#hard of hearing deceit

[coryosbaby]

I am BEGGING you to write about hannigram x innocent fem reader. mayyyybee featuring age gap and breeding? :) she just asks them "what does break my belt mean?" and oh..

Caretaker… Hannigram x fem! Reader

Synopsis: it’s up to Will and Hannibal to take care of you, however that may be.

Content warning . 18+, MDNI age gap (reader is in her early 20s), spanking/usage of belts, punishments, dumbification, threesome, cum play, daddy kink . hard dom! Hannibal, soft dom! Will

Author’s Note: I didn’t know how to go about this (my brain isn’t braining rn) so I did smth similar :) this is literally pure filth like Im ovulating sorry

‧₊˚ 🩰 ⋅* ‧₊

“You need to stop being so hard on yourself.”

Will’s voice is soft as he gently rubs your sock clad feet, watching the small wince that you make when he grazes over a bruised toe. You adjust yourself on your bed, bottom becoming numb from how long you’ve been sitting. You slide the sleeves of your dress back up on your shoulders— they have a hard time staying up, and it’s something that annoys you incredibly.

“He’s right,” Hannibal chimes from the cushioned seat in the corner of the room. He closes the book in his hand and sets it on the desk beside him. It’s funny, how different these two men look in your pink, frilly room. “You’re working yourself too hard, little one.”

You frown, feeling the bed dip as Hannibal joins you and Will’s side.

“But ballet is important to me.”

“So is your health,” Will replies, and notices the way you seem to fidget in your dress. “Is your dress bothering you, baby?”

You nod, heat creeping up your neck when Will lifts the hem of it over your head. Now clad in your bra and cotton panties, you feel open and exposed. But since it’s Hannibal and Will, you feel safer than you’ve ever been.

“Come here,” Will says, and you crawl over to the place in between his spread thighs as he leans against your headboard. Hannibal follows in quiet suit, moving to Will’s side and holding your hand in his much larger one. Will’s hands play with your hair as you think back to something you’d been wanting to ask the two for a while.

“Can one of you use your belt on me?”

The soft scrape against your scalp stops at the question.

“What?”

“I mean,” you mumble, cheeks flaring. “I was watching a video.. ‘n.. the guy, he—“

“You’ve been watching naughty videos?” Hannibal inquires. You shake your head, wide doe eyes flashing.

“No!” You reply, too quickly. “No, of course not.”

“Hmm,” the man shifts, gripping the soft skin of your jaw gently with his hand. Looking into your eyes, he can see the deceit in them. “You have, haven’t you? You know what we say about those videos, darling. They’re bad for you,” he looks back to the other man in the room. “Maybe we will have to spank her after all. Don’t you think, Will?”

“Play nice, Hannibal,” Will warns, though his mouth pulls into a small, amused smirk. “She’s sensitive. Probably doesn’t even know what she’s asking for.”

“I do.” you whine, pawing at the sleeve of Hannibal’s suit. He chuckles, thumb rubbing gently over your wrist.

“Come here then, little one,” Hannibal coos. “Over my knee.”

Your eyes widen, pouty lips dropping open in awe.

“Now?” You squeak.

Will rolls his eyes, patting you softly on the arm.

“You heard him, Bunny. Go on.”

Getting on your hands and knees, panty clad ass now revealing the puff ball bunny tail on the back of the fabric, the two of them think you’re the cutest little thing they’ve ever seen. You hear the sound of a belt buckle being undone, and watch as Will hands over his belt to Hannibal. It’s your favorite one, plain black but with a belt buckle that has your initials imprinted. Will wears it often— he’s not one to have flashy accessories, but since it was a gift from you he cherishes it dearly.

Since Will is on Hannibal’s left side, you decide to position yourself with your face directed towards him. This leads to your arms and face being smooshed against Will’s thighs, and he gently rubs your head with his hands. Hannibal hums when your ass lifts up for him, bunny tail flickering as you move your hips to get his attention.

“We should keep these on, don’t you think?” He says, fingers grazing over the bunny tail. “Too precious to pull them down, lover.”

You nod shyly, letting out a puff of air when Will’s fingers begin fumbling with the hooks on your bra. He advises you to slide the straps off your shoulders when he undoes them, and you awkwardly shuffle them off. Will’s hands move around your back to grope one of your breasts. The feeling of cold leather against your backside makes you whimper, and Hannibal positions his hand on the bottom of your thigh.

“Move your hands behind your back,” Hannibal demands. “You aren’t in any position of control. If you want to stop, you know the rules.”

“Yes, daddy,” you reply, almost immediately. You move your arms back to link them together, Will’s hands gripping the both of yours tightly to make sure you don’t move.

“Good girl,” and then, “You’re going to count each one I give you. We will stop at ten since this is your first time.”

You nod, as much as you can with your face buried in Will’s lap. You can feel the hardness in his pants, right up against your cheek, and your mouth waters.

There’s a comforting rub against your left cheek before Hannibal brings the belt down. It isn’t too bad, a slight sting that makes you jump.

“One.” You say, quietly. Your ass lifts up for more.

“Good,” Hannibal praises, soothing the skin once more. “Are you going to watch those videos again?”

You stay silent, contemplating but also being quiet on purpose. You can’t deny that Hannibal getting angry with you makes your panties drenched.

At this, Hannibal slams the belt down onto you once again. A warning. You cry out this time, feeling a burning sensation along your skin.

“Don’t make me ask you again,” he says sternly. “And don’t make me have to break my belt on you, little one.”

“What does that mean?” you whine, ditzy little head genuinely confused by such a simple term. You inhale the scent of Will’s pants, and from above you, the brunette’s hands gently soothe your back.

“Told you, Hanni,” he singsongs. “Doesn’t even know what she’s asking for.”

“Ignoring your interruption,” Hannibal says, annoyed (but not really). He directs his attention back to you. “Tell me, little one. Yes or no?”

You bite your lower lip, cheeks flaring as your arousal increases.

“Yes.”

Hannibal scoffs.

“You’re asking for it, aren’t you?”

The belt comes down on you again. You jump, tears beginning to pool along your waterline.

“What was that?” Hannibal demands harshly. “Was that a yes that I heard?”

“No!” You say. “No, daddy, I’ll never ever watch those videos again! I promise, promise…”

You thrash against the pain, and Hannibal’s palms rub the sore skin.

“Alright,” he replies. “but I’m adding five more. Naughty girls who don’t listen get punished.”

“Hannibal,” Will warns. “She’s fragile.”

“She’s a brat, is what she is, Will. Stop defending her,” Hannibal’s hands wrap around your hair, pulling your teary eyed face up and craning your neck. “Now count. Starting from three.”

The belt comes down again, and your hands ache, along with your bottom.

“T-Three.” You say. The belt comes down on you again, and again. You count to five.

“You really need to be harder on her,” Hannibal says to Will, who’s subtly grinding against your face as he watches you writhe below him. “She needs to learn that her actions have consequences.”

“I know,” Will sighs, then gently taps the tip of your nose, and smiles softly. “But look at how precious she is.”

Hannibal rolls his eyes, bringing out the sixth then seventh hit. You can already feel the blooming of bruises by the time you hit number ten, and your aching pussy grinds down into Hannibal’s thigh. He seems to allow this, and by the twelfth hit, he’s teasing you about it.

“Is this arousing you, lover?” He asks, amused. “You only have three more to go. You better enjoy it.”

“Mm, she is,” Will cuts in, reaching down between your legs to feel your soaked panties. “Little pussy is so wet,” and then, “You ruined your panties, pup.”

Mewling, you allow another smack to come down onto your ass.

“T-Thirteen,” you whimper out. “Could.. could you buy me some new panties, Will?”

Another smack. Another number. Will tilts his head, staring at your panty clad ass.

“Mm,” he replies. “I don’t know, Hannibal. What do you think?” His fingers grasp the puff ball tail and tug it up. This makes your panties ride up in between your folds, and you gasp, humiliated. “I think baby blue would really suit her.”

“That, or lilac,” the eldest man replies. “We’ll get you a new set, little one. But only because it benefits us as much as it benefits you.”

You smile, giddy with excitement to take another shopping trip. Hannibal rubs your ass again, and Will kisses you on the head.

“One more for us, alright?”

You nod, perky ass throbbing with heat. Hannibal slams the belt down, and this time you let out a sob. It was the harshest hit, one sure to leave a welt or two. Hannibal coos when he sees your look of pain, throwing the belt to the side and gently massaging you.

“Shhh. It’s alright. Come here, darling.”

You maneuver your body to slide in between Hannibal’s legs, pulling him into a hug. His arms wrap around your smaller form, and he kisses your hair, allowing you to bury your face into his shoulder. You let out a few more stray tears while he and Will both soothe the ache on your bottom.

“You know we only do this because we have to.” Hannibal murmurs.

“I know, daddy.”

“Actions have consequences, and you asked for this sort of punishment. So we decided to give it to you,” he explains, and pulls away to wipe away your tears with his thumbs. “Did you enjoy it?”

You nod, a small smile grazing your lips.

“I did. I enjoyed it a lot.”

“Good,” he replies. “And since you’ve taken your punishment so well, I’m giving you the opportunity to ask for something. Whatever you want, you can have it.”

Your eyes brighten.

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

You lick your lips, contemplating your options with excitement.

“Hmm,” you say, and then finally come to your decision. You look over to your second boyfriend, who seems to be watching you with an almost love struck gaze. “I want Will… want his mouth. Please?”

Will licks his lips at the statement. Oral is one of his favorite things to give.

“Very well,” Hannibal says, then gestures for Will. “She can lay in between my legs. You lay between hers.”

Will nods, and you happily turn around and begin sliding off your panties. Spreading your legs, you look up at Will with doe eyes as he approaches you. His lips touch yours, sliding easily against the expanse of your mouth. When he pulls away, the scent of your arousal overtakes his senses. He groans, moving down in between your legs.

Hannibal’s big arms wrap around your shoulders, keeping you still. Will flawlessly licks a stripe up your slit, making you whimper and hold onto Hannibal for dear life as he begins to eat you like a man starved. His mouth works wonders against your tiny hole and aching clit as he groans into your cunt, drinking your sweet juices like it’s nectar of the Gods.

“How does she taste?” Hannibal asks, even though he already knows the answer. He loves to go down on you just as much as the other man.

Will pulls away, chin dripping and hair disheveled.

“So fuckin’ sweet,” he gasps out, nosing at your folds. His thumbs spread them apart, exposing your hole that’s coated in creamy slick. “Cutest fuckin’ cunt I’ve ever seen.”

You clench, letting him see the opening and closing of your hole. You want him to stick his tongue back inside.

You don’t have to wait long for that, because a mere second later Hannibal’s big hand splays across the back of Will’s head and pushes him back down. Will lets out a moan at this, allowing Hannibal to guide his head up and down and every which way that brings you closer and closer to your peak. Hannibal smirks, watching the way you writhe under his tongue and watch Will with hungry, lidded eyes.

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” He says, and you can feel his hardness pressing against your back.

Drool seeps down your chin as you nod.

“Mhm..” you whine out. Your hands go to the boy’s hair, and he whimpers when you tug on the strands.

“He likes when you do that,” Hannibal observes, his tone low. He kisses the shell of your ear. “Do it again.”

You comply, watching the way Will’s hips grind down into the mattress when it happens and the way Hannibal lets out a heavy breath. Will’s mouth works harder, bringing your clit in between his lips and lightly sucking. You gasp out his name, hips moving against him in tandem.

“Will, Daddy.. ‘m so close..”

“Close, yes?” Hannibal taunts, and his grip around your throat tightens. His biceps practically squeeze your neck as you near closer and closer to your high, your throat gasping for breath. When your orgasm overtakes you, Hannibal loosens his grip, but not quite. You let out a raw, pleasure filled moan when you cum, Will working you through until the point of overstimulation, your legs shaking and your sock clad feet pushing on his shoulders. He chuckles when he pulls away, a pleased grin forming as he wipes his slick coated mouth on the back of his wrist. And boy, is it a sight. He licks up the remaining remnants of your arousal with his tongue, hands splaying on either side of you and Hannibal’s legs so he can move up and kiss you filthily on the mouth. Hannibal is next, a tender peck that makes the cock against your lower back twitch. It has him licking his lips when Will pulls away, his lashes fluttering as he sighs in content. He presses a kiss to your mouth, too, and relaxes even further.

It’s only a mere moment of rest before you can feel that familiar throb again, and the sight of your two boys bulging through their pants makes you drool. You spread your legs, overstimulated pussy on full display.

Will, who had been laying at the foot of the bed in front of the both of you, watches with hunger. You lean away from Hannibal, instead turning yourself on your knees and presenting yourself to Will, who’s already positioning himself behind you eagerly. Hannibal, the most patient out of all three of you, no doubt, finally takes his aching cock out of his pants and wraps a hand around himself at the scene. You hear the rustling of Will’s fly being undone, then his length is pressed against your ass and wet, oh so wet, even when he slides it in between your folds and sheathes himself inside your little hole with one swift movement. Your mouth drops open at the sensation of being filled, your hands finding purchase on Hannibal’s thick thighs in front of you. His cock is hitting his stomach, red and leaking drops of precum down the tip, and you watch as Hannibal rubs it up and down with his hand. You look up at him pleadingly as Will begins to pound you into the mattress.

“You want daddy’s cock in your mouth, is that it?” Hannibal teases, and you nod. He sighs, directing the tip of his cock towards you. “Open wide, sweet girl.”

You happily obey, tongue lolling out to lick at his tip, his stringy precum sticking to your bottom lip and the head of his cock, tasting absolutely divine. Will’s hands roam over your ass as his cock bullies your gummy walls.

“Mm, Hanni got you good, didn’t he, baby?” He says, examining the marks. “Gonna have to put some lotion on that later.”

The use of the nickname in Will’s mouth is a mockery of your own. You nod, however, pouting.

“Mhm. But Daddy knows what’s best for me.”

“That’s right,” Hannibal grunts out, when you take him fully down your throat. “Dumb little girls like you can’t think for themselves. That’s why you need Will and I to take care of you,” and then, “God, darling, your mouth is just perfect.”

You hum, choking on him. Will’s fingers bruise your hips now, his balls slapping against your ass with every harsh thrust. Your pussy quakes around him, clamping down on his length. His breath is warm against your ear as he pushes in and out of you.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, baby..” as he watches your ass bounce back against him.

“Look at that tight little pussy, practically choking my dick.” as he spreads your cheeks apart, watching the way you take him.

“Hannibal’s cock tastes good, doesn’t it?” As you come up for air and gasp, drool soaking your neck and chin.

You can feel when he gets close by the way his hips stutter, and with a lewd whine hes babbling endlessly.

“I’m gonna cum,” he says. “Gonna cum in this slut pussy— god, squeeze me just like that.”

“Please,” you whimper endlessly, and you can hear Hannibal let out a breathy chuckle.

“She wants it. She wants you to cum in her cunt,” his voice drops an octave as he watches the boy. “Come on. I need something to lubricate her more once I get my turn, don’t I?”

“Oh—“

Will’s eyes roll back, his body tensing up as he finally releases inside her. She clenches down on him, milking him for all he’s worth as he shoots rope after rope deep inside her gaping pussy. Hannibal’s fingers nestle into the boy’s hair as he rides out his orgasm, gently twirling the soft locks in between his fingers. You watch with your mouth turned into an o, burying yourself deeper against Hannibal’s chest in retaliation.

“There you go,” Hannibal coos when Will sighs against your chest, spent. “Good boy.”

“Tease,” Will mumbles back to him, pressing a gentle kiss to your neck. His eyes look up at you and he smiles. “Are you okay?”

You giggle, nodding your head.

“More than okay.”

He looks down at the mess between your thighs as he pulls out, grunting. A trail of his spend pools out of you and onto the sheets.

His fingers begin to move up to your drenched clit— you need release to, after all, and Will is never a selfish lover—but before he can, Hannibal’s hand grabs his wrist.

“No,” he utters. “Let me, once I’m inside her.”

“Like I said,” Will grumbles, moving out from between your legs to settle back against the headboard. “Tease.”

Hannibal rolls his eyes, guiding you to turn around and face him. You bite your lower lip at the feeling of Will’s cum trailing down your thighs. Hannibal undoes his belt, pulling down his zipper so his pants are open and his briefs are exposed.

“Take me out, darling.”

She reaches into the waistband of his underwear, pulling his length out and giving it a few languid strokes. Will watches, his spent cock twitching against his stomach. He ignores it, instead deciding to move to your side and press a kiss to your heated cheek. His hand provides a comforting pressure to the back of your head as he settles it in your hair. Hannibal tilts his head, grabbing the back of your thighs and pulling you into his lap.

“Put my cock inside you,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your neck. “Be a good girl.”

Your lashes flutter at the vulgar term spilling from the usually polite man’s lips. Will’s hands scrape against your scalp and your brain is fuzzy with how good it all feels. Grabbing Hannibal’s length in your hand, you position your dripping cunt over the tip of his cock.

Sinking down makes your brows furrow. Hannibal isn’t as big as Will, but that isn’t saying much. The man still has a considerable size, and his girth stretches your gummy walls exceptionally. You whimper, settling down to the very base of his cock. Hannibal’s head tilts back and hits the headboard, his eyes squeezing shut to get used to the sensation of you wrapped around him. His big hands splay across your hips and Will nuzzles your throat affectionately.

“Daddy.” you whine, your little pussy beginning to rock onto Hannibal.

“Yes?”

“Fuck me, please?”

He smiles, pulling you further against him so he can brace his feet underneath you. His cock gives a few shallow thrusts, getting used to your heat, before moving into more dangerous territory. It isn’t long before he’s jackhammering into you, your head tilted back by Will’s big hands. He demands you open your mouth, and you do. A glob of spit lands on your tongue, which you swallow greedily. Hannibal groans as he watches the scene.

“Filthy little things,” he mutters, pulling you into a kiss. You both share Will’s saliva on your intertwining tongues.

Your thighs shake as Hannibal’s cock and balls leak with Will’s cum. The sound is utterly sinful— the gushing sounds of his cock pummeling your filled pussy, his balls slapping against your ass, the sobs tearing through your throat. Tears stream down your cheeks and you’re sobbing.

Hannibal’s fingers reach down to your clit, deftly rubbing against the swollen nub exactly the way you like. It isn’t long before you reach your peak, your pussy clenching down as a string of filthy words makes its way out of your throat, burying your face in Hannibal’s white button down and staining it with salty tears. Will is an absolute sweetheart, guiding your hips with his hands to help you, cooing little sweet sayings in your ear. He cakes your throat in pretty red marks.

Hannibal draws closer to his orgasm, small grunts and heavy breaths spilling out of his mouth. It isn’t long before he empties inside you, filling you up with a second load of sticky, white cum. He pulls your limp body off of his length, your pussy making a gushing sound as both of your boyfriend’s dribble out of you. The two men sigh when they see it, their cocks both twitching at the sight.

But all three of you have had enough for the day— or at least for the next few hours. Hannibal disappears out of the room for a moment to bring back a glass of water and lotion. He holds the water to your lips and sweetly coos, “you’ve been such an obedient girl. Drink, okay?”

You do, of course. You drink the whole damn glass.

After going into the bathroom to pee and wipe your cum covered thighs, Hannibal lotions your sore bottom with gentle hands. After this you finally crawl back into bed, moving onto your stomach and hugging your pillow tightly. Will chuckles.

“You don’t want a bubble bath?” He asks, because that’s usually what you request. But you just shake your head, your eyes fluttering shut. Not asleep, but almost. Will nods his head. “Later then, sweet girl.”

The boy crawls to your side, wrapping his big arm around you and pulling you to his side. Hannibal soon joins, his tie loosened and jacket off, pants unbuttoned. It’s rare to see him in such a messy state, relaxed. Only you and Will can help him unwind like this.

He lays on his back, and you lay your head on his chest, inhaling his strong, expensive cologne. Beside you, you can smell the aftershave that Will wears— Hannibal teases him about it, but you’re quite fond of it. It smells like home.

They smell like home.

You smile sleepily, watching with barely open eyes as Hannibal and Will’s hands connect over you. As you fall into a peaceful sleep, the two men on either side of you stay wide awake.

After a moment, Will chuckles.

“So I’m assuming we’ll be using my belt more often?”

“Guaranteed,” hannibal confirms, watching you drool onto his shirt in your sleep. He never mentions it to you because he doesn’t want you to be embarrassed. “Perhaps we can use it on you next time, Will”

The younger man scoffs, his cheeks flaring as he buries his face into your hair.

“Shut up, Hanni.”

:: @mysticpenguincreation @nightmare-niko @iheartinkonpaper @claireyberryy @becauseseaotters @emmalandry @princesstiti14 @aerangi @kaithoughs @jamespotterismydaddy @wildgirllz

[themilfking]

wait I know why we hate AIPAC but what did ADL do? I thought the anti defamation League was good

The ADL is an Israeli/Zionist advocacy group at its core. It's main priority as an organization is to protect Israel and its mission for a Jewish Ethno-State. This is especially true under Johnathan Greenblatt's leadership who has said "antizionism is antisemitism" It's easy to think that the "Anti Defamation League" has no underlying agenda given its history as a "civil rights organization" but it has constantly used that as a screen for extremely right wing positions on Israel. Some of their greatest hits include: Equating Students for Justice in Palestine, JVP, and CAIR to "white supremacists" simply because they strongly oppose an ethnic cleansing of Palestinians. A leaked ADL memo revealing how ADL plans to "soften" the news to Americans that Israel plans to annex the West Bank. (Source). In this leak Greenblatt recognizes that the annexation is a violation of basic human rights. To me this is a clear indication that they are less concerned with civil rights and more concerned with shaping the public image of Israel, especially in the US. Really urge you all to read this leak! Supported South African Apartheid (surprise surprise) and participated in propaganda against Nelson Mandela and the ANC. They even employed a spy named Roy Bullock to infiltrate the anti-apartheid campaign in the US. They later settled a law suit for this. (Source) That's not even close to the only time they've utilized spies. THIS recent leak of Greenblatt talks about ADL having spies in Jewish Voice for Peace and other organizations. It also talks about how they are having a hard time with the global youth no longer buying into their propaganda. Another source you should give your full attention to. PLEASE listen to that whole thing. It's truly terrifying. You're gonna hear them talk a lot about why Tiktok is a danger to their mission.

HERE is an article about how the ADL has a long history of smearing black activists, working with Police/ICE, and its attempts to demonize the BDS movement. I could go on and on about how terrible and deceitful the ADL is. The sources above are a good start to understanding why we shouldn't trust the ADL but please look into all the other things they've done like working with the FBI to spy on Arab Americans, infiltrating student organizations they find to be a threat to "Israel's image", surveillance, the people who fund/donate to them etc.

The best way to fight orgs like this is to share/spread this info as much as you can. It's clearly working because they're losing global support especially with the youth.

[elysianightsss]

RUN FROM ME DARLIN, YOU BETTER RUN FOR YOUR LIFE | PART ONE

Rejection. Open and hollow, stinging like a cat scratch, it’s monumental and abstract and it’s everything you never knew you wanted. Being rejected put you in this position, you could say it made you vulnerable but with the way his rough calloused hands manoeuvred over your skin, you could say it was worth it.

The way his half mast cerulean eyes rake over you, a prize to be earned. Something he’s going to win, not that he knows that yet. You’ll make him work for it, that much he does know though.

You’re deep in the infatuation of it even if you wish that’s not true. You relish in the feeling of his gaze on you, soft but yet somehow cold and distant. It sparks the interest you thought long gone. Dead and buried. The ends of it frayed like the neurons of your brain. Unravelled and worn at the edges.

Something dark and deceitful urges you to step forward, tempting you with the musky aroma of him. Something you’d like to devour whole if you could. The faint redolence of cigar smoke hung on his clothes.

He licked his thin chapped lips imagining the way his tongue would slide over your supple skin and despite the dull gnawing of insecurity that has grown since adolescence, you can imagine it too. His willpower hedging with every moment that slowly passes by, every moment that agonisingly ticks by.

The sweet decadence of your pulsing cunt lingers in the cold air, your nipples pebbling beneath your cotton night gown. He breathes in deep, harsh. A hint of mania colouring his grin as he groans at the smell of you, the scent you’re exposing yourself to him with. A poor little bunny trapped in the lions den….

Then he’s leaning in, parted lips inches from his. The thick beard on his face prickling against the skin of your chin. His breath mixing with yours, heat and desperation so present in the air. It hangs heavily around you, makes your knees weak.

Then his lips are moving, but nothing is coming out. He’s talking but it’s quite literally falling on deaf ears. You can’t hear a word he is saying. You frown, pulling away when a loud, obnoxious roar starts pestering you. It’s weaving its way behind your eyes, mixing with the light that doesn’t go no matter how hard you squeeze your eyes.

You’re soon fluttering them open, groggy and just the perfect amount of warm, you don’t want to move a muscle. You’re weak in a good way. In that, the duvet is heavy but not too heavy, you’re warm but not burning and if you pulled your curtains back into place so the moonlight wasn’t streaking through you’d fall right back to sleep.

That is if the thunder outside wasn’t annoyingly loud keeping you awake. Closing your eyes for a moment, you take a breath before sitting up not at all ready to start the day, especially not at four am in the morning but with the loudness outside you wouldn’t be getting any sleep anytime soon, so at least getting out of bed would be a start.

Everything seems to be happening in slow motion as you comb through your wardrobe looking for something to throw over your pyjamas as a chill seeps into your bones, teeth beginning to chatter just as you pull on a soft, knitted sweater. You’re all long sighs, slow blinking and yawning every few minutes like you hadn’t just slept eight hours straight.

You feel out of it as you slide the sweater over your head, you’re practically falling back to sleep with your head resting on your arched knee while you pull on a pair of socks. It feels as though you hadn’t even slept a second when you’re pouring the milk into your tea, eyes all blurry and head starting to ache.

Your hands pause mid grabbing a spoon from your kitchen drawer, the dream. The vivid dream. The very real feeling of his rough calloused hands grazing over your skin, you can almost still feel the ghost of it on your arms. It makes you shiver. But you try to forget and by the time the sun comes up and a fog rolls in your successful.

October came in with golden days and silver nights, foggy mornings and coffee iced. It soothed your soul to see the harvest moon in the sky at night, brightened your heart when you spotted all the pumpkin patch picking signs dotted around town.

Town, you barely frequent it. If feels like a ghost town, hollow and not at all lived in. It’s more than an hour away from the cottage you were living in but there are these rare moments when you long for civilisation, so you put up with the drive there. Say hello to a few locals, grab some more food to stock your pantry with and leave feeling a little bit more socially charged than before.

This was one of those times. You smiled at the pumpkin patch and Halloween bash signs on the town events board. Hands full of bags after doing some food shopping. You even treated yourself to a new heavy weighted blanket, half off and so soft.

“Looks fun doesn’t it?” You jump, unnaturally on edge which the guy who spoke seems to notice. “Sorry, I come in peace I promise.” He smiles softly at you, American you noted, up here in the highlands. It makes your back tense and your shoulders stiff, a nervousness settling into your skin like a tattoo.

“It’s okay. I’m just a jumpy person.” You lie smoothly. You weren’t jumpy by far. You were highly trained not to be, but that had all changed after them. Maybe you were a little jumpy now.

“So you gonna go?” He asks and it makes your frown, you were so lost in thought about the monsters under your bed that you think you missed something. Then he points to the Halloween bash poster stapled to the board. His brown hair blowing in the cold breeze as he looks at you.

“Oh! No, not really my thing.” Another lie. You loved a good party, the dresses, the drinks, the dancing. You would love to go to one again, when you could be carefree enough to know you’re not being watched and no one was after you.

“So what is your thing?” He asks with a small smile, teeth showing and tender eyes. He didn’t look like a threat but you can never be too careful these days.

“I don’t know knitting.” You say outright before walking away but he follows you, you really don’t want to be rude to a local, maybe just this once if he doesn’t leave you alone? But it would draw attention to you, create whispers about you, the very thing you don’t want.

“Just knitting? You don’t have any other hobbies?” Interested or intel? You weren’t sure at this moment and maybe you’d never be sure again. You thought they were just interested and yet here you were hiding from them.

“Reading.” You don’t stop walking away from him, even hitting him with a ‘nice to meet you’ over your shoulder. He seems to get the message and stops following you. You keep looking back to make sure he goes away and he does, back to the town board thankfully giving you enough time to slip through the back alley of the store where you parked your jeep.

You load up the boot and get strapped in before you start driving off. You wouldn’t be coming back for a bit longer than usual, you didn’t want to create a pattern. Patterns are easy to track. You needed to be unusual. You do your regular checks, gun in one hand, knife in the other as you enter the cottage.

You were with them for months you know how they work and how they fight. You’re an outstanding tracker, they had noted. You would know if they were here and how to escape them. Thankfully it didn’t come to that. The place was clear. You really needed to get a dog or something.

You unpacked the bags and parked the car around the back hiding it under some waterproof tarpaulin. After putting all the food away, you made pasta for dinner and got cosy under the new blanket while you watched the next episode of Gilmore Girls.

This was what you did now, binged watched tv shows and movies you never had time to watch growing up. Who could blame you, when other girls were watching these shows and fawning over two vampire brothers and a human girl, you were fighting other unlucky girls and learning how to build bombs, resist poison and how to kill.

You were always jealous that Kate hadn’t been put in the red room by your parents like you had. She was their favourite you knew that, and even though she wouldn’t admit it, she knew it too.

8 months ago ~

Your leg bounced as you sat in your designated seat on the Boeing CH-47 Chinook, new by the looks of it. You weren’t anxious, not that you’d admit it even if you were, you just know what happens every time you see Kate; all the feelings that come up that you’d rather not deal with. All the hurt you’ve tried desperately to avoid. It was all going to come rushing back, you just know it.

