#my blood my strength tattoo

[kenzan-kiwami]

finished the linework for my kashiwagi tattoo design idea :weary:

RGG Studio Hire Me Challenge [IMPOSSIBLE]

[yuujispinkhair]

Boxer!Sukuna headcanons

Inspired by this lovely ask. Thank you so much for sending me that and making me lose my mind over Boxer!Sukuna.

Pairing: Boxer!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: fluff + smut Word Count: 1.5k Warnings: 18+, modern AU, smut, squirting. Mentions of boxing injuries, biting, blood. I know that boxers usually wear a groin protector, but I chose to ignore this for this AU because I wanted to write a sexy detail lol. Sukuna + Reader are in a relationship. Minors don't interact. Divider @/benkeibear

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who always wants you by his side backstage until it's time for him to enter the arena. You are his good luck charm and the only one who is allowed to wrap the bandages around his hands before he slips into his gloves. Not that he needs any luck with the skills he has, but he loves seeing you press your sweet kisses on his boxing gloves and smile at him before you hug him tightly and tell him to please be careful.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who gets a warm feeling in his heart when he sees how worried you always are. Much more nervous before his fights than he is. But he always reassures you, wrapping his muscular tattooed arms tightly around you and hugging you to his firm body while he tells you, "Don't worry, princess. You know I never lose."

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who smiles while you help him get dressed before a fight, helping him slip into the white silk kimono he wears for his ring entrance show. He can clear his mind the best when he feels your gentle hands caressing over his broad back.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who gives you his most charming smile before he grabs your chin and asks you for a good luck kiss, not just on his boxing gloves but also on his lips.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who always tells you he loves you before he leaves the backstage area. And hearing your "I love you, too" in return gives him another surge of motivation.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, whose ring-entrance show always makes the crowd go wild. The whole arena is bathed in blood-red light. A picture of an ancient shrine in a sea of blood gets projected onto the large screens. Dramatic classical music starts playing as a huge throne of skulls emerges from the fog, with Sukuna lounging casually on it, his head resting on the back of his hand. He's wearing the snow-white kimono and a crown on his pink hair, presenting himself as The King of Curses, which is his stage name.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, whose stage name fits him perfectly. One look at him and his powerful body and that dangerous and ambitious glint in his eyes, and everyone knows this guy is truly a King in the boxing ring.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who gracefully walks towards the ring with an arrogant look on his tattooed face, only accompanied by his assistant Uraume, who walks a few steps behind him as if they are a loyal shrine servant who follows their master obediently. They take off Sukuna's kimono for him and bow respectfully while the crowd cheers loudly.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who looks intimidating but beautiful as he stands there with a posture like a God while the white silk slips off his broad shoulders and reveals all the firm muscles and the sexy tattoos on his tall, athletic body.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who drops his serious act the moment he climbs into the ring and instead smirks his most charming smirk and lifts a hand to casually wave at his fans, letting them celebrate him as if he already won.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, whose last glance before every match belongs to you, though. As much as he enjoys the attention and worship from his fans, he always loves your gaze on him the most. You are the one who grounds him before a fight, the one who gives him the strength and the right mindset to lead him to victory.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, whose maroon eyes look directly into yours while he kisses his boxing gloves, at the same spot where your lips left their kisses a few minutes ago backstage. And right before he turns around to face the referee and his opponent, he winks at you and mouths, "I'll win this fight for you, baby".

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who already mocks his opponent before the fight even starts. Smiling tauntingly at him and asking him if he is scared. "You know, you can still run, little boy."

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who looks so sexy during his fights. All of his attacks are powerful and well-planned. He moves gracefully through the ring, like a big cat on the prowl, beautiful and deadly. Everyone can see that he isn't someone who just relies on his brute strength. Sukuna is intelligent, and he uses his mind to win his fights.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who is both hated and loved by the judges. They hate how cocky he is but admire his skills and respect him for how well-prepared he is for his matches.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who wins most of his fights with a knockout, laughing triumphantly when the referee counts down the seconds.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who only loses fights when he gets disqualified for committing a foul. Sometimes, he bites his opponents, drawing blood with his sharp teeth and laughing as he licks the blood off his lips. You know that this is also part of Sukuna's strategy. He is too controlled to let himself get carried away during a fight, but he loves the reputation those bloody attacks give him, basking in the fear he sees in his opponents' eyes when he whispers to them before a fight, "Did you see the guy I bit last month? Let's see how your blood tastes on my tongue."

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who is brilliant at blocking punches but also cannot be stopped if he gets hit. You used to be worried sick when you saw him receiving blows to the head until Sukuna reassured you that he is allowing it on purpose. It's all for the show. And sometimes, because he craves the pain since, it will spur him on even more.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who laughs after every punch his opponent lands, smirking cat-like as he licks the blood off his cracked lip, and his wild maroon eyes glitter amusedly at the other guy: "Aww, was that all you can do, brat? Gimme more, come on! Punch me! Make me bleed for real, you coward!"

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who looks so sexy with his tattooed skin all sweaty, every muscle in his tall, strong body taut. His veins standing out, and his broad chest rising and sinking as he breathes deeply. The outline of his long, thick cock visible through his dark red boxing shorts, making you want him so much.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who wears a sexy smirk on his beautiful tattooed face when he gets declared winner. He looks deeply into your eyes when the referee yanks his hand into the air to signal his win. This first moment is always for you alone, mesmerizing maroon eyes silently telling you that Sukuna dedicates this win to you.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who then punches his fist into the air and does a little round in the ring to let the crowd celebrate him like the King that he is. He is a professional, giving his fans what they crave, even while he craves something very different at that moment after a match.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who expects you to wait for him in his private locker room backstage, naked and wet, with your legs spread, ready to get taken by him.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who takes you rough and hard. He needs to fuck you to come down again after being so pumped up during his fight. His tall, muscular body is still dripping with sweat, smelling so sexy, a mix of sweat and musk and his expensive cologne. His breath is loud and harsh in your ear, turning into low, hoarse groans as he pounds your cunt with his cock and his heavy balls, just like he pounded his opponent with his fists.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who rubs your swollen clit firmly and whispers dirty things in your ear, making sure you give him your everything and squirt all over him when you cum on his fat cock.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who coos at you and calls you his good girl, his love, as he chases his own orgasm, finally allowing himself to let go, fucking you with hard erratic thrusts, his face buried in your neck, moaning loudly until he captures your lips in a heated kiss when he shoots his hot cum into your cunt.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who cuddles you afterward, pressing himself tightly against you while he is still buried balls-deep inside you, resting his forehead against yours and thanking you for being his lucky charm and the one who gives him strength. He stays like that, pressing you down with his heavy body, kissing you tenderly until his breathing finally calms down and the sweat on his body begins to dry.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who picks you up and murmurs to you, "Hold on to me, princess," before he carries you to the shower, not letting go of you even for a second, needing his princess on his cock and in his arms.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who showers with you and lets you wash him, sighing when you massage shower gel into his taut muscles, caressing him, and cleaning him, easing the tension in his body.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who returns the favor and lets his large, calloused hands wander gently over your naked and soaped-up body while he kisses you nonstop. Who caresses another orgasm out of you while you stroke his long thick cock slowly, making him spill his seed all over your hand.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who isn't the famous boxer, The King of Curses, anymore, when he is here under the shower with you. Here he is just Sukuna, your fiancé, who is joking around with you, all playful again, grinning that sexy grin and kissing you so sweetly, whispering against your skin how much you mean to him, and asking you where you want to have a late dinner tonight.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who fucks you once more, this time against the shower wall with your legs wrapped tightly around his hips and your hands in his pink hair. But this time, it is slow, sensual lovemaking. Slow, deep thrusts and tender French kisses until you both find completion at the same time and moan into each other's mouth. The perfect finish for a successful match.

HE IS SO SEXY 😭😭 I didn't know I would write so much for Boxer!Sukuna, but I enjoyed it so much to think of his dramatic ring-entrance show and the way he boxes, etc. I hope you enjoyed it too!!

Comments and reblogs would be very sweet.

[kithtaehyung]

minted (explicit) | myg

title: minted (explicit) pairing: street king!yoongi x street cart vendor!reader rating/genre: explicit (18+) ; angst , suspense , smut ; haegeum au , gang au summary: all you do is wake up, sell your fruit on the dusty streets below your flat, and go to sleep. but everything changes when a customer you always look forward to seeing turns out to be dangerous. really, really dangerous. note: again, this wasn't on the docket for 2024 until i saw one (1) mint yoongi edit on my pinterest feed💀 anyways, this is dedicated to hali @sailoryooons for ur belated bday, nary @joonary for being a cutie pie and letting me adopt the tangerine cart girl idea in general, and luce @minttangerines for ur url and for being a wonderful friend. love you all! warnings: this series may not be for everyone, language, violence, weapons (guns/knives/chopsticks/etc.), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, murder, gang activity, poor reader is just trying to get through the day, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, tension, slow burn, choking, reader suffers from “my cabbages” levels of disaster, slight e2l, fight sequences, multiple future explicit scenes, yoongi deserves his own warning, chains but who is ever ever shocked, graphic depictions of violence drop date: august 5th, 2024, 9:03pm est word count: 9.4k aiyaaa✌ mood playlist: here

—

—

Ever since you could remember, gang activity in your town has run unchecked. 

Anything goes. Rough fights out of nowhere, car chases busting streets, or even random delinquents snatching food on the run, dust kicking up onto stock they left behind. 

And out of all the districts, yours is begrudgingly the second worst. 

Why? You still aren’t completely sure. But you do know that the darkest is reserved for the underbelly that only slithers in rumors. A place in which you will never find yourself. 

But you do wonder what must happen there to warrant the winning title because each day here is a battle to keep yourself afloat. 

All you do is sell fruit. Why are you fighting for your life every week? Why can’t you exchange goods for money in peace? If you could compare it to the movies you grew up watching on an outdated television, it’s a grungy reflection of the wild west.

But through all the shit you’ve chosen to endure, at least one person is always kind enough to buy his wares and go.

And today is no different.

You still don’t know his name. But you yearn to. Because his hair is the color of magic and rebellion, and his tattoos really set off that bright mop of locks. 

If those lethal, piercing eyes weren’t enough.

When he lifts three long digits, it takes all your strength to nod and get his purchase together. This is the part that never changes, either.

Just like always. One, three, or five fingers for tangerines. Never two, never four, and never any other fruits. 

It’s charming, in a way. As if he’s more particular than most about what he wants—a trait elusive to many.

Like clockwork, you would hand his order over in thin plastic, and he would walk away to hitch a ride on a passing cart. Just like he does right now with a lazy gait, white tee billowing from his jeans. 

Another day. Another exchange.

In the wavy heat of summer, you sigh. Wondering if anything is ever going to change, and if you would ever get to know more about your most frequent, most mysterious patron.

After a while, you do try talking to him. 

Those looks of confusion slowly turn into little hums or grunts, then into single words that keep you going for days. Even though you rarely hear it, his voice is just as attractive as he is. 

One day, you offer him a plantain, handing it over and telling him it’s on the house. 

“Thanks,” he says amongst the clinks and conversations of the street, pocketing the food away. 

When he does, you see a flash of black metal, and you already know what he’s carrying. You’re used to seeing all sorts of those around nowadays. In this district, you’d be shocked if he didn’t have an arsenal on his person while traveling through.

Besides. Even you have a couple collecting dust in your own flat, handed down by extended family but never used.

“If you ever need anything other than tangerines,” you start with a point to his pants, “Please buy those instead.” 

He’s unmoving. Blinks are all you get so you have no choice but to explain,

“I’m so tired of eating them with everything.” 

When he huffs in amusement, your heart flutters thrice. There’s no reason for a sheen of sweat and sticky mint locks to be so deadly. 

“Then eat something else,” is all the stranger advises before walking off. 

Well.

Even though you don’t have much of a choice, the guy does have a point. You wouldn’t be shocked in the slightest if his aim’s just as straightforward as his wit.

Once one exchange lasts longer than a sentence, the two of you start little conversations during his visits. Which prove more fatal than normal since he’d rest his tattoos on the top shelf of your cart. 

From what you can make out, there are creatures stretching in beautiful teal and vivid orange, and even striking white on his other arm. They ripple so well with his veins, a canvas that sways and hypnotizes with every drum of his fingers. 

