @coffeelouis [20k]

The liberal arts COLLEGE AU where Harry knows Louis as the best friend of the boy he has been hopelessly in love with for years now and Louis knows Harry as the boy he wished would look away from Zayn long enough to notice him.

🎃 Don't You Think It's Boring How People Talk? by wildestdreams @thelavendrhaze [80k]

A Gossip Girl AU where Louis is the king of the Upper East Side and Harry is the bad boy he loves to hate until a late-night limo ride changes everything.

🎃 Magical Soup by gloria_andrews @gloriaandrews [28k]

Slytherin prefect Louis Tomlinson's seventh year at Hogwarts takes an immediate turn for the worse when he's made to be potions partners with Harry Styles, Hufflepuff's resident heartthrob and class clown. Louis has always considered Styles to be a terrible show-off who coasts by on his charm and good looks, but the more they work together, the more he questions that idea. As term goes on, will Louis be able to admit to himself that he might actually like Harry Styles after all... and maybe, just maybe, as more than a friend?

🎃 King Of My Heart by wildestdreams @thelavendrhaze [80k]

A Red, White, and Royal Blue AU where Hollywood elite, Louis Tomlinson, finds himself falling for the closeted Prince of England.

🎃 And What If I Were You by @jacaranda-bloom [100k]

For Louis, will losing his sight give him the clarity to realise what is right in front of him?

For Harry, will losing the love of his life give him the strength to finally open his heart?

And can they find their way back, before they lose each other forever? A story of love. A story of loss. A story of fighting for each other, no matter the odds.

🎃 Tell me when you're ready (I'm waitin') by insufferablelovebirds [17k]

When Harry's love letters to his old crushes get sent accidentally, one recipient, Louis, offers to help him fake a relationship but it gets complicated when feelings get involved.

Or an au loosely based off to all the boys I've loved before.

Total Fics Read: 14

[thebiggerbear]

Dean Winchester Fic Recs List - Page 2

Rec List under Read More:

Unopened At Your Feet by @thoughtslikeaminefield - This is the story of how I broke my own heart.

Lifting the Veil by @thoughtslikeaminefield - You’ve been missing something of paramount importance - until now. (Winchester Character x Reader)

The Demon and Me by @winchesterwild78 (Demon!Dean x Reader)

The Honorable Choice by @zepskies - June 1872. Captain Dean Winchester of the U.S. Cavalry is tasked with one job: break a wild mustang. He just didn’t expect the woman who infiltrates his camp, intent on freeing her tribe’s horse. (Dean x Female!OC)

Outlander by @zepskies - Dean Winchester has been stripped of his military rank, but he’s living happier with his new wife, trying to adjust to a new life in her tribe. What will it take for her people to accept him, especially when the battle for her heart might not be completely won? (Dean x Female!OC, sequel to The Honorable Choice)

Rightfully deceived by @jessjad - When a marriage promise forces Y/N to step up for her younger sister, she gets something she always wanted. But when the truth comes out, her new husband Dean is not so happy about the mix-up. Will she loose it all? Or will she be surprised in the end?

It's Halloween by @winchestergirl2 - Charlie and Y/N try to convince Sam, Dean, and Cas to go to a Halloween party.

Heaven by @winchesterwild78 - Dean has died and he meets you, his wife on the bridge. When Sammy comes, you give them their time.

Sneaking Away by @caplanbuckybarnes - Dean catches you just before you leave the bunker for good.

Between The City & The Stars by @zepskies - In the fall of 1945, Dean is having a difficult time assimilating back into civilian life after the War. He’s visiting his brother Sam in New York City, where he’s beginning to build up his law firm. At two minutes to closing time, you interrupt their evening to solicit a solicitor. Your request? You need help in order to divorce your husband.

The Stars Told Me About You by @stargazedwinchester - Dean confesses his feelings for you.