The helicopter landed and the ramp door opened, you moved from the main cabin following all the other passengers off the tandem-rotor helicopter. The sky was cloudy and atmosphere cold. It made you miss the heat of Malta, the sunbeds and cocktails but then again that’s how this whole mess got started.

A squad in camouflage gear were doing drills just off to your right, a couple of other teams were either coming back from missions or just heading out for them. Then you spotted her, Kate Laswell and her precious little 141. You practically spat the words in your head.

Slinging your duffle bag strap over your shoulder you stalked towards the group of five, past the soldiers jogging in a pack following a drill sergeant with a particularly loud mouth. You pushed though the crowds and descended on your target. Just as you reached her, she turned ready to walk inside the base only to find you blocking her path.

Kate gasped out your name, eyes wide with shock and body frozen. The reaction made you smirk, giving you a sick sense of pride for eliciting such a reaction from her.

“Hello sister.” The Russian accent swirling around your words was thick.

Kate stutters in her words not knowing what to say back to you other than an uneasy, “What are you doing here?”

“Well that’s not very nice to say to a family member who just flew 7 hours just to come see you.” You scoff looking her up and down with distaste.

“Wh-Why would you do that?” She cringes at how scared she sounds.

“I have some information for you, a mission too if you’re interested. All I know is I want nothing to do with it. This is something the military should deal with, not me.” You huff, eyes drifting to the bulky men stood behind her just by the four by four car.

“We should talk inside.” She says holding her hand out in the direction she wishes for you to go.

“You first.” You narrow your eyes, distrust burning in them. She nods and gestures for her team to follow.

You slam the haul of around thirteen red vials on top the table once you’re inside the debriefing room. Price and Ghost take a seat at the table to the left of where you stand, Soap and Gaz choose to stay standing by them. Kate rounding the table opposite you.

“It’s a chemical agent. The red dust is a gas used to free mind controlled victims from their subjugation. Dreykov has been trying to destroy it. One of the freed windows sent it to me and was killed for it too.” You stare at your estranged sister as she hangs on your every word, frown full of worry.

“What is a widow?” The man who was introduced to you as Soap MacTavish, while you walked inside the barracks, asks sounding genuinely confused. You scoff letting out a little laugh afterwards.

“God no wonder.” You shake your head the smile still on your lips but there was only anger on your face, “I kept checking in with my contacts to see if the famous Kate Laswell had taken down the red room for another one of those amazing promotions. But nothing.”

Kate looked speechless, unable to form any words without making the situation worse. Without pumping more hate into you, like that was even possible. The way you looked at her, like if she said one wrong thing you’d grab the knife in your thigh holster and throw it right between her eyes.

You turn to the four large men to the left of you, “A widow is a kidnapped girl who is brutally trained to become an assassin. The Red Room is the name of the place we are kept. The Black Widow program is one of the KGB’s espionage training programmes run by a man called Dreykov.” You explain, taking in their faces. They don’t look horrified but definitely suprised.

“Maybe one in twenty survives the training and becomes a window. The rest he kills. To him we are just things.” Your fists tighten, a dark look growing upon your face that makes even Ghost shift in his seat. “Weapons with no faces that he can just throw away because there is always more.” Your upper lip curls with disgust and for a moment Gaz thinks you’re going to let out a snarl. “He sees us as trash that is thrown away and he is simply recycling us.”

“Is this…” Kate takes a breath, short and shaky. The team thinks it’s the first time they’ve seen her waver, first time she looks unsure before speaking, gesturing towards the red vials “Is that what they did to you?” She looks at you through her lashes, her face pained.

“No. What I experienced was physiological conditioning for years.” You ignore the sharp inhale you hear to the left of you and keep talking,“I’m talking about chemically altering brain functions. They’re two completely different things.”

“You’re fully conscious but you don’t know which part is you,” you look down at the red chemical vials, “I’m still not sure.” Price takes in the lost look on your face, the frown that pulls your eyebrows so tight together it must hurt. He’s seen it before, in Simon’s eyes. “They could ask you to stop breathing and you’d have no choice but to obey.”

“Let my team do what they do best.” You raise an eyebrow in question. “Let them destroy this place and kill the man in charge.” Kate reaches for your hand but you’re quick to pull away as if her touch is furiously hot and would burn you. She feels her heart ache, missing the days you used to call her Katie and cling to her touch with nothing but happiness behind your eyes. Now there is nothing but bitter darkness.

“Even though the red room is impossible to find and Dreykov is too slippery to kill?” You scoff, leaning back from the table and crossing your arms defensively in front of your chest.

“It’s what we do lass.” MacTavish gives you a little smile, almost trying reassure you that they could do it. That they could slay your demon.

“That sounds like a shitload of work.” Price barks out a laugh at your words.

“Maybe so. But it would save a lot of girls in the future.” Gaz countered, looking serious.

“Good luck fighting them. We’re trained specifically to copy our opponent’s fight style. Don’t underestimate them.” You try to warn them as best you can but you can see the cocky pride in them after winning the majority of their battles.

“I think we can handle them, you too.” Ghost declared with an air of amusement and a slight warning, one he’s wanted to say since you showed up. Your face drops, becoming void of all emotion as you lean forward, pressing your palms flat to the cold table. You lean in close to Ghost, eyes darkening as you do so.

“I was selected by a program that assessed the genetic potential in infants. A bargain was struck and they paid my parents off. They were more than happy to get rid of me in exchange for the cash.” You glance at Kate who has tears in her eyes, her sadness makes you glare, whipping your head back to the skull.

“I went on to become the greatest child assassin the world has ever know. Six hundred and seventy one confirmed kills by the time I was fifteen.” Ghost adjusts himself in his seat, moving back a bit and double checking to make sure his mask was on properly. Hiding his true feelings from the feral little thing in front of him. The way you stared at him, he felt like you could see right through him.

“They were so proud that no one could match my efficiency and ruthlessness. That’s the only reason they didn’t rip out my uterus and ovaries like they did to the other girls. Your pretty mask doesn’t scare me. Whatever nightmares you could conjure up, are dreams compared to what’s behind me.” You scowl, glowering at the man in front of you. He shifts once again, uncomfortable. The sight of this big man fidgeting under your gaze has a smirk crawling onto your face once again while you move back.

“I’m so sorry.” Kate chokes out, tears streaming down her cheeks now. “I didn’t know that-“

“Oh please.” You cut her off, “you must of known. That’s why you were more than okay to let our parents use me for that pathetic mission that earned you the promotion to your current position.” You spat before pointing to the vials.

Before Kate could refuse anything you cut her off, “Do what you want. It’s not my concern anymore, I have to leave now or I’ll miss the heli out of here. There won’t be another for a week and I’d rather not spend all that time with the five of you.” You go to turn but it’s a hand reaching for your shoulder that stops you.

The hand doesn’t even touch you before you’re reaching for it yourself, bending it once you’ve grabbed hold. You use your grip on the wrist to spin behind the person, twisting their arm behind their back and holding it there as you kick their legs swiftly. They fall to the ground, staring back up at you in surprise.

The chairs groaning against the floor fall on deaf ears, you’re still on edge, like a caged animal finally been let out and ready to fight anything that looks even remotely like a threat. Soap helps Gaz off the floor, ocean eyes never leaving you as he does so.

“I’m sorry that was stupid of me.” Kyle is quick to apologize though he isn’t quite sure why. Is it because his heart ached so much when you shared your painful story so casually just to shut Ghost up? Is it because he found you drop dead gorgeous? He’s not sure. All he knows is he wants to wrap you in his arms and never let the world touch you again, it had done so much damage to you already.

You breath in and out deep, slow. Calming yourself in the way you taught yourself. Meditation was one of the first things you learnt after you escaped the red room, it was either that or attack anyone who looked at you the wrong way.

You grab your duffle bag, with one last glance at Kate and the red vials still on the table, you left.

To be continued…

[multi-fandom-imagine]

➤𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅 || Stanley Gleeful ||

A/n: no one asked for this,but had to write something for a reverse! Falls Stan

Stanley Gleeful was a greedy man, the people that really knew him might say he is a psychopath, mean and deceitful but you didn't see him as any of those things.

He didn't think that his charms would work that well on you. The man was honestly just trying to rob you of your money with you being tourist, it should have been easy.

You fell for his honeyed words easily enough so why did enjoy being around you so much. You were just some random broad, Stan should hate the way you smiled at him, how you giggled when he preformed one of his little tricks.

He really shouldn't take satisfaction in killing that piece of shit you were with though he had to admit how lax you were about it until you let slip how abusive the man was.

Maybe he loved you, maybe it was an obsession but Stan was going to show that you were his and his alone to all these bastards, to anyone that would dare to step in his office.

"Be a good girl for me." Stan muttered against your neck as his hand glided up your thigh pushing up your skirt. God he would love nothing more than to rip your clothes off.

A whimper escaped your lips feeling his fingers brush your warmth through your panties, teasing you.

"Stan."

Lips against your neck, his other hand held you firmly in place. "You're gonna look so good draped in nothin but my amulet doll face....I'm gonna fuck ya so hard you're gonna forget my name."

Breath hitching, your eyes slipped closed as you let your nails dig into his desk as he pushed your panties aside slowly teased your slit.

"Now, now darlin. Don't old back for little old me. I want those fuckers to hear what I am doing to you."

[kasagia]

Tolerate it

Pairing: Annatar/Sauron x fem!maia! reader Summary: You were with him from the beginning of his existence, from the first break of the silence. You blindly and faithfully followed him—your great, epic love, doing everything to help him, to stay with him no matter what. Sauron was Morgoth's shadow. And you were Mairon's shadow. What will you do when you realise that your devotion is no longer valued and desired by him? Author's Note: I'm actually proud of this one… I shouldn't say this, but it's my favorite so far. Hope you will like it too! <3 Halbrand's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist

I know my love should be celebrated... but you tolerate it.

- "Tolerate it" by Taylor Swift

You watched carefully as Sauron spoke to the people of Eregion, showering them with his charming smiles and sweet promises. You stared at him, analysing his every little move, seeing the traces of lies and deceit on his face as he tried hard to get on their good side, to deceive them into not seeing through his vision what was really happening behind the castle walls.

You wonder if he did the same to you. When he assured you that Galadriel was just an annoying elf, an obstacle to his plans, could you have detected a hint of deceit in his voice and face if you had looked closely enough? Did he also smile at you sweetly, lying to you directly, only to congratulate himself a moment later and be happy that he had managed to deceive you and suppress your any doubts in him, that would have been inconvenient for his plans?

"My love." He murmurs against your ear, surprising you and tearing you out of your thoughts for a moment.

You flinch as he wraps his arms around you, but he takes it as a shiver of surprise, not disgust. Because how could you, blindly in love with him for centuries, ever untangle yourself from his web of beautiful lies? You wonder if he ever loved you at all, if you were just a toy for him to use from the start.

"You're quiet today. And distant. Is everything alright?" Usually that attentive, caring look he gave you was enough to awaken a wonderful, warm feeling of security and peace within you.

You wonder how many times you've fallen for that illusion of concern for you? How many times has his false concern for you cheered you up? How many times has he laughed behind your back at your naivety?

"Yes. Celebrimbor is making your rings. He should be finishing the Nine soon." You respond, wondering if he'll keep teasing you, if he'll actually care about your feelings. Or if he'll just pat you on the back like a loyal pet for good behaviour and leave you to his own plans like he's been doing lately.

"That's wonderful." He mumbles and presses his lips to your forehead. In any other situation, you would consider it a very affectionate and desirable gesture. But now… his lips burned you. And not in a pleasant way. "Watch over him for me a little longer, my love. Our work here is not over yet. I must make sure that the people of Eregion do not realise what is really happening for a few more hours. Will you keep an eye on him for me, my heart?"

My heart, my love, my dearest... so many beautiful words, words that were hard to hear from him a hundred years ago, now poured from his lips so easily like honey... or wine, which you were supposed to intoxicate yourself with, so as not to open your eyes. Just like the inhabitants of the city he was bringing doom to, as if they meant nothing.

Just like you probably were to him…

"Of course, my darling." You respond with the most genuine smile you can muster. Luckily, he either doesn't notice or doesn't care that you're faking your smile for him. He steals a quick, short kiss and walks away from you in the opposite direction—towards the western gates.

You sigh, leaning against the cool wall of the marble hallway and pressing a hand to your lips. You squeeze your eyes shut, seeing white spots as you try to somehow break free from the situation you've found yourself in.

Uncontrollable sobs wrack your body as the ring he'd forged for you falls from your hand—the ring that was a faint illusion of the real Nenya, which had befallen Galadriel instead of you, which Sauron had given to Galadriel instead of you.

Your heart clenches painfully as you recall the words he spoke to one of the elves last night. Words you accidentally overheard after you went looking for him when he didn't return to your chambers as he had promised you he would.

"Your hair… in this light it reminds me of my lady Galadriel's hair."

His lady Galadriel.

You've survived and gone through a lot of torture, but hearing him speak with such… affection and adoration in his tone of voice about another woman makes you suffer worse than the worst torture you've been throught.

The worst part was that you didn't know what he saw in her. She was just an elf. An elf bearing the light of Valinor—the same light he had forced you to give up for him. If it was so unpleasant to him, why had he been so fascinated by this arrogant elf? Why had he given her Nenya—the ring that was supposed to be yours? Why had he made you feel like the other woman when you were his most loyal soldier—the one who had stood by him through thick and thin?

You hiss as you clench your fists so hard that black blood spills from under your nails, dug into your palm. Through your watery eyes, you watch as the evidence of your corruption—black sap—runs down your palm, staining the metal of the ring he gave you.

You want to take it off, throw it out the window, and never look at this searing reminder of how much you truly meant to him, but you were too far gone. You couldn’t imagine your life without him.

He had become your master, your Valar, your support, your shelter, your heaven and hell, your everything. And for a while, you had been blinded enough to believe that you were just as important and precious to him as he was to you.

You stand before the forge door, feeling like a small child waiting for someone to call you inside—to grant you permission to enter. You wonder when exactly you became so obedient to him. If you could think back to the times when Sauron was just Mairon, Aulë's apprentice, in his forge, you would remember how different you were from who you were today. You were more confident, happier, and filled with light and love for the man who created wondrous, beautiful, unimaginable things under Valar's watchful eye.

You wonder if he was like this already or if Morgoth was slowly injecting poison into his soul. Could you have really prevented his fall? Could you have made sure he never left the forge? Was the fall between the two of you really your fault, the one you were paying for now as you watched your love slip away from you, or was it never truly true? You don't know. You don't want to know. You already feel like you're going mad without his touch and his tender words, without the certainty that you still have some remnant of his soul and love in a heart that clearly stopped beating for you ages ago.

You flinch as the door swings open. Sauron emerges from the forge in a huff, stained with the blood of the elf who forged his beloved rings. He stops, surprised to see you standing in front of the door. You stare at each other for a moment, left in a dull, heavy silence. You break under his intense gaze and instead shift your gaze to the blood stain that has soaked into the black silk material on his chest.

He looked... both angry and agitated, uncertain. You wonder what exactly Celebrimbor had said to him—what exactly had moved him so much that you could see his eyes glaze over for a brief moment before he realised you were waiting for him outside the door.

"Galadriel has them." He informs you, panting with rage. You frown, shifting your gaze uncertainly back to his face.

Thankfully, he’s no longer meeting your gaze. You wonder if it’s because he has the decency to feel guilty about his feelings for the elf, or if he can’t think of her when he looks at you.

You quickly push that thought out of your head. He had everything except decency.

"What?"

"My rings." He growls, looking at you again. You tremble under his dark gaze. HIS rings. Not yours. Not yours. Like all his plans lately - they belonged only to him. "The Orcs will escort you to Mordor. I have a few more things to attend to before I will join you."

You just nod, unsure how else to respond to his words.

You know perfectly well what he wants to do, even if he hasn't told you his entire plan. You know that Adar will soon meet his end at the hands of your beloved. Another life will be taken by him. And with each one, your eyes opened wider and wider.

You gasp as he suddenly covers the distance between you with quick steps and presses you against the wall behind you. He grabs you brutally by the neck and kisses you. Greedily, hungrily, avidly. The force with which he takes your lips and breath is so great that you can't mistake this kiss for anything other than marking his territory. And you know perfectly well that this is exactly what he wants to do.

What he always did.

How blind you were, never seeing that what kept him with you was fear of loneliness, the desire to possess something. You gave him your heart, your soul, your body, everything—without blinking an eye, without a moment's hesitation.

And you watched him tolerate your devotion to him.

As if what you gave him rightfully belonged to him. As if you were ought to bind yourself to him, to be utterly his.

He pulls away from you, cupping your cheeks in his bloody hands and spreading the blood across your skin with his thumbs, staining you with his sins once again. All you can do is stand there, trembling in his grip as he presses his lips to your forehead.

"You're mine. Only mine. Always mine." He brushes his nose against yours, pressing another kiss to your lips. His tongue caresses yours as he tries to reassure himself that you're still caught up in his web of lies and that you still believe in all his tender and sweet gestures that were never really meant to calm your nerves and worries—only him. It was always about him. "You'll look beautiful in a crown next to me. Right, my queen?"

Whatever that elf had told him, it had raised enough doubts in him that Sauron would seek comfort and reassurance from you. A rare thing. Very rare. And you would have treasured that moment, probably remembered it forever, and carved it into your heart if you had not learnt the ugly truth about your relationship.

No matter how much you give yourself to him, he will never be yours in return.

He would never belong to you. He would never celebrate your love; consider it more than something he owed, something he could conquer and flaunt like his rings. You were to be the jewel in his dark crown... right next to Galadriel.

And in that moment you truly envied the elf, for having managed to resist him before he defiled her as he had defiled you.

"Of course, my king." You promise with a smile and lean down to connect his lips with yours—you do what he taught you best. You lie.

Because you know perfectly well that the moment he turns away from you, you will run. Run far away. In the hope that you will escape the darkness that he has rooted in you. In the hope that you can survive, with your heart ripped out and left behind you.

"Have you finally stopped believing his lies? Or is this just another one of your illusions?" You freeze at the sound of Adar's voice behind you.

You turn slowly, watching the fallen elf carefully. Black blood seeps from his temples, but aside from a few wounds on his body, you see no major injuries on the one who once killed your love.

"I thought by now he would have killed you in one of his infamously creative ways." You mock him as you try to ignore the sight of Eregion burning behind him.

"You don't even reach for your weapon? That's an insult, Mistress of Darkness." You shiver at the nickname, playing with the ring on your finger—the very one Sauron had given you—as you consider your answer.

Adar was barely alive. But he was still alive. You wonder how Sauron had retained enough restraint to give him a fate worse than death—watching someone he loved slowly die. In Adar’s case, he had watched his orc children die; in yours, you had watched Mairon die—a death you had been blind to for centuries.

"It is not my intention to fight you." You sigh tiredly, meeting the dark elf's gaze. Something in his demeanour changes. He is less alert, less tense, as if he sees in you the same surrender he had after the clash with your beloved.

"That's funny. I remember you swore one of the worst deaths to me for killing him." You leave his mockery unanswered as you recall that moment. You thought you would go mad with despair and throw yourself at Morgoth's crown, piercing your heart to be reunited with your beloved in the afterlife. With the benefit of hindsight, when you are wiser, you want to laugh at your own stupidity. He played you, your feelings, your mind, and your heart exactly as he wanted. You let him do all he wanted with you, and then you even thanked him for using you. "Has that day finally come? Are you abandoning him to his lust for power?"

The shock in his voice should offend you and drive you to the point of passion and true, unpredictable rage. But it can't. You feel... numb. Empty. Like nothing really matters anymore. And maybe it doesn't, since your soul and heart slowly wither with every second you're not near him.

Pathetic, how after pulling the dagger from your heart that was Sauron's "love," you miss the pain it brought. Even though you accept with relief that you're slowly bleeding to death, you still crave him. Maybe it really was an addiction? An unhealthy obsession that defined who you were? Because who were you really without Sauron?

"Is it really abandonment if he wants to stick with someone else?" You justify yourself, remembering the look in his eyes when he mentioned the elf you hated. You wonder what you envy more, her light or the fact that she truly seemed to have the undivided attention and adoration of a man you would do anything for?

"Galadriel…"

"No one good is ever truly good… and no one bad is ever truly bad." You interrupt him, not wanting to talk about the elf.

You walk over to him and nod for him to sit on the fallen tree trunk next to you. You muster up some mercy towards him (or your own troubled conscience) and staunch his wounds enough for him to pass away in peace... or at least you hope he will.

At least one of you deserved to find peace.

"Is that what you told yourself while being with him?" The silence between you is uncomfortable, but necessary. Necessary for you to realize how much he was really using you. And how much you wanted him to be someone he never was…

"Maybe." You admit quietly, in a barely audible whisper.

Before he can reach for the dagger at his side, you're already pulling away from him and taking his consciousness, putting him into a sleep state. You run, not catching up with yourself, slowing down only to wipe the tears dripping down your cheeks with the back of your hand. The cold metal of Sauron's ring scratches your skin in a painful reminder of your sins.

You pull the hood over your head, using the back of your hand to shake off the snow that had already accumulated as you made your way through the streets in the dark of the night.

It had been a few weeks since you had escaped from Sauron. Weeks spent avoiding his army of orcs, closing the doors to your thoughts to him, and controlling the connection he had created between you in the time you had spent with him.

He had been looking for you—whether out of revenge for your abandonment, longing for you, a desire to punish you and make an example of you, or all three—you didn't figure it out yet. What you did know was that Galadriel had kept her ring, sacrificing the nine, and that Sauron had been gathering his forces to "heal" Middle-Earth, searching every corner he had conquered in the process, looking for you.

But he wasn't the only one looking for you.

Galadriel and Adar had joined forces in the fight against Sauron. And the latter had tried persistently to convince you to stop watching the fight between them. The need to stay away from Sauron was one thing, but the actual thought of hurting him, of being the cause of his downfall… you didn't know if you could survive that. To be honest, you know you wouldn't.

And he knew that too.

That's why he often tried to break down the wall you had put up between you to appear in the form of an illusion. It was often in moments when you thought of him. You're certain you'll never forget the first time he took the opportunity to reach out to you through your connection.

You were lying on a small bed in the inn, staring blankly at the ceiling above you. You had managed to slaughter the orc troop that was chasing you and had made it safely into the city beyond the mountain pass where you had come across them. You didn't know if Sauron had ordered you brought to him dead or alive, but you didn't particularly want to find out just yet.

That's why, after each such "chase," you left behind a trail of orc blood and bodies, escaping to another hole to wait out the danger and re-emerge into the light of day only when he shifted his attention elsewhere. Like you did now.

You lay in the darkness of your miserable room, cursing yourself for not needing sleep like these mortals. How much would you give for your mind to be immersed in the bliss of not a single thought coming to it? To stop fighting and trying so hard to not think about him...

That night you were particularly tired, not only from the fight and the injury you had suffered but also from the whole escape, which had lasted for several weeks. It was nothing in your immortal, long life, but you found those days without him by your side tiring more than any. You wonder what was worse: separation from him or the hardships of escaping from him?

You can't help but wonder what he's doing now. Does he also lie idle, thinking of you? No. That wasn't his style. He'd probably be sitting in some fortress, surrounded by his servants, whom he despised, as he hatched his plans to heal Middle-Earth. A cure that was supposed to be a disease that had begun in him ages ago. That you couldn't see and cure in him.

"Rather miserable and shabby chambers for a queen." You shiver at the sound of his voice echoing through the small room.

You sit up unsteadily, staring at his figure leaning against the door. You blink a few times, convinced that he was a trick of your tired mind, but when he speaks again, you realise that he managed to slip through your barriers and answer your call while you were thinking about him. You had unknowingly dug a rabbit hole for him inside you. And he took advantage of it, crawling through it before you could block him.

"Although… I think this is a room fit for a treacherous queen."

His mockery shakes you out of your strange state of numbness. You stare at him, anger rising in your chest as you hear him accuse you of the one thing he had no right to.

"It is ironic to hear you, of all the creatures, accusing me of cheating, when I was the one who stood faithfully by your side all these years. Besides... you can't say that you didn't see that coming."

"Maybe I am as naive as my queen?" He replies, slowly walking over to you. You get out of bed, standing on the other side of it, desperately trying to put some distance between you.

"Which one? Forgive me, but I'm starting to get a little confused since you're calling so many women by that title." You say, sticking the pin where it hurts.

"Jealous of the elf?"He asks, raising an eyebrow mockingly at you.

"I didn't leave because of jealousy. You know that very well."

Honesty was always something he accepted... worse. He didn't like being vulnerable, showing his cards and saying what he really felt... that's why looks away and tries to change the subject.

"If you come back, I won't punish you too harshly… at least not in a way you don't like." You shiver as memories of your times together—those particularly intense ones, where all you could do was whisper or scream his name, as he destroyed you for anyone else in the sheets of your bed—run through your mind.

“Go back to what?”

"You promised to stand by me. To be my right hand." He responds, offended by the thought that you ask him such a question, that you don't know what awaits you, that he has to explain to you how grateful you should be that he will take you back without any problems.

"I am sure you will find many worthy replacements for me. For example, such a commander of elven forces…"

"I don't want Galadriel." He interrupts you with a sharp, cold tone, irritated that you're bringing up the subject of the elf. He starts to walk around the bed, wanting to get closer to you, and you take a few steps away from him with each one he comes with.

"Did you come to this conclusion before or after she rejected you?" You mock him, watching him closely. And you see perfectly on his face the moment his composure breaks.

After berely a blink of an eye later, he’s standing in front of you, grabbing you roughly by the shoulders and shoving you against the wall behind you. You fight his grip, struggling, trying to kick him, but he’s got both of your wrists in one hand and lifting them above your head, pressing his torso against yours.

"You are mine. I will kill anyone who says or thinks otherwise… including you." He growls in your ear and runs his nose over your temple. You take quick, ragged breaths as you give in to his illusion and his will, sensing his scent, the warmth, as if he were actually with you.

"I am not one of your rings. You can't put me on your finger and expect me not to slip off when you lose interest in me, to faithfully wait for your attention until you feel like playing with me again." You hiss angrily in his face and lift your legs, trying to kick him. He gasps, struggling to keep his grip on your wrists. After a moment, he grabs you roughly by the waist and pushes you onto the bed.

"Stop making this difficult. We both know how it will end. Go home. Before I will drag you to it." He warns you, glaring at you intensely as he steps closer to you. You raise your leg to kick him in the chest, but he catches your ankle, grounding you.

"I have no home. You made sure of that." You growl at him, trying to yank your leg out of his grip, but he won't let you. He takes a step towards you and braces your leg over his shoulder. He presses his lips to your ankle, sending a shiver right up your spine.

"I am your husband..."

"I don't remember you swearing any oaths to me." You respond angrily, yanking your leg out of his grip as he presses kisses along your ankle and lower. You can't let him have enough space to play his tricks and seduce you to get you on his side again.

"It is enough that you have given me one. You cannot break it."

"In the eyes of the Valar we do not exist anyway. We have no souls. So why should I keep the promises made by that part of me that died long ago, buried by your own hand, Mairon?" The use of his true name somehow unsettles him, causing his mask of composure to crumble for a moment. You see in his eyes as old memories of the two of you flash through his mind—when you both bathed in the light of the Valar, when he was just your Mairon. "Forgive me... Sauron."

He recoils from you as if scalded when he hears the hateful tone in your voice as you speak his other name—the one given to him by Morgoth. You see him tremble when it feels from your lips like a foul curse. You give him one of your coldest, most cruel looks, and you almost crumble in your resolve to keep him away from you when you see him shake his head gently, allowing himself a moment of weakness with you.

"You knew perfectly well what I had become… after Morgoth."

"I did. What I didn't realize was that you would want to remain his shadow forever." You respond with bitterness and stare at him with resentment equal to the one he accused you of abandoning him… but how could you stay with him when he hurt you more than anyone else had before?

"I am not his shadow. I am my own master. This... this is who I am."

"Then this is not the man I promised myself to." Your words hurt him. He may not show it in a big way, but you can see it in the way his jaw clenches a little harder after your statement.

"But this is a man you've bonded yourself to. Til the end of the time and much longer after that." He reminds you, never taking his piercing, cold gaze off you.

"Or until one of us is forever gone." There’s another long silence after your statement, this time more tense. You swallow hard, watching in the piercing silence, broken only by your loud heartbeat, as he takes in the meaning of your words. And you can clearly say that he doesn’t like them at all.

"You can't kill me. You won't. You can't. You care too much."

"I know. I meant something else."

At those words, something inside him snaps. He stops controlling you completely. Before you can blink, he's straddling you. You struggle against his grip, fighting him with everything you have, but he pins you down to the bed with all his strength, not letting you move away from him for even an inch.

"If you do… I will pull you from the land of the dead, find your soul, and make you suffer more than Morgoth ever did to us. You will not leave me… not you… if you do not return to me…"

"What will you do? Burn whole Middle-Earth? Destroy me? You've already done that or are about to do it." You growl, digging your nails into his wrists as he tries to lock your hands back in his iron grip. You whine, in pain and shock, as he bites into your shoulder, effectively distracting you so he can overpower you. "Unlike you, I have nothing to lose, my king."

Your mockery only fuels his anger. You gasp as he pushes his knee between your legs, creating a space for himself. Before you can even react, he leans down and captures your lips in a punishing, bruising kiss, as if it were some form of punishment for you - a punishment created by him specifically for his pleasure.

"I will find you… I will find you, and bind you to myself with golden shackles if necessary." He mumbles against your lips, cupping your cheek in his hand.