You know what they symbolize, though it’s unique to have all of them together. 

Taboo, even. 

But you can’t hold back your admiration because of the sheer beauty. What would they feel like if you just… 

“You always stare this long?”

Shit. “Oh, sorry. I just… I rarely see anyone’s ink up close.”

To your dismay, he takes his arm back. “I don’t have a lot of time today, princess.”

“Right, sorry. Hold on,” you respond, cringing hard at blurting two apologies in a ten second span. 

Meanwhile, your way too handsome regular cocks a brow, clearly comfortable making you squirm as you hand over his bag. 

Effortless. In your chaotic life, It’s almost intoxicating feeling someone this resolute in their whole demeanor. If only you could be so commanding and assured one day. 

But here you stand instead, pretending to count fruit you one hundred percent know the stock of already. “Your art is really nice, by the way,” you admit to your inventory. “All the high-powers. I like what you picked.”

“Didn’t choose these.”

Ah. Way to assume things. 

Raising your head, you make to apologize a third time.

But he’s already retreating with his tangerines, hand stuffed in a pocket and beautiful waves a little less vibrant than you recall. 

“What.” 

“I worry sometimes.” 

His gaze lifts. “About me?” 

“Yeah.” 

You don’t know why you choose to say that of all things. But it’s honest. You always wonder about him and think about the weapon in his jeans. Does he use it? Does he ever need to? 

Maybe you should pick up a hobby or two.

Fingers resting dangerously close, he asks with a tilt of his head, “What would you do, doll? If something happened to someone like me.” 

Someone like him? What does that mean? 

Great. Now you have even more to wonder about, as if he knew that was your exact predicament.

You stare, roaming along his arms before meeting his eyes—almost. “Find someone else to buy my tangerines.” 

Huffing, his brows tick up with his mouth. “I respect that.” His attention doesn’t leave your face as he slowly takes his purchase. “See ya.” 

“Bye,” you whisper back, watching him go. More thoughts and concerns bouncing around your mind in the sticky heat of midday. 

These little nicknames he’s using also aren’t helping your issue in the slightest. 

It starts when you hear shouting from a block down.

“Here they come!”

“Bunch of idiots this time.”

“What do you mean this time?”

Rough raiders this early? They should know it’s almost time for Dragon’s sweep. Bold.

After you hear the telltale yells, clanks, and bangs, your section of the street braces for impact. 

And it swoops in like a whirlwind, ruffians tearing through, pillaging and stealing and swiping goods into thick woven baskets. 

Baskets? The usual suspects always carry leather bags. You assume because of their sturdiness and inconspicuous nature, but what do you really know.

Here it goes again. 

As your fruit is taken right from your cart, you sink to your toes, mourning the regular loss of your menu.

No use fighting. Like every other time, you all let it happen because there’s no point in trying to protect anything that isn’t valuable. Perishables and small homemade goods aren’t worth getting gutted over. Truly, the worst losses you suffer are when—

Your cart shifts violently before thieves topple it over, cracking one of your wheels and splitting the wooden boards in three places.

Springing to your feet, you douse the perpetrators in anger, “What the hell!”

“Oh, this was yours?” Someone chides while his cronies run past. “Thanks for the oranges, love!”

“They’re tangerines!” you correct at his retreating back, kicking your cart before yelping at your bad decision. “Damn it…”

Back to your knees you go. Head drooping, arms encircling, and disappointment pooling around like a shadow.

More shouts and feet in the road rampage through. Then it gets quieter. And quieter. 

Then it’s done.

After silence swells in the wake of chaos, groans start making their way down the street. 

“What’d they get from you this time,” you ask your neighbor, a charming old man selling anything from bowls to wide, round frying pans. 

Looking over his little wreckage, he blinks hard. “They got my woks. Nothing as bad as yours. You okay?” 

Walking over to help clean his mess up first, you bend down with a sigh, “I’ll be alright. But it still sucks.. My poor tangerines..” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Not much to do about it now,” you resign, all your energy taken from you, too. 

A little bit of time passes as you complete your usual round of help, though this raid was worse than others. As they all give their thanks, you keep thinking about how to make the whole situation better. Moreso for them than you because you’ve always been one of the least vulnerable ones on the block.

“You should find another place to sell, dear.” 

In disagreement, you slip into a saddened smile. “I can’t leave you guys,” you explain to the lady you’re holding pails for. “Who will help clean everything up?” 

“Don’t underestimate your elders now.” 

“Fair,” you respond through a chuckle, handing her one of the metal buckets. “If only better protection was an option around here.”

“You know the rules,” another shop owner drones through lingering spices, “Dragon won’t protect us if it isn’t in their own interests.” 

Unfortunately, he’s right. Every single raid that hasn’t coincided with a gang sweep goes overlooked. Even the city police don't bother coming down your street anymore, which is another issue in itself.

If only Tiger or Crane had been the high-powers in place instead. 

At least they seem to be more fair.

After you finish helping, you finally venture back to your own cart, realizing that the trek is a lot further than you thought. 

Did you really walk so far this time? The damage was dealt for much more than a block at this point. 

Not like you need to sprint back, though. What’s left to steal? Everything you got swept into those woven containers.

Still so odd…

But not as odd as the sight that greets you on your return. 

Because instead of seeing your wreckage of a cart tilted and abysmal, it’s upright and being mended.

By none other than your favorite set of hands.  

What the hell? What’s he doing here? You quite literally have nothing to give so there’s no reason for him to spare a second at your broken stand. 

Fast-walking, you hastily try to halt his help, “Oh, shit, you don’t have to—” 

“Course I don’t.” 

That shuts you up. In your split second of silence, you note with agony that his hair is messily tied in a minted bun. Are his sleeves bunched at his biceps, too? Great. What were you even telling him again? 

Ah, yes. You were telling this mystery of a man that he doesn’t have to literally put your stand back together. “Seriously, I got it.” 

“Don’t sweat it.” 

“But it’s my cart, I don’t need your—”

With one look over his shoulder, your mouth snaps shut. And suddenly can’t move to argue again. 

What the hell is up with today? 

Forget all that. What’s he doing? At least you’re familiar with all the shop owners and vendors on your block, though you can’t say you wouldn’t do the same thing for someone you don’t know. But this guy has always been so standoffish and barely approachable. So how is he lending both hands to help you right now? 

Whatever. If he’s gonna be as stubborn as this heat, you can be, too. 

Scanning the area for scattered tools, you find a sun-warmed hammer and get to work, fixing one end of the cart while he works on the other. When you feel his gaze on your working shoulder, it takes massive strength to ignore him—even if you wanna know what his issue is and why he smells really, really good this afternoon.

Looks like you need more nails for this board to fit. When your eyes find a couple on the ground, you clinch a second piece between your teeth while hammering in the first. 

Sounds stop at your side, but you wait until you pluck the metal nail from your mouth and stamp it in to look over.

Oh. He’s eyeing the hammer. Not you. Obviously. 

You wordlessly hand it over, arm slicked with exertion. Because after the day you’ve had, you don’t feel like everything needs a spoken sentence attached. 

It takes the guy a bit to take it from you, but when he does, he holds your stare. “Thanks.” 

You simply nod, eyes sticking to him as he works on the tattier side wait it looks almost new. Better than it has in a very long time. Did he really get that much done in the time you were gone? There’s been great care taken during his repair if that’s the case.  

Hmm. You finally learn something about your favorite customer. Maybe he’s just been a mechanic or carpenter this whole time? 

Contemplative, you get up on sore legs to walk to your cooler—something thankfully missed by the rough raiders. Digging through the clinkage, you retrieve a local beer you recently procured from the restaurant across the street. 

It’s not much. Absolute bottom shelf. But it’s all you got other than a few pieces of oni-coin, so he’s gonna have to deal with it.

When you offer the glass, your regular eyes it for a moment. More than enough time for you to get a good look at his striking floral top.

Well. Mechanic and carpenter are out of the question because that one piece of clothing looks more expensive than your entire apartment building.

Who even is this guy? Now you feel destitute handing him something so cheap.

Just when you think he’s gonna refuse, he takes the beer and smoothly shucks it open, suddenly making you wonder how a bracelet can do that and why it was so attractive.

God. You need to walk straight to the nearest inlet stream and dunk your head right in.

“Thank you,” you whisper, gulping at his full swigs. “You really didn’t have to do all this.” 

“Got some time to kill,” he shrugs. Standing, the man takes another sip, peering along the street with sunlit eyes. With the bottle near his mouth, he murmurs, “You really need to set up somewhere else, doll. This street’s turning into a hot spot.” 

Squinting up at the long lines of clothes and curtains floating in the breeze, you sigh at the building nearest. “I live close,” you sulk. “And this is the easiest place to get to.” 

Those are excuses. Just tell him the real reason you won’t venture out and plop yourself somewhere more profitable. Well, maybe not all of the reasons, but the main one. 

Leaning back on your cart, you stare at the loose dirt, swiping some with your shoes. “Maybe I’m just used to it at this point.” 

He won’t respond. Or he’ll respond in his own way, which is mostly silence. 

But a bright strand falls over his face before he hums, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

Many people have warned you at this point. It’s basically your stubborn and spiteful nature that’s making you stay in the first place. Why would you move when you chose to be here? Why leave a place you actively choose to call home? 

Fighting spirit quelled, you nod right to your stand as you count what’s salvageable. “I know, but I like it here.” When he lifts an unbelieving brow, you look away. “It’s true. But trust me, if there was a way to just make it all stop, I’d take it.” 

He takes another swig, both of you looking into the street and watching things slowly get back to normal pace. Adults and kids alike are back to wandering around, buying what’s left and offering condolences. 

“I’m not fixing another cart,” your patron turned repairman grunts, motioning to your wheel as he steps back. “So don’t fuck this one up.” 

Huh? It wasn’t your fault! All the accidents and chaos that blow through aren’t something you can control oh he’s grinning. Why is he grinning? Why do you feel hot all over? 

His teeth shine in daylight. “I’m messing with you.” 

Ah. 

This version of him is not good for you at all.

When he starts to walk away, you blurt out a quick, “Wait!” 

Shit! Why did you do that? What are you possibly supposed to say right now? All you wanted was to see him a little longer… And while staring at his backside would be more than enough, you kinda wanted to actually talk. 

What do you do? He stopped; he’s waiting. 

And he looks impatient as hell. 

Snapping into action, you round your cart and trot over, offering your name as if you didn’t just give up where you lived. 

Then—without thinking—you ask for his with the most curious, innocent, “What’s yours?” 

Silence has never been so booming.

In the dusty swirls of your street, you wait with a back that’s getting sweatier and colder with each passing second. 

Was that not okay to ask? Did you fuck up with a single question? 

Perfect. You just blew your one good thing about being out here. Wincing, you crush your words so hard you think your teeth will break into dust, drifting off into the very breeze wafting his striking locks. 

After a condescending puff, he only smirks.

Then he takes one step. And another. And another.

The air around you melts, weighing on your shoulders while lighting them aflame all at once. It’s a feeling you can’t describe to anyone else, because they would just need to stand next to this man to believe it. 

Checking to see if the street is clear, your best customer leans over. Slowly. Purposefully. “Yoongi,” he offers with a voice so handsome you’ll think about it for days. “But don’t fucking tell anyone.” 

Oh. 

Why did… you kinda like that? 

Blinking, you swallow. “I won’t.” 

This is when he’s supposed to just leave. He’d walk away, bag swinging with his strides. But ever keeping you on your sore toes, the man just chuckles low before rasping out the most devilish sentence in existence, 

“Always took you for a good girl.”

Then he backs away, turning on his heel and leaving you a statue in the street.

Yoongi. 

For a hardened soul, his name is so… 

Tender. 

For the next sixty days, you don’t get ransacked once. 

But there’s also been no sight of Yoongi. 

As the weeks trudge by, you can’t decide which outcome is worse.

The skies are magnificent today. But obviously at a molten price.

“Thank you for trying,” you say to a lovely wares owner before venturing back out into simmering streets. Exhaling, you wipe sweat from your brow, squinting before choosing to walk left or right. 

Left seems promising. 