What If? by @jessjad - Dean and Y/N are living the life they always wanted. They love eachother very much and want to start a family. Everything fits just perfectly. What could go wrong?

Snow Globe by @jessjad - A visit from Dean and Sam in the week around christmas is a nice surprise, but will it bring more than just presents?

In Another Life by @lamentationsofalonelypotato - When Dean wakes up in another life with you, he begins to question your friendship and realizes that he has loved you all along. But how can he change that?

Cute and Fluffy by @luci-in-trenchcoats - The reader drops off a new patient for Dr. Winchester…

safe in your arms by @cherrygirlfriend - reader wakes up from a nightmare and dean comforts her

Tennessee Whiskey & Strawberry Wine by @chevroletdean - It’s been months since you broke up with Dean and he’s never been able to fully move on. It’s when you run into him again that you realize… maybe, just maybe, neither have you.

Come Inside by @luci-in-trenchcoats - Dean’s in a mood…

All I Want by @katehuntington - Sam and Dean come across an object that could be the solution to Michael. The Pearl of Baozhu grants the beholder’s deepest desire. Once Dean focuses on his wish, the archangel remains caged in his mind however. Instead his former girlfriend Y/N shows up, who was killed in 2010 in Detroit, by no other than the Devil himself.

Unresolved by @nightxcreature - Reader finds Demon Dean on a hunt, but maybe she shouldn’t have.

Rising Up by @waynes-multiverse - On a hunt, Dean’s girlfriend gets him into trouble in an underground fight club.

‘Twas the Night… by @zepskies - Dean listens, sometimes when you least expect it. This year, Christmas begins to become something new for both of you.

I’m Not Sick by @lost-between-letters - someone’s got the flu and is not happy about it (hint: it’s Dean). Naturally, Y/N has to convince him to take care of himself.

Baby Spoon by @deanwanddamons - A Dean x reader mini series. Y/N is pregnant and Dean is the father.

Roadhouse Rendezvous by @nightxcreature - Reader and Dean have a little fun in the Roadhouse Bathroom.

Headcanon: Gettin’ Down and Dirty with Dean by @waynes-multiverse - Request: I was hoping you could write some smutty head canons about dean

Willing To Break by @godmadeaterribleerror - With the Mark of Cain getting out of hand, you and Sam convince Dean to try something different. A spell that won’t fix the Mark, but will change it. Make Dean crave good things, things he likes, instead of death and blood. It doesn’t exactly go according to plan.

Can’t Be You by @caplanbuckybarnes - you discover Dean isn’t human any longer. (Demon!Dean)

need by @scoopsahoy

Forgive Me Father by @smol-and-grumpy - There are a lot of sins to be committed and you try to make it right by confessing but never had you thought that being bad felt so good. (Demon!Dean) [AO3]

Punisher by @inknopewetrust - 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝, 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝

Snowglobe by @kazsrm67 - You find a beautiful snowglobe at a thrift shop after a hunt with your husband and brother-in-law. Once you take it home things around the bunker change drastically.

Untitled Prompt by @supernaturalfreewill

daemonium armor by @justwhisperingfantasies

slowly kissing down the body by @chevroletdean

The Great Invasion by @pamwritessometimes - In a world turned upside down, where monsters are the ones who hunt and hunters are the prey, Y/N must choose: follow the new rules to stay alive or join a rogue band of hunters determined to reclaim power and change the game for good.

Dancing Doll by @flamencodiva - Dancing Flamenco has always been a part of Y/N. But she never thought it would put her in the crosshairs of someone dangerous. How did her life end up with twists and turns? And can a green-eyed mechanic really help her? Or will she just put him in harm’s way?

Because of You by @spn-bee - Dean Winchester, a 30-year-old hunter, rolled in to a college town to unwind. Reima M. Park-Gibbs, a 22-year-old college student was the lucky or unlucky encounter. They both got what they wanted, along with unexpected consequences. Dean will now have to protect her and his unborn child while convincing her she belongs to and with him.