He presses his thigh against your core, teasing your shamefully dripping pussy for him, asserting his dominance over you. As if to reassure himself that he still has some kind of control over you.

"I'll rip my heart out before you lay even the tip of your littlest finger on me again." You promise him, but it seems unlikely considering the way you grind against his thigh, desperate to get away from him yet unable to do anything but endure his treatment.

"Then I will lay at your feet the heads of everyone who has caused you to leave me. Their lives, the lives of everyone in Middle-Earth, and their blood will be stained your hands."

You can’t help but moan as his fingers find their way to your cunt and pinch it. You bite your lip until it bleeds as he pushes two of his fingers inside you, stretching the tight walls of your pussy for him once more.

"They already do. Since the day I brought you back... since the day I followed you and supported you. Since the day I naively fell into your arms believing that I meant as much to you as you did to me. Since then I have had your sins on my shoulders." You mumble, digging your fingers into his arms as he is tirelessly working on your pleasure.

"If what I feel for you is not love, then I don't know what it feels like."

And then you almost give in to him, almost surrender, wanting to believe his sweet words, wanting to believe that he is actually capable of loving you sincerely, that all those centuries spent by his side were not a waste of time at all.

Almost. Because you realize he is much wiser in the art of deceiving everyone around him than you will ever be.

You sigh as he removes his fingers and instead teases your entrance with the tip of his cock. And even though you know better than to give in to him like that, you can't stop or push him away—too eager for his touch after so long apart to do the right thing.

Instead, you let yourself be submerged in his perfectly tailored illusion of him thrusting into you, glad that he's not actually with you in the flesh, because then you'd fail completely to him once again. In your mind, you find a twisted excuse for your actions and grab his hair hard, sinking your fingers into the perfectly coiffed bow and tugging on it as he pounds into you at an unforgiving pace.

"You will regret this. When I put a crown on you made of your blood and the blood of our enemies, you will regret having abandoned me. I will make you my ornament, my prize, a pretty thing on my arm. Then you will understand how I treat my toys." You whine as each sentence he says ends with him thrusting harder and harder into you.

You close your eyes and bite your lip, trying to keep from making too many sounds, but it doesn’t meet with his approval. He wraps a warning hand around your neck, pressing down just a little as he forces you to look him in the eyes.

You feel the heat spreading across your chest, the ragged breaths that leave your lungs a reward that makes him redouble his efforts, abusing your poor, overstimulated body, forcing sweet whimpers and moans out of you over and over for his pleasure.

"The thing is... you've always treated me this way. Maybe we're both blind—me for seeing it too late and you for thinking you did me a favour by letting me love you endlessly when I got nothing in return."

"I have always adored you." He quickly denies it, telling you another well-practiced lie.

"Did you?" You ask, grabbing his chin firmly. He freezes for a moment, staring at you without saying a word, too surprised that you're still trying to defy him. "Look me in the eyes and tell me it was always me. Look me in the eyes and tell me you would give it all up for me. Look me in the eyes and tell me it was all in my head—that I got your intentions wrong somehow, that instead of celebrating my love, you didn't take it for granted and started craving power more than my love. Look me in the eyes and tell me you would choose me over a hundred rings. I dare you. Show me your alleged love."

You hold your breath, waiting impatiently for his response. For the first time, you realise that you're seeing him without any words. He's staring at you, shocked and frozen, trying to get something out of his mouth.

You laugh bitterly, still with him deep inside you, as he proves to you exactly what you suspected, exactly what you didn't want to see all these years. He didn't truly love you. He never did.

"Get out of my mind. Have enough decency and mercy for my tormented heart and leave me alone." You beg him shakily, allowing yourself to show so much weakness. You close your eyes tightly, stopping any tears from spilling out as the painful truth hits you.

"I can't." He spits it out reluctantly, admitting, probably for the first time in a long time, honestly to you.

Sauron wraps his arms around you tightly, pressing you painfully against him. He digs his fingers into your arms, as if to make sure you don't break free from his grip. He presses his forehead to yours and closes his eyes, taking a shuddering breath.

"Come back. Just come back."

You're not used to seeing him like this. To seeing him... lost, begging for something, being not the one in control. You close your eyes, letting your tears mingle with his—the ones that are dripping onto your cheek from his.

"To watch you tolerate my love again?" You spit at him angrily, and he shakes his head slightly. He removes his forehead from yours and cups your cheek gently in his hand, caressing it as he forces you to look at him again.

"To watch me make everyone in all Middle-Earth fall at your feet and worship you."

"I only want your adoration… it's a pity you're not able to give it to me honestly."

"Y/N... please." He tries one last time, pressing his lips to yours, stealing the words you wanted to use against him. You gasp into his desperate kiss as he begins to move his hips again, tearing you, your soul, and your body in half.

"It was not me who left us in ruins… you have no right… you have no right to ask or beg me for anything." You whine, letting your tears fall down your cheeks.

His plush lips kiss off each tear as he continues to desperately hold you, thrusting into you as if he can redeem himself through his sweet words and the pleasure he brings you.

"Y/N." He whispers desperately, pleadingly, as he brings the two of you closer and closer to climax, despite how reluctant you are to accept him inside you.

He craves your touch, your tenderness, and your warmth. He has to have you back; he can't imagine a world without you; he can't imagine you by anyone else's side but him. And if he has to burn all of Middle-Earth and take you against your will, then he will.

He will do anything to make you see again that you belong together, that he worships you—maybe not to the extent you expect, but as madly and devotedly as his black rotten heart can handle.

"Get out of my mind, you deceiver."

"You… of all people… don't call me that… at least not you." He mumbles against your temple, pressing his lips there.

Every little whisper, every tender touch is just another dose of poison—poison you thought you were already healed from. But in that little moment between you, he reminded you so clearly of the power he has over you and how strong he is. Because even knowing what he is like, you couldn't fight the pull between you. That's why you had to stay away from him. For your own good.

The moment you both fall apart, reaching your peaks, you focus your power and throw him out of your mind, slamming the door shut with a bang. You breathe deeply, tiredly, as the connection between you weakens, even as you feel him hammering with all his might against the gates to your mind you’ve closed. You allow yourself a moment of shuddering sobs, wrapping your arms tightly around yourself and holding on, rocking back and forth on the bed to somehow calm your shattered emotions.

You’d forgotten how strong his illusions could be and how gracefully he could mess with the minds of others, passing off his thoughts to them as their own. You begin to wonder how much of you was really there and how much of the emotion you felt was really coming from him.

You decide you don't want to know.

You quickly gather yourself to set off on your journey, convinced that he has caught your scent and is already in pursuit of you. And you are not wrong. A few hours later, you watch in the distance as the village you stopped at burns under fire and the feet of orcs. At least he has not lied to you about this one thing.

He will burn the world to get to you.

You shiver, coming back to the present as a cold blade is pressed to your neck. You glance at the weapon and frown, recognizing Adar's black blade.

"I thought you wanted to meet like civilized beings?"

"As if you or I could be one." He whispers in your ear. You manoeuvre his hand and push him away from you, throwing him against the wall behind him and pulling out your blade. You aim it at him, watching him carefully.

"What do you want?"

"I want you to specify which side you are on." You laugh mockingly at the demand coming from him. He had definitely become too arrogant over the centuries he had managed to live through. Perhaps you should remind the fallen elf of his place…

"The answer has not changed since we last saw each other. I am on the only side that is right for me in this little war between you, Galadriel, and him. On my own."

"He wants you. And he won't rest until he gets you. You know that." You frown at his words, not at all appreciating the conversation about your former lover. The lover who continued to pursue you tirelessly despite how many times you had escaped the clutches of his orc army.

"And so?"

"We both know you will succumb to him the moment you come within his reach again. And Galadriel and I cannot have that. If you join him… the world will burn in the fires of his creation."

"It is already burning in the fires of its furious search for me." You growl, blocking the attack he launches at you just as you try to move away from him. You land a few blows, which he successfully blocks, but not as effortlessly as he would like.

"This flame we are able to control. The question is for how long?"

"You know very well that I will not join him of my own free will."

"Just enough to also know that he won't give you a choice once he catches you. Together you are too dangerous. So one of you must die."

"And you want it to be me?" You ask with a mocking smile on your face, ignoring the cold shiver that ran through you.

He was right. Partly. It seemed logical to destroy one of you since you were connected to Sauron. By getting rid of one, you take away some of the power from the other. And since you didn't seem like a particularly great threat, they wanted to remove you from the picture.

"I'd prefer it to be Sauron, but since you leave me no choice… I don't care whose dead bodies I step over to bring about his eternal end."

"Oh you showed this very well by sacrificing your so-called children." You mock him, pleased when you manage to hurt him in a vulnerable spot.

He attacks you harder this time, actually forcing you to block his sword. You push him away from you, moving to the next street, one that leads out more to the outskirts of the village, where you could see the nearby forest.

"I don't want you to die. But I will kill you if I have to." He growls, thrusting forward, trying his best to cut your skin with his blade.

Adar posed no threat to you. Yet you knew you would not be able to avoid their efforts to kill you for long. Eventually you would have to choose a side. But you feared your battered heart had not yet healed enough to make the best decisions for yourself.

"Then you will make him win. He'll have nothing to lose after my death. Literally nothing. And you know perfectly well what a desperate man will do, don't you, Adar?"

"Make him fall… or fall before him."

"What should I do? Return to his side and be your spy? Do you think he won't notice that I won't sense the trick? Or that I won't change my mind? He knows my mind. He will see over this little lie."

"But he doesn't know your heart." You can't stop the slight twitch of your facial muscles—a sign of weakness that he quickly spits out and greets with a dark, mocking smile of victory.

"I don't have one anymore." You answer without emotion, knowing that it is partly true. Part of your heart had been cut out, and what was left of it was no longer fit to function like it once did. Sauron made sure of it.

"That's why I trust you in terms of making him disappear once and for all." An unpleasant shiver runs through you, and a strange feeling of unease settles heavy in your chest at his words. The thought of killing him, of being part of the cause of his death, isn't... as liberating as it should be. Which scares you a little bit.

But before you can say anything, agree or reject his proposal by mocking him, you hear the howl of a warg coming from the nearby forest. And that could only mean one thing…

"You fucking traitor." You growl at Adar and charge at him. He deliberately delayed you, allowing the orc scouts to catch up with you.

Instead of thinking about escaping, you think about how to hurt him the most. That's why you want to show him what happened to his children. You're both in the middle of the fight when the first orc units reach you. They throw themselves at you as well as at their father, with the difference that none of them dares to raise a weapon at you. They have a clear mission. To catch you and take you to their master. The rest of the world was of lesser importance to Sauron.

Unfortunately, Adar manages to escape the battlefield. If you weren't busy killing orcs, you'd mock what a coward he is, since he can't face what he once loved and cared for. On the other hand, unfortunately, you understand him. You realise this when, in this sudden commotion, amidst blood both black and red, the fire from the torched village, the screams of men, and the army of orcs, you see him.

Sauron. Halbrand. Annatar. Mairon. He had many names. And many faces. You wonder if you ever got to know his real one.

But you won't let me win that easily. That's why when your eyes meet his, you run in the opposite direction. He's not calling you. He's not stupid enough to think that you'll come to him of your own free will. That's why you run, not even turning to see if he's following you. Because you know perfectly well that if you focus your senses enough, you'll feel his breath on the back of your neck.

Running into the ruins of the forest, you know you have no escape route. They burnt everything and buried every possible hiding place, leaving only fire and darkness behind. Strangely, you didn't pay any attention to it. You wonder if your ignorance stems from the far worse things you've already seen while at Sauron's side or if you've simply stopped paying attention to things that don't directly concern you.

Your heart beats madly as you hear his footsteps behind you, and you feel him trying to simultaneously cage you in his arms and break through the barrier you've put up in your mind.

In your flight from him, you fail to notice how he manipulates your surroundings, masking his protruding crotch with his illusion. You stumble, giving him just enough time to catch up to you.

You fight him, trying to break through his armour with your dagger, but he doesn’t let you squirm under him for long. He knocks the weapon out of your hands, catching your wrists in a tight grip and lifting them above your head. He lets you fight his clinging grip for a moment longer, staring at you intently, drinking in all the changes in you since he last saw you. And you can’t stop your heart from beating a little faster at the sight of him.

"Are you done?" He asks you mockingly, piercing you through with his icy gaze.

"I don't know yet." You pant, still exhausted from running away from him and fighting him. You try to kick him with your legs and push him off of you, but he holds his ground above you, his body pinning you to the dead ground beneath you.

"I can go on like this for eternity." He warns you, bored, as if he hadn’t spent all those nights over the past century searching for you, cursing your name as you slipped through his fingertips each time he was close to catching you.

"Me too." You growl at him angrily, renewing your attempts to defeat him with even more furious passion.

You managed to surprise him enough to somehow crawl out from under his grip. You push him away and stand up to keep running, but he grabs your ankle and pulls you back to him. And before you can react, his mouth is on yours, devouring you in the most ravenous, unholy way possible—taking your breath away, any thought that was going to cross your mind.

You can't help but moan into his mouth. He takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, ravaging you even more with each movement of his tongue against yours. He cups your cheeks in his hands, making sure you don't pull away from his kiss. He presses his body against yours with a groan, as he is finally able to properly sink into the feeling of your lips, warmth, and scent.

He can't count how many sleepless nights he spent thinking about you. It was pathetic, how frustrated he felt, how he had to meet his needs on his own, while sinful images of you—precious memories he held onto—tempted him and distracted him from his main mission.

But he finally had you. And he'd be damned if he'd ever let you walk away from his watchful gaze again.

"Lord Sauron we have taken over…" The orc who was supposed to give him the message couldn't even finish his sentence as Sauron sent one of his blades towards him.

You could hear his dead body fall to the ground a little further away from you as Sauron hungrily, open-mouthed, moved along the column of your neck with his lips, placing wet kisses, leaving hickies and bite marks all the way down to your clothed chest—marking you as his property once again.

"You killed him."

"I have many of them. And only one of you." He doesn't even have the decency to care about your accusation and stop kissing every tiny inch of your skin he can reach. You sigh, trying to pull away from him, but with each tender kiss he places against your skin, it becomes more and more difficult.

"It's exactly the same with your rings, and yet this rule doesn't apply when it comes to them."

"Don't start." He mumbles and pinches your side in warning. You give him a hurt, angry look, and he just chuckles darkly, thug-like. It's one of the rare times you see him so... relaxed and carefree, without any worries or plans nagging at him, when all he wants to do is lose himself in you.

"I should have killed you ages ago. Or myself. Or both of us." You mumble as his fingers begin to work on the laces of your blouse. He presses a kiss to your cheek, completely ignoring your small threats as he cups your breast in his hand and begins to fondle it. You hiss as he plays with your nipples, and you involuntarily tangle your hands in his hair, pulling him closer to you.

"And I should punish you for leaving me, but yet here I am, worshiping my queen." "We need each other. You know that. So stop fighting it." He whispers into the crook of your neck, continuing to pepper it with kisses. With your other hand, you reach for the dagger at your side and, taking advantage of its looseness, press the metal against the back of his neck.

"You may have needed me… but I never needed you."

"Lier." He growls, not moving an inch, waiting to see if you dare to pierce his skin and draw his black blood, or if you will finally give in to your wild desire, fuelled by a century of your running away from him.

"Deceiver." You respond just as furious, and you roughly push his head away from you so you can look him in the eye. He licks his lips, watching the furious look in your eyes, a raging storm of both lust and rage.

"A damn good couple, don't you think?" He asks, raising an eyebrow at you. You bite your lip, staring at him, your grip on the dagger tightening as you lightly trace the line of hair at the nape of his neck with the tip of the blade, still hesitating.

"It's them or you. From the rain to the gutter."

"But only at my side will you become queen." He entices you and puts his hand around your neck, forcing you to lift your chin and meet his intense gaze.

"Queen of nothing." You comment, emphasizing the last word with a glance at the empty, scorched earth around you.

"My queen." He corrects you. He gently removes his hand from your body and reaches for the back of his head—where you still have an iron grip on his hair. You freeze when you feel him slide his little breast onto your free finger.

"This time we will be equal. Or I will bring doom upon us both."

And though your warning sends an unpleasant shiver of alarm through him, he ignores it completely. He leans down, capturing your lips in a bruising, passionate kiss, and can't help but smile as he hears and feels you drop the dagger to the ground.

"I think I can work with that." He mumbles against your mouth, throwing himself at you like a starving man looking for a warm meal.

You idly trace patterns on his back with your fingers, carefully considering your next move. For now, you'll let him think he's placated you and that he's on your good side again.

And in time, when he once again takes your devotion for granted—and you're convinced he will—you'll seize the opportunity against him. You'll be the queen of nothing. And you'll do it without a king by your side. If he can't celebrate your love, then you don't have to accept his rule.

This time you will be the one to tolerate his affection for you.

[strawberriesoup]

umbrella٠࣪⭑

── .✦ A sudden storm causes your evening plans with Jisung to be canceled.

word count: 1.8k

genre: fluff/angst, jisung x female reader, established relationship, comfort

warnings: cursing, crying, reader has a hard time vocalizing her feelings, kisses, super fluffy, jisung is best boyfriend, hugs

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Normally, the slight pitter patter of rain tapping at your window wouldn’t bother you so much. The droplets racing down the glass were usually your cue to brew up some tea and clear your mind whilst watching the headlights of cars whoosh by on the street far below.

Right now your mind is anything but clear. You pull your hand away from the window, leaving a print of condensation behind as the chill in the air picks up, warning of the upcoming storm.

If nothing else, the weather instills in you a newfound hate for the weatherman and his deceitful games.

Why did everything have to go wrong? First your dinner plans with Jisung were canceled because of “renovations” and now this? The forecast predicts thunderstorms the rest of the day and through the night as well. The rain and your mood are getting worse by the minute.

You miss him. You just want to see him. Is that really too much to ask? But the universe— like always—has different plans.

It was about two months now since you had met Jisung. You had been thirsting over his best friend, Minho, and Jisung had stepped in as your wingman. Needless to say, you weren’t so interested in Minho anymore after getting to know Jisung.

Technically, you met him at a party — said party you had only attended to stalk Minho— so your first impressions of Jisung were understandably questionable. Come to find out later that his friend group forced him there and he’s actually just a cheesecake-loving homebody who’s afraid of pigeons (“Those damn birds know too much”) and likes the show Nana a little more than he probably should.

He’s cute as hell though.

Your couch squeaks as you throw yourself down on it. That stupid squeaking. It incites more violence in you than it probably should, and you take that as a sign to take a deep breath and try to think positively.

Unfortunately you just end up thinking of Jisung and how, if he were here, he would be able to cheer you up with one of his stupid jokes and that goddamn pretty smile. Ugh.

Should you call him? Would asking him to come over be too much? It was raining exponentially hard and he probably wouldn’t want to bother. There’s always another day. But still. Your mind is hyper-fixated on the thought of him, his presence, his laughter, the way his eyes seem to sparkle when he rants about his latest obsession…

Fuck this. You’ll just go over to his place.

By now, the downpour is in full swing and practically roaring against the side of the building, the sound blocking out even the rush of traffic building on the road below. You feel a chill run through your limbs at the thought of trekking through that mess with only your umbrella as a shield.

Through the clamor of the rain outside, you swear you hear a soft knocking. Are you imagining things? You must be. It was probably just thunder.

After a beat, you hear the knocking again. Louder this time.

Yeah, that was definitely your door. You jump up from the couch, heart leaping hopefully into your throat as you rush to unlock the door. It can’t be.

It was.

There stands Jisung, sporting a soaked umbrella, tousled hair, flushed cheeks, and a grin.

You must stare at him with an open mouth for longer than you thought because his brows furrow and he bursts out into a laugh.

“No ‘Hi Jisung’? No ‘Oh, how I missed you, I’m so glad you’re here Jisung’?”

He wraps his arms around you, his soaked umbrella thumping against your back. You return the hug tightly, coming back to your senses. He’s here! Wait, he’s actually here? The dots don’t seem to connect in your mind, but the arms around you, slowly rocking you back and forth in a warm embrace finally convince your stubborn mind that this is real.

“You came? But—“

“Yeah, duh! The rain’s pretty crazy isn’t it? Still sucks we couldn’t go to dinner, but look I brought snacks!”

He pulls away from you to shake the plastic convenience store bag in front of your face and sets it on the counter, the contents spilling out over the surface. All your favorite snacks. You feel tears prick at your eyes.

No. You are not going to cry right now. You clench your fists by your sides, trying to will the tears back into your skull. Unaware of your internal conflict, Jisung hums absentmindedly to himself while he shrugs off his drenched jacket and stows away his umbrella on the rack by the door.

“So what are we thinking?” Jisung’s voice cuts through your thoughts, “Youtube? Card game?” He turns his attention towards you. The second he sees you, his eyes widen in confusion. Are you okay? What happened?

Before he has a chance to ask anything, the dam cracks and you break down into tears.

He’s right there by your side, following you down to the floor and kneeling in front of you. He takes your hand between both of his own.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Can you tell me?” He speaks in such a soft tone, but the worry in his voice leaks through. It just makes you sob harder. You bury your face in your knees. Stop crying. Stop it right now, this is ridiculous.

He squeezes your hand before flattening your clenched fist and kissing your palm. He lingers there for a moment, a warm and steady presence, while you collect yourself.

Eventually, you bring yourself to meet his eyes. His eyes flitter between your own, laced with obvious concern. Which makes sense because who in their right mind just breaks down sobbing with zero explanation as soon as their boyfriend walks in the door.

“I.. It’s just— I can’t believe you actually came here. To.. to see me. It’s— I don’t know, it’s really not a big deal I’m so sorry—” You stammer pathetically between gasps, wiping your tears on your shirt sleeve. Damn it. Why can’t you just pull your self together?

“Shhh. It’s okay, just take your time. I’m listening.” He soothes, pressing his mouth against your knuckles. You can feel his teeth through the soft skin of his lip as his breath ghosts across your skin.

“I just missed you.” You finish plainly.

It’s true, you did miss him. But you can’t quite bring yourself to say the whole truth. You want to tell him how much him showing up means to you. You want to thank him for actually caring about you and wanting to be around you, even if that means he has to go out of his way to achieve that. Nobody had ever treated you this way before. They wanted you when you were convenient. When you were easy.

Jisung just isn’t like that. How could you think otherwise?

Jisung huffs out a fond laugh at your answer and breaks into a half smile. By the knowing look in his eye, you can tell he understands you without words.

“Yeah, well, I missed you too. Come here.” He folds you into his chest, one hand behind your head and the other tracing circles across your back. You could stay here like this with him forever. Except that you might be getting snot on his shirt right now.

“Hold on, I really need a tissue,”you admit, pulling away from him and giggling. You excuse yourself to the bathroom while Jisung gasps and dramatically “ewwwuhh”s after you.

You avoid making eye contact with your reflection in the mirror as you blow your nose. Eventually, you glance up to take in your appearance. God. You look a mess. Your puffy red eyes squinting back at you agree. You rinse your face with some cold water just for good measure.

After you had taken care of business, you emerge from the bathroom to find Jisung sprawled out on your couch, limbs dangling about haphazardly. When he spots you, he pouts and makes grabby hands.

Mock rolling your eyes, you go over and lay on top of him, your couch complaining at the added weight. Straddling your legs, you place both of your arms around his head, cradling it. The feeling of his body underneath yours, the steadiness of his heartbeat, the curve of his waist, It just feels right. Like it should always be this way.

“You want to kiss me sooo bad, huh?” Jisung teases. He cocks an eyebrow at you and makes a kissy face. You cant help but laugh while you grab his face between your palms.

“And so what if I do? Huh?” The grin is evident in your voice as you dip down to give him a peck on the lips. It proves to be a little difficult to give a proper kiss to someone who is giggling through their nose and fighting back a smile. You kiss him once, twice, three times.

“You know,” you comment, “this would be easier if you just stayed still—“ Jisung abruptly surges upwards into a sitting position, nearly bonking his head against yours in the process. You find yourself straddling his lap while his hands shift to support your thighs.

Eyes brimming with admiration, he simply stares at you for a moment. Taking in everything that makes you, you. You’re perfect. And he wants nothing more than for you to just be able to see what he sees.

He leans in, slowly closing the gap between you two. You feel your heart skip as you lean to meet him, your eyes fluttering shut.

A bright flash blinds you and before you could even draw in a gasp, a deafening crack of thunder consumes your senses.

You can feel Jisung jump beneath you, his hands tightening around your thighs. Both of you pull away from each other in shock. He stares at you with wide eyes and his mouth hanging open, looking so genuinely frazzled that you break into a fit of laughter and wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder. He laughs breathlessly in shock for a few moments, hand coming up to his heart to ground himself.

“You good?” You lean back and brush his back the hair that had fallen in his face, peering into his eyes.

“Mhm!” Jisung nods with a tight-mouthed smile, his voice an octave higher than normal.

“Awhhh my poor babyy,” You coo, returning to your previous position and rocking him back and forth.

Eventually, you two settle into a comfortable position on the couch. You had tucked yourself into Jisung’s side, resting your head on his chest. He had recovered from his little heart attack and is now rambling on about the lore of Hollow Knight, with the steady beat of the ever-pounding storm at your walls as accompaniment. You sigh in contentment, bathing in the sound of his voice.

“Hey, Jisung?” You ask, after a moment of silence.

“Hm?”

“Stay with me?”

“Always.”

[rjthirsty]

"I'm Pregnant" with IkePri

We've seen how dating, their first time, and engagement proposals pan out, but what Cybird will never deliver to us is that pivotal moment that MC tells one of the LIs that she's expecting.

This is just my idea of how it will work out with each suitor. MC is AFAB, and all suitors are AMAB. Obvious mentions of pregnancy lie ahead. Just a fun little exercise to test out drabbles. 

[7/21] Jin, Chevalier, and Gilbert done

Jin

Jin is the king of pulling out, but somewhere along the line, he slipped up and it resulted in nothing so he started to get lax. Somewhere along the line, you two stopped worrying about it. More times than not he still denies you the creampie that it turns out he enjoys seeing seep out of you. But now you're late, and maybe you two should have been more vigilant.

It's hard to find the words. You confirmed it with a physician, and you know you need to tell him, but having a baby with a commoner churns up trauma for Jin, and you're afraid he'll turn you out.

He's worried. You have never looked so ashen. When you said you needed to talk, he dropped everything to give you time. His large hand palms your cheek. He dips down to look into your eyes. And in a voice that has helped you through countless times he says “Whatever it is, it'll be okay.”

“I'm pregnant.” You finally manage. 

Shock leaves him wide-eyed in surprise. It takes him a moment to zip through the thoughts that spring into his mind - a million possibilities, questions, and outcomes on what he'd do if this day had ever come. Then a grin lights up his face and you almost miss it as he wraps his arms around you and lifts you off the ground to hug tightly to him, spinning around from the sheer joy of having a child with you.

He's better than his father. And you're not his mother. And the world is a different place with the two of you together. He's more excited than you thought he'd be. He talks to your stomach even before the child can hear him. He wants to princess carry you everywhere. And he introduces you as the mother of his children.

Chevalier

The way Chev looked at you after you told him the news was chilling - not because it was his icy stare that had silenced rooms and struck fear in children, but because you had never seen him… scared. He was scared. The news was not happily recieved as you thought it would be.

As the two of you prepared for bed and you talked of your day, you broke the news with excitement and turned to see him stunned and staring. “Chevalier?” You called to him. His eyes cut from your belly to your face.

“It's okay. You're not a beast, and I'm not afraid of you.” Attempting to soothe his worries, you moved closer and slowly snuggled into his chest. “I'd be lucky to have a child just like you, because you're an amazing man.”

He relaxed in your arms, his own arms surrounded you as he dropped his chin to put his lips on your head. “I'd rather have a child like you who can love someone like me. You may never understand him if he's like me.”

“But I don't need to to love him.”

From that day forward, Chevalier dove into reading about medical studies and other literature on pregnancy, labor, and delivery. He stated checking up on you more often and bringing you all sorts of items said to help with pregnancy issues. He would have delivered your child himself except thankfully Clavis helped you talk him out of it. There are some things you'd rather he not be in the middle of.

Gilbert

“Do you want me to tell him?” Walter asked, a serious note in his voice.

“No. I want him to hear it from me.”

You knew the news of family was not a joyous thing in Obsidian. Especially for Gilbert. The land of deceit and decay, where families had murdered families for generations. Where the Emperor carried the sins of the Obsidian line that had wrought death and bloodshed countless times across this kingdom and others.

Gil had wanted to end it. To stop his line from continuing. And here you were, pregnant with his child. He wouldn't hurt you you were certain, but he might actually lock you up this time in order to prevent anybody else from hurting you. He could if he wanted. But living like that would leave everyone unhappy.

In order to prevent another bed-chaining, you visit him in his study. Before you made it two steps inside the room, he stood from his chair and moved towards you, worry clouding his face. He felt your anxiety. Something was not right with you, and he knew it.

“I'm fine,” you assured him as he quickly looked you over. “I just… have something to tell you.”

Gil's perfect smile covered up his momentary worry. “Surely, no one has bothered my little rabbit. Yet your heart is racing like the day we met.”

“No, no one has bothered me.” You step closer to him and wrap your arms around him, trapping him in place. With a lean of your back, you lock onto his single red eye to show how serious you are, and plainly explain, “I'm pregnant.”

His hands fly out, snatching you close to him as he squeezed you against his chest, holding onto you like you might somehow slip away if he were to let go. This is not the first time he has done this. You brace against him, giving him at least a few seconds of his desperate hugging before it begins to feel like he'll crush you. It always goes like this. 

“Gil! Gilbert, please. I can't breathe.”

He relinquished you, and as you gasped lungfuls of air, he scooped you up and strode out the door. ��Wait! Gil! Where are we going?”