You’ve been searching for hours now, perusing through shops, checking out vendors both nice and catty. But after a whole day’s search, you still haven’t found what you’re looking for. 

It’s nothing urgent or pressing. But you would at least like to be prepared. 

Since your initial mission is a bust, hopefully your next one makes up for it before you melt right into gravel and dirt.

Find a meal.

Walking along the busy roads, you pass a few options and keep them in mind, making sure to greet a fellow tangerine cart vendor with a smile. Hopefully they do well today.

A couple steps further, a giant cooler catches your eye. Seafood of all types lie inside along cubes of ice, and you weigh the pros and cons of smelling like fish just to have a cool head.

But before you can make any choices, the smell of spices and hearty soup softly pull your feet inside the restaurant nearby. 

What’s here? Noodles? You’re always down for that. Apparently even in scorching weather.

After ordering, you take your seat at a random middle table in a chair facing the entrance. 

Always facing the entrance.

Damn. You really need to accomplish what you set out to do. But sunset is fast approaching these days, and you aren’t anywhere close to home. All you have time for now is eating and heading out. 

The service here is quick, at least. You’re already thanking the owner for sliding a bowl in front of your sweaty form. 

With a head full of thoughts, you stare into nothing, stirring your noodles and waiting for the heat to die down. 

Maybe you should’ve just walked a shorter distance and checked the shops you originally wanted to browse. If things went to plan, you could’ve been back by now, freshly showered and curling up on a worn down bed. 

But instead, your feet are sore, your head is anything but washed, and you have to trek home empty-handed—on the first day off you’ve had in months. 

Defeated, you sigh, going back to your bowl and watching sliced vegetables swirl in aromatic broth. 

At least the food in this area seems good. And the fading decor really adds to the… 

Ambiance. 

Wait. 

Dragons. A lot of them. 

You can’t pull your eyes away from the crew walking in, bringing heat from the sweltering sun in their eyes and donning their telltale, striking teal. 

But you can only kid yourself for so long because the one that truly has your gaze tethered is the man in front. The one you haven’t seen in weeks. The one looking right back at you with a visage so shadowed you feel like moving tables to let him pass. 

…Yoongi? 

His jacket. The colors.

He’s in Dragon?

Suddenly his hair makes terrifying sense.

As his guys stalk through, you swallow hard, not expecting to see him and having no earthly idea what to do with this harrowing information. There are so many thoughts overlapping each other that they all amalgamate into one huge batch of sludge. 

Aren’t you smack dab in Crane territory? There’ve been white suits peppering the streets everywhere. 

So what the hell is Dragon doing here?

From the slight confusion pinching his forehead, you know Yoongi didn’t expect to see you, either. Which makes it even weirder when he slowly takes your chopsticks right from your fingers. 

Hold on, what—

“What are you—”

A lone, long digit over lips is the only response you get, silencing you immediately before you whip your head around to watch him rush past. 

All of them waste no time tearing up the stairs, a myriad of blues blending with gritty paint and smoke. 

And just like that, your reunion is over. 

Home. You need to go home. Leave, leave, leave, because something is bound to be going down upstai—

A thud faintly shoots out into the staircase, and you spin around again in your chair, eyes snapping to the ceiling. 

Shit. 

Even though you’re on high alert, you realize with a quick sweep that no one else is noticing. Or moving. Or even paying attention to anything else but their own company. 

Does no one else care about the commotion? Do hits happen in this area that often? 

Mind running, you can’t decide what to do. Because even though Yoongi’s guys have plenty of weapons, he clearly had nothing since he needed to borrow your damn eating utensils.

Another crash rains dust on conversations around your shoulders, causing you to look up one last time. 

Go home, go home, go home. In what universe would Yoongi himself ever need your help here? 

With one more look at your noodles, you curl your lips before biting a side. 

Already yelling at yourself for choosing to book it towards the back staircase. 

Shit shit shit this is so stupid. This is probably the worst decision you’re gonna make in your life.

But your gut is churning thinking about Yoongi. Even a seasoned swordsman needs expertise to wield mere chopsticks and win. 

Fuck, if you succeeded in your search today, you probably could’ve been a little more useful. 

Swiping your own set of red from a nearby cup, you hightail it up, slowing as you round a corner and immediately hear multiple clangs and scuffles beyond the last turn.

Stop. You can go back. You can still turn around and go home.

An inhale.

Your feet propel you up and into a dark hall. As you slowly slide along the wall, your gut churns and churns. At a bang, you crouch with a skipped beat of your heart.

This is really, really dumb. But you can’t stop yourself and you have no clue why.

Nothing happens around you. So you keep going. With each careful slide of your foot, you get closer and closer to the noise.

Approaching the corner, you very slowly stick your head out for a peek.

And it’s pure commotion. Pure chaos. Holy shit, what is going on? 

Fuck, there’s already a body lying limp on the floor meters away—

Your chopsticks. You wanna hurl.

But a man flies out of a room ahead before he grips and wrestles with another, and you reel yourself back to avoid being seen by either one.

Where is Yoongi? Is he okay? Did he leave already?

You give one more peek, scanning the long raucous corridor as swift as you can to see any sign of.. Mint.

He’s still here. How’s he just walking so nonchalant as his crew fucks shit up? Crap, he just went into a room and out of sight. 

“Where’d they go?”

“Upstairs!”

Fuck, that was in the restaurant! Get up get up you have no choice but to hide now. 

With pounding steps, you rush forward and book it, entering a large room to dive behind some steel shelving and large, woven baskets right as more Dragons come in behind with fists clenched.

Breathe. Steady. Calm the fuck down.

The grunts rush to the hallway to join the fray, and you wait in the now pungent solitude of your room. With only a still body to accompany you. 

What do you do? What even can you do? 

Just as nerves grip your stomach like a vice, Yoongi strides into the open area, heading right for the exit and not even sparing his kill a glance. 

Go. Go now. Why can’t you move? Why aren’t your hands letting go of your cold confinement? It smells like death and blood and you need to leave with the only person you know—or don’t—so why can’t your feet just fucking—

Someone else slithers into the room. A man in brown with a knife. A knife, a knife, a knife he’s getting faster and Yoongi doesn’t hear him the guy is too quiet fuck! “Yoongi!” 

It all happens before your brain can paint the bloody picture. Shooting out from your hiding spot, you race towards the assassin, slamming into their lanky build just in time.  

Both of you topple to the ground, your target roaring in pain and twisting like hell to fight back fuck you didn’t get him how you needed to he’s got you—

Pain erupts in your hip as you’re grabbed, the room spinning as you’re thrown to the side and your ear hitting concrete right before chopsticks ping down. Thinking quick, you knee the guy as hard as you can, scrambling to finish the job because if you don’t, you’re gone gone gone.

“Bitch!” Your opponent clutches your shirt right as you reach for the nearest red pair, seizing your throat right as you grip and swing them around to stab the other side of his neck with a yell.

Luckiest timing of your life. 

“Hng!” Fuck, he’s still holding down hard and choking, choking, squeezing. “Fuck you!” 

Fight back. Keep the weapon inside he’s too strong finish him finish him. 

Darkness. Ink drops in water. Your vision taints as your grip loosens, and you can only hope that Yoongi got away safe. He had to. At least you… Were able to do… 

This one thing… 

…

Oxygen and life rush back into your lungs, color burning through your esophagus as you gasp for sweet sweet air. Right as you come to, all you witness is the heavy heel of a boot twisting the forearm latched onto you. 

And when the shoe leaves your vision. Lifeless eyes stare back.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck that was close. Oh god. You actually did it. Oh fuck. 

Coughing, you rush up as you get tugged and pulled right against chains and embroidery, your ears ringing with a gravelly command and glass breaking in the nearby corridor,

“Don’t say my fuckin’ name so loud.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Yoongi roughly lets you go before pinning you with pure anger. Not to say thank you. Not to tell you any words of gratitude at all. The only other thing he finds the need to say is simply, 

“You shouldn’t be up here.” 

What the fuck. You just murdered someone for him and this is all you get? Eyes welling, you feel your body slick and sticky with crimson when you turn, coughing and spitting out regret before you wheeze, wheeze, wheeze, “That’s—that’s all you have to say?” 

Dread swirls around your stomach like poison.

But the sternness from before completely vanishes as Yoongi lifts your chin. His eyes scan your throat and chest, and you rip your head away from his touch because he is not excused just yet. 

“It’s not mine,” you snap, knowing exactly what he’s looking for and what you must look like to him. Dirty. Gross. Certainly a far image from the girl selling tangerines.

But your face is gently held again, and somehow this softer turn carries more strength to swivel you forward. 

Why is Yoongi still looking? Now he’s holding your gaze as if he’s never seen you before. What’s that about? You’re still the same, the same, the same.

…Are you?

More crashes and shots are heard down the hall, and Yoongi snaps his head up in an instant. 

God, you smell. You reek. Your nose is tainted and your hands even more so. There’s no way he’s gonna have anything to do with you now. 

But you get the shock of the century when the man commands you to come along. “Let’s go.” 

Absolutely not. This is all you got in you for a lifetime. “What? No, no, no. No way, I’m going home.”

“And they’ll follow you the whole way back.” 

“I—I didn’t mean to—” 

Shots ring out before grunts barrel out into the short hallway. All of them piling out from crevasses and hidden passages. 

You give one more look at the two men now crumpled on the ground, bile rising up and threatening to spill. 

“Tough shit, princess. You did, now live with it.” 

Live with it. How poetic. 

You were protecting him. You did what you had to do. But you have blood on your hands again and now Yoongi will see you as something else besides a fucking street vendor. 

“Are you coming or not?”

You’re gonna puke your guts out.

With a stilted cry, you bend to snatch your weapons up yet again—gagging at the squelches and much deeper red—before following Yoongi’s long steps. 

Your hands. They’re shaking so bad you can’t even pocket the chopsticks properly. But you finally get them down, crushing your palms and squeezing just to stop them from rattling. 

When you wait behind Yoongi checking the corner, you turn around to make sure you aren’t being followed. And seeing the hallway still a moving mass of broken glass and hard swings, you think you’re safe. 

The stairs feel so different on the way down. Is that because you feel completely changed? There’s no coming back from this. Another side of you died right alongside those two people upstairs. 

No time to think about that. You have to follow his lead. And he’s slowing down why is he slowing down? 

Oh. Normal. Be normal to not garner suspicion. You have to do the same. 

Wait. You can’t go down there with a shirt full of stained evidence! Grabbing him and pulling back, you whisper, “Yoongi—”

His growl is so fierce your head spins, “What the fuck did I say about my n—”

“My clothes,” you panic. “I can’t.” 

Yoongi gives you a quick look before gripping the duffle strap. Brows lowered, he grits out while dumping it, “Lose the shirt.” 

“What?” 

“Do it.” 

“Where’d he go?”

“It’s gone!”

Your heads snap up before you lock eyes. And he doesn’t need to say anything to show you what he’s thinking behind those minted bangs.

As you hastily strip, your brain works in weird ways. Instead of processing how you very much need to hurry the fuck up, you lament the bra of choice today. And how sweaty you look. Because of course those are your thoughts of choice right now. 

Something’s dumped on you before your shirt hits the ground, and you think about its warmth before you realize exactly what’s on your shoulders. “You sure?” 

He’s already heading down. Oh god. You’re really putting this on shit shit shit. 

You’re quick to slip into the material before checking for your chopsticks, rushing down the rest of the stairs to meet him. Nerves firing on all cylinders, you follow Yoongi out of the restaurant with a single, disturbing thought. 

This is going too well. 

But you’re passing tables, you’re walking by the fish display, don’t fucking sob you’re out in the street now. 

Relax. You’re walking. His white tee is flawless and people have no clue you left a bloody shirt on a stairwell. Don’t fucking cry.

But suddenly.

Shouting erupts behind you both, just as a cop car rolls past the restaurant only to get surrounded. 

And with one look back, your brain freezes. Right before Yoongi sounds a little too delighted to say something so foreboding,

“Looks like you’re in it now.”

Adrenaline spikes as you burst into motion. Hot summer air stings your lungs as legs propel you forward, with nothing in sight except for your partner in high crime. 

Yoongi’s right. 

You’re in it now. 

And just like the delinquents that you despise, the two of you both kick up dust on the run. 

You’re really doing this. 