Mechanic and Mistletoe by @deanwanddamons - Y/N, an ER nurse is driving home to her Mom on Christmas Eve. Her car breaks down on the side of the road. She calls Winchester Singer Autos and Bobby sends Dean to help her. Will she make it to her Mom in time for Christmas? And will she get back home in time for her shift on Boxing Day?

Prompt 6 by @sweetcocopowder - You finally bring yourself to summon a crossroads demon to strike a deal. But you quickly find out that this crossroads demon does things a lil differently to seal a deal. (Crossroads Demon!Dean x Male!Reader)

Be My Baby by @foxyjwls007 - Prompt Song: Be My Baby

Round and Round We Rendezvous by @talltalesandbedtimestories - You’re on a Girls Trip to Vegas and meet a certain hunter at the buffet.

How To Train Your Demon by @thesilmarillionblog - Dean is consumed by darkness, and your body is consumed by his. He wants you to realize that his new self is superior and demands that you enjoy his demon form. (Demon!Dean)

Hello Nurse by @kittenofdoomage - Someone’s gotta go undercover as a nurse, and for once, it’s not the reader drawing the short straw

Hey Buddy by @luci-in-trenchcoats - Request: Dean x reader, where reader ran off not knowing she was pregnant, and Sam brings her back with their 2 year old. Dean should be mad, but really he’s just glad she’s back

Let It Snow by @wayward-dreamer - As snow begins to fall, Dean and Y/N some much needed cuddling time in the perfect ambience they’ve created for themselves.

Hurt So Good by @nightxcreature - After the reader makes a comment about missing Dean’s leather jacket and the old days, he takes matters into his own hands and takes her on the hunt of her life.

Fated by @nightxcreature - reader is struggling with a decision about her life and who is in control of it.

Ambitious by @chevroletdean

Lighthouse by @nescaveckwriter - Line: Tree, Clock, Rope

Midnight Espresso by @zepskies - You’ve never taken Dean’s flirting seriously…until he asks you for an impromptu Spanish lesson. (Dean Winchester x Plus Size Latina!Reader)

Before You Go by @lamentationsofalonelypotato - You thought you had it all figured out, but when a certain green-eyed stranger keeps showing up in your life and turns it upside down you wonder if it’s best to push him away or if you should let him in. Reader is a grad student in medical school that doesn’t know anything about the supernatural world. This is just a collection of one-shots that all take place in the same world.

Looking for other Dean pairings? Or more pairings and/or characters from the show? You can find them here!

Page 1

*I will add more as I go

dividers by @firefly-graphics

[porcelainseashore]

Coffee & Secrets (6)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Rookie Cop! Leon x Barista! Fem! Reader

Summary: As a cozy coffee shop owner in Raccoon City, you’re no stranger to visitors seeking comfort, quiet, and warmth. When a rookie officer named Leon finds a kindred spirit in you, it sets in motion a chain of events that forever changes the course of your lives. An alternate universe set in Resident Evil 2 Remake and inspired by the game Coffee Talk.

Content & Warnings: Canon divergence, coffee shops, romance, slow burn, strangers to lovers, idiots in love, fluff, slice of life, swearing

Author's Note: We’re nearing the end of this series! Thank you to everyone on here for your support, especially in the comments and reblogs. This will probably be my last Leon fic for a while. Sometimes it felt like I was writing into the void and it was a little disheartening, but I started to realise that I need a change of scenery and explore writing through other fandoms.

AO3 Link

Chapter 6: Full Circle

“Am I looking at the new Chief of Police?” 

You cracked a grin as Marvin graced your shop clad in his shiny new outfit and badge that made him look almost regal. Gold stripes and stars lined the cuffs and epaulets of his navy blue jacket. He removed his elegantly embroidered peaked cap, tucking it under his arm as he rubbed his buzz cut. And there he was again, the same old Marvin that you knew.