You were used to the palace by now that you knew he was headed towards his bedroom. Even if he didn't answer, you could already see how this was going to go. “Put me down! I am not going to be locked up and hidden away. That is not how you treat people you love.”

“Do you presume you can order me around?”

“No, but if you do this, I will never forgive you.”

Gilbert slowed his steps and came to a stop. In his eye you could see emotion wavering, and while you hadn't learned how to read him as well as he knew how to read you, you had learned to see the different sides of him that he only shared with you. 

“Now,” you began calmly, “I'll make some tea, and we can talk about this. At a table. With no shackles or rope.”

“I’m so weak to your requests. At least let me lock the doors so no one can bother us.”

“You can lock the doors if I get the key to them during our talk.”

Gilbert's biggest fear is losing someone he loves. He recognizes he has desires to control and cage MC to keep her safe from others, but he also knows those desires are not acceptable. He's at the mercy of his emotions, and despite being a genius, he often acts on whims, especially relating to MC. I'd love to explore this further. See how far we can push him.

[xxkissesforchanniexx]

❥‧ not a word

in which: all the warnings were true. and he was the one guy you should've told no.

genre: angst. pairing: fuckboy!hyunjin x fem!reader. rating: mature mdni. masterlist

warnings: mentions of virginity loss, toxic situationship, reader is a simp, a whole lotta yap, not proofread, rough sex

a/n: im getting back into writing finally... no promises though. a lot has been gong on recently so sorry I havent posted. new style >.> someone tell me if you liked the other one better

There was two things you learned going through your sophomore year of college. The first was pay attention to the lectures and the second was list to the rumors. Maybe if you had listened to the rumors you wouldn't be stuck like this, stuck in this stupid cycle because the other girls had warned you. Warned you about his pretty full lips and infectious smile, his dark eyes and enticing voice.

Yet you fell.

And you fell hard.

And you let yourself be used. Apology after apology, and you forgave him every time. because he "could change".

You still remember that night, drunk after a party and he convinced you. "You're the only one for me, you're the only one I want."

You remembered how it felt clawing at his shoulders as he bucked into you, shattering your innocence in a cloud of what you thought was love. How he held you down and made you take very inch. You could still hear his whispered praises and soft moans, telling you how good you were for him, how you were made for him.

You.

Only you.

Yet it wasn't only you.

And even when you heard he was running around with so many other girls, you still forgave him when he came to your apartment with your favorite flowers and got on his knees before you. Begging you to forgive him like you were a god and he were a sinner plagued by deceit.

You still let him guide you to the couch and worship your body, his lips and mouth moving over your skin with such purpose and passion. Treating you like a princess the entirety of the day, showering you with his "love".

And he was walking with someone else not even two day later.

So what gave him the right to stop you from going around with someone new. Let that someone new into your apartment, let him flex that he'd made it between your legs.

Nothing gave him the right to stop you, or beg you. Yet he did. And you let him.

You let him get into your bed, legs hiked over his shoulders as he pounded into you, hand moving from your tit to your throat and applyingjust enough pressure to remind you. You were his.

Whatever it was you had going on, no matter how many times he'd hurt you, you still fell back into him.

It bothered you that he'd be with someone else. And it bothered him even more that you'd run to some other guy. But Hyunjin couldn't stop himself from wanting more. No matter how many times you whispered those words in the dark in his arms and he never spoke them back. Because he couldn't. Because he didn't.

You stared up into his eyes, dull ache in your chest as it weighed on you, this was fun and nothing more. He rubbed your nub furiously, drawing your orgasm out of you, fucking you through it as it hit you like a freight train. Right as his high built and his thrusts grew deerp, deep and sloppy, bruising your cervix from the force as if he wanted you to feel more than just his cock bullying into you. As if he wanted you to know even if he had all the girl he wanted in his bed, you were the only one he'd come back to every time.

"Fuck Y/n!" He groaned, throwing his head back, "I..." He shoved his cock in completely and groaned as he released his load into you.

He never spoke it once, but you felt it right as you started to fall asleep, the gentle kiss he left on your forehead before gathering his things.

You really should've listened to the rumors. Maybe you would've heard that Hyunjin would tell you a million things and more without uttering a word to you.

© 2024 xxkissesforchanniexx. DO NOT COPY OR TRANSLATE MY WORK !

➤ taglist ↳ @asahisimpnation @seolarsonlyloveisyou @leeknowsnot @oddracha @palindrome969

@armystay89 @bubblespop @bubblerizz @igetcarriedawaywithyou @seungminindabuilding

@ot8 @rylea08 @todorokiskitten @stay-tiny-things @lara

@boi-bi-ahaha

[intuitively-her]

Weekly predictions🔮

💗You are leaving behind the things that once kept you stuck

💗There’s some drama going on within your family

💗You need to be more self-indulgent. Stop over giving to people, especially family

💗Beware of scams!🚫 I see someone wanting to collaborate with you, but this is only for their personal benefit. This is a deceitful male energy

💗Your former boss wishes that you would come back. Things flowed better when you were there

💗You are stepping into a new era. Expect more abundance and recognition within the next few days⭐️

💗Someone from your past wants new beginning with you. Don’t let them back in

💗Receiving more romantic offers. You’ve been looking good lately😍

💗Your hard work is paying off💰

💗Moving on from grief/ a loss💔

💗Gaining your spark back✨

💗Expect to hear some good news about work! This could be a promotion or call back from a job. They see your potential🙂

💗Trust your gut this week! You ain’t tripping

💗Feeling burdened with responsibilities/ like you can’t catch a break

💗Focusing on your happiness and pouring back into yourself🌞

💗Feeling sad about something💔

💗Being forced to make a decision about something

💗Birthing new ideas or someone could literally be giving birth soon. Congratulations!🤰🏽

💗You’re growing!⚡️

💗Taking some time to be alone and heal. This was much needed for you

💗Releasing blockages/ working through your fears/ breaking away from old mindsets

*Only take what resonates!*

Please DO NOT copy, repost, or steal my work. Thanks!💖

[polutrope]

For the birthday event... Maedhros, Maglor, the river Gelion? 👀❤️

also for @theghostinthemargins who requested Maedhros & Maglor, Himring

Maedhros & Maglor, a getaway on the Gelion. Rated G, 900 words. Written by @polutrope and @melestasflight. On AO3.

“Káno,” Maedhros said, voice dipping with displeasure on the second syllable, “do you mean to tell me you took me from overseeing the construction of the great gate of my new fortress… for a pond?”

“A pond?” Maglor laughed. “This is a glorious, crystalline swimming hole!”

“It is a hole, I’ll grant you that. You told me it was urgent.” Maedhros rubbed at the back of his neck and sighed noisily. “Stop laughing. I am not amused. We will have to make the journey back in the dark now, and the horses will be tired.”

“Not to worry!” Maglor patted his mare’s saddlebags. “I brought us all the necessaries for at least three days camping.”

“No!” cried Maedhros. “We are not camping! There is work to be done! Tomorrow the workmen are due to set the foundations of the north tower; I must be present to approve the plans of the tile-settings for the west kitchens — and before you say I can entrust that to Lostir, let me remind you of the pattern he approved for the crenellations — what is the matter with you?”

“The kitchens!” Maglor wheezed, doubled-over and clutching his stomach. “Crenellations! Oh! ho! Yes, yes, you had better be sure the kitchens are tiled to your liking, as I am certain you will be spending so much time in the kitchens!”

“I might. Once we are settled. Didn’t you say yourself that I should find new ways of 'expressing myself'?” Maedhros scowled. “And what if I am needed to assist with transporting stones from the quarry? It is good for the workmen’s morale if I participate in the labour.”

“Nelyo,” Maglor said, collecting himself. “Do you remember the year when Amil persuaded Atar to hire Rauron to oversee the restoration of the Mindon’s mosaics, so that he need not go into Tirion himself?”

“Yes,” said Maedhros, glaring. “And I know exactly where you are going with this. This is not like that. This is warfare, this is lordship, it is not mere… decorative restoration.”

“Decorative? It is good Atar cannot hear you now. But no, that is not what I was getting at. Do you remember, that time he took us with him to show us the project, how obvious it was to us — not to him, of course — how little the craftsmen appreciated his interference? Hóndil all but rolled his eyes right out of his head every time Atar turned his back.”

Maedhros went silent and looked away. Maglor waited. At last, he cleared his throat. “Do you think… ? I am not as bad as Father… ? Really?”

Maglor took several steps over the mossy riverbank to stand behind him. He gave his brother’s back three reassuring pats. “Yes, Nelyo. I’m afraid that is really how they feel about your participation. They respect you of course, immensely. But I fear if you do not leave them a little more space, where their expertise is concerned, it may wear away at their fondness for you. Besides,” he said, nudging Maedhros round to face him, “you have been working too hard. What good is a castle with strong foundations if its lord is brittle with cares?”

“I am not brittle,” Maedhros sneered, and shoved Maglor off him. But then his face broadened into a smile and he shook his head. “Fine, you make a strong case. I only wish you had not used deceit to bring me here.”

“There was no deceit!” cried Maglor. “The sky portends rain tomorrow – it was urgent that you visit this pool of the Gelion while the weather is pleasant.”

Maedhros dragged a long breath through his nose, then released it. “It is so quiet,” he said. 

Not so to Maglor: the Gelion bubbled and rushed and the wind rustled the grasses and the birds chittered in the trees, but he did not trouble to correct his brother. There is noise, and there is sound, and to many the latter is quiet. 

“I can hear myself think,” said Maedhros, “and I do not like it.”

There it was. “Yes, the mind will clamour rather loudly for attention when you have given it no opportunity to be heard for so long. But it will go away.”

Maedhros hummed his agreement.

“You know what helps?” asked Maglor, and winked.

“Cold water,” Maedhros answered, deadpan — and was well-prepared for Maglor’s assault, leveraging his much longer limbs to seize Maglor by the waist as he ran at him, then diverting the momentum to hurl Maglor directly into the pool, fully-clothed.

“You brute!” Maglor cried through his laughter, and swung his arms over a log that drifted near the water’s edge. 

“Repayment for your guile.”

“Fair,” said Maglor, and flopped lazily onto his back. He dipped down — the kicked as hard as he could, sending a spray of water into Maedhros’ face. “Now get in, you insufferable rat!”

“Watch how you speak to your lord!” Maedhros jested. 

Then he sat to pull off his boots and roll his trousers to his knees. Wading in, he hissed when his feet touched the water. Maglor drifted, without interfering, watching the lines of care slowly fade from his brother’s face as he surrendered to the waters of their new home.

[libertyybellls]

ONE FOR THE ROAD !

pairing; mentor!finnick x victor!reader

summary; you’ve been finnicks since the moment you met, after your interviews you break- who can fix you better than him?

contains; ANGST/FLUFF, two idiots in love, typical thg themes- i’m sure by now you know what i mean ;(

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

finnick watched you from behind the curtains of the stage, somewhere in a hallway with your face on the screen infront of you. watching you with your hand over your heart as you gushed about your faux-greatfulness to the capitol.

he watched your face drop as all of your kills were flashed onto the large screen, he watched the squint in your eyes, the way your brows furrowed, the way your jaw clenched. he pleaded now to you, through his mind- bury the hatchet sweet girl, don’t fall apart, you’ve made it this far.

his fingers were crossed his foot tapping anxiously until the milisecond your interview concluded.

your stylists crowded around the hallway, waiting to applaud you on how good you were- but finnick knew you better than anyone, he kept his distance.

your presence came with fury, tearing off your ridiculous headpiece- it falling to the ground in pieces with seconds. each step you took seemed to get angrier. your stylists behind you with a hand on their chest. something their dull minds couldn’t understand, how could she be so angry when it’s over with?

when you turned the corner and he saw you, when he saw the darkness in your eyes clouding your every move. desperate to be alone, to rot away- he twisted you around and into him.

you fought against him- struggling to release yourself from his hold. finnick only pulled you closer to him, with a tighter hold. “it’s okay, you’re okay.” he hushed into your ear, your arms softened. they found a home around his neck while your head hid away in his neck.

“no,” you only shook your head. how could he lie to you when you’re like this? “it’s not, it’s not fucking fair.”

he understand, if anyone- he understands. “i’m still me, you’re still you.” he said that and he wanted to believe it, wanted it to be true. thought maybe the cards would fall into the right lineup for him- to all be in his favor, but when had they ever been?

“no im not.” you didn’t believe him, and he couldn’t believe himself- maybe the two of you could build a city of lies in your heads.

you wanted to tell him what a monster you were, how awful you were-but he had to have already known .

he’d watched you be the most deceitful creature in the game, the most twisted, two fast creature. you’re sure he knew.

“yes you are princess, i know it’s bad but you’re safe, you’re with me.” finnicks voice always had this perfect serene pitch, even when you didn’t mean to- in a world of voices it would be the only thing you could focus on.

the tears cascaded down your face, black mascara indefinetly staining his white sweater.

he would never admit this out loud, it almost ate him up inside thinking it- and he would beat himself up for it for as long as he lived, but you were not the same- you never would be. but he could love you in any way you came.

you weren’t the same girl who would collect the seashells that reminded you of him and run up to his door with a basket full of them- you would never be the same girl who’s eyes would sparkle at the smallest conversation between you, him, and mags in her living room on a summer night. the same girl who’d laugh so hard that your stomach ached and you’d slap his shoulder.

you weren’t the same girl. and he knew that the moment your knife went for your allies neck, the way you screamed when the last cannon went off.

and you’d never say it, but you thought of him. every time someone would charge at you- desperate to hear the cannon. you thought about how all you needed to do was run home into his arm and scream at him for not letting you love him sooner.

and now, now he needed to think of you. think of your loving touch- your pure heart and the sound of your overjoyed laugh when he’d hug you too tight- or catch you off guard with a joke. he needed to think about brining all this anger- this hate, this disgust and guilt out of you- for he’d rather take it all on himself than watch it eat at you.

so he would hold you close when you woke up screaming, bathe you when your body was too tired to hold itself up, whisper sweetheart nothings into your ear as he cradles you back into a deep slumber.

-

a/n; very short, just wanted to get a lil angst out for u guys ;))

masterlist

INBOX OPEN!!

[starlessea2]

The Dawn Watch (Astarion)

Pairing: Astarion x Reader [Baldur's Gate 3]

Summary: As dawn breaks the morning after the tiefling party, you find a vampire basking in the sun. In the daylight, all of his pretty words start to unravel. (Act 1 spoilers).

A/N After a week of feverishly playing (and completing) BG3, here's my first Astarion writing. Part 1/3 of a WIP mini-series called the Sunlight Chronicles.

Masterlist

Sunlight was warm on your eyes. It coaxed them open and made you blink: once hard, twice fast. Your lids were heavy, yet you could hardly remember closing them in the first place. Neither could you recall dozing off in a pile of leaves. 

As you pressed yourself into the ground, the forest floor rustled beneath you. A cacophony of dried foliage and bark, made somewhat comfortable by the mossy overgrowth. It took you a moment to understand your surroundings.

The tiefling party had bustled on into the early hours. It was the first reprieve you’d allowed yourself since being plucked from Baldur’s Gate and thrust into this new adventure. But, perhaps you had overindulged… 

There was a fire in your belly still, laden with mead and lingerings of lust, and it had led you here: stark-naked and alone on the outskirts of camp. 

A chuckle sounded behind you. “I was starting to wonder whether I’d drank you dry.”

You sprung up to your elbows. Not alone, you suddenly remembered.

Your head whipped around, settling on the figure bathed in the light of the low sun. “But alas, you were just making good on that beauty sleep. Morning, pet.” 

Rubbing the bleariness from your eyes, you found Astarion. He was radiant. Rays of dawn had snuck through the trees, dappling between branches onto his pale skin. And his hair... Caught in that glow, it looked like leftover starlight. 

The only thing letting him down was his smile. It was utterly charming, as always. But it was more obvious in the daytime; that smile was well-practised.

“Umm, good morning,” you eventually croaked back.

Your eyes locked with Astarion's, too nervous to wander over his body. He noticed, of course, and so he paced before you—a small strut, hands on his hips to invite your appraisal.

You looked away. Even in the warmth of the sun, you could feel the man’s contribution to your cheeks. It incited a laugh from him. 

“Oh now don’t pretend to be coy, my sweet,” he said. “Not when there was hardly any of that last night.”

You turned your head; any liquid courage you’d gotten from the party had long since worn off. But now sober, Astarion made your heart ache. His falsity was clear as day. He uttered the words you so desperately wanted to hear, but delivered them on the back of a deceitful voice. 

A sigh escaped you; perhaps the only time he hadn’t lied was when he’d called you naive. 

Awaiting your reply, Astarion became indignant. "What?" he asked. "Disappointed at the lack of morning cuddle? If you ask nicely, perhaps I’ll come back to join—”

"No," you said. "I just..." His eyes watched your every move, red and calculating. You took a moment to collect yourself. "I'm surprised that you stayed at all," you admitted. "Didn't take you for the type." 

His hand fell over his chest. "Oh, how you wound me! I try to do the gentlemanly thing, and yet you accuse me and look at me like that."

You cocked a brow. "Like what?"

Astarion let out an exasperated sigh. "Let’s just say it’s easier to know what you're thinking when your eyes are shut.” He made a face, mortifyingly reminiscent of one you’d likely pulled the night before, and your mouth fell ajar.

If you’d been wearing shoes, you would have hurled one at him. But embarassed and barefoot, you instead dug your palms into the soil, more than ready to depart.

Astarion was roused into action. "Oh come on, my dear," he said softly. He sunk to the floor beside you, coaxing you to stay. "All in good fun."

You deliberated for a moment, watching him in your peripheral. There was a smile on his face but it didn't quite reach his eyes. Somewhere in the depths of your mind, a pang of hurt made itself known. You quickly squashed it down, hoping Astarion had not noticed it in his.

Whatever feelings had bubbled over last night were absent this morning, you could just tell. Perhaps he no longer found you interesting now that he'd conquered you. Maybe he'd pursued you just to break your heart, or gods forbid, he'd been put off after sleeping with you—

“It’s just so warm.”

The words left Astarion, quiet as a whisper. But then his eyes widened and his lips formed a taut line—as though they'd never intended to let anything escape at all.

"What?" you started. But with one small glance at the man, you realised; he was talking about the sun.

For a moment, you watched him, basking in the glow like there was no place he'd rather be. You hummed in agreement. “I guess it’s something we all take for granted here.” 

He nodded. It became obvious then; he hadn’t stayed for you, but for the sunrise.  

“Astarion, I–”

He snapped his head. The look in his eyes cautioned you—told you the two of you weren’t that close. But something behind that almost dared you to try.

Against your better judgement, you proceeded. “You might have already guessed, but I’m no early riser." A chuckle instinctively followed. “I know Lae’zel told us not to question the shifts she allocated, but..." you paused, "who wants to take watch at the crack of dawn? Certainly not me.”

It was silent for a moment—save for the soft lilting of birds and the occasional breeze. Yet even then, the morning dawned so quiet that your breaths felt loud.

It took a few seconds for Astarion to reanimate, but when he did, it was with a smile. “Oh, my dear... If you’re struggling that badly, you could’ve just said." He sat up, readjusting to meet you straight on. “It’s not a bother swapping with you—if the night shift is more to your taste.”

Your heart felt warm. Truthfully, you liked the dawn watch, but you had a feeling it would be better appreciated by him. “That would be wonderful, thank you."

You had an inkling that Astarion recognised your ploy, but but if did, he wasn’t making a show of it. His hand wove its way into yours, and pressed it into forest bed. “My pleasure," he said. Then he leaned forward with a grin.

You anticipated a kiss, but he stopped before your neck, tracing the bloody bruise he'd bestowed with his lips—worrying last night's sore between his teeth. “It's the least I can do...”

As he mumbled against your skin, a shiver sparked through your shared connection.

“I’ll be more gentle next time." His breath fanned hot over your ear. “Both ways.”

You let out a gasp. "It's okay, we don’t have to—” The words ejected from you, all flustered and not at all how you pictured them.

Astarion offered a smirk in return, but it was accompanied by an expression you now recognised.

He thought you naive.

“Precious,” he said beneath his breath, before returning your crumpled dress to you. “Now come. We best not keep the others waiting.”

And so you followed his lead and quickly dressed: smoothing your hair and attempting to rid your cheeks of their flush.

If anyone asked, you'd say you were sun-kissed.

[lalunanymph]

BLACKMAIL KISS — h. ran

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ─── a single night of rebellion against your husband, the mayor of Tokyo, in an underground Roppongi club, traps you right in Haitani Ran's web of blackmail and deceit—where every move you make could potentially be your last one.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ─── a bonten!haitani ran miniseries inspired by hametsu no itte

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ─── bonten timeline, fem!reader, wife!reader, reader is feminine coded (wears dresses, heels, makeup), heavy tones of cheating/infidelity, DARK CONTENT, blackmail, political drama, public play, b/d/s/m, collaring, b/allgags, d/addy kink, n/ipple play, s/quirting untouched, mentions of cigarettes, mentions of alcohol & drugs, e/dging training, tease and denial, o/rgasm control, body writing, d/ildos, throat training, petnames (princess, good girl, whore, slut), b/reathplay, s/pit kink, coercion, mentions of pregnancy, non-con recording, HEAVY TOPICS PROCEED WITH CAUTION

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ─── bittersweet blackmail with this playlist

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ─── masterlist

#2: the way you bend, the way you break

“Have you ever been tied up before?” was how Ran Haitani greeted you the moment you stepped into the back of his Lamborghini. 

His hired driver in the front was trained to tune out his superior’s words, focused on beating Roppongi’s 7PM traffic. 

There was a red light blinking on the car’s dashboard, and you barely paid it any attention, too focused on restraining yourself from reaching over to choke Ran for asking such a perverted question. 

He eyed you up and down in your billowing black trench coat and shades, a flimsy attempt to avoid the public’s recognition. But, you didn’t have to worry. Ran had made you walk down an empty promenade about 200 metres away where he was waiting for you, careful to idle away from Mayor Tsunake’s residence.

Your husband had no idea where you were headed to or who you were meeting tonight, only aware that you had a dinner to attend with another trophy wife. Without warning, Makko’s expression swam in your mind, your husband’s greying hair and deep wrinkles a contrast from this younger man before you with his bleached-lilac locks and fitted expensive suits.

As if he could sense your ruminations, Ran changed his tune. “Has your husband noticed anything unusual lately?” 

You shook your head mutely. Last night flashed in your thoughts—Makko’s bigger body hovering over yours, thrusting deep into your slick pussy as you fought off the sensitivity from days of edging and denied releases. His thickset brows had knitted together, mouth falling open in a small ‘O’. 

You were so lewd tonight, Makko had murmured, smoothing his palm down your belly after he was done fucking you, looking both bewildered and delighted. Your expressions, your sounds… it’s like you’ve never been touched before. 

Swallowing hard, you peeled your eyes to your clenched fists on your lap. “Makko said I’ve been… more expressive lately.” 

Ran slid one hand down your thigh, feeling the soft satin of your coat give way to his touch. You hardly reacted when he dragged the hem up, a smirk spreading across his handsome face when your bare thigh appeared like a fleshy delight. He didn’t have to hike up your coat’s skirt further to chance a peek at the dark triangle between your legs; his attention immediately on the plush fat of your thighs chafing together. Satisfied that you had followed his orders, Ran straightened the hem back in place, giving you back your modesty with a curt nod. The blood roared in your ears, and you almost didn’t hear his soft, prodding question. 

“More expressive?” He reached for a cigarette in his breast pocket, lighting it up. Your nose crinkled from the smell of cheap tobacco, but you didn’t reprimand him for smoking in close proximity to you. Noticing your expression, Ran chuckled. “You don’t like the smoke, huh? Too low class for you?”

Just because you were being blackmailed by a Bonten executive didn’t mean you had to play nice with him or protect his ego. 

“Cigarettes are filthy. I hate smokers.” 

Ran hummed, absorbing your dignified profile. Your head was tilted at a haughty angle, your gaze resolutely on the road ahead; pretending to not pay attention to the man beside you. But, your efforts were futile—his citrus cologne and musk pierced your nose, you felt his body heat radiating even from your end of the seat. His steady breathing filled the silence and you tasted his cigarette smoke on the tip of your tongue.

“Fair,” he snorted, flicking the excess ash onto the car floor. “But, you still haven’t answered me about what your husband meant. I hate asking questions twice, Y/N.” 

You trailed your eyes back down to your hands set primly on your lap. “I… felt repressed. Before.” For a woman who spent most of her marriage doing what her husband wanted in bed, it felt strange to voice out your innermost desires. “But now, I’m more open. I feel him better. I—” you struggled to elucidate your words. “—it’s almost as if I’m a new person he’s… sleeping with.” 

Ran inhaled the cigarette down to its nub, putting it out against the car door and flicking the butt down to the floor. “You’re more free with him is what I understand. You’re more lewd and open for him because of your training. Denial is a strange thing like that—” his hand was back on your thigh, lifting the hem up. You flashed one, quick, panicked glance at the driver who had a prime view of you in the back seat. 

The Bonten executive shook his head. “Dayo is trained to not say a word about my affairs unless he wants a bullet in the back of his head. Isn’t that right, Dayo-kun?” 

“Yes, Sir,” the driver automatically retorted.

To you, Ran dipped his head closer, lips almost brushing your heated earlobe. “It’s okay to be lewd with me here, Y/N.” His hand reached further up your thigh, exposing your bare pussy to the cool, car air. “You don’t have to pretend with me, okay, my slut? Let’s see that pretty naked body. Pictures can’t compare to the real thing.” 

With his hands on you, Ran stroked your thighs, parting your legs and dragging you onto his lap. Your gasp was swallowed by his mouth hungrily lapping at yours—it wasn’t a kiss as much as it was an attempt to devour you. His hair was stiff with pomade, but your fingers sank into them, tugging those purple locks with wild fervour. 

A tongue tasting of tobacco and musk plunged past your mouth, running across your teeth, the rim of your lips; licking your YSL lipstick off, sliding back in when you gasped to play with the twitching pink muscle—leaving a plasticky aftertaste on your tastebuds. 

Ran gripped your jaw in his steel grip, moving those intense stamps down your neck. After days of not feeling him, you were incredibly sensitive. 

A-ah mhmh! Your moans reverberated around the car when he sucked a mark onto your pulse point, and against your better judgement, you cradled his face closer to your neck like a mother letting her child feed from her. Ran was greedy indeed, trailing those bruising kisses and nips down your neck. Feverishly hot and large hands pried the panels of your coat aside to show off your collarbones and shoulders. 

The coat was barely hanging off your frame, your thighs wide and exposed, splayed on either side of his generous lap. Ran wasn’t a bulky man per say, but his height added a girth which made you feel dwarfed next to him in comparison. 

Those ring-clad fingers sent chilly jolts that tasted of metal pinches when they roamed down your bare thighs. He touched you everywhere except the place where you were dripping for him the most, continuing to kiss down your neck and between your breasts to tease you. 

“This coat is so thin,” he whispered against your skin. “I could tie a rope harness around you and your nipples would show up underneath this flimsy old thing.” He fingered the thin satin, smirking. “Should we test that theory out? After all, you didn’t answer my first question.”

His first question—?

Your thoughts were rudely interrupted when you felt him shift you aside, reaching underneath his seat to remove a coil of ropes.

“W-wait,” your squeak of protest was quelled by one elegantly groomed brow raising in question. Your mouth clamped shut, and you eyed the red bindings with open trepidation. 

“Remove your coat until your waist. You can keep the rest on.”

You dared not defy him. Ran’s voice was hard and cold—a hint of steel behind the civility. This was a man who had no qualms destroying your life if you let him. Slowly, like you were told a death sentence and were walking to the gallows, you shrugged off your coat, leaving the open panels at waist level while you tried to uncomfortably cross your legs together—hoping to not flash the poor driver whose eyes fell intermittently on your flushed face. 

As if he did this every single day, Ran looped the first coil underneath your heaving breasts. He circled it around your torso, careful to move your hair out of the way so it wouldn’t get caught, and tightened it enough till you were gasping for breath. Taking the two ends, he curled it under your arms, taking them behind your back and tying them together. Your limbs effectively out of the way, he tugged the ends back underneath your rib cage, criss-crossing it over your shoulders to form a tight cage around your torso. 

Finishing off a knot behind your neck, the excess rope slid against your bare body, and he took the other coil, this time intentionally grazing the entire length over your right nipple. He repeated the same movement on your left one, the sudden burn of rope on your most sensitive peaks leaving them throbbing and hard like little fleshy stones. 

The outside world faded into a monotony, your entire attention stolen from the rope wounding in between your legs. Ran was quick to tie a knot, and before you could wrap your head around it, he had connected the length of rope with the one binding your hands together.

You were effectively caught in his trap with nowhere to go; red diamonds patterning across your entire torso and belly. Every breath you inhaled felt like you were trying to strain your breath past a sieve, your entire body rigidly straight and tingling. Your breathing came out shallow—your mind going dangerously blank. You felt his lips under your ear, his hands massaging your hips.

“I won’t hurt you, trust me,” he crooned, hypnotising you with his smooth baritone. “You look so pretty with my ropes on. I think we should go for a walk.” As he spoke, he straightened your coat lapels, tightening them back to your front to cover up his jute masterpiece. Once he fixed your hem and slid his own coat over your shoulders, no one could tell you were all tied up for him under two layers of warmth. 

“A walk,” you whispered, your ears ringing. “W-where?” 

As if he had planned this entire scene down to the last minute detail, Ran tapped on the driver’s shoulder, signalling for him to stop. You looked out past the heavily tinted windows, finding a stretch of beach greeting you. It was empty, but you spotted a few families dotting the shores, and suddenly felt lightheaded. 