Holy shit, you’re really doing this and there’s no waking up, no jolting awake, no pinching yourself to know that it’s all a dream. The only thing pinching is your sides, fresh stings of karma with each heavy footstep through crowded streets, buildings, levels, wherever the fuck you go. 

At least Yoongi is commanding as he leads you through the city—clearly from a heap of experience. Though rattled, you follow him with more adrenaline than questions. Because running is all you know. Run, run, run, escaping is your only objective and you cannot let up even once.

Your feet pelt down a staircase before you leap onto a disposal bin, impact denting as you follow Yoongi’s long strides across the colorful tops. Shouts and metal pings echo behind you as your chasers catch up, and you grit your teeth so hard they rattle as you jump to alley ground. “Fuck!”

Searing, searing pain rushes through your legs as you twist and wind through busy corridors, squeezing into the gaps Yoongi finds as he barrels in front. 

“Get back here!” 

“You fuckers!”

Who’s following you? Are they even Crane? You don’t see a shred of white on their clothes at all so are they working for some random guy Yoongi stole from?

When you watch him turn at the shouting, all thoughts vanish as your gut churns. 

He’s grinning.

You just killed someone for him. And he probably has more blood on his hands than you can imagine. 

And he’s… enjoying this? 

You feel sick, mind blazing with a million red warning signs. How could you ever have had feelings for h—

You bounce off a passerby as you run, grunting at the sudden pain in your shoulder when another person rams into your back and topples you over, dirt scraping into your palms and knees. 

Shit shit shit it’s so dusty on the ground and all you see are traveling shoes where are you? Where is he did he leave did he even see you fall? It’s too condensed here there’s no way he’s not taking the next chance to disappear.

Forget all of that, they’re coming. The chasers are coming and you see them see you down get up get up get up what the fuck get up now.

Ripping out a groan, you rush to your feet as soon as someone swoops in, bashing someone right behind you with someone’s crate of fruit. 

Yoongi? He waited for you?

“Go!” 

Both of you hightail it with you now in the lead, and your eyes buzz as you slip through holes in the crowd. Left, left, right, around, left again, between. 

An intersection ahead. Yes. Lose everyone in the vehicle traffic or hitch a ride with a stranger. Fascinating how the survival tactics that spawn from your block develop in real time on the run.

Almost there, almost there, almost there—fuck! 

Whiffing in front of your nose, a metal weapon smacks the ground at your toes. 

Flailing, you dodge the next swing, ducking before you see a black duffle smack your assailant in the face. 

Keep going. Finish him and get away. As Yoongi shifts left, you lunge forward, sending a swift punch to the guy’s ribs that hurt like hell goddamn oh fuck someone brought a knife!

“Yoongi!” Just as the surrounding civilians yell and clear out, you rush toward his aid before you’re tackled, air whooshing out of your lungs as your back pummels into gravel. Fuck fuck fuck this masked woman also has a dagger. A thick one. Don’t let her win don’t let her win hold on for dear fucking life. 

Did you think you’d find yourself in a grudge match to keep metal from sinking into your chest today? No. Ever? Also no. 

Your arms are shaking. Shots ring out. Sweat is your enemy. The street is in uproar. Where’s Yoongi did he hear you? Fuck, the metal tip is pricking you now this is— 

Mercifully, your attacker yelps as something slams into her side, dark brown clothes crumpling before you’re hoisted upward and dragged back into the crowd. 

“Let me go or I’ll kick your ass—”

“You good?” 

Oh, it’s Yoongi. Again. Okay. Eyes swirling, you lock onto the gun held flush in his other hand before you nod. “I—I think so—”

“Then keep up.” 

Winding between people, you’re only focused on getting away. But when you catch glimpses of him, he’s back to his glint. He’s exhilarated.

If only you were both doing anything else. If only you weren’t so queasy and guilty and loathing of your own self.

Right as you finally burst into bustling traffic, Yoongi boldly stops a taxi at its hood, motioning you to follow him inside. 

Shocked but head reeling, you open the door closest to your sweaty legs and slide in. 

And before you can even greet the shouting driver, Yoongi pulls you to his side and rushes something out in your ear, 

“Kiss me.” 

“I said get out!” 

“What?” 

“Come here.” 

You’ve kissed before. Not many times, but enough to know that this man knows what the fuck he’s doing because you feel like your soul just abandoned you to exist in this car forever. You don’t know why this is happening or where this came from, but his lips feel as soft as his name and as deadly as the gun he’s pulling on your driver—

“Han Station,” he drawls, halting time and space. “Or your papers are burned by morning.” 

Oh. 

You were just… Oh. 

Lips puffed and head swirling, you sit frozen in your spot, marinating in the realization that the best kiss of your life was a mere distraction. And as you watch Yoongi keep his aim straight, you assume he probably didn’t even think much of it, either. 

“…I thought you looked familiar,” the driver slowly grits, hands gripping his wheel before he shakes his head. “You’re a little far from home.”

You think that’s all he’s gonna say. But his eyes are sharp in the rear view mirror, knowing a gun is pointed straight at his dome. “Aren’t you.”

What is he getting at you need to leave fast—

“Agust.” 

…Huh? 

Agust? 

This is the first time you feel a heartbeat against your arm, and you hold a breath as Yoongi tightens his fingers on the gun. 

When he doesn’t reply, the car fills to the brim with tension, and you feel crushed by its liquid weight. 

Don’t you have to go? Aren’t you in a chase? Are you getting a little too hot?

When you go to slide to your own side of the car for some space, the hand around your shoulder squeezes. 

And you’re more confused, exhausted, and thrown off than ever. 

“Han Station,” is all Yoongi—Agust?—repeats, voice ice. “Now.”

To which the taxi driver stares, standing his ground until he breaks eye contact first to obey. 

“Fuckin’ Dragons and their useless whores.”

Oh, fuck that. 

Before you can lunge forward to outright strangle the man, Yoongi does something that has your eyes magnifying into saucers and hands shooting up to your mouth.

He fires the gun straight at the man’s thigh, yelps leaving both the driver's throat and yours holy fuck! 

“You bastard—”

“You’ll live. Drive.”

“Fucking—fuck!”

The car shifts through traffic, swerving left and right and cutting off slower vehicles. When force smushes you closer into Yoongi’s side, you can’t help but notice how fit he is, and how calm he’s being despite the whole chase. Despite that spike in adrenaline. Despite blowing a hole in a stranger’s leg for six words.

He also feels really, really good against your side, but you can’t let that matter anytime soon. There’s absolutely no way you can let this dangerous man in, especially after this entire nightmare of a day. 

So you swallow, trying to compartmentalize because you’ll reach insanity if you don’t.

Does anyone out there know you took a life minutes ago? Or hours ago? You just kissed a criminal five and a half minutes ago. Would they care about that, too?

The window is suddenly much more interesting than any of your wandering, slingshot thoughts. 

Wait. It’s very pretty in this area, and you finally can tell some semblance of where you are. Because you only know of one part of the city that looks like this, and it’s deep in Crane territory. 

Did you both really make it this far? 

Carefully tended to, it’s a lot greener on the sidewalks, and more open on the roads. And it’s on one of these roads that you finally notice the sunset, gold accents shining on sleek street signs and the tops of buildings that seem much more at rest than you do. 

Rest. Sleep. Home. 

With the luck you’re having, it would be a miracle and a half to reach even one of the three. 

Did you get followed? You don’t know how much longer you can run, so you really fucking hope not. 

“Almost there,” Yoongi whispers, voice scratching your ear in the worst and best ways. “When we get out, move your ass.” 

When you watch the wary, heavy breathing driver in his rear view mirror, you bite out, “I know how to get out of a car, thanks.” 

“Just listen to me.”

“Why?”

“Do you trust me?” 

“No.” 

That came out quicker than you could stop it. But Yoongi only lets silence come between you before he squeezes your shoulder. When he speaks, you can hear how carved out his smirk is without even seeing it, 

“Good girl.”

And you spoke the truth. It wouldn’t have come out so fast if it weren’t. But you know to at least follow his advice here because he’s kept you alive thus far. He didn’t need to drag you out and protect you the whole way, so it’s not like he would steer you wrong here. Right? 

Right? 

“Here,” Yoongi orders before the car slows to a stop. 

That wasn’t so bad. You can get out normally now so why did Yoongi say—

Right as your foot hits ground, the taxi peels out, forcing you to throw yourself out of the side before the rest of your body leaves with it. 

Fucking hell that hurt what the fuck was that for? 

Dirt and dust coats your tongue before you do anything to spit it out. Saliva rushes from your glands as you cough and hack, all while feeling every muscle group in your body begging to not stand up. 

But you feel rough, commanding hands on your arms. “You good?”

“Yeah—”

“Then get up. Get up.”

Straining and wincing like hell, you follow Yoongi’s lead yet again. Because you hear cars rolling up with bad intentions and that means you have to sprint again. 

What the fuck did Yoongi steal? And how the hell are these guys still on your tail? Their resources have got to be as good as Crane’s and yet, they don’t feel the same at all. 

You’re hobbling, but you’re going. You’re rushing. You’re going to get through this alive. 

Instead of heading into the underground, you find yourself ascending a flight of steps. Rumbles and rattles hit your ears as you realize exactly what kind of station this is—one you haven’t seen anywhere in your district. 

Han Station is a floating railway? 

Holy shit, where are you?

Yoongi skids around a corner before you plant hard to stop yourself, only to see him clash with someone before something connects right with your stomach, and you crumple before you feel a solid hit to your head. 

Oh.

The world spins and moves as you hear vibrations, slowed sounds that could be shouts. Gunshots? Or maybe songs? You don’t truly know but your head is aching—

Your arm rushes up to block something before your body follows, and you scream before gripping whatever you can and flipping a whole body forward. 

Reality crashes back into your ears as you snap out of your head. 

You haven’t had to do that maneuver in forever. Was muscle memory more than enough?

“Come on!”

Go. Go, follow him, both of you need to get to the rail shit it’s leaving!

The blaring reverberates through the air, pinging off metal and wheels screeching on the track lines as you bolt for the open doors.

Mid-stride, Yoongi swings to look at the people barreling up the stairs. “One more time: do you trust me?”

“No!”

“Good”—his hands grip your waist—“Jump!”

Head empty, you leap onto the railcar right as it starts to pick up speed, and you watch in horror as Yoongi empties his clip behind him until he can’t anymore. 

“Yoo—” Fuck, what was his name? He seems to not prefer the one you call him and that has to be for good reason. What was it?

You’re leaving. He’s gritting his teeth while hitting the bottom of his gun but he needs to get up! What was his fucking name! 

“Agust!” 

Yoongi finally whips his head around, dashing to the end of the train and straining to carry the duffle. 

He needs to launch it or leave it behind. There’s no way he’s not being weighed down so hard. “Here!” you yell, knowing that look is only reserved for people he doesn’t want to trust. It’s normal. But it still stings. “Hurry up!”

After one more second, he swings it around and flings, leaping onto the side handrail after you get blasted by the bag holy fuck that hurt. 

He was running with this the whole time? No wonder his shoulders are so cut this is heavy.

Straining, you peek out into the wind, seeing Yoongi holding on and scooting along thin steprails towards your awaiting hands.

Shit, this is dangerous. Buildings and the city below fly by, and a parallel train whooshes and roars past as you finally tug him inside with shaky wheezes.

Just like that.

You made it out.

What the fuck. You did it. No one else was able to get onto the train. You’re safe for now. 

Finally, finally, finally able to breathe. 

But goddamn, you both stand out like blood on a blank page.

As you struggle to fully stand, you notice everyone else on the train—well-kept, carrying themselves in sleek linens and lush outfits, hair done beautifully and to perfection. 

Which makes it unsurprising that plenty of them regard the pair of you with suspicion and morbid curiosity. While intrigue covers the one with an unfairly handsome face, zings of jealousy and judgment fire your way. 

You feel so out of place. You are so out of place. But that doesn’t give anyone the right to look at you like filth. The words from the taxi driver pierce your brain again, and you feel rage and pain bubble up to your tongue,

“Anyone got something they wanna sa—”

But Yoongi does something that has your brain chemistry altering because he casually bends a knee in front of you while holding the top rail, forcing you back into the side of the train car and only seeing his jewelry. 