“You sure are.” He winked, reflecting your grin before a minor shadow loomed over his face. “Can’t say the circumstances I got promoted in were the most pleasant though.”

Laying your hand on his shoulder, you gave it a firm, supportive squeeze. “Everyone knows you deserve this, Marv. You’ll do great.”

“Aww, look what you’ve done! Making me cry all over my nice suit like that,” he emitted a low chuckle, his voice cracking up as he patted your hand. Wiping away a stray tear from his waterline, he cleared his throat and pulled up a chair at the counter.

“So, what can I get for the man of the hour?”

“You know me, I��m a creature of habit,” he affirmed.

You caught the drift, your hands already busying themselves as if they had a mind of their own. “Something gingery.”

The kettle whistled as steam rushed through its spout. Taking it off the stove, you poured it over a mixture of the fresh ginger and turmeric root you had diced up. You allowed it to steep for a while before adding in the jasmine tea leaves. Finally, you strained it into a tea cup garnished with the flower petals.

“Your celebratory drink—Golden Dawn.”

“I can already tell I’m gonna love it.” Marvin lifted the cup to his lips, blowing on it lightly before drinking it sip by sip. 

“Nice music too,” he added, bobbing his head along to one of the tunes on the stereo. “This what you kids listen to these days?”

Over the next hour, you engaged in lighthearted chatter until it came to the never ending squabble of who would pay—or not. As always, you won, telling the older man to accept the gift and enjoy some quality time with his wife and daughters.

As Marvin prepared to leave, Ben and Claire coincidentally came through the door. All three of them stopped dead in their tracks, tensing up as they eyed each other awkwardly. 

It was Ben who broke the silence, extending his hand as he said, “Congratulations, Branagh. I mean it.” 

And he truly did. There was not a note of insincerity in the man’s tone.

At this, Marvin smiled, giving Ben a cordial handshake. “Thanks, Bertolucci. Guess I’ll be seeing you around, though hopefully not on my case,” he joked. 

That elicited a roar of laughter from Ben. “I go where the story leads me, Chief.”

“You really are the devil in disguise,” Marvin noted wryly. “Well, I’mma head off, so have a good evening.”

“Bertolucci. Redfield,” he acknowledged, tipping his cap to the two before giving you a final wave as he exited the shop.

“Drinks on me,” Ben declared, smacking the counter table with his palm.

You raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t a bar have been a better choice?”

“Yeah, we’re headed there after,” he confirmed. “Just had to patronize the place that fueled all my sleepless nights first.”

“I read the article by the way,” you mentioned in passing as you got to work. “It was very well-written and fair.”

“Facts, you can’t go wrong with facts,” he clarified. “I don’t sensationalize.”

“You could’ve been scathing, but you didn’t. That’s an active choice,” you pointed out.

The article had identified several instances of corruption and gross misconduct that the previous chief had been involved in, but in a relatively neutral tone. It also ended on a more positive and optimistic note, creating hope for the future of the RPD.

“Heh, well,” he shrugged, pressing against the bridge of his spectacles as he gave you a coy smile. “Maybe I am getting soft.”

Turning to Claire, he noted, “You’re quiet today, Red. You should be celebrating, kid.”

“Mmm,” she responded with mild disinterest, though you could see her glancing at the shop’s entrance every now and then.

“I didn’t have shot glasses, so I used your favorite—espresso cups,” you teased, placing the two orders on the table. “These should make good pre-drinks.”

“What’s in it?” Ben asked skeptically, unused to anything other than his trusty coffee.

“Let’s just say a combination of lemon, olive oil and cinnamon. I added some other flavorings to make it more palatable,” you explained. “Prevents hangovers.”

Swirling the liquid, he pinched his lips together and remarked, “Guess it wouldn’t hurt. Bet it’s got one of those hippy names too?”

“Grandma’s Cure.”