“R-Ran—I-I can’t—”

“Ssh,” he rubbed your shoulder, surprisingly tender in his reassurances. “I’ll be here. Don’t worry. Let’s take it one step at a time.” 

You were far away from the city, close to the beach, with a dangerous man who had the power to humiliate you with one single flick of his wrist. He had re-tied your coat sloppily and loosely, probably on purpose to hammer in how vulnerable you were without him beside you. 

Ran wisely didn’t say another word as he helped you out of the car, his hands steady on the small of your back. The first thing you noticed was the chill—your nipples instantly stiffened, but the cold wasn’t the only reason why. You had barely noticed the knot above your clit—too caught up with your own nakedness underneath the coat to notice how it rubbed against you with every step you took. 

“S-shit…” your soft whimper drew his smirk. 

Ran led you by the elbow, turning back to nod at the driver who obediently stationed his ostentatious Lambo by the curb. The day was pleasantly chilly, and it would’ve been the perfect time for a walk if you weren’t dying from every step.

“Fuck…” The knot moved no matter how mincing your walk was; everything you tried to alleviate the firm tension right on your aching clit was useless. Your thighs were burning, your breaths coming out in heated pants. You were sure you were going to pass out, your brain going fuzzy. 

“Hey, stay with me,” Ran’s low voice beside you caught your attention. His arm wrapped around your shoulders, and he drew you to his side. He was wearing a pair of large Versace shades, covering those teasing purple eyes lingering on your flaming face. “Do you need a hand?” 

Laughing at your mutinous glare, you would’ve kneed him in the nuts if it wasn’t for the crotch rope digging up your folds. Your arms were starting to tremble in their locked position, and you swore every breath you took felt like you were struggling to inhale through molasses. Your lungs were fighting to inhale a deeper breath, and the mild choking sensation wrapped entirely around your body was making you feel like you were floating on air.

It’s too tight, you stumbled a little and Ran caught you. I feel like I’m completely trapped.

It didn’t help that you were wearing heels, your steps wobbling on the pavement. A woman was approaching hand-in-hand with an older man, and she locked eyes with you. 

Panic slithered down your spine—your nipples were fully pressing against the thin coat, and you were limping to avoid squeezing your thighs in front of her. You saw it on her face, that single look of concern and confusion. Hot shame tore through you, and you thought you would cry out if it wasn’t for Ran tightening his hold on you, that easy smile never slipping off his handsome face. 

Struggling to mimic his grin, you fought off the urge to squeeze your thighs in front of the poor, unsuspecting couple, nodding uncomfortably when they passed by you. Ran’s arm was a warm weight, offering you both support and the pretence of a loving boyfriend in front of these innocent strangers when you knew otherwise.

The steel grip. The tightening fingers on your shoulder. He was holding you tightly in his reins; keeping you from dissolving. His control over you never wavered, not for a split second. 

“How do you feel?” Ran spoke close to your ear. You couldn’t help the shiver from his warm breath touching your neck, struggling to find the right word which encapsulated your tense emotions. 

“Restrained,” you whispered back, unable to look him in the eye. You trailed your gaze to the brilliant blue sea, hunching your shoulders closer to your chest to keep your hard nipples semi-hidden. Anyone who saw you would assume you were curling inwardly from the cold. 

Ran tsked and nudged your lower back, reminding you to stand straight and tall. You reluctantly walked with your chest pressed out, the light coat covering your entire body feeling like a flimsy see-through cloth. 

Almost everyone who walked past you stared at your pinched expression in open curiosity. You felt like the entire world held a spotlight under your clothes—that they could tell a naked, tied-up and submissive woman was fighting off the cresting pleasure right under their noses.

“Ran, please,” you whimpered, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down your neck. You had both been walking for the past ten minutes, and the pavement continued stretching ahead with no end in sight. “I-I can’t anymore.” You were breathing heavily, forehead and chest covered with a light sheen of sweat. Ran made you stop in mid-stride, and you set your foot down with a quiet whimper.

The closest sensation you could describe burning through you was as if your entire body was sore from struggling in towering heels all day. 

You didn’t know what was worse—the pain of constantly being in motion or the agony of coming to a halt to fully feel the throbbing ache crashing into you.

You shifted from one foot to another, but nothing you did could stop that pesky knot from rubbing your clit. 

Ran had tied it tightly, making sure it was stimulating you even when you moved your weight. 

“Do you want to sit down?”

The thought of bending and struggling to perch yourself on a bench while the rope continued to rub and stretch across your pulsing clit almost made you cry.

“Please,” you nearly sobbed. “I-I can’t take it anymore. It b-burns.”

Ran slipped his arm around your waist, and drew you closer to him—letting you sag against his side, like how a boyfriend would let his tired girlfriend rest on him. You closed your watery eyes, fighting to keep calm. 

“Good girl,” Ran whispered, rubbing your back, your shoulders in broad daylight. Your brain was in a constant humming state of panic and arousal, you almost forgot you were in public before releasing a hushed, unsteady moan. “Fuck,” he chuckled, and the smell of his citrus cologne under your cheek was driving you quietly insane. “I think we need to head back. You’re a few strokes away from cumming and I can’t have that.”

The agony resumed again, this time nearly consuming you as you traced your way back to his car. Ran was patient with your mincing steps, and you were sure your palms were bleeding from how hard your nails dug into them. 

One, two, three—you tried to count your breaths, casting your eyes towards the ocean to take your mind off the strain in between your thighs and the bondage around your arms. 

The car loomed in the distance, and you were so grateful you actually cried out softly when the driver stepped out to open the door for you. Ran made sure to watch your head as you tumbled into the backseat, sprawled on the luscious cushions as he climbed in after you. 

“Drive,” Ran murmured tersely the second the driver returned back to his front seat. “Back home, Dayo-kun.”

“Yes, Sir,” the young man retorted, tipping his head and putting the car in motion. You sank back into the seats, releasing a groan of relief, tilting your hips up so the knot loosened its pressure on your throbbing clit. Ran took his coat off your shoulders, and unwound the twist in front of your body. 

Your roped torso appeared, your nipples hard enough to cut through steel. Ran played with the right one for a bit, rolling it between his long fingers and tugging. He exhaled a laugh through his nose when you squeaked, taken back by the sudden strike of sensitivity. You pinned your watery eyes to Dayo in the front, who was pleasantly driving like there wasn’t a woman teased and tied behind the car. 

Tattooed and ring-clad fingers played with your other rock hard nipple, cruelly pinching them to elicit your mewls, your hips ticking uncontrollably.

“So sensitive,” Ran whispered, smoothing one large palm down your sternum. His other hand was still busy stimulating your blushing bud—twisting, pinching and tugging it until you swore you felt every pang of pleasure deep in your cervix. 

“Ran,” you gasped, your body lurching forward to escape from the almost painful arousal. “S-stop—”

“Take it,” he murmured, tone barely fazed. “I think you can hold out longer than that.”

Stuffing your lower lip between your teeth, you keened, arching your back deeper into his arms, thrusting your breasts further up for him to play with. 

Bastard, bastard, bastard. You thought back to the couple who looked at you with polite concern, the older woman who turned her head the second you passed by her. Their stares. Their parted mouths. The question flashing in their eyes. Like they knew you were tied up—like they had known you were cresting on the edge of the strongest orgasm in your life.

Something wet slid down your thighs, and you gasped, prying your eyes open in time to find a small stream leaking out to drip down the carpeted floors. “Ran—”

He noticed your body betraying you, too, and growled, “That’s fucking right, baby—squirt for me.” Ran didn’t stop pinching your nipples, rolling them harshly between his calloused fingers. “Make a mess in my car, you little whore. Show the world who owns you—show Daddy how good this slutty pussy is for him.”

“A-Ah—!” Shamelessly, your back bowed, your thighs clenching together, but nothing could staunch the flow dripping down your legs; the well of shame finally overflowing. 

What is happening to me? 

Panic soused through your entire body, your thoughts going haywire. 

Fuck am I pissing in a car? I’m too old to piss in a car. Am I squirting? Oh God, Dayo can smell me. I’m squirting in the car. In public. I’m squirting—

“R-Ran!” you cried out, shaking the tinted windows with the decibels of your scream; your thighs fell open, hips pathetically pulsing in the air. Circling around. Trying to find a cock to sink down on. But, Ran didn’t even give you his fingers, greedily milking your nipples—flicking them, pinching them hard enough until they throbbed. They were fully distended, so sharp and pointy you could see them from a mile away.

Everything in front of you went blurry—the roads, sky and sea melting into a melange of colours. 

“R-Ran…” You sagged back into his chest, eyes sliding close in both exhaustion and surrender. The wetness trickled down to your ankles, staining your coat. His fingers ceased tugging on your poor, abused nipples, running down the dips of your hips instead.

“Good girl.” He hummed into your hair, “Good fucking girl. I’m so proud of you.”

Despite yourself—all of your reservations—your chest glowed warmly at his praise, your poor tits throbbing like dying embers. You felt your limbs loosened to your side, and the ropes melting to the floor. Strong arms gathered you closer to his chest, his face pressed into your neck, rocking you side to side like you were a child coming down from a tantrum. 

“Good girl. Did so well for me. I knew you could do it—I knew a slut like you had it in her. I’m so proud of you.” 

Your torture didn’t end there. 

Ran had driven you to one of his many penthouses around Tokyo, letting you grip onto his bicep as he led you up the elevator to his home. The doors opened to a grand decorated living room, gilded with expensive furniture and topped with an ivory piano in the middle of the cavernous space. You barely had time to admire the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Akasuka bay before he was dragging you into the bedroom. 

A large king-sized deck in silky white sheets immediately caught your eye. The second thing were the mirrors installed on the ceilings. On the walls, you noticed notches, and on the ceilings above were eye hooks which you found out what they meant the second he told you to strip and stand near the bed. 

Ran removed a coil of jute rope from underneath his bed, and you didn’t fight him off this time when he started to tie you up. Worn out from your bizarre release, your limbs were jelly when he lifted your arms overhead, securing them to a lowered hook. Tilting your head up, you noticed a double of your worried stare reflected back to you.

“You still scared?” He hummed, taking the ends of the jute coil and tucking it under your thighs. With a single tug, your right leg lifted off the ground, leaving you wobbling on your unsteady left one.

“Ugh—” You staunched a low groan, refusing to admit how much the sight of your own bound body in the mirrors above was turning you on beyond belief. The orgasm you experienced in his car left you completely unsatisfied, your hips ticking whenever he so much as grazed your pelvis. 

You needed more; you wanted more from Haitani Ran.

“I took some pictures of you, y’know,” Ran commented breezily, curling the rope around your heaving breasts, flicking your left nipple playfully as an afterthought. “The little dash camera beside Dayo-kun. I’m sure you noticed it.” 

Dimly, the recollection of a red blinking light came to mind. “N-no…” 

It was no use protesting. Ran chuckled like he hadn’t committed a violation against you, straightening up to stare you down the line of his angular nose. “You should know better than to underestimate me, Mrs. Tsunake. I always keep a track record wherever I go.” 

Once more red ropes kept you tethered to this sick game he was playing with you.

Ran hummed, taking one step back.

The rope harness was back around your torso, your arms tied overhead with the same devilish red coils. This time, your right leg was fastened to your waist, leaving your flushed folds and clit out in the vulnerable open. His bed yawned like a white mouth behind you, and from the windows stretching ahead, the city looked up at this lewd spectacle, twinkling lights like the tiniest flashes of cameras catching your flushed expression.

Your chest heaved, nipples circling, and you suddenly felt too exposed to the world. Anyone could peek past these windows at your bound form; someone could take a photo and send it right to your husband.

“It’s missing something.” 

Ran tapped a slim, manicured finger to his chin, and hummed. Disappearing from your view, you struggled to listen after his footsteps, the blood pounding in your veins. 

What more did he have up in store for you? 

He had already made you squirt without even putting his cock inside of you. He had already made you walk naked with nothing but ropes under your coat in front of innocent strangers. The flashing red light on the dashcam had probably taken multiple photos of you spilling all down your thighs like an untrained animal. 

You had nothing left to give him—you were wrought dry. Ran had reached inside of you and scooped up your deepest shame, weaponizing your own pleasure to ensure your downfall if you ever decide to come clean to Makko. 

He was disgusting; the scum of the earth. 

Those soft footfalls returned, and you were halfway turning around when you felt his hand on your neck. 

“I have a gift for you.” 

A gift? Before you could verbalise your question, you felt a stiff circle around your neck. Ran moved your hair to the side, fastening it with one click. Then, he tilted your head up, where you caught your own bewildered gaze in the reflective mirrors above, in time to watch him slot a red ball in between your teeth. He strapped it tight enough to smush your cheeks, leaving your mouth uncomfortably stuffed with the taste of rubber.

“Mmh—!” 

“Relax,” he cooed. “Do you know what this is?” He didn’t wait for you to answer, chuckling deeply. “It’s a ball gag. Feels strange, right? Like your jaw is stretched wide open. No one will ever hear you scream.” 

Fear flashed deep in your core, making you flinch away from him. “Mhm!” 

You could barely form words behind the gag, every plea coming out garbled and twisted.

Ran laughed again, his handsome face barely fazed in the reflection of the window. “I’m kidding. Told you I’m not gonna hurt you… not too much, at least.” 

He let the threat hang in the air, and left you alone to stew in your thoughts—your body swaying slightly in your bonds. You feared making any sudden moves; if your left leg accidentally gave way or you bent forward too much, you could pull your right hamstring—balanced as you were in such a precarious state.

Chewing on the rubber ball gag in frustration, you eyed your bound body through narrowed eyes. The strip around your neck looked to be made out of leather, and there was something written on it. You struggled to decipher the kanji, and when you finally made it out, you felt like you could’ve burst into an inferno of shame. 

Slutty hole for use. 

Tears pricked in your eyes, and you flexed your arms overhead, bringing more attention to your heaving tits. Ran, as if he had sensed your distress, returned back, now dressed down in a pair of black sweatpants, half of his dragon tattoo out in the open; pomade-free locks naturally hanging loose around his face.

“Do you like your collar? I had it custom made for you. It’s a gift.” As he spoke, he crept a hand on your waist, kneading your hip. Ran took one look at your sour expression and had to laugh. “Oh, don’t look so angry. At least I didn’t call you a ‘worthless fuckbitch’ didn’t I? I have more class than that, and you are an elegant woman, Y/N. I think ‘slutty hole for use’ suits you, don’t you think?” 

You turned your face away, chest heaving in angry shudders. 

“Hey—look at me.” 

Try as hard as you wanted to defy him, your body’s sudden instinct was to listen to everything he said. You dared to look him in the eye, and if the ball gag weren’t lodged in your mouth, you would’ve worn a twisted glare. Those lilac eyes went soft around the edges, his smirk holding just a twinge of satisfaction from your instant compliance.

“Good girl. You’ve been so good lately, huh? Any more good and I would have to let you cum.”

Your heartbeat tripled in speed, and without a single shred of control, you let slip a soft moan. 

“Yeah?” Ran grinned, both hands now on your body, roaming up your back, gliding over your shoulder blades. Every single careless touch left behind a trail of shivers. “I bet you’d like that, huh? How long has it been since you last came—two weeks ago? That paltry squirting in my car barely covered the itch, huh?” 

Without a second thought, you nodded. Your brain was filled with cotton, every defence you had left in your arsenal stripped away to leave you broken and vulnerable. Ran descended on your helplessness like a predator to a crippled prey, his grin more knives than teeth. His mouth touched the juncture of your neck, inhaling your perfume like a starved man. 

Your eyes rippled closed, and you let out a shaky mewl, feeling his grin grow against your sensitive strip of skin. 

“Pretty, pretty girl,” he murmured, nuzzling his face deeper into your neck. “So pretty. Bet you’d cum so nicely for me.” 

Large, warm hands caressed your hips, stopping just short of your mound. Brushing his fingers through the soft, downy hair, Ran’s ghost of a chuckle filled your heated ears. “I was wondering how’d this pretty pussy look tattooed with my name.” He smirked, as if the idea itself was downright depraved and enticing. “Why don’t we find out?” 

He left your side for the third time tonight, and your soft whine of protest was met with another sardonic laugh. “I’ll be back, slut.” You tongued the rubber ball gag trying to push it out of your mouth, but it was in vain. You twisted in your ropes, shifted your hips, and despite knowing how desperate you looked right now humping the air, you couldn’t help it. 

The ropes, the gag, his words… they were piling onto your already taut patience, stoking the heat of desire deep in your lower belly till you felt like you could cry out in frustration. As it was, tears beaded in your lash line, and you tried to wiggle out of the ropes, but barely moved an inch.

“Getting impatient?” 

Ran returned, and he held what looked like a pen in his hands. Except when he uncapped it, the familiar scent of dry erase marker wafted straight to your nose, filling you with trepidation. Without another word, Ran got down onto one knee, at eye-level with your pussy. “So pretty,” he cupped your mound, middle finger dangerously close to your clenching hole. You watched, as if in a trance, as he pressed the marker to your pelvis. 

Slowly, Kanji started to appear on your skin, the colour contrasting vividly against your tone to stand out in sharp attention. 

Ran Haitani’s slut. Needy bitch. Cum in here (with an arrow pointed straight down to your now leaking pussy). On your inner thighs—’lick me’ and ‘bite me’ were playfully written onto your skin. 

Your lover (fuck—you didn’t think you would ever refer to a Bonten yakuza executive with such an intimate title), stood back up, his smirk widening at your chagrined expression. The ink itched on your skin as it dried, and he didn’t wait for the words to literally sink in when he moved the marker’s nub to your breasts. 

On the plush fat, he painstakingly wrote a number of degrading words you had trouble deciphering through the window’s reflection. But, once their meaning was uncovered, you made a little sound of dissent in the back of your throat. 

Whore. Slut. Cumhole. Ran Haitani’s stress reliever. Property of Ran Haitani.

Ran. Ran. You were his—all of his. 

I belong to him now, your woozy mind procured. Ran was making his mark on you—literally and figuratively. He was treating you like the scum under his shoe while pushing the biggest orgasm of your life onto your bound, willing body. 

It was fucking insane how much it turned you on; to be tied up with such care while a litter of derogatory words blemished your skin. Your brain was slipping into a blissed out, white space—no thoughts existed between a single need to cum, cum, cum. 

Ran took one look at you, at the hazy look in your eyes and smiled knowingly. He tossed the marker aside, unbuckling the ball gag, letting you flex your jaw. “I’ll be back,” he murmured, and left you to stew in your humiliation. 

I’ve never felt this way before, your eyes slipped closed, breaths coming out in laboured pants past your aching mouth. I have never been this aroused in my life. This feeling was wrong; it was borderline abhorrent. You should be screaming for help, trying to punch the living daylights out of Haitani with your free leg. Not sway from side to side, biting on your lower lip while you tried to staunch the pressing need growing heavier and stronger in between your exposed thighs. 

While in the throes of your deepest self-loathing, Ran came back, and you squeaked in surprise at the sheer size of the flesh-toned dildo he held in his grasp. The fucking thing looked entirely too realistic—veins running down the entire length, with a girthy base. Unbidden, your pussy throbbed, but unfortunately, it wasn’t where Ran was planning to use it on you. 

“Open up,” he murmured silkily. A strong hand clamped around your neck, and your lips parted on instinct. The taste of silicone invaded your mouth, dripping into the back of your throat. Your gurgled moans resounded throughout the room, drawing a sadistic grin on his placid features. Ran fucked your throat with the dildo, coming close enough to make you gag, but he always pulled back when you started to struggle.

Tears smarted in your eyes, slipping down your cheeks. Your mouth bulged with the weight of the plastic cock, cheeks hallowed and trying your best to deepthroat it. But, you could tell Ran wasn’t impressed.

“Is that the best you can do?” He arched a brow, gazing at you quizzically. “I’m disappointed, Y/N. Your performance is abysmal.”

You were about to spew a colourful insult at him when he stuffed the thick cock back down your throat, easing it up and down your gullet. 

“I know you can do better than this,” he cooed, eyeing a trickle of saliva dripping down your chin. He pried the dildo from your mouth, silvery strings of spit connecting your swollen lips to the plastic tip as you gasped and sputtered.

“Ra—unhg.” You choked back on your words as he slid the dildo back into your mouth, shallowly thrusting it from the end of your throat right to the parting of your lips. 

“You should see yourself,” Ran whispered, leaning close enough that you could feel his body heat seeping into every inch of your bare skin. “Wearing my collar, decorated in such pretty words, sucking on a thick cock. You’re the very picture of a well-used whore, Y/N.�� You dolefully hollowed your cheeks, fighting back the urge to jerk your head back violently and accidentally hurt yourself.

“In fact, I think I need to take a picture of you—hold that for me, will you?” Ran left the dildo dangling from your mouth, and you bit down on it hard to keep the toy from tumbling to the ground in a mess of spit and more of Ran’s disappointment. 

With his phone in hand, Ran recorded you, flashlight searing through your eyes as he plucked the dildo out from your mouth. His camera trailed down from your head to toe, starting from your desperate expression, down to the filthy words smeared on your skin and then to your glistening pussy dripping obscenely onto the tiles. He stuffed the fake cock back into your mouth, the camera lens like an obtrusive third eye witnessing your defilement. 

The flashlight burned as it trailed onto the eager curve of your mouth taking the dildo down your throat like a good girl. Everytime you gagged, all Ran did was coo softly at you, telling you to breathe in deeply before plundering the well-soaked toy back down your throat. Your body was completely on fire, singing straight from the tips of your hair down to your curling toes.

Every thrust bruised the back of your throat, and you wondered if you could even speak after this. 

“Good girl, take this like a champ,” Ran praised, cradling your right breast in one hand, thumb gently circling your stiff nipple. “I should give you my cock after this. It’s longer than this toy. You might hurt yourself.”

The mere thought of Ran’s cock—the abstract idea of him fucking you in any way or form—made your back arch and nipples hard enough to chew. For all of the humiliating things he had done to you, Ran hadn’t yet stuffed his length into either your pussy and mouth. 

Why? You thought as you licked the dildo from base to tip, trying to imagine it was his cock. Why would he go through all these lengths only to not give me what I truly want? 

You wanted this. You wanted Ran to put his foot right into his smug bastard mouth and fuck you so hard and good, you’d be ruined for your husband. Those thoughts alone were enough to make you clench down on thin air, wishing you had something buried deep into your pussy so you could get yourself off quickly. 

“I can see your hips moving,” he observed quietly, eyeing your tight nipples. “And those perky tits—fuck, you’re really getting off to this, huh?” 

You gurgled your assent. 

“Most women would cry in your position—trust me, I’ve had them do that to me. But, you’re just enjoying every single second. You really are sick in the head—you like being treated like a fucktoy, don’t you?” 

Ran pulled the spit-soaked dildo from your mouth, smiling cruelly when you gasped at the sudden loss of cock down your throat, your whines both pitiful and impure.

“Say it,” he mumbled, dangling the toy in front of you like a literal schoolyard bully. “Say: ‘I love being treated like a fucktoy, Daddy’.” 

To humiliate you was one thing, but to have you parrot it back to him was downright debasing. You felt your insides pathetically pulse, craving whatever contact Ran was willing to give you—even if it was entirely undignified and injured your ego. 

You licked your lips, biting down on the plump lower one as you tried to find the courage to muster up the words. Those lilac eyes seemed to taunt you, glassy and prodding as if saying—are you brave enough to even try? 

“I… I love…” you faltered, throat bobbing in nerves. The camera was still pointed at you. Heaving in a breath, you pinned your watery eyes onto the bright light, blinking like a literal doe caught in headlights. “I love being treated like a fucktoy, Daddy.” 

If it was even possible, his smile turned even crueller. “Good girl.” Switching off the camera, your entire body sagged forward the second the harsh light was out of your face. Dark spots played around your vision, and you almost missed his featherlight touch on your clit. 

Tap, tap, tap. With every deliberate light slap on your swollen nub with his index and middle fingers, Ran made your entire body jolt. You cried out, eyes screwed shut and head thrown back. 

“Feels good, huh?” He murmured, spreading his hand across your bare belly, never ceasing his callous slaps onto your poor, denied cunt. “You poor, poor thing. So eager and desperate to cum. Daddy’s been so mean to you, huh? That even slapping this cute little pussy has got you all desperate and needy. Aww.” 

“R-Ran—” you choked when he increased the speed and impact, the wet sounds of flesh hitting flesh loud in the electrifying quiet. Your watery eyes pinned onto your reflection—as much as you tried to ignore your crushing need, it seeped through with increasing urgency. 

You bit on your lip to focus on not cumming without his permission—but Ran was making it entirely impossible not to. 

Every stinging slap went straight to your core, jolting you, turning you delirious. You were close enough that your walls started to spasm, your eyes rolling back into your skull.

“Ran—!”

As if understanding your predicament, he laughed. “Cumming already? Gonna spill all over my hand? I haven’t even fucked you yet. You’re so impatient.”

Every breath you took felt like drops of dew in your lungs, condensing right in front of your parted mouth, each gasp more fervent than the last.

“Ran, Ran, I-I can’t—” you choked off when he clamped one hand around your throat, tipping your head back. His lips hovered over yours, and instead of kissing you like you thought he would, his throat bobbed, and a globe of spit trickled from his open mouth into yours. 

You swallowed him down desperately, messily. Opening your mouth for more. And Ran gave it to you. 

More trickles of spit flooded your mouth, and his tongue teasingly rimmed your lower lip, making you whine and fester even more in your unending agony. His fingers were now slowly rubbing your clit, focused on edging out your release. You were so close, you felt like you could spontaneously combust.

Swallowing another wad of saliva, your parched body twisted this way and that, aching to find relief or escape from his steady circles on your clit.

“Ran—”

He kissed you this time, sensual and deep, tongue curling with yours, lips tasting of bourbon and sin. 

It was enough to completely break your entire resolve.

Every pore in your body tensed, mind going blank with one singular primal instinct rearing through. 

Like he could sense your impending release, the slow circles on your clit ceased—your entire world crashing down as the coveted orgasm he stoked for close to two hours dissipated, leaving a gnawing itch in your entire body.

“I think that’s enough for today,” he murmured decisively, unclasping his hand from your throat. 

Ran didn’t say a word as you gathered your thoughts, though he did shoot a few meaningful glances at your crushed expression. Ultimately, you couldn’t find your voice, too caught up in the denial trampling all your hopes to form a single coherent thought.

You were livid, sad and disappointed all rolled in one, but if there was one thing you couldn’t refute? 

How every single cell in your body unceasingly—unwaveringly—hungered for more of his touch. 

Back home, you barely responded to the maids who bowed as you passed them, focused on cleaning up before Makko got back from the office. 

You stumbled into the bathroom, hyper aware of the words still written on your body, feeling them branded into your skin. Shrugging off your coat, you were mortified to find those degrading names still latched onto your body, unable to be washed off even with soap and a loofah. With the sleeves of your coat hanging off your arms, you scrubbed at your body, frustrated to find the words barely feathering away. 

After minutes of scrubbing until your arms were hurting, you gave up, tipping your head back with a resigned sigh. Once the panic had ebbed away, you decided with grim finality to not let Makko take a look at your naked body until all the words were washed away—which was a feat considering how erratic your husband’s libido could be. 

Shuddering at the mental image of his shocked expression when he found another man’s name deep on your body, you shrugged the coat back on, but not before skimming your fingers lightly over some of the words.

The Kanji neatly spelled out your unwilling bond with Ran Haitani, the derogatory actions he committed onto you earlier today flashing through your mind. Your pussy went slick again, the sick moments edging the heat inside of you back into a simpering flame. 

Ran’s tongue in your mouth. The scent of dry erase as it appeared on your skin. His fingers on your clit. How tight the ropes felt around your body; how he curved his bigger build around you protectively as you were all tied up and vulnerable for him. 

Instinctively, you touched your mound, inching your fingers in between your drenched seam. Finding your clit, you tapped on the swollen bud, feeling the same shocks Ran’s fingers gave you coursing through your body for the second time today. But, it was different from his touch—Ran was rougher. Coarser. 

He loved to touch you like he wanted to destroy you. 

Your own fingers could never—would never—suffice. As much as it tore you up on the inside, you needed him. You needed Ran to touch you, tease you. It was etched into the bone-deep desire in your deprived body. 

Only Ran Haitani could quench this crippling desire coursing through your entire veins.

Only he could put out the fire he started first. 

And you were the poor soul hungering for every bit of his heat, yearning to feel his warmth again at the expense of your complete destruction. 

“Where are you heading out to?” 

Makko’s voice shocked you from your motions of putting on your sunglasses. 

The entire mansion was empty today, the maids given a rare time off to celebrate this public holiday. Offices were shut down, and almost every minister took this opportunity to indulge their wives’ whims of flying out to Hokkaido for spa retreats—taking this moment of sparse freedom to rejuvenate their minds and bodies before another arduous week of political campaigning began. 

Almost everyone, except for your workaholic husband who refused to entertain the thought of leaving his home office.

So, when Ran had texted you, telling you to come over to his penthouse with nothing but your coat on, who were you to resist the alluring thought of a few moments in pleasurable torture? 

You flashed him a sweet smile, nodding towards the door. 

“Just running some errands. I’ll be back soon.”

Your husband was a robust man, standing close to 6 feet. His grey speckled hair and stern eyes had once completely enthralled you when you were a young woman still new to the marriage game. But, after years of sticking by his side, feeling stifled to hide the truest version of yourself, you needed a breather. 

You needed a brief respite to reveal another side of you which only a certain Bonten executive had seen.

Makko’s brow furrowed, and his lips turned down into a frown. “I thought we were supposed to visit my mom today?” 