When your eyes snap to his, he regards you before peering outside. “Stop,” he mutters. “You're causing a scene.”

“Me?” Oh, he has some nerve. “What did I do, you’re the one—”

“Quiet.”

Ridiculous. Huffing, you let disagreement tug your lips while joining him in watching the world go by. 

Realizing with a pang that you are probably never getting back home. You’re never gonna see your favorite neighbor with his woks and caterpillar eyebrows. All the produce you were planning to sell will only succumb to mold and time. 

Your tangerines… 

When a tear falls, it glints in your reflection before quickly being swiped away. 

No. Don’t do any of that here where people can see—where he can see. No one will know what the hell you just went through today. Be normal, strong, normal. 

The ride lasts a little longer, with people coming and going during each stop. When there are seats open, neither you nor Yoongi move to take them. The two of you stay glued where you stand.

Silent, together, and covered in hidden blood.

The next stop seems to be in a quieter sector of the city. All around you are buildings you’ve never seen before stretching miles into the sky, and the streets are so neatly paved you’re convinced they’re fake. 

“This is us,” Yoongi whispers, hand guiding your hip to move toward the doors.

Skin scorching under his touch, you can only nod.

Where are you now? Where are you getting off? 

You both exit the train with a few others, and you watch with heightened curiosity as they carry satchels and wear shoes that look horribly uncomfortable. As you move down the steps, you keep craning your neck to take everything in, and more questions fill your head than answers. 

But the truth remains even as you and Yoongi stop in front of your destination.

You cannot run anymore. Even if more of whoever those guys were showed up, you may just choose to sit down instead of take another stride. Besides, your body is still running a thousand steps even though you haven’t moved since getting on the train anyway. After today, the chase may never stop.

“We’ll stay here.” 

We? Stay? 

“Here? This place is…” You keep peering up and up, the top of the building so high your neck hurts. It’s so foreign and magical your only adjective is a quiet, “Nice.” 

At your side, Yoongi seems annoyed when he asks, “Expect something different?” 

“Yeah, like… I dunno, a secret lair or something.” 

Air whooshes from his nostrils, but there’s a stark absence of a smile. Looking up at the building, too, he explains something that you’ve never heard of before,

“We’re in a grey zone. No one will follow us here.” 

Right. Because that somehow makes sense to regular civilians like you. Because you are one, are one, are one. “Allegedly,” you scoff, not knowing what to believe anymore.  

Yoongi pauses before heading up, and his agreement makes you look. “Allegedly.” 

Mm. 

After taking the tiny steps to the entrance, you wonder what he must be thinking bringing your haphazard look in tow. 

Because he could’ve left you behind at any point in time. But he didn’t. What does that mean? Why is he keeping you alive and at his side?

While you’re taking in the opulent and vast lobby, Yoongi guides you toward the front desk, shifting the duffle on his shoulder. 

This place is gorgeous. Nothing like you’ve ever seen. How were they able to install a waterfall in a building? What kind of money does this so-called grey zone have? 

Yoongi nods toward the concierge, who quickly nods back and scurries away and into a room.

If you weren’t so tired, you could probably make something of that exchange. But you are very much exhausted so frankly, you don’t give a shit right now. 

Although. You do give a shit about the fingers suddenly interlacing with your own. As your hand is held, you shoot your best client a look so potent he stares back. “What now,” you snip, question low and dripping with distrust. 

Unfazed, Yoongi slowly pulls you into his side, a steady hand coming up to wrap around your tired hips. So nonchalant, so lax, so confusing as he murmurs,

“Just wanted to.”

Your heart trips into the next beat.

On sore legs, you wait until the concierge comes back with a key, eyes swiping over you as if they finally noticed your existence. Which seems to perplex them as they hand over the metal device.

And Yoongi just takes it, not a word said before he directs you across the lobby to what look like elevators.

Even these look fancy as fuck. Wherever you are and whatever this place is, you feel even more out of place than on that judgy train. 

A hotel worker bows before he motions to the opening doors. “Nice to see you again,” he murmurs to the ground, seemingly expecting the same non-response given to the front desk. “Would you like the usual, Mister—” 

“No,” Yoongi clips him off. “Not this time.” 

“Understood.” 

Brows pinched, you’re starting to get a weird feeling. 

How does everyone know Yoongi so well here? He said this was a grey zone, which you’d think would be akin to a neutral or non-threatening one. So why does it feel like he’s got this area on lock? Who exactly are you getting into an elevator with? 

…Who exactly did you save? 

Yoongi was right when he said you’re in it now. But faced with more questions surrounding him than anything or anyone else, you’re starting to wonder what pit of hell you dropped yourself into. 

Especially after catching the look of utter panic from the serviceman. 

Right before sliding doors shut the world out. 

—

—

⟶ what do we feel! | 🥢 join the taglist 🥢 | masterlist

a/n: thank you all for being so patient as i work through this! it was originally supposed to be a oneshot, but i like, need characters to get to know and learn about one another before heading into spice lmao. I NEED PLOT OK. THERE WILL BE LOTS OF SMUT I PROMISE DSHFKDSF we just gotta get through the slow burn first >:)) a/n 2: if there's something you liked about this or a line/scene/whatever thing you enjoyed, feel free to let me know! feedback is never expected, but always appreciated. if the interest level is high, that adds motivation like no other. thank you all for reading! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ minted masterlist

[specshroom]

•The Queen of Curses•

Part 1 / Part 2

(CW: It's smut bro. Sukuna has two dicks, pp in vagina, pp in ass, They fuck in the curse blood bath, cunnilingus, fingering, cervix fucking? Idk. )

The Queen of Curses tries her best to be as nonchalant as possible as she's being escorted to the curse blood bath meant to reguvinate her body to it's full strength. Anybody would struggle to stay nonchalant if they could feel the gaze of the King of Curses trained on their body. She's surprised he can't smell the need flowing off her from where he walks, a few feet behind her. Uraume definitely can with the way the woman's perked nipple presses into the sorcerer's arm and the way her flushed skin radiates heat. 

As they reach their destination a few steps above the giant pool, the woman turns to her husband and bows dramatically.

"Please you first, My king" she says with a grin.

Sukuna scoffs at his wife's antics, crossing two arms over his chest as the other two go to undo the string keeping his baggy white pants up. The article drops to the floor and his wife isn't bashful about taking in all her husband has to offer as he walks past her into the huge pool of dark liquid. 

She looks to her subordinate who is already kneeling on the ground folding up Sukuna's forgotten pants. Taking the opportunity she steps towards them and says. 

"Uraume, would you mind helping me undress?"

Uraume stands up without a word. When they stand to full height their head only comes up to their masters cleavage, something that was always very amusing to the woman. 

Uraume's delicate fingers go to the knot tying their masters kimono around her body. They gently loosen the knot until it unwraps and the loosened clothing exposes her whole front to them. Uraume isn't surprised at all by the fact that their master isn't wearing anything under her kimono. 

"AY, hurry it up!"

Sukuna yells from where he sits in the waist high blood. The woman clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes. 

"So impatient."

she scoffs to Uraume before shrugging the kimono off her shoulders till it falls to the ground. She walks down the steps towards the pool as Uraume kneels again to fold the long silky piece of fabric. They know that neither of their masters will need their garments any time soon. 

Sukuna stands up as his wife steps into the pool, dark droplets falling from his sculpted frame. Where Uraume only makes it up to their masters breasts, she barely makes it to Sukuna's shoulders.

She looks up at him through her lashes as she gets closer, so close her tits graze against his crossed arms. 

She slowly reaches out to caress the skin of her lover, following the inked lines up his waist. She keeps following the dark lines until she gets to the pair of crossed arms, encourage them to uncross and bringing them to her waist. Sukuna starts rubbing his fingers into her lower back just the way she likes. She traces the black patterns higher up his chest, along his neck until she cups both sides of his face. 

She delicately runs her fingers against the deformed side of his face, caressing the massive beast as if he's made of porcelain. He grasps the wrist of the hand that so gently touches him, holding it still as he leans into her palm. The two hands on her waist pull her body closer, he closes his eyes and breaths her in. 

"why so soft all of a sudden?" 

he mumbles against her tattooed wrist, it didn't sound as teasing as he wanted it to. 

She smiles at him. 

"Because I'm your wife."

 She says lowly, half lidded eyes staring into his soul... If he has one. The curse king stares back with just as much reverence, they move closer until their noses are touching, breaths mixing. 

She suddenly pushes him away hard enough to make him lose balance and fall ass first into the thigh deep blood they're standing in. When his head resurfaces he sees his wife doubled over laughing, clutching her stomach.

The man growls in anger. Why must the woman he loves be so irritating? 

"Hahahaha! Uraume did you see tha- ah!"

Sukuna grabs his wife while she's gloating, pulling her closer to him by her thighs. One hand on the upper thigh, one on her ass, one on the other knee, pulling it over his shoulder and the last one around her ankle holding her in place. Finally his face is exactly where he's wanted it to be for a thousand years now, just a few inches away from her warm cunt.

He looks up at her with four angry eyes.

"You play around too much, woman."

She looks down at him from between her breasts which move up and down with her short breaths. Having him so close to where she needs him the most is making something in her stomach heat up.

"You think I can't tell how much you want me right now? You think I don't know you crave me just as much as I crave you?" 

She grabs at his hair and shuffles in his hold. She can feel his breaths on her cunt, her need is overwhelming. She tries pushing his head to finally make contact with her needy pussy but he doesn't budge, grinning up at her while he nuzzles the side of his face into the flesh of her thigh. 

"Mhm. I can be a tease too, baby."

She lets out an irritated huff. 

"Ryo, if you don't eat me out right now I swear-"

She pauses, not knowing what to say while her husband looks at her with a shit eating grin, cocking his eyebrows up for her to continue. 

"I won't suck either of your dicks."

She says with finality as if she didn't just come up with that on the spot. She crosses her arms over her tits, all proud of herself.

Sukuna chuckles, she can feel the breathy laugh on her cunt. She involuntarily clenches around nothing and her posture hunches a little.

"Well damn baby, that's all you had to say."

 He says before finally. Finally. diving his head in between her plush thighs. Licking one big stripe up her cunt to her clit before settling on a rhythm of eager lapping and sucking. The pleasure is instant as she hunches over and curls her fingers in his short fluffy hair.

The groan she lets out is so gutteral it makes him moan into her pussy. Safe to say, even after so many years he hasn't lost his touch. He keeps going at it as she grinds back into his mouth. The hard malformed part of his face scrapes against her thigh but she's always liked it. It reminded her exactly who was making her feel so good. 

"Ahh, Ryo" She groans into the night air as her husband holds up her whole body without any struggle, getting perfect full access so he can get his tongue as deep inside her as possible. She places a foot on his shoulder granting him even easier access, hands still tugging his hair.

He squeezes her ass and gropes at her thigh pulling her impossibly closer like he can never get enough of her. By the higher pitched noises she's making and the way her thighs tense up around his head, he can tell she's already on the edge of orgasm, about to reach her peak. 

He suddenly unlatches her legs from his shoulders and reaches up, grabbing her by the neck to pull her down into a harsh kiss. Her entire body gets pulled down so that she's straddling him now, blood coming up to just under her breasts. She struggles in the kiss, kicking at him and reeling from her ruined orgasm while Sukuna grins into the kiss.

She bites at his lips and he just kisses back with equal intensity. When her animalistic growls give way to a pitiful whine, he releases her from the kiss. Her nails dig into the wrist of the hand still around her throat. Drawing blood that drips down and mixes with the blood of hunreds of other curses. 

"You fucking bastard." 

She snarls at her supposed lover. He chuckles menacingly at her, very much enjoying the rageful passion she spits at him. That part of her is what made him fall in love with her in the first place after all. 

"Aww, poor baby."

Sukuna coos in the most patronising manner possible. The look of absolute rage on his wife's face makes him surprised the blood around them isn't at boiling point. She thrashes around in his grip, grunting, pushing, splashing, fighting against her horrible husband's hold. Sukuna just holds onto her tighter, never holding up, like she's his life force and if he lets go he'll die. 

She yells out in frustration and anger which is when Sukuna thinks it's the perfect time for the fat toungue of the mouth on his stomach to lick a hard long strip up her whole pussy. She instantly stills as her breath hitches. 