“Hah! That’s a good one!” he exclaimed, taking a swig from his demitasse.

There was a short pause before he gave his verdict, “Hmm! Not bad… not bad at all.”

However, Claire still left hers untouched and her mind appeared to be elsewhere.

“Hey, you okay?” you asked out of concern.

Claire shook herself out of her thoughts, stumbling over her words, “Y-yeah, shit, I’m sorry.”

Consuming the drink as quickly as possible, she thumped the cup back onto the counter, cleaning her mouth with the back of her hand. Fortuitously, your next customer who came through the door appeared to be the one she was looking for.

“Leon?”

The young officer froze, swallowing nervously as he stared at her. “Claire.”

You and Ben exchanged looks as you tilted your head in the direction of the exit, indicating to him to give them some space. He nodded discreetly in response, understanding what you were getting at.

Immediately, he stood up with a grunt and clapped Claire on the back. “Alright, Red, I’ll make a headstart first and you can join me at Jack’s Bar when you’re ready.”

With that, he placed some cash on the table, casually saluting you before making his way out.

Claire wasted no time getting to the crux of the matter. “That anonymous tip—it was you, wasn’t it?”

Slumping down on the seat beside her, Leon conceded, “Yeah, you got me.”

“I shouldn’t have pressured you into it, I’m sorry,” she blurted out.

“No, you wanted to do the right thing,” he sympathized. “I was so caught up in an ideal that never existed, I forgot about that.”

“It was decent of you to get Bertolucci to hold off on publishing the article until Irons stepped down,” he continued. “At least it was less of a blow to the department as a whole.”

“Still, the way I treated you was uncalled for,” she argued. “You’re a good friend, Leon, I…” her voice cracked.

“Sometimes, people say things because they’re hurt,” he mentioned, giving you a knowing look. 

You smiled back, acknowledging the very same advice you had given him when you first met.

“Pals?” He stuck out his palm.

“What are you, twelve?” she scoffed. Breaking into a dazzling grin, she grasped his hand as though they were sealing a pact. “Pals.”

“Care for another?” you offered, presenting the drinks you had crafted up on the side.

Claire’s eyes twinkled. “Don’t mind if we do.”

Sherry arrived soon after, instantly taking to the redhead like an older sister. Eventually, Claire went off to join Ben, promising to return for a proper goodbye before leaving to finish her semester.

“How was school?” you asked, scooping yet another dollop of whipped cream into Sherry’s drink upon her instructions. She could be quite assertive when she wanted to be.

“Good…” she hummed. “Made a friend.”

“That’s awesome!” Leon commended.

“Oh, and no one dares to touch me, ’cause I told them you’ll kick their ass,” she added.

“Wait, what?” he guffawed, but she suddenly had the urge to use the bathroom and scurried off.

“Impossible,” he huffed as you snickered.

Leaning on your elbows over the counter, you addressed him, “Not that I don’t ask you this every day, but anything new with you?”

“Well, apart from the stuff with Claire and the RPD, it turned out that the background checks on the suspicious lady in red came up clean,” he reported.

“Wow, Kevin must be pissed.”

“You don’t say. Wesker kinda just lets her through too. The whole thing just screams trouble to me,” he admitted. “Guess you win some, you lose some.”

“Anyway, speaking of Kevin, he told me to pass you this.” Chucking a folded letter on the table, his icy blue eyes watched you like a hawk as an unreadable expression formed on his face.

“Huh, looks like everyone’s doing the rounds today,” you muttered, opening the paper to read its contents.

A telephone number was written down in bold black marker, followed by a “CALL ME ;)”

Your shoulders trembled as you burst out laughing, shaking your head in disbelief. That guy had some nerve for pulling off such a stunt, unless…

“You gonna?” Leon quizzed, and you swore you could sense a hint of jealousy in his voice.

“Whaddya think?” you smirked, closing the gap as your nose nudged against his.