Shit. You had completely forgotten about your promise to accompany him to Azabu to meet up with your equally snide mother-in-law and Makko’s sister. Plastering on a regretful look, you felt the shards of guilt scrape your bruised conscience. 

Ran had to understand. He would know your marriage came first and not this shitty game he was playing with you. 

Bowing your head, you exhaled deeply. “Of course. I’m sorry, I forgot. I’ll go get changed and we can visit oka-san today. Just let me cancel my appointment.” 

Makko’s lower lip twitched, and he spared you an inscrutable look.

“You’re getting more forgetful lately. And you seem more tired. Is something the matter?” 

Without waiting for you to speak, Makko approached you, his large palms spreading out on your hips. Your husband pulled you closer by the waist, and for a split second, you panicked, thinking he would loosen your coat and pull it down only to find that you were already naked underneath it. 

The words Ran had written on your body days ago had already faded after numerous rounds of rigorous scrubbing while your husband was at work. But, the guilt and shame still persisted. 

You still felt the indelible stain on your skin—tasted the silicone of an impossibly large cock down your throat when you swallowed back on your remorse. Makko was a good man—despite his stolid nature and strict ways, and you didn’t want to hurt him. 

His bushy lip grazed your ear, breathing in your perfume. 

“Or, are you finally pregnant, my love?” 

You felt a jolt go through your entire body at his suggestion. Laughing uneasily, you pried his hands off your waist, fixing him with what you hoped was a sweet, disarming smile. “I would never do anything without your knowledge first, darling, you know that. I’m not pregnant so you have nothing to worry about.”

Makko breathed out deeply, his eyes softening. “Good. I don’t think a baby would be right for us now, yeah? I know my PA said the family man angle would work, but I’m worried about what this means for future campaigns. I can’t run for office fully if I have you at home with a child.” 

A child. Not even my baby. Your husband’s callousness would always take you aback, but after years together, you weren’t caught off guard anymore. 

Your smile was brittle, as thin as tissue. “I understand. Let me change, and follow you out. We can’t keep your oka-san waiting for us.” 

Usually, whenever Rindou appeared at his doorstep, it could only mean two things.

One, he had unfinished business with Bonten that his little brother wanted to talk over. 

Or, two—he was in deep, deep shit. 

From the look etched in Rindou’s somnolent eyes, Ran guessed it was the latter. Resigning himself to an afternoon of boredom after his favourite toy was busy entertaining her husband’s whims, Ran didn’t anticipate his little brother’s arrival to perk him up.

“And to what do I owe this pleasure, Rin?” Ran’s voice was even, smooth. But, underneath it was a layer of curiosity waiting to be unearthed. 

Dressed down in some grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt, Rindou tracked his older brother’s face, the purse of his mouth looking off with his usual blase attitude. “Mikey’s orders. Can I come in?” 

Ran cocked one lilac brow, but stepped aside for his only brother to enter. “Mikey? He’s not gonna make you lodge a bullet in my brain, right?” 

In answer, Rindou shrugged, further agitating Ran. “Depends. Do you have a lighter?”

Tossing Rin his vintage S.T. Dupont, Ran sauntered over to his velvet couch, draping himself on it. Rindou fumbled with a white stick, lighting it up and joining his nii-san on the couch opposite of him. 

“Mikey heard something and wanted me to check with you,” Rin murmured past the smoke pouring from his mouth.

Ran laced his fingers together over his crossed knee, tilting his head to one side. “Well? Get it over with. Does he think I’m a traitor or sum’n?” 

Truthfully, Ran anticipated Rindou would at least roll his eyes or crack a smile. Not look at his older brother with something like grim curiosity in those similarly hued purple orbs. 

“He heard rumours. Of you and the mayor’s wife. Someone saw you two down in Roppongi together. Are you seeing some poli-tick’s missus? You know better than that, nii-chan.” 

Rindou was completely serious, his mouth set in a hard frown. How did Ran know? It’s been years since his younger brother called him ‘nii-chan’ and to hear that honorific dripping from Rin’s mouth made Ran feel an iota of shame. 

But, instead of admitting to his faults, the older Haitani brother slapped on a grin. 

“Give me a second.” 

Tapping into his phone, Ran looked like he was casually sending a message. Not a minute to spare later, his text tone went off—confirming Rindou’s suspicion—and a smug smile graced the older man’s lips.

Without giving Rin any context, Ran held out his phone, showing his younger brother an impressive set of tits taken by a woman in front of a fancy, gilded mirror. The seductress in question who had sent his brother that racy picture had great collarbones—dainty and poised even as the sleeves of her modest, silk dress were hanging off her arms. Strangely enough, her face was cut out of the picture, leaving the younger Haitani curious as to who this was. 

The smooth, stretch of bare skin topped with perky, suckable nipples, made something in Rindou’s lower gut twitch, but he focused his half-mast eyes to his brother who set his phone down, a bastard grin lighting his expression.

“I’m blackmailing her,” Ran started to explain. “Stupid bitch came to my club trying to make a drug deal with some small fish. I got the photos. She was drunk enough to cream on my fingers so I got those vids, too. And now she does everything I ask of her. With absolutely no hesitation. If she doesn’t, those videos and photos go straight to the mayor’s office. Impressive, right?” 

Rindou sat back, blinking rapidly. The cigarette clamped between two fingers was dripping ash onto the ground, neglected by the man who was completely stupified by what his brother had just said.

“So, let me get this straight,” Rindou pieced it together in a slow drawl. “You’re fucking the mayor’s wife, and blackmailing her at the same time? But, what power does she have?” 

Ran shrugged, his eyes drifting shut for a split second before they fluttered open. “I don’t know the extent, but let’s find out. I mean, raids have been popping up near our turf lately, and if she can sway Tsunake to focus on Black Dragon territory instead, we might get away free. Also,” Ran added, “I’m not fucking her. She’s my denial slave. Fucking gets off to me being mean to her—you should come by once in awhile when I have her all tied up and dripping. Bet she’d love it.”

Rindou snorted, stubbing out his barely touched cigarette and lighting up another. Pulling in a deep inhale, he puffed out his next callous words with barely any conscious thought. “Mina will fucking kill me. I’m not a manwhore like you, Ran. One woman’s plenty enough of a handful for me.”

At the mention of Rin’s fiancee, Ran shook his head. “So typical of you to be whipped for the first woman who lets you cum all over her face. I guess I raised you wrong.”

“You raised me right,” Rindou countered, running a hand through his fluffy, purple cut. “Mina wants to meet my family. Says it’s about time she claps her eyes on your fugly mug. But, I told her you’re a private guy.”

Ran hummed, stealing one cig from Rindou’s stash on the table. “She’s right,” he spoke through the smoke. “I am incognito. Don’t need any more women throwing themselves at me.”

“Ha fucking ha. I’ll kill you if you ever touch her.” 

The older Haitani exhaled a genuine laugh. “Is that how you knew you were in love with her?” 

Though the conversation had taken an unexpected turn, Ran knew his brother well enough to sense that any mention of his precious Mina would get his mouth running. Rindou was just whipped like that. 

“Nah. Knew I fucked up the moment I looked at her and felt all warm and gooey without riding the high of a nut. Love hits you harder than a motherfucker, Ran. You’ll know when you know.”

Though Ran doubted he would ever look at a woman and feel light-headed unless his balls were thoroughly drained by her, the idea was entertaining enough to consider.

“I want you to meet her one day. Mrs. Tsunake. Maybe if she knew Bonten was real, we could get a bigger deal out of her blackmail.”

Rindou considered it. “Fine. Call me up the next time she’s here. But, she can’t see me or hear me. I don’t want Mina to find out.”

“Deal. Also, you can’t fuck her. My rules. I want my cock to be the first thing she cums on after we hit the one month on her denial training.”

“Denial training? But, what about the husband? You sure she ain’t sneaking around a good nut with him?” 

Ran was absolutely confident when he shook his head. “Nah. I would know. Besides, no woman who acts like a bitch in heat the second I touch her would be breaking my rules. Give me more credit—I know how to leash them well.”

At the mention of his brother’s… deeper proclivities… Rindou sighed. 

“Fine. What do you want me to tell Mikey, though? He’s waiting for my answer.”

Ran deliberated for a second, flicking more ash onto the mahogany coffee table.

“Tell him this, and tell him this exactly, Rindou—’You don’t have to worry about her, boss. I’ve got it under control. Sumida territory will be ours by next Sunday. You have my fucking word.’”

a/n: ran leash me challenge i would say thank you <3

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy the concept, sentence structures and scenes without prior permission from the creator.

[writteninlunarlight-years]

Under Your Spell

Vox x Reader

Since childhood, I have been told I look identical to my great-grandmother. Her husband, my great-grandfather, has looked at me like I was the last fragment of her to walk this earth. When he passed, it made me realize how some people lose their first loves and never get to see them again. I decided for this story that Vox should get to see his first love after he thought all was lost. However, it was you, his first lost love's great-granddaughter. You have the same looks and names, just younger. He thought after his first love's father chased him away, that was it, and any part of your life would never be in his hands again—until you were placed in Val's hands, and his protective side came out. Can you two learn to love each other? Will things grow or dissolve since he is close to that horrid Moth man? Tw: MDNI, 18+, Assult, Val being Val, Weird family-like relations, based off my HC Vox

Wow, this one is a long one. Please enjoy it and let me know what you think! I don't normally write long pieces like this, so if we like it, I will attempt to do it more! I wanted this posted yesterday but just kept writing and writing and writing. I had to make myself stop and cut off.

“No, Vox! You will never see my daughter again! Do you hear me?” The older man’s voice thundered, his face a deep crimson, veins bulging as fury twisted his features. Spit flew from his mouth with each vehement word, a grotesque display of his rage. “She is a good Christian woman, and she will not fall for your television antics! She deserves a good man—someone who can provide for her, not some reality star scum!”

Vox swallowed hard, the bitter taste of desperation rising in his throat. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes, but he fought to keep them at bay, unwilling to give the man before him the satisfaction of seeing him crumble. “You can’t do this!” He surged forward, trying to push the door open again, the threshold of your home now a barrier between love and despair. Just moments ago, he had envisioned a simple marriage proposal—an intimate moment filled with promise. But the moment he uttered those words, it felt as if the heavens had opened up to unleash divine wrath upon him. Vox was never a good christian man and now only seemed to further prove that.

“I love her! I have loved her for so long! I will treat her right! You cannot take my Angel from me!” His voice cracked, desperation saturating each syllable as he pleaded with the man who wielded the power to shatter his dreams.

But the door slammed shut, the finality of it echoing in his heart. As Vox stumbled back, the world around him blurred, the vibrant colors of love fading into a monochrome nightmare. You were gone, just as quickly as you had entered his life, your father’s iron grip ripping you from his arms. Like a good Christian girl, you obeyed, never looking back.

You married a well-off businessman, someone who could provide in all the ways Vox was deemed incapable. Sundays found you in polished pews, while he languished in the bright glare of daytime TV. You bore children while Vox climbed the ranks to prime time, and as he basked in fleeting fame, you were left to wither under the weight of a dreaded illness. When he was ultimately taken down by his own deceitful schemes, it felt like a cruel twist of fate for you both.

When Vox woke in hell, he wasn’t surprised. In fact, he felt a strange sense of contentment; he knew he had courted darkness throughout his life. A con man’s rise to fame was paved with the broken dreams of others, and he’d danced on that line with reckless abandon. Yet, the greatest cost was the loss of you—his little angel, the only light that could have guided him from the shadows. Perhaps, if he had kept you by his side, he might have found redemption instead of ruin.

Years in hell stretched on, dull and monotonous, much like his time as a TV host. He made acquaintances, and he made enemies. He learned from the notorious Radio Demon, their relationship evolving into a rivalry as fierce as it was complex. Valentino entered the picture, a partnership forged in the fires of self-interest, followed by Velvette, who added her own chaotic flair to their strange trio. Despite these new connections, Vox could never fully release you from his heart. How could he let go of his first love, the girl who had filled his world with color?

Vox kept tabs on you long ago when you two still walked among the living, an unyielding shadow lurking in the corners of your life. He was a shady man, after all, so it was no surprise that he employed someone to follow you and your family. He needed to know you were loved and cared for, even if it meant watching from the sidelines. Your life blossomed into something beautiful—a picture-perfect family, Sunday church outings, laughter echoing through the halls of your home. Each glimpse of your happiness twisted the knife in his heart, a reminder of what he had lost. He only wished now here in hell he could have a moment to see you once more.

Yet, you never looked back at him, not once. Even when he learned you were sick, he held onto the hope that your devoted husband would nurse you back to health. Instead, you spent your final years in a realm far brighter than hell, surrounded by family, while Vox remained trapped in the shadows.

Then, one fateful day, the story took an unforeseen turn. You, Y/N L/N, the great-granddaughter of the woman who once bore the same name and likeness, found yourself in a world steeped in piety and predictability. Your family’s life revolved around the church—Sunday services, Bible studies, and summer camps that felt more like shackles than blessings.

Yet you, the wild child among your siblings and the first daughter in generations, danced on the edge of rebellion. Your spirit, a fiery blend of your grandmother’s beauty and the reckless charm of a man she once sought to escape late into the night with, burned brightly. You lived humbly, taking only what you needed in the daylight, but at night that didn’t stop you from indulging in the vices that thrilled your heart—partying, drinking, and seeking freedom in every forbidden encounter.

As you stepped into adulthood, the veil of your misdeeds was ripped away, exposing the wild and reckless girl you had been. On your eighteenth birthday, the news broke like a thunderclap, echoing through your conservative town. Whispers turned to shouts as tales of your high school escapades spread like wildfire—parties, late nights, and indiscretions that painted you as the black sheep of your family.

In a desperate attempt to salvage your reputation, your parents enrolled you in a Christian college, hoping the structure would steer you back to the righteous path. But even there, with the pressure of expectations weighing heavily on you, you found ways to maintain your hedonistic lifestyle. You studied hard, yes, but the allure of nightlife was too intoxicating to resist. By the time you turned twenty-four, your antics had once again come to light, revealing just how unladylike and un-Christian your behavior had truly become.

Disowned by your family, you were cast out like a forgotten relic, but it hardly stung. You had siblings aplenty—golden children who fit the mold your parents desired. While they basked in their parents' approval, you reveled in your newfound freedom, embracing a life unshackled from the burdens of propriety. You danced through life with a wild abandon, each misstep a badge of honor in your quest for self-discovery.

But this exhilarating freedom came crashing down one fateful night. On the eve of your twenty-eighth birthday, you found yourself at a pulsating club, surrounded by friends who matched your energy. Laughter and music melded into a cacophony of joy, and for a moment, the weight of your past felt distant. But as the night wore on, everything blurred. A drink, laced with malice, slipped into your hand, and before you knew it, the world around you faded to black.

When you came to, the vibrant lights and music were replaced by an oppressive stillness. You blinked, disoriented, trying to piece together what had happened. Panic surged through you as you recognized your surroundings—a hellish landscape bathed in a sinister shade of red. The air was thick with a suffocating heat, and the ground beneath you felt like it was pulsating with a malevolent energy.

The reality of your situation crashed down like a wave, and you realized you were no longer in the world you had known. You had crossed an unforgiving threshold, one that led straight into this hellish landscape. Memories of your life flashed before your eyes—your family’s disappointment, your reckless choices, the fleeting moments of joy that now seemed tainted.

As you struggled to rise, the shadows began to shift and swirl around you, whispering secrets of despair and temptation. You knew you were exactly where you belonged, a place you practically through yourself at the minute you were old enough to disobey your family. You were killed and now resting here in the pits of hell.

In those fleeting moments, you understood that you weren’t just a victim of circumstance from one bad drink; you were a participant in your own chaotic narrative. The life you had led and the choices you had made brought you here, and now, in this twisted realm, you had the chance to confront the consequences of your actions. 

With a mixture of fear and defiance, you steeled yourself, ready to navigate this dark new world. You would face whatever challenges awaited you, determined to reclaim your story, even if it meant battling the demons of your past—both literally and figuratively.

You were in hell and you readily accepted this, dressed in a glitzy clubbing dress, your skin transformed to the vibrant hue of a fox’s rich orange, glinted with specks of white and black. Yet, amidst this twisted beauty, your features still bore the unsettling resemblance to your deceased great grandmother.

As the years dragged on, the brutal exterminations became increasingly difficult to evade. The once-familiar landscape of hell morphed into a relentless hunt, where survival was a cruel game of chance. Desperation gnawed at your insides, leading you to a place you had sworn to avoid—a notorious sex house owned by Valentino, a figure whose reputation sent shivers down the spines of even the most hardened souls.

You stepped into that den of sexual sin with a singular purpose: the Vee’s worker bees somehow endured the purges, and you were desperate to escape the clutches of a second death. With a resolve, you signed up to be 'looked at' for a position among his girls, hoping to cling to life a little longer.

What you encountered inside was an atmosphere so charged with depravity it felt like a physical weight pressing down on you. The air was thick with the heady scent of desperation and lust, mingling with the sharp tang of sweat and smoke. You had pushed boundaries in your past life, but this was another level entirely. As nausea rose in your throat, you instinctively turned to prayer—a futile gesture in this place of darkness.

But in that moment of vulnerability, your fate took a turn. Valentino’s gaze locked onto yours, and you became acutely aware of the power dynamics at play. You were stunning, a rare gem in a world where foxes were coveted for their allure, and you were an easy choice for Val, despite your lack of experience in the kind of intensity he demanded.

Fortune, it seemed, was on your side. Within hours, you found yourself promoted, thrust into the orbit of Angel Dust, a top star in this grim world, and whisked away to Vee's Tower, where the underbelly of the film industry thrived. At first, your work was relatively tame, as Angel had angered Val, bearing the brunt of the wrath while you breathed a sigh of relief. You grew to enjoy the role, finding unexpected camaraderie with Velvette, the costume designer whose creativity brought a splash of color to the otherwise bleak environment. She was a refreshing presence, a stark contrast to the calculating Val.

Yet, the shadows loomed ever closer. Angel’s absence, demanded by the princess of hell, left you standing alone in a spotlight that felt increasingly dangerous. Whispers of Val’s violent tendencies echoed in your mind, tales of how he had ruthlessly eliminated two of Velvette’s models and three of Vox’s interns. Fear coursed through your veins as you perched on a plum-red bed, clad in a navy blue lingerie set, feeling like prey waiting to be devoured.

And then, without warning, the door swung open. You braced yourself, only to find not Val, but a strikingly handsome man with a television for a head. It was Vox, the elusive figure you had only heard whispers about. You leaned forward, captivated by the confrontation unfolding before you, the tension crackling in the air like electricity.

But then Val’s eyes landed on you, and his smile widened, a predatory gleam igniting within them. “My dear Voxypoo,” Val purred, “how about we make a deal? I’ll apologize for my misdeeds towards your interns in exchange for Hermosa over here.” 

Your heart raced as Vox’s eyes widened in recognition, his gaze locking onto you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. An unexpected jolt of electricity surged through you, mingling with fear and a spark of something dangerously close to desire. You were caught in a web of fate, and as the stakes rose higher, you realized that your story in this hell was only just beginning.

You had never met this man before a day in your life, yet an inexplicable pull drew you toward him, a magnetic static crackling in the air around him. “Oh Vox, if you don’t want her, that’s fine. I plan on her taking Angel’s role today. The damn spider is off playing games with the princessa bitch,” Valentino sneered, and your heart sank. Fear coursed through your veins like ice water; the realization hit you hard—he intended to use you in one of those scenes, to thrust you into the depths of humiliation and despair.

“She's a high commodity; I’m sure her soul would be mine after—” Val’s voice trailed off, but you couldn’t grasp what was happening next. One moment, you were trembling in fear, and the next, a whirlwind of chaos erupted. Valentino’s eyes swirled with ominous black and red spirals as the shoot was abruptly canceled, the tension snapping like a frayed wire.

A navy blue jacket was draped over your shoulders, and a firm hand helped you to your feet. “Come with me. You will be working in VoxTech from now on. Understood?” Vox’s voice was steady, but you could only nod, relief flooding through you at the thought of escaping Val’s clutches, at least for now.

You were still ensnared in the web of the Vee’s world, but perhaps you could choose the cranky TV man who seemed more enigmatic than predatory. Maybe you could carve out a semblance of a life, away from the chaos that had become your existence.

Following Vox, you traversed the unfamiliar corridors of Vee’s Tower, finally arriving in a room that felt distinctly different from the others. The walls were lined with large screens displaying chaotic scenes from around hell, and a solitary chair sat in the center, casting a shadow like a throne of power. “W-Where are we? Val never brought me here?” you stammered, confusion clouding your mind.

He hesitated, swallowing hard. Was this place a reflection of his past? Did you really resemble someone he had lost? The thought flickered through his mind, but Vox regained his composure and sat down, turning on the myriad of cameras that monitored the chaos outside. “This is my office. You will grow acquainted with it, as you will be my personal assistant.”

A wave of dread washed over you. So you weren’t free from the chains of servitude; you were merely swapping one form of obedience for another. His gaze flicked toward you, and he must have seen the pain etched in your features because he added, “You will do nothing more for me than paperwork, gather intel, and help set up schedules.” He motioned for you to leave, his tone dismissive yet oddly gentle.

“This floor has eight unused apartments. Choose one and message me; I will unlock it for you, and you can create your own secure pin to come and go.” His words felt like a lifeline, yet the way he avoided looking at you left a strange knot in your stomach.

Nodding, you stepped out, still wrapped in his jacket, a strange comfort amidst the chaos. You wandered the floor until you found a room that resonated with you—a sanctuary away from the dirt and grime of your past. After messaging Vox, you entered, marveling at the unexpected upgrade. How had you managed to elevate your circumstances so easily?

Lying back on the bed, you gazed up at the ceiling, trying to piece together the fragments of your new life. You were seeking refuge, had become Val’s plaything, narrowly escaped abuse because of a cranky TV man who wouldn’t even look at you. What an absurd turn of events—what the hell was happening?

A deep sigh escaped your lips as you changed into comfortable clothes, the tension of the day beginning to ebb away. Just as sleep began to weave its way into your mind, a soft chime from your phone startled you awake. Vox had messaged you, detailing the new daily routine you would follow to assist him. 

Setting an alarm, you nestled into bed, uncertainty swirling in your thoughts like a restless storm. What would the next day bring? Would it be more of the same, or perhaps a glimmer of hope in this hellish landscape? As you drifted off, the questions lingered, weaving through your dreams like shadows, leaving you on the brink of something you couldn’t yet comprehend.

------------------------Time Skip-------------------------

Vox quickly grew to love your company over the last three years, though Vox knew deep down that you weren’t the woman he had loved in his youth. You were almost her replica—a haunting echo of the past—but with a wilder, more untamed spirit. As he watched you laugh, your eyes sparkling with mischief, he found himself drawn to that wildness even more. It was as if fate had conspired to create you just for him, a masterpiece crafted by your great-grandmother’s whims.

Yet, he never dared to reveal this connection, fearing it might shatter the fragile friendship that had blossomed between you. Yes, friendship—nothing more or less. However, with each passing day, he found himself surrendering to the undeniable truth that he had fallen for you harder than he ever had for your great-grandmother. 

No matter how many times he insisted that he was merely helping an old friend, a beacon of support for someone who had been torn from him, he couldn’t deny the intoxicating pull you had on him. At first, it had been your striking looks that captivated him, but as time wore on, it was your vibrant personality that ensnared his heart. You were everything Vox craved and needed on a biblical level; an irony he chuckled at, considering he hadn’t picked up a Bible since your great-grandmother had left him.

His mind was spiraling, his hypnosis streams were intensifying, and his push for innovative Vox tech was reaching a fever pitch. He even managed to score a narrow victory against Alastor, all thanks to you. How could one person be so perfectly oblivious to the advances he so desperately tried to make?

No one had ever worn his watches, draped themselves in his jackets, or even held his cherished pocket squares—except for you. But a troubling realization swept over him: all the advances he made were rooted in his time period, not yours. Your great-grandmother may have swooned at his charm, but you probably saw him as nothing more than a friend. In that moment, he knew he was utterly doomed.

You genuinely enjoyed working for Vox, relishing the opportunity to utilize your strengths. With a degree in entertainment and public relations, you found it easy to navigate the world of hypnotic persuasion he wielded. You were a wizard at uncovering people’s weak spots, providing Vox with ample ammunition against his personal enemies.

Almost immediately, you had become Vox’s young, gorgeous vixen. You liked the title so much that you gradually stopped using your real name, opting instead for the playful 'V' theme. Yet, Vox never referred to you by that name—always your real name, accompanied by a distant look that gnawed at your insides.

It had taken a year for him to truly see you, another year for him to stop freezing like a computer caught in a loop, and now, in this last year, he finally spoke without those awkward buffering noises. 

You never understood why he had chosen you as his assistant if he struggled to be around you. But you were content, especially since you had escaped Valentino’s grasp. You felt lucky that the exterminations had ceased shortly after you joined Vox. You often reassured yourself that if they ever resumed, you would leave—but the truth was, you were too attached to the enigmatic, awkward TV man.

You couldn’t deny the chemistry crackling between the two of you. He sent sparks racing through your body, igniting your nervous system with a thrilling energy. He was handsome in a classic, old-school way, the type of man your father would approve of—if only they never got to know he was a con artist. 

Every fiber of your being screamed to be with him, to unravel the layers of his soul and understand him in a way that transcended mere friendship. He was smooth-talking, undeniably hot, and invading your dreams more each night, leaving you craving his presence even more. The tension hung thick in the air, a tantalizing promise of what could be, if only you dared to cross the line that separated friendship from something infinitely more profound.

It was utterly embarrassing—sneaking down to the old production studio, heart racing, just to rent out some toys that would let you indulge in your fantasies of being with Vox. He had never once hypnotized you, but you were undeniably under his spell, enchanted by his presence in every way.

“Vox, I got you the meeting with Carmilla about the angelic steel and its reproduction,” you announced, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fluttering in your stomach. “I also secured a meeting with the health district to discuss the drug you want to utilize.” You had become extra vigilant lately, making a concerted effort to show him your interest. Your skirts grew shorter, your tops had fewer buttons, and your heels reached dizzying heights, showcasing your legs to their best advantage.

You were the death of him, and he knew it was only a matter of time before his composure crumbled completely. You were tantalizingly close, yet he felt he couldn’t take advantage of your affections. The scars from his past ran deep; he didn’t want to go through that kind of heartache again. Even if your father couldn’t steal you away like your great-grandmother had been stolen from him, the odd connection to family made him reluctant to risk your bond.

But the way you presented yourself, dressed to entice, sent a tent of desire straining against the fabric of his pants. It felt as though he was being dragged through heaven, hell, and every place in between. He knew you were in hell in your own way, unlike your great-grandmother, but damn, did you have to be so deliciously tempting?

“Thank you, Y/N. I’ll be getting off early today due to an issue with Val. If you could make sure the cleaners come in here and do their job properly, I’d appreciate it,” he said, his voice calm and cool, eyes never lifting from the screen. 

He was an enigma, nearly impossible to crack, seemingly showing no interest in you at all. Sighing, you nodded and began clearing his schedule; his fights with Val tended to stretch on longer than they should. You made sure to leave a dinner reminder for him and then headed out to retrieve the cleaning staff.

When you returned, you monitored the cleaning process closely. Vox usually preferred his tech to handle the cleaning, but today he insisted that his computers and TVs needed a “Sinners touch” to avoid any mishaps. You settled into his large chair, humming softly, legs crossed, watching as the young, fish-like boy worked diligently.

Out of the corner of your eye, a faint blue glow caught your attention. Vox was typically meticulous about shutting everything down before leaving, yet this one tab remained open. Half of you wanted to close it and move on with your life, but the other half—the curious, daring part—couldn’t resist the temptation. 

With a deep breath, you opened the screen. A Word document sprawled across the display, pages filled with dates and passages that traced the evolution of technology from its inception to the present. Your heart raced as you scrolled through the text, but then you froze, eyes fixated on the most recent passage. 

It was a detailed account of his current hyperfixation – You. As you read on, the implications began to sink in, filling you with a mix of excitement and dread. What had Vox been planning? And how deeply did it truly involve you? 

‘She was a vision of beauty, captivating in a way that made my heart race and my thoughts spiral into chaos. I found myself wanting to take her, to make her mine in every way possible—over my bed, on the couch, against the cool surface of the counter, or sprawled across my desk. It was a reckless desire, one that threatened to unravel my composure and resolve with each passing glance. I was trying to court her like a proper gentleman, even though every instinct screamed for me to act on the primal urge that surged within me.’

‘What would she think if I finally confessed the truth? The truth of the connection that shimmered between us, electric and undeniable. If I bared my soul, revealing the reason why every time I looked at her, I felt an insatiable longing to claim her and never let her go—would she recoil in fear, or would she lean in closer? Would she despise me for the dark secrets I harbored?’

‘It was a sin, a tangled web of emotions, that I saved her not just because I had to, but because I had once been in love with her great-grandmother. If only it were simple to tell Y/N that my heart had shifted over the years, that the ghost of the past no longer haunted me as I found myself enchanted by her. I needed to steady my racing heart, but the hope of seeing more of Y/N today filled me with both excitement and dread. She had left a dinner reservation for two—was it meant for us, or was it for Val and me? My heart leaped at the possibility that it was for her and I.’

You were in shock. A torrent of questions flooded your mind, each one more bewildering than the last. How did he know your great-grandmother? How had he concealed this attraction so skillfully? The cleaner’s approach broke your reverie, and the scream that escaped your lips echoed through the building, a cacophony of confusion and fear.

With a heavy sigh, you closed everything down, your thoughts still swirling like leaves caught in a wind tunnel. You gently patted the shorter fish boy’s head, his wide eyes filled with fear and uncertainty mirroring your own. As you made your way back to your room, you collapsed onto your bed, the weight of the revelations pressing down on you.