Sukuna brings his hand to her jaw making her look him in the eyes again as he thrusts the large tongue into her. The stretch makes her hiss and tense up. The initial sting quickly grows into euphoria, the feeling of the huge tongue moving against her walls is a pleasure that is indescribable. 

As her moans get louder and her eyes roll back, she almost loses herself again in the feeling but quickly shakes her head and looks at her husband with an intense glare. 

"You better make me cum this time, Ryo" 

She says in a raspy voice, the man in question grins as if he's innocent and replies back. 

"Of course, anything for My Queen."

She groans, not appreciating his teasing at all. 

"I'm serious, I'll kill you. I'll kill you if you do that again-"

Her ernest death threats are rudely interrupted by Sukuna shoving two of his fingers in her mouth. The other hand holds her jaw up for better access. Her dark eyes still trained on his, fingers wrapped around his wrist. 

"I said I will." 

He says, the teasing tone replaced with something deep and honest like a promise to her. 

The Queen takes a moment to admire her devoted partner before she allows herself to lose her mind on his tongue. 

Sukuna slowly thrusts his two fingers into his wife's mouth, loving the way her tongue flattens out to lick his fingers as he thrusts. He brings his other hand that's not holding her down on his tongue to press gently into her unoccupied hole.

She groans at the new sensation of having her ass played with as Sukuna slowly moves to thrust a finger inside. He lowers the hand on her jaw to fondle and squeeze at her tits. 

The woman is in absolute euphoria, her eyes flutter shut as her tongue lols out, spit messing down Sukuna's wrist and her chin. So many different places being stimulated. So many areas of pleasure. It's so overwhelming, it's no wonder she's already almost there again. 

She opens her eyes to stare at her husband, they always liked looking into eachothers eyes when they cum. She only gets louder and needier as Sukuna uses multiple hands to dutifully work her up to her climax. Sukuna brings two hands to her hips and thrusts her down hard on his tongue right as he thrusts it up so deep into her. She uncontrollably clenches hard as she comes undone on his massive tongue, loving every second he gives her. 

Sukuna takes his fingers out of her mouth to kiss her sloppily as she rides out the high. It takes a while for her to come down but once she does she's wrapping her arms around her husbands neck, pushing her body as close to him as it can be while kissing his neck.

"I missed you."

she whispers in between the soft kisses. Sukuna feels his heart and dicks pulse.

"I noticed." 

He grins cockily, the expected response from a bastard like him. 

"Yeah? Well I missed them too."

She murmured against his lips, shuffling her leg so that it grazes the two hard shafts below her. The King grins at her and waists no time hauling her up, pressing her close to his chest. He walks towards the edge of the giant pool and rests her down on the edge.

She leans back on her hands, legs spread wide for him to stand in between them. She admires her husband's imposing frame as he admires how she openly flaunts her body to him. 

Sukuna then holds both her legs right under the knee and brings them to either side of her chest so that his pretty wife is bent in half for him. Said wife lightly moans at the position he's chosen, shes basically presenting her pussy to him. She lets out another louder moan when she feels his two heavy cocks graze against her wet puffy pussy. Sukuna brings his face close to hers so he can see her face clearly as he rubs his cocks up and down her cunt. 

"You ready?" 

He asks, knowing full well that she most definitely is with how slick her hole is. She nods looking into his eyes. 

"Put it in then"

He says lowly, it was meant to be an order but there's just a hint of a plead in there. She reaches down between them to line up his two cocks to their respective holes. She holds them there so that Sukuna can slowly tease them into each entrance. Once the mushroom heads pop in, they both weakly moan. She moves her hand to grab his waist to ease him forward, gradually burying his cocks deeper into her. Once he's halfway in she presses on his waist to make him still, letting herself adjust. 

"Cmon, ease up baby." He mumbles, caressing her hips, waist and thighs soothing her body so that she's not so tense. He gives her neck kisses and eventually she eases up enough, pulling him forward again by the waist. Both of his fat cocks bottom out and the two lovers are in absolute euphoria. Chest to chest, arms clutching around eachother. They sit there for a minute, foreheads touching so they can stare into eachothers eyes. Neither of them meant for this to be so sincere but they truly just missed eachother so damn much and it's overwhelming. 

Sukuna adjusts, getting in a better position where his knees are bent and his whole body is hunched over his wife's in a mating press like position. This gives him much better leverage to slowly pull out, indulging in his wife's cute whines before he slides a pair of hands around her lower back and slams right back into her. 

The hands under her back lift her hips up slightly and it's such a perfect angle, allowing him to go as deep as possible. Feeling every inch of him in both her holes is making her go crazy. They both are so loud when they fuck, the sounds of their moans and the fast plap plap plap of their skin echos through the otherwise silent atmosphere.

"Ah! Squeezing me so tight, you're already gonna cum? Fuck!"

Sukuna tries to sound cocky but miserably fails. She can't even respond, she's been lost in the pleasure since he started thrusting. His grip on her thighs and waist tighten as she tightens around both of his cocks, so close to release. He has no idea how he hasn't cum yet but he's getting so desperate humping into her almost like a dog. The clenching and shaking is too much for him, he's gonna- 

"Fill me up, Ryo."

She whispers to him, tired eyes still looking up at him. With that, he cums hard and fast, shooting strong ropes of cum into her pussy and ass. Her eyes squeeze shut as the feeling of being filled up so well in both holes roughly pushes her over the edge. It's a feeling she'll never get used to.

 It takes a while for her to come down from the high, her fingers ease the grip she had on his newly bruised skin. Sukuna is lazily sucking on her neck, licking at the sweaty skin. Hes laying all his weight ontop of her, good thing she isn't a mortal woman or she'd be crushed under his monster weight. She feels him soften inside her and grins, a devious plan cooking up in her evil brain. 

"Hmm, Ryo?"

"Hmmm"

His head doesn't leave the crook of her neck as she rubs his back. 

"Do you think I can still fit both of them in my pussy?"

He halts. She's built up enough energy to roll the tired man onto his back and sit up in a single quick motion, dicks still inside her. Feet planted on the floor on either side of his waist she places both hands on his chest for balance and lifts herself off his cocks, making them both groan at the loss. He only watches, enamored by the sheer amount of cum that drips from her holes onto his abs. 

She adjusts to balance on the front part of her feet, spreading her legs wide as she manoeuvres her pussy over his two spent cocks. She takes both of them in hand, looking at his face to watch his reactions to her touch on his sensitive members. His eyebrows scrunch but he doesn't waver, lifting himself slightly on two elbows. She holds her pussy open with two fingers and brings herself down slowly, slightly taking in both heads. They both watch where the two heads disappear inside her dripping cunt. She stills and just when Sukuna opens his mouth to complain she quickly drops herself down, taking both cocks inside her in a rapid motion. Both of them let out something between a moan and a scream at the sudden stimulation of both Sukuna's thick cocks being forced so deeply inside such a tight space.

"Fucking crazy woman." 

He struggles out. The stretch feels so devine as she clenches and moans. Her head tilted up to the stars in the sky with a dreamy look on her face. She brings her hand to caress her tummy and grins when she feels it, the bump in her stomach right where his two cocks inside her are. She looks down at it which makes Sukuna look too and the man curses, tipping his head back, absolutely enamoured with his perfect wife. 

She pulls his hand from her hip to her stomach to hold it over the bulge there. They both moan at the feeling as she starts grinding back and forth in slow circles. 

"You got another one for me, Honey?"

She asks snarkily, as if she doesn't know how many rounds her husband is capable of, he just huffs and smirks. She raises herself up on her feet, until both dicks are juuust about to pop out and rams back down letting out a gutteral sound as they reach the deepest parts of her pussy. She continues with these hard long thrusts, moving her whole body up and down his lengths. Sukuna just let's his wife do her magic, occasionally clutching into her thighs and hips. Sukuna knows he'll never be allowed into heaven but the feeling of his two cocks rubbing up against one another inside his wife's pretty cunt is the closest thing to heaven he'll ever need. 

As she gets closer and moves faster the overstimulation starts getting to her and her full body thrusts get sloppier. Her body can't keep up with her need and she frantically tells her husband. 

"Ah, fuck me, Ryo please!"

Sukuna waists no time following his wife's orders and reaches under her legs to grab her waist with two hands. Her legs are pressed against her chest and he sits up before lifting her body up and pounding her even deeper than before. She clutches his biceps for some stability as she gets her cervix fucked by her insanely big husband.

 The position, the depth, the speed, the strength it's all too much for Sukuna as she clenches impossibly tighter. Before he can even register it, his balls clench and his dicks twitch until he's cumming hard for her. He hisses and lets out a long groan, pulling her close to him as he bottoms out so he can shoot his cum as deep inside her as possible. She can barely handle the amount of cum that gets pumped into her. Nothing in the world can compare to the feeling of being filled to the brim by her lover, its no time before she's cumming with him. Her pussy milking his two cocks for all they have. 

 They stay dead still like that for a solid minute until Sukuna falls onto his back bringing his wife with him, still clutching her tightly to his chest. They both breathe ragged breaths, bathing in the sweaty after glow.

"Wow." She chuckles in exhaustion lifting her head from where it rested on his chest to rest her hand on her chin and smile dazedly at him. He lazily grins back from the hard ground while his hands stroke up and down her thighs and back, one arm resting under his head. 

She slowly pushed herself up more with her hands on his chest before she gradually pulled his softened dicks out of her now fill cunt. She's surprised her belly didn't expand with all the cum inside her at this point. 

She stands up, feet on either side of her husband's waist. The copious amount of cum that leaks out of her is so lewd it would make a pornstar blush. He curls a hand around her ankle, his eyes not leaving the leaking pussy infront of him. She places her hands on her hips and puffs out her chest, standing there like some lewd naked superhero. She clears her throat to get his attention and his eyes flick up to her very smug face.

"I win." 

She says simply. His dazed grin falls comically fast.

"What?"

"I made you come first, both times we fucked."

She holds out her hand, presenting two fingers. Sukuna is dumbfounded to say the least. 

"What the fuck are you talking about? I made you cum first on my tongue."

He retorts, holding up one finger.

"Nuh uh, that doesn't count."

He's getting angry now and she knows it. He lifts himself up on his elbows.

"What the fuck do you mean it doesn't count?"

She stretches her arms above her head stepping over him to walk away.

"Doesn't count. Better luck next time, My Love" 

He grabs at her ankle.

"Hey! You promised me you'd suck my dick if I made you cum, remember?" 

She pretends to think for a second. 

"Huh, I did say that." 

she pauses before shrugging,

"Well, I'm hungry now. Uraumeee!" 

She dashes out of his grip but he anticipates it and stands up to grab her around the waist. 

"You will make good on your promise." He growls into her hair slightly grinding his bare cocks into her ass. 

She's unfazed as she turns in his hold and says sternly. 

"I know you know what it's like to not eat a single thing for ONE THOUSAND YEARS!"

Sukuna groans in exasperation, tipping his head up to the sky. 

"You got to eat plenty of innocents already! I've not had a single mortal and might I remind you who's fault all this was in the first-"

"You called master?“

Uraume suddenly appears bowing behind the woman, interrupting her tangent which Sukuna is relieved about. The woman turns with a gleeful look in her eyes.

"Uraume~ Darling, I'm starving."

"I've already prepared you both a few meals and clean clothing."

The Queen practically vibrates with happiness. She reaches out to bring the sorcerer into a sweaty hug.

"Oh Uraume, what would I do without you?"

Just like that the Queen of Curses is back to cooing over her favourite sorcerer, clinging onto them as they lead her to the meal they prepared.

Sukuna just stands there for a minute, contemplating his entire marriage to this point as he watches the two scale up the stares. He peers a bit lower to the absolutely drenched state of her thighs as his multiple loads leak from her filled pussy, walking just a little wobbly. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. As much as he wants to complain and act like he hates it, he knows he's absolutely pussy whipped.

[monstersflashlight]

Commission for anon

A/N: This is a part 2 of this other commission.

On the edge

Minotaur (Ambrose) x fem!reader || dom/sub, edging, exhibitionism, dirty talk, humiliation (light), degradation, size kink, phone sex, sex toys

“My co-worker really liked your pic,” he said nonchalantly as you prepared a sandwich.