His eyes fluttered, and he sucked in a sharp breath. You felt his lips barely graze yours until—

“So… are you, like, boyfriend and girlfriend?”

All at once, you were back at square one, Leon having hastily distanced himself away from you as Sherry stared at the two of you inquisitively.

“Yes—no. I mean, no?” Leon stuttered, his cheeks burning crimson as he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

You let out a frustrated sigh, deciding to leave them to their devices for the moment while you counted stock in the cabinets. At some point, Sherry wanted to go home and Leon took it upon himself to drive her back.

As you said your good nights, to your surprise, Leon wrapped his arms around your waist, dragging you in for a spontaneous embrace. “We’ll talk about this soon—about us,” he whispered into your hair.

Soon could not come soon enough.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[hwaightme]

Bang bang

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

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

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

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

Bang bang… he shot me down…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A request or an order?” 

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

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

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

“Kindly, follow me, Miss.”

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

“Mister Park Seonghwa’s man.”

“Ooh, his man…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sannie?”

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

“Interesting word choice…”

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

“No comment.” 

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

“Of course.”

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

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

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

“Ah how I missed you saying my name.”

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

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

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

“With a gun?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I still don’t-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who said that?” confused, Seonghwa inquired.

“I just know it.”

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

“My e-”

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

“Like how you used me…”

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

“Corrupted me…”

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

“Then betrayed me…”

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

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

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

“Don’t touch me.”

“I only want to-”

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

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

“N-no. I. I need to go.”

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

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

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

“Yes, sir?”

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

“The one in the green hoodie?”

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

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

“Understood. What should I lay over?”

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

Bang bang, I hit the ground…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, ‘s you! Mar-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Look at me, darling. Look at me.”

“But I, but he-”

“I said. Look at me.”

“But you kill-”

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

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

“Shame?”

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

“N-no… but-”

“Did he scare you?”

“Y-yes… a lot.”

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

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

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

“Darling?”

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

“You are home.”

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

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

“No… no… I don’t want to be a-”

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

“A criminal.”

“The fuck?” 

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

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

“But I made you…”

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

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

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

“You know what. You are right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bang bang, that awful sound…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did I say you could pull away?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think you are batshit by default.”

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

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

“Be a good girl and you’ll come.”

“Big deal.”

“Says the whore who was grinding against me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You rude, unbearable menace.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My- darling-”

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

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

“Open.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

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

“What are you getting at?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.” breathless, he whispered.

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

“Yes.”

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

“Yes.”

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

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

Bang bang, my baby shot me down.

[drarryspecificrecs]

2023.10 ~ Top 5 longest fics posted on AO3

1. Teddy by failsfordails [E, 159k]

►And without so much as a glance back, Potter's mop of disorganized black hair vanishes among the throngs pouring into the lifts. Draco rakes his nails over his skull, vibrating with a barely-suppressed wrath, broiled passion making him feel weak in his own skin. If Potter is going to be like that... This is going to be a lot harder than he thought.

2. When You Look At Me Like That, My Darling, What Did You Expect? by i_dont_read [E, 115k]

►After his partner dies in the field in a tragic accident, Auror Harry Potter is in over his head and desperately wishing for an escape. The last thing he expects, however, is for that escape to come in the form of Draco Malfoy. [...] Harry agrees to take the position only after learning that the Ministry revoked Malfoy’s wand and relocated him to a muggle city in New York, far from the crowds and press of the wizarding world. All of Harry’s expectations go out the window the moment he lays eyes on the now grown up—and infuriatingly attractive—Draco Malfoy. Everything Harry thought he once knew about him is turned upside down, and his life along with it.

3. Yes, Boss by lord_oberon2 [E, 105k]

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4. Little Stars in Azkaban by Umeko [E, 92k]

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5. Apples and Oranges by @poljupci [T, 76k]

►Harry and Draco play gay chicken as they recreate ten dates Draco wrote in his romance novel. Harry tries to prove that ten dates is not enough to fall in love, while Draco tries to hide that he's already in love after the first.