He knew her? You squeezed your eyes shut, desperately rifling through the foggy memories of your childhood, the faded photographs that lined the walls of your mind. Your great-grandmother had passed away when your grandmother was still a child, but her belongings remained—a bittersweet reminder of a life once lived. Vaguely, you recalled a picture that had often sparked your great-grandfather's ire.

Vox was in that picture… Vox, her first love, the man who had been banished by her father, the one your great-grandfather had despised and vowed to protect his family from. He was the specter who haunted your past, a figure you were compared to when you were disowned from the family and stripped of your inheritance.

The realization hit you like a thunderclap, shattering your understanding of everything you thought you knew. How did you feel? The attraction was still there, a flicker of warmth igniting within you as you considered his little habits, the subtle ways he courted you, filling you with butterflies. But could you allow yourself to love him? Would it be wrong to care for him in that way?

You glanced at your tablet, your heart racing as you noticed the dinner reservation was in just forty-five minutes. Swallowing hard, you stood up, a newfound determination coursing through your veins. The only way to truly understand what he made you feel, to unravel this complex web of emotions, was to show up. Normally, these reservations were for Val and him, a ritual of reconciliation, but this time, you would be there for him. For you. 

You moved quickly, the anticipation coursing through your veins as you stepped into the shower, letting the warm water cascade over you like a refreshing embrace. With each drop, you washed away the remnants of your uncertainties, emerging with a renewed sense of purpose. 

Dressing became an art form; you pulled out all the stops to impress Vox. The deep ruby red pumps clicked against the floor as you slipped them on, a bold statement that added height and confidence to your stature. Black frilled lace-topped stockings clung to your legs, accentuating every curve. The navy blue long-sleeved dress hugged your figure just right, revealing just enough to showcase your best assets without losing an air of elegance. You styled your hair to perfection, cascading waves framing your face, while your makeup highlighted your features, making your eyes sparkle like stars.

It had been ages since you had gone to such lengths, not since the days of trying to impress Val, desperate to avoid his inappropriate advances. With a sigh, you shot a quick message to Vox, sharing the restaurant's destination but omitting any mention of Val. Tonight was about you and Vox, and you were determined to make the most of it.

As you stepped out of your door, your Vox Tech security bot awaited you, its sleek design a reminder of the world you inhabited. Vox had insisted on the device escorting you, and as you arrived at the restaurant, your eyes locked with Vox’s as he just arrived as well. Time seemed to pause as you both stood there, taking each other in.

To him, you were radiant, every inch of you exuding beauty and allure. His desires surged within him, overwhelming as he imagined symphonies and angelic choirs serenading your presence in this chaotic world. You, on the other hand, couldn’t help but admire his dashing figure. Though a hard day had worn on him, leaving traces of fatigue etched across his handsome features, he maintained an effortless charm. A few buttons of his shirt were undone, his cuffs slightly askew, and in that moment, you realized something profound: tonight, he would be yours, and you would be his, come what may.

A soft smile danced on your lips as you reached for his outstretched arm, feeling a rush of warmth as you entered the restaurant together. The high-end staff treated you like royalty, ushering you to a table draped in elegant linens. Once seated, you glanced up at Vox through your lashes, your expression teasing as you playfully toyed with the rim of your wine glass.

“I know about our family ties…” you said, watching as his eyes widened in surprise, a dark blush creeping across his cheeks. Was he embarrassed that you knew, or perhaps flustered by the undeniable attraction that pulsed between you? 

“I want you to know, connection or not, I feel it all too,” you added, punctuating your statement with a sly wink. His composure faltered, and you could see him short-circuiting, lost in the implications of your words.

Once he regained his composure, a soft smile broke across his face, his eyes flickering nervously as he tried to avoid the luxurious curves that had him entranced. “So this means I can finally stop dancing around and court you more publicly?” he asked, a hopeful glint in his gaze.

You couldn’t help but snort, shaking your head with a smirk. “I think we’ve passed the stage of courting, Mr. Bed, Couch, Counter, and Desk.” Your cheeks warmed at your own boldness, while his face flamed with embarrassment at your teasing. A soft giggle escaped you as you flagged down the waiter, paying for the wine that would accompany your evening.

“Let’s head back to the tower, Vox… let me help you relax after today’s tiring events.” The confidence that surged within you was intoxicating, fueled by the way he looked at you and the undeniable chemistry crackling in the air. 

You had dreamed of this moment, of nights alone together, your hand tucked beneath you in hopes of relief, but it had never been enough. Each day spent near him only deepened your addiction to the awkward yet captivating man. But with the dark, calculating look in his eyes, you knew that from this moment forward, you would be more than satisfied. 

As the evening unfolded, the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you—two souls entwined in a dance of desire, ready to explore the depths of your connection, past and present, together. 

A chill raced down your spine as you and he stepped into his work car, the evening air thick with anticipation. He wanted to wait until you were safely hidden away in his condo before his hands roamed your body, but the magnetic pull between you was undeniable. As the engine purred to life, his fingers found their way to your thigh, gently caressing the soft fabric of your stockings. You could feel his gaze on you, hungry and intense, as you breathed heavily, caught in the electrifying moment. He was eager to claim you as his own, to make you his in every sense.

The drive felt like an eternity, each passing second stretching out as his hand danced tantalizingly close to where you craved him most. You were ablaze with desire, the thrill of his touch igniting something deep within you that had lay dormant for far too long. No one had ever made you feel this way—caught between the living and the dead, lost in a whirlwind of longing and need. You were ready to surrender completely to the man beside you, to give him every part of yourself.

When the car finally came to a halt, all semblance of self-control shattered. In one swift motion, he pulled you over the center console and into his lap, his lips crashing against yours with a fervor that stole your breath away. One hand tangled possessively in your hair while the other gripped your waist, asserting his dominance in a way that sent shivers of pleasure cascading through you.

You mirrored his urgency, your fingers gripping his shoulder and the nape of his neck, feeling the warmth radiating from him. Every kiss, every whisper of his breath against your skin, sent jolts of electricity sparking through your nerves, making you whimper into his mouth. You could feel the unmistakable evidence of his desire pressing against you, a reflection of the heated chemistry that crackled between you.

With his patience wearing thin, he pulled away, but only long enough to fling open the car door. He was acutely aware of your head as he stepped out, holding you firmly against him, making his way through the throng of Vee staff and personnel. There was no hesitation in his stride; he made it abundantly clear that you were his and his alone, a declaration that sent a thrill coursing through you.

As you rode the elevator, the air thickened with tension and need. He pressed you against the cool metal wall, his lips crashing against yours as he kissed you fervently, over and over again. His hands roamed your body with a glorious sensuality, and you could hear the soft moans and whimpers escaping him, reverberating in your chest like a sweet melody.

When the elevator doors finally opened, it was as if you were stepping into a dream. He swept you up in his arms, never breaking contact with your warmth or your mouth. With a careful grace, he navigated the threshold of his condo, ensuring you never brushed against anything sharp or hard, as if he wanted to preserve this fragile moment forever. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you, wrapped in each other, ready to explore the depths of your desire.

The sensations heightened once you two entered his bedroom as he gently set you on the bed. He was careful to lay you down, slotting himself between your legs. He hummed quietly in the kiss as he enjoyed the feeling and taste of you. You were, finally, his, and he could have you all he wanted here. You offered no protests.

You raked your hands over his arms and chest, slipping behind his back, scratching gently with your nails on any skin you could find. Vox's sounds, the same frequent heat, and need, were identical to yours. Everything begged you to take your clothes off and take him.

Vox pulled away, looking down at you for the first time since tonight's escapades began. A sloppy, lopsided grin was on his face as he moved the hair from your face. "Are you sure you want this doll?"

You gave him one soft nod, and all bets were off. Before you could utter another word, a moan was pulled from your lips as he kissed down your neck and pulled on the base of your hair. Soft pants left you, and you felt the tension pool in your core. How long have you two wanted this?

Sighing softly and pushing into Vox's clothed crotch, he growled low and kissed you roughly. Hands roamed your body, and your dress was slowly unclasped from your body. Your chest became exposed, and the most beautiful red bra he had ever seen was on display upon your delicate body. Even Val's porn stars had nothing on the sight of you half undressed before him.

As if dreams were becoming reality, he shivered as you slowly pushed his jacket off and tugged him down by his dress shirt. Kissing him, you worked on his buttons, running your hands along his torso once it was freed. Both of you shivered in delight and need as the other touched what was finally theirs.

Vox kissed back down your neck, leaving marks all across you, and landed on your breasts. Each one gets a solid mark right on the top where your cleavage sat. His lips teased the sensitive flesh. His arms snaked around you as he lifted you gently to unclasp the bra. Once it was off, he could feel the drool not only on his tongue but his cock head as well.

He hummed in delight as he bowed down and wrapped his blue tongue around one perky bud, the other gaining his talons' attention as he made you mewl for him. He was in heaven—here, right now, was his little heaven with his little angel. He switched between the two buds until they were too sensitive from his menstruation. "V-Vox, please, too much...need more...please..." You didn't mean to sound like a young virgin, but it was all too good to feel any other type of way. Soon, you felt the pressure above you leave as he stood up at the edge of the bed. Gently, he took your leg, resting your foot on his chest. He kissed your ankle and calf, taking your tights from the garter on your thigh. Slowly, he took the garments off and got a perfect sight right up your dress. Your pretty red underwear was stained wet from your need.

"Tell me, Y/N, where do you need me most? What do you need most? Tell me, and I will happily deliver it all to you, doll, whatever you need." He sounded so good saying that. His voice was an octave lower as he was already pussy drunk. You whimpered gently and sighed when he moved on to the next leg, removing the garments

"Need you between my legs Vox, so so many toys...none of them you," Your words sent a spark through him. He now understood today's argument with Val; some toys in the production studio had been missing, and his little Vixen took them. He smiled wide and fell to his knees at the edge of the bed.

"Your wish is my command, doll," He grabbed your waist, pulling you close to him. He shoved your dress up higher on your hips, having it bunch up on your stomach. Slowly, he ran a claw down your clothed heat. With each stroke of his claw, his mouth moved closer from your knee to your core. He always managed to miss where you wanted him most, though.

When you went to complain, however, you were interrupted by the cold sting to your cunt as he ripped the panties off completely. You gasped and cried out when Vox's long slender blue tongue licked a deep stripe up your soaking cunt. "Taste so good, doll, like my own apple pie, so fucking delicious," His menstruations didn't stop there, however, as Vox began to devour you like a man starved.

Your legs spread wider for him as he slotted himself against your cunt. His tongue was making circles on your puffy bud. Your head was thrown back as you grasped onto the bed for dear life. You needed him. Each tongue swirls and thrusts, sending you one step closer to your breaking point. At some point, your legs began to close, and all you could feel was a thread snapping. Vox didn't let up, though. If anything, he abused your clit and sucked you dry further.

When you began to cry and beg for relief, he stopped and pulled up, climbing back on top of you and kissing you hungrily. You could taste yourself on him as you felt his need press against your cunt. You needed more. "Please, Vox, take me, please, please; I need to be full and stuffed."

He thought he had heard angels earlier. He was dead wrong. What he heard then and was now hearing were two completely different planes of reality. He made quick work of his pants and boxers as you resituated on the bed. He slowly crawled back over you, kissing you deeply again. When he got between your legs and slotted himself right where you needed him, you moaned quietly.

Slowly, Vox entered you, both holding your breaths and breathing out together. He was so big, filling you to the brim while you were tight on him. He finally opened his eyes when he bottomed out and saw the most beautiful sight. Your tummy bulged out where his cock sat. Groaning in need, he pushed down on the bump and growled. "Oh, look at this baby, look at how deep I am, I will fill you up so full."

You cried, nodding, holding on to him for dear life. Your legs wrapped around his waist as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. He felt so thick and full as he abused your cunt with his deliberate speed. However, you knew he was coming to an end as well; he was pent up just as long as you were, and as his hips stuttered, you finally felt it, the whole feeling you had wished for since seeing the TV man.

Sighing, he rolled onto his back, keeping himself slotted in you. He held your hand close, playing with your hair. "Stay with me, Y/N, let me give you everything after life can offer."

You hummed softly and nodded, your eyes growing heavy. Life with Vox would be perfect, and you couldn't have been happier that you, Y/N L/N, got to live the carefree life your great-grandmama once wished for.

[kawaiigirly21]

Gem of Olympus 6

"Wait, say that again. I'm afraid I didn't hear you correctly. You…want…her…back?” Apollo stared at his brother as he sat across from him in the large garden. “Yes Apollo! I want her back! I-i miss her. I can't sleep. I can't eat. I can barely look at Aphrodite without wishing she was… Natasha… I still love her. I don't think I ever stopped…” Ares put his head in his hands. This was one of the very first times he displayed his true emotions in front of anyone besides the goddess he was previously married to.

Apollo sighed as he took his eyes away from his brother to look at his wine glass. “Look Ares, I'm sure your feelings are genuine but do you know how much you hurt her? She unraveled because of you. Her confidence became undone. And so did her clothing. She went around starting affairs to compensate for what you did to her. She never once doubted her beauty until you planted those seeds of deceit and pain. She simply did all those things to feel beautiful again. To regain some semblance of power. Control.”

Ares could do nothing but simply listen to his brother as he spoke words of truth to him. His ears now finally opened and his mind cleared to truly understand what he had done. “I don't doubt your love for her, Ares. In fact when you two first started courting, I had never seen you so happy. But she's no longer yours. And if you want her back. If you want to be her husband once more, you have a lot to work on.” Apollo then stood from his chair and walked past his sulking brother.

“Now if you'll excuse me, I do have to get going. I do believe I hear mortals praying for me to heal their sick. Till tonight brother.” Ares simply waved his brother off and made his way out of the garden. He knew Apollo was telling the truth. He had much to work on. Such as getting rid of Aphrodite. Elsewhere on Olympus, Poseidon and Hera were planning his proposal. As Hera was the goddess of marriage, she jumped at the opportunity to help her brother wed Natasha.

“She did say she liked Dolphins right? Or was it tiger sharks… this is stressing me out…” Poseidon sighed as his eyes scanned the parchment in front of him. “It was indeed tiger sharks. Please don't let this bother you. It's just a proposal. It's not the wedding… yet.” Poseidon nodded before grabbing a pen. “I just want this to be perfect… I love her Hera… I truly do..” Hera smiled warmly. “I know you do. I can tell. Now back to the planning, you want to do this when?” Poseidon quickly answered. “The day after tomorrow! I don't want to wait any longer!”

While the two continued their planning, Hades, Persephone and Natasha were playing with Cerberus. “Come on boy! Come on! Go get it!!” Natasha smiled brightly as she watched the three headed dog run off to fetch the log she threw. “It's hard to believe he used to be so small you could hold him in one hand. Now look at him.” Persephone put a loving hand on her niece's shoulder as she led her to their usual table. “We have much to discuss my dear.” Hades spoke as he took a seat besides her.

Natasha knew exactly what it was they were about to discuss and smiled as the gossip flew. “Then she claimed she didn't know I was there. Can you believe that?” Natasha sipped her tea as she listened closely to her uncle's story. “Ugh unbelievable!” She added. “I personally wouldn't have tolerated such disrespect!” Persephone said. Once every month, Natasha traveled to the underworld for 3 days to spend time with her aunt and uncle. Most of the time, it was tea, cakes and all the gossip they could stand.

Other times....“Ah! Oh! There! There! Mm!!” Hades growled in Natasha's ear as he took her from behind. “Put that mouth to good use, darling.” Persephone purred as she led Natasha's head to her pussy. “Ah~ good girl~ mm~” Hades smirked as he pushed himself deeper into Natasha's weeping cunt. “Agh shit!! So tight you are little one! Fuck!!” Persephone smiled as she pet Natasha’s head. “Oh fuuuuck~ You’re too good at this~”

Later that day, Natasha laid in her bed reminiscing about her past affairs and her previous lovers while petting her lion. “Hmmm Hercules gave you to me. You big ball of fluff.” The nemean lion simply yawned while snuggling close to her. “Not much to say on that. You’re so spoiled.” As Natasha looked up at her ceiling, she heard a soft yet firm knock at her door. “It's open.” Fully expecting to see Hermes, considering his knocks were the only kind that sounded that way, the goddess’ eyes widened when the man in her chambers was not in fact Hermes but Ares.

“Do you have a minute?” He asked with a hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Um…sure. What is it?” Natasha moved from her lying position to sitting up with Leo, her lion, moving to place his head on her lap and continue his nap. “I um..here. These are for you. They’re your favorite right?” Ares asked as he pulled a bouquet of belladonnas from behind him. “Yes they are. I didn’t know you knew. Place them on my night table. I’ll vase them once Leo moves his large head.” The war god nodded as he placed the flowers down and stood in front of Natasha awkwardly.

“You may sit Ares. I’m not forcing you to stand.” As the god found a chair to sit in, Natasha watched confused. Why was he so awkward and nervous? He wasn’t even like that when they first started courting. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior the other night…and for …everything…” This threw Natasha for a major fucking loop. Ares? Apologizing?! Since when!? “Oh well…You’re forgiven…at what cost though?” Natasha eyed her Ex husband suspiciously. “What do you mean? Can I not apologize without having an ulterior motive?”

Natasha immediately shook her head and stroked Leo’s mane while he purred loudly. “No. Not from what I've seen.” Ares sighed as his head hung low. “I beg for your forgiveness. Not for the benefit of myself, but for my love for you…” Natasha’s eye twitched as she watched in disbelief.

"Your love for me? When did you ever have love for me?! You cannot just come in here Ares and expect me to embrace you with open arms! After what you did to me?! You’re grateful that I even accepted your flowers and allowed you into my chambers! You want my forgiveness?! Work for it! Now…If you'll excuse me, I must get ready for bed. Goodnight.” Ares left the room tight lipped and humiliated. It wasn’t as if he expected her to take him back right away but he definitely wasn’t expecting that reaction either.

As the war god moved to make his way to his own room, He stopped in his tracks when his ears caught the condescending chuckle of his uncle. “Didn’t go as you planned, did it?” Poseidon asked as he appeared from his place behind a pillar. “How long were you there?” Ares asked as his eyes squinted. “Long enough to know I have more of a chance than I once thought.” Ares stepped to his uncle with an angered expression on his face. “And just what is that supposed to mean?” Poseidon simply smirked as he walked past his nephew.

“Exactly what you think nephew. You had your chance. Now let me show you how a real man charms a woman.” Watching in irritation, Ares’ eyes widened as Poseidon not only knocked on Natasha’s door with a much firmer sound that just screamed authority and confidence but that it looked as if Natasha scrambled to open the door and immediately let the king of the seas in. while she was dressed in her finest nightgown as well. Before the door closed, Poseidon sent an all knowing smirk Ares’ way. It became all so clear then. This was war. And Ares was determined not to lose.

[loki-cees-all]

Ch. 5 - Turn Against {Against All Odds - TVA!Loki x Female Reader Longfic}

Previous Chapter / AO3 Link / Against All Odds Masterlist / Next Chapter

Pairing : TVA!Loki x Female Reader

Summary : Loki attempts to sneak out of your flat before you awaken.

W/c : 8.8k words

Content / Warnings : Fluff, angst, and a touch of smut. 

Author's Note : Apologies this chapter took me so long to finish! After 6 months of working on it, it blew up to a length of 14k words and I ended up having to divide it into two chapters just to make the editing process more manageable. So congrats, this fic is now a grand total of 20 chapters! Yay!

Also, just fyi - I basically wrote the whole thing (so, Chapters 5 and 6 together) while watching Infinity War and Endgame on repeat, if that gives you any insight as to my mental state, or the amount of angst these chapters have. So, uh…good luck!! <3 

18+ Only - Minors DNI

⊱ ── ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ──  ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅  ── ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ── ⊰

Date : June 27th, 1977 [Sacred Timeline]

A pair of ethereal beings slumbered peacefully in your bed. 

Twisted among the silken sheets, your angelic form was snuggled against the chest of Loki’s duplicate - a leg hooked around one of his, an arm draped across his torso. Your fingers twitched in your sleep, your lungs slowly inhaled and exhaled in sync with that of his seidr. The only thing you had on was a quiet, serene expression - one that meant you were blissfully unaware of the trickery that had already befallen you, or of the cruel disappearing act that was yet to come. 

The true Loki approached your bed with incredible precision, moving cautiously so as to not disturb the exquisite goddess or her beauty sleep. His gaze roamed lazily over your every curve, your every spasm and pulse, every inch of skin peeking out from beneath the sheets. The polish on your toes was cherry-red, the freckles on your back replicated the stars of the night sky, and the air from your lungs was sweet, intoxicating, mellifluous.  

The entire scene was breathtaking, but that wasn’t what was suffocating him. 

As he paused by your side, you stirred a little in your sleep - muscles tensing, breath hitching. Your face twitched lightly, brushing your cheek against the duplicate’s skin, and he responded in kind by holding you closer, squeezing you tighter, soothing and comforting you under the true Loki’s direction. And it worked; you relaxed in that false embrace, reassured by the solace of his presence enough to resume the slow, deep breathes in, and then back out. 

This time, it was Loki’s turn for his breath to hitch. How was this possible? Why did you find serenity with him? What did you see in him that he could never see himself?

His eyes flicked to the mimic in bed with you. It matched his appearance in every single way, from the dark curls spread across the pillow to the tips of his fingers now tracing light circles along your arm. Its scent was the same, its voice would have been identical if you had needed to hear it. He could have switched places with it in less than a second, just to have you in his own arms once more, and you never would have known the difference.  

Because the duplicate was him: a literal, physical manifestation of his deceit, cradling you tenderly while you slept. While the real one searched your apartment for the evidence of an addiction you clearly hadn’t developed yet. While he neglected his responsibilities back at the TVA, because he was too preoccupied with a future problem that he might cause to fully focus on the massive problem he’d definitely helped to cause at the end of time. 

As usual, his attentions were divided. Lately it seemed as though any attempt to solve a problem would just create two more in its place. And forever the masochist, Loki was drifting hopelessly between the past, present, and future; stuck between a rock and a hard place, while being unable to fully focus on either. 

He was trapped inside a personal Hel of his very own making. 

It wasn’t fair that he hadn’t found you until after he’d broken the timelines. Without judgment or sound reason, you gazed upon him like the sun looked down at the clouds, parting the storms of his heart and warming the oceans of his mind, stilling the thoughts that swirled in nervous energy, and regret, and prayers that he could somehow be different for the both of you. That he didn’t have to choose between you or the TVA. 

That he could somehow be with you, without being Loki. 

He couldn’t help but wonder: if you’d been born on Asgard, would you still feel the same way about him? If you had grown up together, if you knew all of his secrets and heartbreaks and betrayals, would you have still slept this peacefully in his arms? Would you still look at him like he was somehow everything you’d ever wanted?

Perhaps in another timeline you did, and if he could manage to save the TVA after all, then maybe afterwards he should go searching for it. 

Outside your flat, the sun was just starting to crest over the horizon. Its rays drifted in through the bay windows of your bedroom to bring on a beautiful, new day. But Loki needed to leave before you woke up. Actually saying goodbye wasn’t an option - because he couldn’t lie, but he couldn’t tell the truth either, and he certainly couldn’t predict the future. 

In fact, no one knew what was going to happen now that the timelines were free, but he couldn’t shake the ominous feeling that somehow this would only end with his self-sacrifice; dying was the only sure way Loki knew how to redeem himself, and even if you never knew about it, he would have happily done it for you. 

But even in the off chance that their efforts with the Loom were successful and he didn’t have to sacrifice himself - the next problem on the TVA’s To Do List was to deal with the variants of He Who Remains and their potential for waging multiversal war. And after that, there would inevitably be a thousand other problems for him to deal with, each one with more dire consequences than the last, and Loki would never be able to stop. 

He’d never be able to take a moment to breathe, to exist, to just love you. 

Loki wasn’t sure if he was in love with you now, but the appeal of letting himself feel something good was too much to ignore; in truth, he was only safe to feel it because he knew it was going to obliterate him later on, and it was why he couldn’t deny himself one last touch. 

Kneeling beside the bed, the arm of his duplicate lifted slowly from your body. And as if it had been rehearsed, the true Loki brought his fingertips to brush through your hair, gently massaging your scalp. As if he were doing it mindlessly in his sleep, instead of doing it fully conscious while his heart shattered into a million pieces. 

And he didn’t know if he was even capable of loving you. Loki had spent centuries hurting and longing for what he couldn’t have, bitter and resentful to what he had too much of, and disillusioned over everything else in between. At no point in his long life had his experiences ever been what anyone might call normal, especially not to a mere and simple human, and he’d long since forgotten what it was like to just be, let alone to have something he actually wanted to hold on to. 

When Loki was younger, he believed love to be a calculated decision that required delicate measurement of the pros and cons. Which option would benefit Asgard the most as the spouse of its disinclined and least favorite prince? Who would be the most trustworthy to safeguard an outcast’s heart? 

Back then, the obvious choice would have been whomever could simply tolerate him while maintaining an innocuous distance. It never would have been real, just like this couldn’t ever be. 

As his fingers began another pass through your hair, he wondered what sort of tragedy had happened in your younger years to make you cling so tightly to such a broken thing like him. Had you loved, and then lost? Had you failed someone in the way he was about to fail you? Had you repeatedly cracked open your soul, only to have no one even notice? 

Whatever it was, whatever atrocity had made you look at him like that, Loki both cherished and cursed it. He wanted to fix it, he wanted to make it worse. He wanted to see it, he wanted to taste it. To nurture it, to smother it, to let it rise and then push it back down. He wanted to be the cause of it, and then to be its cure. 

His eyes filled with tears - big, wet, silent, pathetic ones. The tears of a child no longer allowed to keep the only thing that had ever brought him any kind of solace. His chest tightened, and he could feel the tears bleeding down his cheeks, painting sharp lines of misery and staining his skin red for anyone who dared to look closely enough. 

This was so absurd, his reactions and feelings were so unbelievably foolish, because you were just a human. You didn’t really know him, and he didn’t really know you. Your perspective, by design, was so much more limited than his. What could you possibly ever have in common with him? Or him with you?

Whatever was waiting in your future - perhaps he was just overthinking it. Maybe the addiction had nothing to do with him at all. Maybe he was just projecting, maybe your feelings for him were nothing but casual ones, maybe you’d be able to completely forget about him as soon as he walked out the door. You’d be better off without him anyway. 

That thought brought him some comfort, while quietly slitting his throat. 

He swallowed hard, and tried to get a grip on himself. What was it that he was supposed to say on Svartalfheim, about Thor falling in love with the mortal Jane Foster? 

It’s nothing. It’s a heartbeat. You’ll never be ready. 

Loki’s biggest problem had always been never knowing when to walk away - and if he didn’t do it now, then it might someday be completely out of his control. Your path might lead you down a branched timeline, one that another rogue TVA agent could destroy. The Loom’s explosion could take out everyone and everything. Loki himself could accidentally get you killed, or worse - you could finally see him for what he really was, and decide to walk away from him instead. 

The only woman whose love you’ve prized will be snatched from you. 

Letting out a restrained breath, he dragged his hand across his face to wipe away the tears, while the other’s gentle touch remained in your hair. This was going to be tricky; once he left your bedroom, Loki was going to have to carefully withdraw the duplicate from your bed - slowly, cruelly, and without waking you up. He brushed his thumb along your cheekbone one last time, and just as he was debating on whether to kiss you goodbye, you startled yourself awake with a sharp gasp. 

Loki panicked, and quickly switched places with the duplicate. His kneeling form beside the bed disappeared before you could fully open your eyes. His muscles tightened, and with a gasp of his own, and he pretended to just be waking up alongside you. 

“Are you alright, darling?” he murmured breathlessly, nudging your temple with his nose and praying that you couldn’t feel his heart pounding wildly in his chest. 

“Huh? Oh…” Your eyelids fluttered quickly, attempting to blink away the sleep from your eyes. When you finally recognized him next to you, only then did your breathing slow. “No, I’m fine…”

He struggled to not let out a massive sigh of relief at that. Your grogginess had mercifully prevented notice of the two Lokis that had momentarily been in your presence, and he shuddered to think of what your reaction may have been had you seen it. 

“Bad dream?” he asked softly, his fingers resuming their bittersweet caresses against your scalp. 

Again, you had found solace within his touch. Your muscles relaxed as you sank back into his embrace, and his followed suit, finding just as much consolation in giving it as you did in receiving it. He couldn’t believe how little effort it took to bring you comfort, and in contrast, he could believe how little it took for him to offer it. 

“Do you ever dream you’re falling so hard that your body thinks it’s actually falling…?”

Of course, his consultation was different. Unable to slip out quietly like he’d planned, he was now staring at the daunting task of actually saying goodbye - and possibly lying to your beautiful face in the process. Once again, hesitation had cost him dearly, and he wondered if he was ever going to be able to make a timely decision ever again.

“Of course. All the time, really…” 

But truthfully, a part of him was extremely grateful for the chance to be in bed with you again. He adored the sensation of your warm skin against his, just as alluring and soft as it had been the night before. Stirring up all the same desires, making him ache for an encore performance. As his fingers drifted through your hair, the scent of gardenias stimulated the memories of his first kiss between the rows of Midgardian flora his mother had grown in her garden. 

During the few times he’d had lovers in the past, mornings were always his favorite; the lazy kisses, bodies moving on autopilot but not without purpose or reason. It meant that the night before wasn’t a mistake. It was intentional, it was deliberate, it was worth repeating. He was actually wanted, and the idea of bringing on the new, terrible day with a subdued brisance of ecstasy was -  

Loki scolded himself for letting his mind wander from this devastating predicament. His fingers drifted through your hair once more, brushing and massaging in the hope of keeping you from noticing the confliction on his face. Should he just promise to come back, even though he didn’t know if it was possible? Should he tell you it was goodbye forever instead, and then never return even on the off chance that he could? 