He was sitting in front of you on the kitchen island, and you bet he could hear your heart going crazy inside your chest at his words. You knew he was teasing you the same way you were teasing him. You were more than aware of what pic he meant. The pic you sent him from your work mirror with your shirt up and your tits out, the one you specifically took for him. To tease him. To drive him wild.

“Wa-what?” You stuttered, your brain stopping for a second at his words.

He was eating as he spoke. “You decided to be a little slut and send me dirty pics in the middle of the day, so when the pic arrived I was showing him something on my phone and he saw it.” Your whole body was vibrating with anticipation, there was an edge to his voice and you couldn’t place the meaning. But he kept talking. “He complimented your tits, which I agreed on because they looked magnificent with those pretty piercings I did,” he kept munching on his snack like your pussy wasn’t getting drenched across the island, your hands trembling as the idea of somebody seeing your dirty pic made you hornier than expected. “And then I come home to you dressing like that…” He looks you up and down over the counter.

You almost kept silent, but your inner brat couldn’t stop itself. “Like what?”

“Don’t play coy now, sunshine. Do you think I haven’t noticed you wearing all those short shirts around me lately? Are you expecting me to fuck you every chance I get?” His smirk was teasing and your pussy was already so wet you couldn’t stop yourself from rubbing your tights together trying to get some friction. “Maybe I should… Maybe I should make you my cock-slave and fuck you whenever and wherever I wanted.” You choked on a breath, a tiny whimper escaping your mouth as you grabbed the counter with all your strength. “Yeah, I thought you’d like that, such a little brat who gets tongue tied every time she’s horny enough…”

He walked to you, his hoofs making an ominous sound as he stepped into your personal space. His big hands found your face and he pressed your cheeks made your lips pucker. He leaned down for a peck, and you followed him, trying to deepen the kiss. He just chuckled as you groaned low and needy.

“Always so greedy…” He patted your head, making you preen under the touch. “I’m leaving, now. See you later.” And then he turned around and left you staring at his ass.

“Wha- what?!” You half screamed, running after him to the door.

He turned around as he was putting on a jacket, his sweatpants looking indecent against the bulge in his pants. “I have a tattoo appointment, will be back for dinner. Be good,” he reminded you as he left.

It took you less than five minutes to stop being good. You didn’t want to be good. He made you all needy and desperate with his dirty talk and then left you hanging. That was very rude of him, he deserved to be teased, he deserved to be shown what he was missing because he went to work instead of fucking you against the kitchen counter.

So you laid on the sofa and took a couple more dirty pics to send to him. The pose was basic, but you made sure your dripping pussy was framed prettily as your finger rubbed over your clit. It looked obscene against your screen and you had to hit send before you blushed so hard all your brain blood went to your cheeks. You weren’t exactly shy about being naughty, but sometimes you still had a bit of doubt about sending him dirty pics, but he always appreciated them, so you kept doing it.

Not even two seconds after the pic was sent, his name flashed against your screen with an incoming call. You picked up, biting your lip, trying to stop the giggle from escaping. “What are you doing, sunshine?” You could hear voices in the background, he was probably entering the shop, not far away from your house.

“No-nothing. Just sending my boyfriend some pics, can’t I do that?” You tried to sound innocent, but you knew your tone was only bratty. And his responding grunt confirmed it.

“Oh, yes, sunshine, of course you can do that.” His voice was sugar sweet and a shiver ran down your spine. You knew what that tone meant. It meant you were in trouble, and you couldn’t contain your anticipation, your whole body shivering. “Now, now… If you are so eager to be a slut, I want you to go to our room and grab that pretty dildo I bought you, the one with the remote control.” You knew which one he meant, the one he could control from his phone, the one that made you cum so hard you sprayed the wall across the bed as you showered him in your juices.

“And what if I don’t want to?” You asked instantly.

He chuckled, amused by your bratty-ness. “Then you’d be adding punishments to your future.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Ambrose,” you teased, the smirk on your face so big you could hear it in your tone.

“Come on, sunshine, go take that vibrator and I’ll play with your pussy as I tattoo my client. Wouldn’t you like that? Knowing I’m hard as I put ink in somebody’s skin? Knowing you are at home panting and getting wetter and wetter for my cock?” His words were indecent.

“O-okay,” you finally accepted, getting up and walking into the room slowly. You took out the vibrator and laid down on the bed, legs open as you played with your pussy with the toy. You pushed it inside slowly, enjoying the burn of the plastic.

You could hear some fabric moving across the phone and his next words did catch you off guard: “Open the pic I just sent you, sunshine, I want you to know what you do to me with your slutty attitude and your dirty pics.” Your heart skipped a beat as you fumbled with your phone to open the chat.

Right there in your phone was a pic of him sitting down on the floor, in front of a big mirror, and his dick was clear as day inside his sweatpants, framed by his big hand. Before you could even answer with words, a low groan left your mouth.

The air left your lungs. “Fuck,” was the only word that you could muster. He looked like sex on a stick, well… more like he had a huge stick you wanted to lick.

“Is the vibrator inside of you already?” You hummed an affirmative, trying to focus on his voice and not the feeling of fullness inside your pussy. You whimpered softly.

“Are you okay, sunshine?” He asked bemusedly. “Let me hear you. Whimper like a little slut in heat for me.” You tried to remain quiet, to close your mouth as much as possible, but when he turned the vibrations up, you couldn’t hold yourself back. “Just like that… Such pretty sounds coming out your slutty mouth.” He turned on the vibrator inside your pussy, making you cry out again. “Maybe I should put on the speaker so everyone can hear how much of a slut you are for me, would you like that? Would you like them to hear you… again?” You panted. “Of course you’d like that, such a nasty little thing you are…” You cried out his name. “It's what you want, right? For everyone to know how absolutely desperate you are for my minotaur dick?"

He played with the intensity for a bit, turning it up and down until you were sweaty and panting. You could hear him breathing hard just by hearing you, and the fact that he was turned on by that only made things hotter for you.

“My client is outside, so you are going to be a good girl and stuff your panties in your mouth to be quiet as I tattoo them. You’ll be on speaker so you better behave. It’s a tiny thing, so it will be over soon.” You did as you were told, reaching to grab your soaked panties and stuffing them in your mouth. “You better hold yourself back from coming, sunshine, that orgasm is for me to claim, is that clear?” You whimpered around the fabric, the taste of your own juices driving you wild.

“Ngh,” was your only response as he turned the vibrations up a level.

And then he became merciless. You tried to remain calm and focused on the sound of the machine across the phone. But the low vibrations inside your pussy and all the scenarios building up in your brain were driving you insane. You couldn’t hold back the whimpers and a couple of groans.

It didn’t last long, just as he said, maybe around twenty minutes, but by the time he cleared his throat and you heard the client leaving, you were about to collapse. Your whole body was tense with the force of holding back the slow-build orgasm inside of you.

Then his voice made you focus a bit. “I’m done, sunshine. You did so well, my client only heard you moan a couple times, but they liked it. I could see it in their eyes. They liked how naughty you were being, how slutty you sounded…” You groaned again and he laughed. “Just like that, such a good slutty human for me.” He turned down the vibrations and you whimpered, begging for more. "In a second. First, send me a pic of your pussy stretching around that pretty vibrator. This time I might keep it to myself.” Or he might show it to others was left in the air and it only made you hotter.

You did as you were told and positioned your phone in the right angle to show him everything. All ideas of embarrassment were left behind a long time ago, when he first started edging you and you weren’t so desperate your eyes were teary. (You made sure your teary eyes were out of the picture, not wanting him to see how badly you needed to come.)

You could hear him cursing across the phone when the pic arrived. He said something to somebody you couldn’t hear, but next phrase left you shivering: “I’m coming home. You better not come before I get there, good luck sunshine,” he said as he turned the vibrator to full intensity. You screamed his name, and you heard his hoofs against the pavement as he ran.

Normally it was a good fifteen minutes of walk from the tattoo parlor to your house, and you didn’t know if you could hold back that much. You were almost tempted to stop the vibrator, to pull it out, but deep down you knew you wouldn’t do that. You wanted him to find you like that, you wanted to be good for him.

Luckily for you, he was as eager as you were, because soon after, you heard the front door opening as you screamed his name again. Your brain was unfocused. You could barely understand what was happening anymore, all your body was focused on a single point: your filled pussy.

The bedroom door opened, finally, as you were teary eyed and panting around the gag. Ambrose only smiled at you, taking his phone out of his pocket. “Say cheese, sunshine.” You looked at him just in time for him to take a pic of your desperate self squirming on the mattress, your pussy still stretched around the vibrator as he turned the intensity up a notch.

He approached the bed, taking off the panties and kissing your messy cheek as you whimpered. He laughed as you begged him to let you come. “Please, please, please…”

And then Ambrose pulled out the vibrator.

“Oh, sunshine…” His tone was so condescending you would have snapped at him if you weren’t completely on edge. “You look so pathetic right now, such a greedy little hole all hungry. Do you want to come? Is that so?” You whimpered something you hoped he knew was an affirmative. “How unlucky of you… Your punishment has just started.”

“Wha-what?” Your brain wasn’t comprehending anything he was saying. All your neurons were focused in the urging heat in your lower region. You were so close you could almost taste the orgasm. “But you…” You tried to argue, but he cut you.

“You are not coming tonight,” he pushed the vibrator against your clit and you cried out, chanting his name as your eyes blacked out and your body thrashed against the bed. But he already said it, he wasn’t going to let you come.

Fuck.

Reminder that you can commission me here (info here) or suscribe to my "Monster fucker" tier on Patreon to get a commission (info here).

[sansaorgana]

— THE PROPHECY

PAIRING — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Fremen!Reader

SUMMARY — After failing to protect your tribe, its members leave you behind to die according to your customs. When Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen finds you, he immediately knows you are a daughter of the desert that was promised to him in the prophecy. Just like you were promised a man from the stars to come for you.

REQUEST — (1)

AUTHOR’S NOTE — I changed the request a little and I hope it's fine – I just had this idea and I really wanted to write it but the request itself inspired it! 💛 By the way, this request was sent in April... 🙈 I am so ashamed of myself and it's not even the only request like that because I still have one left to write with Feyd... Please, do forgive me... 🙏🏻 I know nothing about Fremen customs and I didn't bother to Google them because I had this idea in my head and I liked it so I didn't want to change it either way. Therefore, keep in mind that I treat The Fremen culture pretty loosely here. Reader is a Princess (I don't think they have royalty at all in canon), she has ritual tattoos on her body (not as many as Lady Jessica but still) and she has blue eyes from the spice (which is not even mentioned I think 🤔) but other than that I did not describe anything about her looks.

WARNINGS — mentions of slavery, mentions of sexual activities including non/dub-con (no actual smut), mentions of suicide, Reader gets beaten up badly in the beginning by The Harkonnen soldiers

WORD COUNT — 4,200

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

THE PROPHECY

In other worlds, noble families had all the possible privileges alongside the burden of responsibilities. In other worlds, Princesses were spoiled and insufferable creatures who had all their whims and wishes fulfilled. But it was no other world – it was a cruel and harsh Arrakis. It was a hot desert filled with nothing but sand and spice and your tribe expected that your parents would help them to survive – no matter what price.

Everyone had the same duty to keep the rest alive – your father, your mother and even you, a simple Princess. The Fremen were not rich, therefore you were wearing the same clothes as everyone else. But even if you tried to blend in with the crowd, everyone would recognise you because of the ritual tattoos covering your skin. The noble blood was nothing but poison running through your veins – it was unwanted. Every failure was blamed upon you and you would drink the collected water as the last because your job was to make sure your tribe would live.

You had lost your mother first, even before the new Harkonnen invasion and the oppression of The Atreides. But your father died recently, in the very same ruins where your tribe left you to die in the ashes and heat before they attempted to run away. You were their Princess and your family had failed to protect them – the tough custom was to leave you behind and let the desert take care of you. It would either swallow you whole or you would prove yourself by digging yourself out.

But in this case – it was leaving you behind for The Harkonnens to find you and take care of you. It was worse than death in the desert. Perhaps their ways of murder were quicker and more sophisticated but they were unnatural. You were a Fremen and if you were to die, you wanted to do it by slowly decaying in the sand.