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※ Word count: 1k ~ 10k

※ Word count: 10k ~ 40k

Boxers, Quidditch, and Wolfsbane by fairy_rain_and_forests [G, 10k]

The Devil and The Bone Grinder by @mono-chromia [E, 13k]

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—

Ongoing Fest/Exchange

※ Fics would be listed elsewhere.

Bite Me Delight Me 2023 | @bite-me-delight-me-hp-fest

Discord Cultober Fics

Harry/Draco Career Fair 2023 | @hd-fan-fair

HD Sudsfest Lite 2023 | @hdsudsfest

HP Dead Dove Fest 2023 | @hpdeaddove

HP Drizzle Fest 2023 | @hpdrizzle

HP Kinktober 2023 | @hpkinktober

HP Soulmates Fest 2023 | @hp-soulmates

Pumpkin Spice Fic Fest 2023 | @pumpkinspiceficfest

Unleashed! Fest 2023 | @unleashed-fest

[salmonight]

Free Title Ideas Pt. 1

I am always looking for new title ideas trying to find the perfect match for my meager amount of fics actually published ( I got a ton of wips mind you) so I have this little file full with title ideas I got from here and there and I thought I share them! Feel free to use them and all! I only actually used a few of them myself so theyre up for the take! Enjoy!

( I suck at categorizing mind u so take it however u want)

Low Mood:

Paint Splattered Teardrops

A Mournful Radio Song

The Quite Ivories

20 Minute Too Long… Too Late-

No Third Round Up

My Heart's An Artifice, A Decoy Soul

If These Walls Could Talk

Like Drying Paint on the Walls

Withering Memories

Bury Our Secrets Shallow

Isn't It Tragic How Far You Came?

The Best of the Worsts

Your Wings Are Failing, Icarus

Let Your Wings Carry You Away From Here

Cry For Reflection

The Scream of Winter

Much Madness in Divinest Sense

Family Doesn't End in Blood

In This Castle Of Glass

All the Same (Once a Liar, Always a Liar)

Crack:

Law is Where You Buy It

Miles from Normal

Stop Screaming - It's Me

Between Two Liars…

Lost My Soul and All I Got Was this T-Shirt

Dude, Where's My Soul?

When Life Hands You Demons Make Demonade

Demon-Blend Straigh From Hell

Nothing to See Here Officer, Just a Bunch of Blobs

Hey Kid, Wanna Buy a Blob Ghost?

Gingers Have No Souls

This Little Blob of Mine

Feral Goose Hunting: A Beginner's Guide (Just Don't)

10 Ways to Connect with Your Feral Goose by Robin

A Guide on Ruining Your Life

It IS and Idea (Just NOT the Brightest)

I Am totally NOT the One to Blame for THIS

Dead Men Won't Shut Up

Encryptid

Cryptid Crash Course

Shakespeare Has Nothing on Me!

[insert name]'s Observation Diary of the Weirdest Boss(es)

The Devil’s Eyes and His Voice of Reason

Romance:

Makeshift Chemistry

Stargazing, Coffee and the Mystery of You..

Play Love Like Killers (We All Fall)

Good Vibes:

Sunshine Riptide

Come on Baby, the Laugh Is on Me

Fair With Some Rain

Star Light, Star Bright, First Arrow I See Tonight

Bitter (?):

Ah, Lay Waste to it, then Laugh at it

Believe, We Were Never Gonna Lose Control

Die, but too Blind to See

Too Latte for Smiling (yes thats a pun there no miss typing)

And as the Scribe Said, Mark Me Up With Words

Vodka Shots in the Dark

What Lingers, What Waits

Dr.Sunshine is Dead

Action:

Swing 'em Sword, Comin' in Swarms

Droppin' Guns all on the Floor 'till it look like River Styx

Black on Black at Night

Rifles, and they're Useless in this House

Dropp the Dagger

Watch Us BURN

Death:

Leave Your Body and Soul at the Door

Dead Man's Party

'Till the Reaper Call

'cause the Hangman's Waiting

A Night in the Ice Box

Stars Fall Underground

Can't Reach the Stars from the Underworld

Dance on Your Grave in All Whites

I Will See You Down Below

A Toast to the Passing Lights

I am a Ghost, but Only If You Remember

A Forray into Thanatology

Do You Want to Build a Snow-ghost?

In the In Between

Deceased When Last Seen

They Only Murdered Him Once

Colder Than These Bones

A Ghostly Collection of Stories once Untold

Dearly Departed

Hopeful:

City of Last Hopes

Bright Foggy Skies

This Bird Has Flown

A Bard's Tale, so Bittersweet

In the Winter, the Van Keeps Rolling

Oh Raven (Sing Me a Happy Song)

A Light to Call Home

Lost and Found

Towards the Sun

Khmm I have quite a few ghost/death and Dc related ones cuz I mostly wrote DC and DP fics so I looked for tittles for those. Those who know, know those who don't can ignore them.

Pt 2 |

[trans-luis-serra-navarro]

HI AGAIN ITS ME HIIII!!

so as you might tell I LOVE to add a song or a lyric or whatever to like all of my art. all of my art usually comes from a song I love or a lyric I love. SO. that led me to asking you what songs make you think of Luis / serrenedy the most or inspire you to make art or fics of Luis / serrenedy.

TYSM SORRY I HAD TO ASK IM JUST OBSESSED WITH ANALYZING CHARACTERS AND SONGS <3

HELLO I AM SO SO SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO GET TO THIS ASK I PROMISE I WASN’T IGNORING IT!! I sat down to make this post and then I remembered that I have an ENTIRE album FILLED with songs that remind me of Luis/Serennedy, and it’d probably be a liiiiiiiittle difficult to name them all obviously, so I nailed it down to my top 15 for each!!! I hope that’s OK!!

Songs under cut!!

Serennedy

1. King Of Carrot Flowers Pt. 1 & In The Aeroplane Over The Sea- Neutral Milk Hotel

2. Treehouse- Alex G

3. First Love/Late Spring- Mitski

4. O Sol E Lua- Pequeno Cidadão

5. Mary On A Cross- Ghost

6. Country Motion Sickness- Mae Valerio

7. Ready Now- Dodie

8. Love Me Like There’s No Tomorrow- Freddy Mercury

9. Christmas Kids- R.O.A.R

10. Fernando- ABBA

11. Devil Town- Cavetown

12. My Love Mine All Mine- Mitski

13. Everybody Wants To Rule The World- Tears For Fears

14. Sarah- Alex G

15. No Children- The Mountain Goats

Luis

1. Hotel California- Eagles

2. The Milk Carton- Madilyn Mei

3. Burning Pile- Mother Mother

4. Plastic Jesus- Tia Blake

5. This Year- The Mountain Goats

6. Starman- David Bowie

7. Ramblings Of A Lunatic- Bears In Trees

8. Isle Unto Thyself- Miracle Musical

9. American Pie- Don McLean

9. The Pantaloon- Twenty One Pilots

10. Dragons & Demons- The Herbs

11. Twin Size Mattress- The Front Bottoms

12. Class Of 2013- Mitski

13. Dancing Queen- ABBA

14. Video Killed The Radio Star- The Buggles

15. Saint Bernard- Lincoln

Honorable Leon Mention:

1. Welcome To The Black Parade- My Chemical Romance

2. You’re Gonna Go Far Kid- The Offspring

3. Wasted Summers- JuJu<3

4. It’s Called Freefall- Rainbow Kitten Surprise

5. Vanilla Twilight- Owl City