You let out a peaceful hum as his fingers trailed down to your neck, pressing gently into the muscles and tendons to relieve any knots they found. Every part of you practically melted underneath his touch, and you snuggled into him deeper, unable to get enough. Your leg wrapped around his again, your lips brushed against the bare skin of his chest, and your gentle fingertips trailed along the lines of his abdomen. 

“I was afraid you’d be gone by the time I woke up…” 

His lips curved into a sad smile. Every murmured word was like another chain of iron locked around his ankles. Loki was used to ruining everything, and he knew he still might, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger just yet. Being of genuine use was a pleasure he was rarely afforded any more, even though it was all he really wanted. 

When he had purpose, he had a place to belong. 

“I’m still here, darling…” Loki had to stop himself from continuing, from promising to never leave, from cursing the TVA and all that was waiting for him back there. He was never one to subscribe to the ideology of “what will be, will be” before, but that option was looking better and better with each passing moment. 

You shifted on the bed, working your lips up his chest, kissing over his heart and up to his collarbone. “And I am so very grateful that you are…” you hummed against his neck. 

Unable to resist the effects of desire as it flooded his veins, Loki let out a deep groan. He tilted his head back to allow you better access to his flesh, your lips soft and warm as you tasted his skin. Why couldn’t he just stay here forever? Where pleasure was given and received so freely, and without expectation? 

Once you were properly kissing his neck, his hands acted of their own accord, latching on to your ass and pulling you up to straddle him completely. You must have enjoyed that, because you gasped softly and eagerly pressed your hips to his, rolling and dragging yourself against his quickly hardening cock. 

Your tongue swiped at his skin while you kissed and sucked on his neck, and your fingers tangled in his hair. The exhales from his nose were heavy, his moans were urgent, shameless. His muscles tightened and stretched underneath you, and he started to forget he’d ever heard of the Time Variance Authority before. Loki gripped your ass harder, encouraging your every movement. 

“Are you sure you’ve got no other place to be?” you murmured breathlessly, grinding yourself just a little harder against him, clearly wanting this just as much as he did.  

His cock twitched hungrily, his fingers dug their need into your skin. Loki would gladly trade the next millennia or two in happy exchange to keep such a beautifully eager woman writhing against him. He groaned out a sound reminiscent of the word “no” before cupping your jaw and angling your mouth to his. 

Deeply passionate kisses consumed you both, and your arms locked around his neck. You passed heated moans back and forth, and Loki could feel how much you wanted this as you coated his cock in arousal. He began adjusting your hips to allow him entry when you murmured one last question against his lips. 

“So you’re not married? No wife or kids to get back home to?” 

Loki froze, and then burst into laughter. His entire body shook as his head tilted back with eyes closed, eyebrows raised, completely flabbergasted by the idea. Married? With children?! Who could be foolish enough to do such a thing with him?

When he managed to compose himself enough to open his eyes, the forlorn expression on your face sobered him completely. Concern had pulled your eyebrows to the heavens, and your lips had parted with childlike embarrassment to both your question, and his unexpected reaction to it. He forced himself to stop laughing, to position his brow into sincerity as he caressed your cheeks with both hands. 

“Darling, darling, darling…what could have possibly possessed you to ask such a thing?” he murmured cautiously, dragging his thumbs along your cheekbones. His eyes desperately searched yours, trying to see what it was that troubled you.

“Well, it’s just that…You know, I just don’t - ” you sighed, then paused to chew on the inside of your cheek. 

Loki’s heart ached as you stammered along while carefully avoiding his gaze. It would have been adorable, if it hadn’t been so heartbreaking. 

Of course, Loki had a sinking feeling about what you were really after, but he didn’t know how to explain himself. The only other experience he could possibly derive guidance from had happened to his brother, but even that wasn’t the same; Jane Foster had always understood Thor to be a mythological being of the cosmos from the very beginning. 

As usual, his brother hadn’t needed to lie about who he was or where he was from; Thor had never once needed to endure the humiliation of trying to explain himself. And as usual, Loki found himself envious of the blind confidence that flashed like lightning through every fiber of Thor’s being. It wasn’t fair that he’d never had to prepare for situations like this. 

Situations like this, where Loki definitely should have known better. 

Because it wasn’t like their father had ever provided instructions on how to break the news of their otherworldly existences to their mortal lovers; in fact, Odin had explicitly forbidden the idea altogether. And as he watched the gears whirling in your mind, as they tried to put the right words in the correct order, or maybe they were trying to spool up enough energy to just blurt it out - Loki wished that he had listened to his father. 

He wished that none of this had ever happened. He wished that he’d never been kidnapped by the TVA, he wished that he’d never met Brad Wolfe. He wished that he’d never decided to get back at him by seducing his date to the movie premiere. He wished the duplicate Tony Stark had never dropped the Tesseract, and he wished that he’d never picked it up at all.

Loki wished he could wake up tomorrow in the dungeons of Asgard. He wished he could experience, first-hand, the deaths of his mother, and then his father. He wished he could personally hammer that final nail into the coffin of his brother’s trust. He wished it could be his neck that Thanos had snapped. 

Because even if everything worked out perfectly - even if you somehow accepted his truth, something no one else had ever managed to do, even if he managed to save the TVA and all the timelines, even if he was able to stop HWR and prevent multiversal war - in 50 years time, you would still be gone. 

If he was lucky, he’d be able to watch your hair fade to gray. He would be able to count the smile lines as they grew along your cheeks, and he’d be there for every single frown, every single moment of joy. Every spot of luck, every inconvenience, every tragedy, every victory. But then he’d also have to watch it all turn to ash, and he’d have to continue on alone after you were gone. 

Seeing the ones he loved come and go, watching them pass him by while he was powerless to stop it, was a burden he was simply unwilling to bear. 

Loki’s attention was drawn to your lips as they started moving. The sound of your voice was muffled in his ears, and your eyes darted back and forth between staring off into the distance and making brief, heartbreaking contact with his. He could tell you were stammering and struggling to make sense of your thoughts, but he was too busy picturing your casket to even really listen. 

“I just - I just don’t know anything about you, Loki!” 

The exclamation was made out in defiance of yourself. It was only then that your gaze became totally affixed to his - watching, waiting, hoping for some kind of answer from the stranger in your bed. 

Loki matched your anticipatedly heartsick expression with one of his own. His brows slanted upwards while his eyes grew immense with regret and remorse; for someone whose many monikers included the God of Lies, he was truthfully finding himself completely out of his depth with you. His throat tightened, sealing off his lungs from the air in your bedroom, but he somehow managed a meager smile. 

“I’m afraid there’s not much to know about me, darling,” Loki replied, hoping to assuage some imaginary guilt you may have been harboring. He prayed this was all you really needed to hear, anyway. “But I can assure you, wholeheartedly, that I do not have a spouse, nor any children, that I’m hiding from you…”

You stared at him closely while he spoke, as if you were looking for any twitch or vellication that might have betrayed his answer. Once none could be found, your eyes narrowed in careful dissection of what appeared to be the truth. Loki’s heart fluttered with twinges of nervous energy and pure admiration for the only mortal he’d ever felt drawn to; he just hoped you were aware of how intelligent you were, and how much it both terrified, and impressed, him. 

After another moment or two, your demeanor shifted once more, altering your calculating gaze into something much more friendly and open-minded. You smiled sweetly while bending your elbow against a pillow and propping your head against your palm. The fingertips of your other hand moved to trace light, swirling patterns against his bare chest, and Loki was sure that this time you could feel his breath hitch inside his lungs. 

“Can you tell me what you do for a living then?” you murmured softly, clearly attempting a different tactic to pull his precious details out into the open. 

But Loki could still see right through your methods. He was, unfortunately, quite used to being interrogated for both the things he had and had not actually done; when you’re known to the Nine Realms as the God of Mischief, everyone practically falls over themselves trying to be the one to finally catch you in the act of malfeasance, just to prove to everyone else how clever and ingenuitive they were. 

And as much as it hurt to constantly be on the receiving end of such distrust and misfortune, it had also fortified and strengthened Loki’s adaptability and perseverance. But the one thing he hadn’t ever counted on was that someday he’d find himself in the bed of the most beautiful and extraordinary lover he’d ever known, who was asking him for the kind of truth he simply had no way to provide. 

“It’s…complicated,” Loki answered with a patient sigh. He brought his fingertips to caress the back of your hand as it traced over his skin. The contact was so very soothing to him, and he hoped it would, at the very least, be a distraction for you. 

But it didn’t work. Instead, your gaze burned hotter into his. “If there’s not much to know about you, then how complicated could it really be?” 

Loki chuckled as he dragged his knuckles up the length of your forearm. “Oh, you’d be surprised…” 

“Well, thankfully I love those. So I’m all ears.” You shifted closer on the bed, hooking one of your bare legs around his, flexing your foot to brush slowly along the inside of his calf. The smile on your lips was patiently, and infuriatingly, insistent. 

Loki’s breath hitched yet again. His blood chilled underneath the weight of someone paying such close and affectionate attention to him; he simply didn’t know what to do with it. He never had. 

Almost with a mind of their own, his eyes shifted down to his fingertips as they resumed tracing up the length of your arm. Despite everything, Loki couldn’t bring himself to stop touching you, even though he knew it was just further trapping him within a time loop of lingering and longing. 

And you didn’t recoil when he touched you; that would never, ever cease to surprise, or alarm, him. Thus, a game of tug of war ensued deep within his heart - a hand of cold, gnarled fingers pulling it towards outright vitriol, and a kind, loving hand attempting to guide it towards acceptance. But both destinations were terrifying in their own ways, and neither hand was able to make any significant progress. 

Loki cleared his throat, his eyes avoiding direct contact with yours while you waited for his reply. His thoughts raced by at a trillion miles an hour. They collided and smashed together behind his signature furrowed brow and measured persona, fracturing and blending into an unrecognizable mess - one that was completely uncharacteristic, uncomfortable and unforgivable to the God of Mischief. Selecting a single and coherent idea was going to be next to impossible, and he absolutely loathed feeling this out of control over his own mind. 

“Why do you need to know so badly?”

It was the only thing he could manage to say, and he immediately regretted it. The way your face fell rivaled the destruction of many great civilizations the Nine Realms had known and lost over the past millennia. Your eyes widened like the Bifrost’s beam as it opened upon the cold, barren wasteland of Jotunheim. 

Your breath hitched like the innocent citizens of New York when the Chitauri Army descended from the Heavens. Your formerly warm skin turned colder than Thor’s expression when the last flames of hope that Loki might still turn things around died on his features. 

But Loki knew that to be an impossible endeavor, if your anguish was to be any sort of indication. He’d never be able to turn things around, not really. He was very well accustomed to judgment, and of condemnation - to conviction without trial, and to criticism without consideration. They were the necessary bedfellows that came with his title. 

And they were comfortable, familiar. They allowed him to stand defiant in the face of total and complete reckoning, and they also saved him from the problem of trying, and inevitably failing, to be better than anyone could ever hope for him to be. 

But the look on your face right now was something else entirely. Your eyebrows arched upwards, recreating the highest precipice of the Asgardian palace - a home that wasn’t ever really his, one that was built with shimmering gold and the most rubious of blood. Along with the emerald of your sheets, those were the only colors he really knew how to paint with. 

It was honestly shocking how much your expression truly rattled him; he felt like a child again, cowering behind his mother’s skirts because he hadn’t yet figured out how to talk his way out of whatever trouble he’d found himself in. Except this time, there was no Frigga to do the talking for him. There were no skirts, or titles, or utter defiance for him to hide behind - it was just you, and him, laid bare and mute underneath the silk sheets of your bed. 

Loki was sure that he’d ruined everything…again. What he didn’t know, however, was why your reaction was one of hurt. He had seen the spark dim in your eyes and he could feel you recoiling even as your mouth opened and closed, in slow-motion and without sound, as you attempted to answer his slightly cruel, albeit fair, question. 

Why did you need to know so badly? Why was he starting to fear that this may be more than a passing dalliance to you? Why did that warm his heart with feelings of worthiness, while simultaneously cracking it under the weight of all that responsibility? 

So maybe it would be better to let that question fester into an open wound of resentment, instead of trying to reassure, or deflect, or explain. Despite being all too aware of his own shortcomings, Loki had no idea how to broach the subject himself; that was something that was always done for him. He’d never had to suffer the drought of no one to remind him of his repeated failings before, and thus, never really learned how to bring them up on his own. Where would he even start explaining?

Not to mention, this might make leaving easier. He could just stand up and get dressed, taking the time to actually button and buckle and fasten the Midgardian ensemble he’d conjured just for you, while he repeated the question and made you feel like a fool for wanting to know him better. Didn’t you know he was just using you? That this wasn’t ever going to be serious and that it was just for the game, for the chase, for the sex? 

Loki knew how to be cruel. It was the only thing he was better at than being a massive, colossal force of chaos and destruction - and he’d learned it from the very best. Callosity was like breathing to him; he didn’t feel alive unless he was driving a dagger into someone else’s heart. And then afterwards mocking them so they couldn’t see that he was bleeding even more than they were. 

That was easy. It was familiar, it was safe. 

It was home. It was his home. 

Finally accepting the inevitable, Loki let out a heavy sigh. He couldn’t carry on with this imposture any longer, it was too risky. You could find out what he really was, or you could simply not believe his explanation at all. 

Loki raked a nervous hand through his dark and tangled curls as he straightened his back away from your headboard. He swallowed hard, steeling his expression into something far more neutral than how he felt, and then he forced himself to finally use his favorite dagger of betrayal once more. 

“Listen, darling…I - ” 

A sharp, piercing ring suddenly echoed across the flat, and behind it, followed a penetrative silence. Its air was tense, suffocating the rest of his sentence and making it perish on his tongue. The sound of metal striking metal in that brief and frenzied rhythm was unexpected, but the Asgardian still was able to recognize the source of the noise as an innocent and harmless doorbell. He remained unreactive, his curious gaze fixed solely on you.

Your response, however, was different; you’d practically jumped out of your skin, clearly not expecting your own doorbell to ring at such an imperative moment. Your heart beat a rapid cadence inside your chest, and there was just a tiny bit of air lodged in your throat. 

But other than a vigorous heartbeat and your lungs heaving for more oxygen, you didn’t move. You said nothing, you did nothing - you just stared at him like it was his fault the doorbell had rung. 

Sensing your need for a push, Loki reached forward, gently brushing his fingers along the sensitive skin of your inner wrist. “Darling, were you expecting additional visitors?”

Your pupils dilated at the sound of his voice, and your eyelids blinked once, twice, three times as you processed his latest question. Your brow raised and then furrowed as you glanced at the clock on the nightstand, your eyes desperately trying to decipher the lines and numbers and what they meant when illuminated together. 

Loki wasn’t sure if you were still exhausted from the very late night you’d spent with him, or if his first question had rattled you that much. But the look on your face was honestly so adorable that he almost forgot that he’d been only seconds away from saying goodbye forever. 

“Darling?” he murmured again just before the doorbell rang again, this time in a short series of three bursts to indicate the visitor’s urgency. 

And this time, it suddenly clicked in your mind that it was your responsibility to actually answer the door. You quickly mumbled excuses as you popped upright, swinging your legs over the edge of your bed and practically gliding across the bedroom to throw something on. 

Once again, desire roared to life in his veins, and he was unable to stop himself from admiring your naked form as you moved. As your muscles and tendons and ligaments all stretched and contracted with such supernal purpose, as your delicate hands reached for the silken, phthalo green fabric draped across the bench at the foot of your bed. Practiced fingers worked quickly to push both arms through the robe’s sleeves and situate the collar around your neck as you continued heading for the door. 

Each movement was stunning and comforting, and Loki watched as though he were in the presence of a divinity so healing it could easily cure him of everything that had ever aggrieved, bruised or lacerated him. Watching you quite literally took his breath away; never before had the God of Mischief been so entranced, so mesmerized, so captivated by the simple act of getting dressed. 

He didn’t even mind when you pulled the panels closed around your waist, obfuscating the curves and swells of your thighs and hips and torso. Because he’d already memorized your form; it was etched so profoundly into his mind that he wasn’t sure how deep it actually went. 

And without even trying to, you answered every question he’d ever had. It made him want to ask even more questions, like why was the sky blue? How many stars could you count before you finally lost track? Would you object to ignoring the doorbell and having breakfast in bed with him instead?

Loki barely registered another triplicate of harsh doorbell rings, but he was aware of you disappearing through the door frame with an exasperated shout to the mystery caller. 

“Yes, yes! I’m coming, I’m coming…” 

Your bedroom was noticeably colder after you left; your bed, freezing. Loki swallowed hard, his lonely gaze falling upon the heap of his wrinkled suit, pulled off in a hurry the evening before and discarded carelessly on the floor. Somewhere in the pockets of his trousers lay the TemPad, ready to transport him back to the TVA and all its problems - both the ones he’d already caused, and the future problems still waiting to be revealed. 

Loki pulled the sheets away and swung his legs over the edge of your bed. His head hung low, shoulders dropped and tendrils of the darkest night hanging in his eyes, blending into his perception of what you’d left behind. Down the hallway, he could hear you speaking to the visitor through the flat’s intercommunication system, blissfully unaware of the plight distressing the God you’d just spent the night with.

How did his life turn into this? All he’d wanted was a chance to breathe, to let his muscles finally relax. To possibly let his body finally heal after all the horrors he’d endured so far. But instead, he found himself locked in the sham of a fascist organization, and the only way to escape it was to dismantle it from the inside. That, in turn, somehow and inexplicably, had led him to all of this. It had brought him right here to you. 

This room, and him inside of it, was now a barren, withering moon; a lifeless satellite, drifting aimlessly in the dark without its shining star to tether itself to. His sun was so far away now, unlocking the front door to her universe and happily greeting her unexpected visitor. He could feel the warmth of your light by the smile in your voice, in the way you laughed in excitement from whatever the visitor had to say. The sound was so alluring, beckoning him closer like the call of the most tempting siren. 

Weary muscles groaned as Loki pushed himself up to standing. He desperately didn’t want to go, but time was running out; any moment now you’d return to the bedroom, and he’d have to say goodbye face-to-face. That was a scene he knew he did not have the strength to withstand, not after everything else he’d already lost. He’d much rather just run away again. 

His feet shuffled forward, and Loki reluctantly retrieved his trousers from the floor. They were heavier than they should have been, what with the tremendous weight of the multiverse conveniently stored inside the compact and portable device hidden in his pocket. It was too much responsibility; how much easier this would all be if he could just forsake it and stay here instead. 

Stalling, Loki chose to ignore the option of spellwork to get dressed. He thought about intentionally smashing the TemPad to destroy it entirely, and take away the option of leaving altogether - but instead he slipped one foot through the trouser leg. 

Out in the kitchen, you were saying farewell to your visitor. Loki was dying to know who it was, and why they dropped by. He wondered if he could ever manage to blend into your life; could he charm your friends? Your parents? Could he actually handle having a job, and paying taxes, and pretending to go to the doctor once a year for a check-up? 

It couldn’t be worse than spending his youth trying to prove himself a worthy son to a father who would never see him as such. But could he stand manually getting dressed every morning? Could he really go that long without his seidr?

Loki slipped the other foot through its trouser leg. He thought about X-5, and how eager he was to return to this timeline, to this life. Was it a life with you he wanted, or did he just want to be loved after spending so much time in a place that had never once valued the individual experience? 

The front door to your flat was closed, and then locked. His trousers now buttoned and zipped, Loki picked up his white shirt and pushed his arms through the sleeves. He thought about Mobius and his incredible self-restraint, how he was somehow easily managing to ignore the potentials of his own timeline. 

What if it’s something good? Do you think I wanna have that rattling around in here? 

It was as admirable as much as it was infuriating. If Mobius ever knew what he was considering, if Mobius ever discovered that Loki wasn’t giving his complete and undivided attention to the more pressing issue of the Temporal Loom, then he would be so impressively furious. He’d be so disappointed, he’d call Loki expedient and selfish and narcissistic. 

But didn’t Loki deserve something good for a change? He’d once had just about anything one could hope for, even with a disdainful shadow hanging over his shoulder. How much more would he have to lose before his selfishness was to be labeled justified, understandable, warranted? 

A long life of clinging to discarded scraps had made him selfish. But it wasn’t sickness, it was necessity. 

Of course he’d rather stay with you. Here, he was valued and appreciated. He was allowed to feel good, and dare he say it - wanted, even. Something he’d never once experienced in over a thousand years of tortured existence. Who wouldn’t be clinging to a liferaft while drowning in a vast ocean of nothingness? 

In the kitchen, the faucet was running, and the sound of cabinets opening and then closing echoed down the hallway. You were starting your day with or without him, it seemed. But that was to be expected, thanks to his earlier, thoughtless question, and it was a feeling he should have become used to by now. As Loki caught his reflection in the mirror above your bureau, he knew that wasn’t the case. 

Only a few weeks had passed since he’d escaped from the clutches of Thanos and the Black Order, and this was the first time he’d gazed upon himself since the S.H.I.E.L.D. research facility. He was slimmer than he remembered. But instead of that gauntness sharpening his features as one would expect, Loki saw himself fading away within the hunger of yearning. His Godly features were dulling before his very own eyes, seeming to drift away into abstraction while he got dressed in a mortal suit and tie. 

Yet again, Loki was pretending to be something he wasn’t. That was all he’d ever done, instead of determining what it was that he wanted or forging his own path forward. He’d either do his best at what was expected of him, or he’d intentionally do the complete opposite of it, just to punish them for never asking what he wanted for himself. 

The irony was he’d never be able to answer that question. He simply didn’t know what he wanted. Even now, the TVA and all its people were both on the verge of total annihilation, and here he was wishing he could just crawl back into bed with a human. No matter which option he chose, the guilt of not picking the other might very well eat him away from the inside.  

But what if he didn’t have to choose between those two paths at all?

For the first time in his life, Loki could truly create his own destiny. There was no one pulling the strings anymore, no pre-fabricated tragedy for him to obediently succumb to. He could button up his shirt as fast or as slowly as he wanted, he could snake his feet into his socks and shoes, or forgo them entirely. He could join you in the kitchen, slip his arms around your waist, and he could promise to return soon. 

He could mean that promise, and it was possible that he could fulfill it too. 

Moving hastily, Loki finished getting dressed. He tucked the dress shirt into his trousers and he retrieved his tie from the floor, slipping its middle into his pocket and leaving the ends to dangle down the length of his thigh. He picked up his jacket from the floor, folded it neatly over his arm, and then he began his approach into the hallway with his chin held higher than it’d been in a very long time.

He could do this, he could make this work. He could have his Key Lime pie, and he could eat it too. 

Successfully ignoring the horned candelabrum on the narrow bookshelf, he instead admired your displayed photographs as he moved down the hallway. Your smile was so joyous and bright in all of them, but especially in the ones where you made goofy faces with your friends. When you dressed up for holidays with your family. While standing in front of that treasured crepe myrtle in the backyard of your childhood home, the one that clearly meant so very much to you. 

There was nothing in your past that indicated a miserable future, only the deep-seated roots of pleasant memories. Loki hoped that would be enough to keep you safe until he fixed the Loom, but he felt optimistic about his chances as he approached the kitchen; he was going to keep you from falling into the clutches of addiction, and he was going to save the Temporal Loom at the same time. There was no one around to decide that he wasn’t allowed to any longer. 

If there was only one true thing in the entirety of the multiverse, it was that he despised being told that he couldn’t do something. 

And afterwards, he would go to the Æsir to request a spell. If necessary, he’d return to Asgard to search their libraries, and he’d go to New York and interrogate the so-called Sorcerer Supreme. He’d tear apart the entirety of the Nine Realms if he had to - all in search of a way to allow you to live as long as he would, just so he’d never have to figure out how to say goodbye. 

After rounding the hallway’s corner, he found you were standing in front of the kitchen stove, carefully measuring out spoonfuls of dark brown granules and methodically pouring them into a tall, silver pot. Your eyes were bleary, your movements sluggish but not without purpose. But in that early morning light, while wearing nothing but a silk robe, Loki found you entirely and completely magnificent. 

“Would you like some coffee before you go?” 

Your question was soft and polite. There was an air of distance to it that Loki simply couldn’t blame you for, but it also wasn't anything he couldn’t fix. He flashed his best, most impeccable smile as he laid his suit jacket over a barstool and seated himself on the other. 

“Yes, that would be lovely, my dear, thank you.” 

On the other side of the counter, you tried to hide the shy smile that crept across your lips, but it was impossible for him to miss. He grinned in return, thinking how lucky he might be to someday get to see that smile every morning.

Shifting his attention, Loki watched closely as you quietly assembled the rest of the contraption before placing it on the range. He may have been slightly out of touch when it came to Midgardian habits, but he did understand coffee to be of great and immeasurable importance to humans. He’d even grown fond of it himself, after several expeditions in his youth to visit each of the Nine Realms. 

And he could tell this intricate procedure of yours was dutifully performed every single morning, regardless of how late you’d been up the night before. That it granted you comfort, and just the smallest bit of control amidst the rampant chaos of the world. So he watched carefully, intending to memorize the steps so that someday he could be able to perform this task for you instead. 

“Who was at the door earlier?” he asked softly, eager to avoid a return to the previous, more unpleasant conversation you’d almost had before. The one that no longer mattered. “Was it another gentleman caller hoping to have coffee with you?”  

You laughed and shook your head while removing a match from the cardboard box. “No. It was just the doorman, if you must know…” 

“Doormen still drink coffee, do they not?” Loki teased, his eyes sparkling and his shoulders shrugging innocently. 

You struck the match along the textured side of the matchbox. The tip ignited flawlessly, momentarily erupting into a wild, bulbous flame before settling into a controlled burn. 

“I mean, if I was your doorman, I’d certainly be up here to have coffee with you every morning…”

“Oh, would you now?” you murmured with a smile, shifting over to the stovetop and carefully adjusting the burner’s dial. You brought the lit match just close enough to ignite the burner, and then blew it out. “Something tells me you wouldn’t be a very good doorman if you were only focused on opening and closing my door…” 

This time it was Loki’s turn to laugh. He shifted on the barstool, his long legs splayed wild and leaning closer to you with his elbows on the counter. “Yes, I suppose I’d probably be dismissed pretty quickly, wouldn’t I?” 

“Mmhmm. And then you’d have to go to doorman remedial classes to restore your honor,” you grinned playfully while turning on the faucet to run cool water over the extinguished match, just to be certain that it was out completely. “That would be so humiliating, wouldn’t it?” 

“Yes, and we can’t have that, can we?” Loki replied, tilting his head curiously. He found your behaviors to be quite intriguing; every action had a specific purpose, a unique rhythm to them. Every item had a designated place, a proper condition that it needed to exist as. You were clearly a meticulously neat person, and he thought it was terribly endearing. 

After tossing the thoroughly drenched match into the trash bin, you then pulled a folded cloth out of an overhead cupboard, let it soak under the running water, and then shut the faucet off. 

“So, tell me. What is it that exemplary doormen do while they’re on the job? Perhaps I just need a lesson or two…” 

Your arm swung in wide circles over the countertop, collecting any spilled coffee grounds with the damp cloth and guiding them into the sink. 

“Oh, he was just bringing up the script that was dropped off while I was out last night.” You nodded towards a neat stack of correspondence beside him on the counter. At the very bottom was a large, cream-colored packet with the words “PERSONAL and CONFIDENTIAL” stamped in red ink at each corner. 

“Well, that was very thoughtful of him.” 

You nodded in agreement. “Apparently he was very excited when he arrived at work this morning and saw it. He just couldn’t wait to bring it up here.”

“I see. And this doorman - is he a strapping young lad?” Loki grinned. It was hard to say if he just wanted to make you smile again, or if he was actually trying to suss out any potential competition for your affections. “A dashing gentleman, eager to impress a beautiful woman such as yourself?” 

The countertops now wiped clean, you made an amused and befuddled face as you began to rinse out the washcloth in the sink. “Oh, my God, no! He’s my father’s age, I’ve known him since I was a child.” 

Loki’s smile shifted into warmth, his heart full with the reassurance that there were so many people out there who loved and cared about you. He wondered if you knew how lucky you were, and what his life might have looked like if he had been afforded the same luxury. 

But as it was, everything seemed to be like it should. The vessel on the range was steadily heating up, thanks to the light blue flames licking up its sides from underneath. Your kitchen was spotless, he had a beautiful companion at his side, and for once, Loki wasn’t being hunted by an enemy hellbent on either killing him or ruining his life again. 

“I went to school with his daughter, and she’s still my best friend. So he thinks of me as like a second daughter,” you continued, wringing out the excess water from the cloth and draping it neatly over the faucet’s neck. 

“And what about this script made your second father so excited?” Loki asked, trying not to think about the fact that he’d once had two fathers himself, until he’d murdered his biological one. “Is it for a role you hope to get, or for a role you already have?”

You shifted to open another cupboard behind you. Inside, neat and organized stacks of matching dishware of the crispest white awaited your selection. You pulled out two sets of mugs and a saucer for each before turning back towards him. “Oh, it’s for - ” 

An unexpected, and loud, electronic chirp interrupted your answer. 

You both froze in place, but for very different reasons - your eyebrows raised, and your eyes darted around the flat as though you weren’t sure that you had actually heard the startling noise or not. You certainly had no idea what had caused it, and it showed in your expression. 

Loki froze because he knew the sound had come from the TemPad hidden inside his pocket. 

⊱ ── ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ──  ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅  ── ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ── ⊰

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