“Mercy… Mercy…” You begged quietly in Chakobsa language when they found out that the body laying amongst the ruins was still alive and breathing.

One of the Harkonnen soldiers pulled you up by your hair and you could see them all through hazy eyes, in their black uniforms covering their unhealthy pale white skin. 

“That bitch is alive,” one of them drawled out. “Are you going to talk?” He leaned in to ask you but you didn’t answer. You had no physical strength to answer him but also no spiritual motivation to keep going.

You were already prepared to die and you felt so indifferent that their punches and kicks did not bring you any pain at all. They dragged you by your hair and bruised your skin, they threatened you and cut you in a few places but with each drop of blood, you also felt your life leaking out of your body and what a sweet relief it was.

You were lying curled up on the ground and completely lost track of time. You could have been there for centuries, long hours or mere minutes only. You had absolutely no idea. You only waited for death to finally release you from this life and from the endless sands of Arrakis.

Your dream was to fly – fly away and see other worlds. See the worlds with greenery and water. To breathe in the fresh air and to be invisible in the crowd, to no longer be a Princess.

Or to simply disappear. That option was not so bad either. Everything was better than this life, certainly.

For now, they left you alone and proceeded to ruin the temple around you. And some part of you grieved this loss of your culture but the other part had no love for it anymore because you couldn’t care less at this point and because this world and these people had brought you nothing but pain and oppression. You loved and hated the Fremen equally.

Perhaps The Harkonnens had left you alone to regenerate before they’d start kicking and beating you again. Perhaps they would let you die in peace – that was doubtful, though. Perhaps they thought you were already dead but you were sure they did not because they were very committed to their art of killing.

When you heard heavy steps approaching you and their muffled voices explaining something to the man who had just arrived, you realised that they had been simply waiting for someone more important. And he was probably the one who would bring death to you. You tried to open your eyelids at least a little to see the face of your killer as you prayed quietly for a painless death even though you knew very well that no gods were listening to you. No gods would listen in a destroyed temple anyway. 

The gods were angry and their anger was always aimed at people like you – the noble Fremen who hadn’t managed to keep their people safe. You were doomed in this life and in the afterlife. There was no escape.

The man who had just walked inside the cave in which you were lying had an intriguing face because he was quite handsome for a Harkonnen. He had to be someone important, too, because his clothes were more elegant. He even had a cape attached to his stillsuit.

“Spy. Left behind,” one of his soldiers informed him and the man finally looked down and spotted you.

You bravely kept looking at him even though you knew already that painless death would be no option from his hands. You even straightened yourself up, slowly and gritting your teeth because you didn’t want to hiss out of pain and give them any satisfaction. Now, you were on your knees.

“No trace of the others,” the soldier explained.

“They’ve gone South to hide in the storms,” the new man commented and his voice made a shiver go down your spine and formed a knot in your stomach. There was something extremely eerie about him in a way that no ordinary Harkonnen could match. He was evil and twisted – even his voice was.

He was given a blade and he examined it as you were examining him, trying to figure him out even though it was pointless since it was the last minute of your life, most likely. Yet, stupid human brain always had to be kept entertained, always needed a distraction – even in a time like this.

“Send this message to The Baron,” the man commanded. “The North is liberated and secure. Harvest spice at will,” he looked back at you as if he was trying to mock you or tease you – so unaware how much you simply did not care anymore.

If it was up to you, you would blow up the whole planet. You would wipe Arrakis out of every galactic map.

“Yes, Na-Baron,” the man behind him bowed his head and then you realised that the demon in front of you was Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen himself.

It was quite ironic – he was of noble blood, too. Perhaps it would be an honour to be killed by him if you were a simple girl but you were not. Maybe it was a small mercy of the gods – a small, ironic smile. Yes, they would bring death now but at least your murderer was your equal and not a common Harkonnen scum.

Feyd-Rautha approached you slowly, clenching his jaw and your own sore muscles tensed, expecting another kick or a blow or things much, much worse. You just kept sitting there and looking up at him, too weak to even beg for mercy anymore.

And you didn’t want to either.

“She won’t talk,” another soldier of his told him and Feyd-Rautha tilted his head.

After a short while of silence, he crouched down in front of you and he tore a part of your stillsuit off of your body, revealing your arm and one side of your chest. You made no attempt to hide away from him or to yell for him to stop because you knew it would not help you in any way and it would only cost you even more of your dignity.

He smirked at the sight of your exposed body and stood up again.

“She is their Princess,” he pointed out loud. “Her marks give her away,” he added. “She is no spy. She was left to die as a punishment of her tribe.”

You were surprised how much he knew about your customs. Feyd-Rautha turned around to look at you again.

“I do not care about the Fremen traditions,” he informed you. “You will go with me,” he ordered.

You were too weak to move, of course. When two of his soldiers forced you to move up as they dragged you by your hair, you fell down on the ground. They kept forcing you up again and again, until you completely lost consciousness.

A man from the stars. 

You were a young girl again or perhaps you were a visitor in your old memory because you could see yourself sitting there, inside the dark cave deep under the temple with a Reverend Mother and a few other veiled Bene Gesserit women. A young girl with tears still in the corners of her eyes from the painful ritual of marking her body with the black ink. She had just become a Princess and she already knew it was a path of pain and sacrifice. Now, she had been tested with Gom Jabbar – another suffering filling this small body of a little girl. She hadn’t asked for any of this.

“A man from the stars,” the Reverend Mother said to her. A prophecy.

“What about him?” The girl asked, wiping her tears away with the palm of her hand, forgetting that they were sensitive now. The tears burnt her freshly-inked skin and she hissed. Bene Gesserit women smiled contemptuously. It was the Princess’ punishment for shedding tears and wasting water.

“He will come for you,” The Reverend Mother found her eyes through all the chains in her veil. Little girl felt a chill going down her spine at those words and she was not sure whether it was a promise or a threat.

She never told her parents about this prophecy and soon she forgot about it anyway. She grew up to be too big to believe in fairytales.

When you opened your eyes again, you gasped and sat up rapidly as the water splashed all around you. You looked down, terrified, and realised that you were naked inside a bathtub, surrounded by a few terrified maids who had moved away at the sight of you awakening.

“Wh-what is happening?” You asked them. Some of them were clearly Harkonnen with their white skin, big black eyes and bald heads. Some of them were Fremen slaves but they were not from your tribe because you couldn’t recognise any of them.

“Na-Baron asked us to clean you up and take care of your wounds, my Lady,” the Harkonnen maid informed you. She was not sure how to address you but you couldn’t care less about that. What shocked you the most was…

“Water!” You yelped and tried to get out of the bathtub although you were too weak to do so. “You are wasting water!”

“We have more than enough water here in the palace,” the Fremen slave woman told you and you calmed yourself down although you couldn’t help but feel angry about the injustice.

Of course they had water in the Arrakeen’s palace. The Harkonnens, The Atreides… People like them never suffered – even in a place like this.

You allowed the maids to go back to cleaning you up. When you were as fresh as never before, you couldn’t recognise yourself in the mirror. Even your skin looked a shade paler because it was no longer stained with the sand. Your hair was shining and the skilled hands of one of the maids braided it before your wounds were patched up and your body was covered with a semi-transparent dress. It was very feminine and quite revealing and the colours were all hues of orange.

“Na-Baron wishes to see you now, my Lady,” one of the maids bowed her head at you and two other maids took you by your arms to help you walk down the corridor to join Feyd-Rautha since you were still too weak to walk.

He was sitting by the big table that was filled with so much food you had never seen in your life. The colourful fruit filled with juice and water made your mouth drool.

The maids let go of your arms to bow down in front of him. You did not bow down but he did not comment. He had his legs placed up there on the table’s surface and he smirked at you, beckoning you over with his finger.

“Come, Princess,” he mocked your title and you limped towards him. “Leave us,” he ordered the maids and they left the room with their heads kept low out of fear and respect.

You finally reached the table and you grasped the edge of it for support as you moved even closer to Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. You were not scared of him because you were not scared of death anymore and his title did not intimidate you because you were of noble blood, too – even though in his eyes you had to be a dirty savage anyway.

His face fascinated you because it was so unnaturally beautiful in a way that no Harkonnen should be. But still, you kept staring at his face with nothing but pure hatred.

“You must be starving,” he pointed out at the chair nearby. “Treat yourself.”

“Thank you,” you drawled out through your gritted teeth and took the seat, too hungry to dismiss such an offer.

You were devouring a grapefruit, allowing its sticky juice to run down your chin when Feyd-Rautha put his legs back on the floor and leaned in over the table to take a closer look at you.

“What do they call you, Princess?” He asked in a low, raspy whisper. “Have my men hurt you badly?”

“(Y/N),” you answered and looked deep into his eyes, showing him that you were not scared of him. “I can handle that.”

“That is a pretty name for a strong woman,” he commented. “You will be my slave,” he said casually and leaned back on the chair.

You didn’t know what to say to this, really. You knew that protesting was foolish – you didn’t want to lose the opportunity to keep your stomach full and it was obvious from the beginning that he hadn’t brought you to the palace as a guest anyway. Still, it felt wrong to quietly accept such a fate.

“I am no maid,” you only said.

“Not like that,” Feyd-Rautha smirked. “Not a maid. A special slave,” he explained but you kept staring at him in silence, killing him with your gaze only. He found it amusing as he chuckled. “You know, Princess, you are a daughter of the desert,” he pointed his finger at you and you raised your eyebrow at him. “I was told by a Bene Gesserit witch that a daughter of the desert would give me a strong heir who shall inherit the Empire. The Harkonnen and Fremen bloodline could not be further apart and that is why mixed together they will create the most powerful species of men. An ultimate man,” Feyd-Rautha explained.

“You are the man from the stars,” you mumbled out, feeling weird with the fact that your prophecy had been true, after all.

Feyd-Rautha was taken aback by your question and he had no idea what it meant but you did not feel like explaining.

“You want me to be your whore. You want me to push out your heirs but they will not be any powerful, ultimate beings, Na-Baron. They will be pure chaos. That is the only thing that can ever come out of our bloodlines mixed together,” you pointed out harshly. “You poison my world, you oppress my people, you killed my family. And now you’re asking me to be your concubine.”

“I must have missed the part where I am asking,” Feyd-Rautha clenched his jaw. You were getting him angry and it was nearly funny how spoiled he was that he really had thought you would agree to such a proposition after such a past.

“Kill me,” you requested and put the grapefruit down. “Kill me because I will be no use to you. I will never be your whore and I would rather die than give birth to your sickly bastards.”

“Why are you loyal to the people who left you behind to rot in the sand?” He asked, tilting his head. He was no longer angry but simply curious.

“That is the custom,” you only answered.

Your relationship with your tribe and your world was of a difficult kind but Feyd-Rautha did not need to know about it. He was an intruder, an outsider, an oppressor. He didn’t deserve to know your heart.

“You can’t run away from your prophecy, Princess,” Feyd-Rautha reminded you before leaving the table and leaving you alone inside the room.

When he left, you went back to eating – as much as you could and as fast as you managed. You felt like an animal and a savage indeed but there was no one to witness that desperate act anyway and you could not remember the last time you had something in your mouth.

Feyd-Rautha did not bother you personally but the maids were following you around and even though you were given your own room with a beautiful view of the desert, you were never truly left alone. You had beautiful but pretty humiliating dresses to wear and you were given baths every day which felt like a profanity for a Fremen.

You were well fed but most of the time you were bored. You knew that Na-Baron was awaiting your answer. You just hadn’t been told how much time exactly you had to make a choice.

Choosing death was simple and easy. Choosing to be his slave-concubine meant betraying your people and betraying who you were, even though you had always felt like you did not fit in with the Fremen and you always wanted to leave Arrakis. It had been a distant dream, too foolish and impossible to even be mentioned to anyone. But now, it could be true. As Feyd-Rautha’s new pet that he seemed to already be pretty fond of, you would be able to visit other worlds.

Your prophecy had claimed, after all, that the man from the stars would come for you. His prophecy had claimed that the daughter of the desert would give him a powerful heir. If it was true and you would become a mother of the future Emperor – well, that was quite tempting, indeed. No matter the price.

Staring at the desert behind your window, you were hugging yourself and biting on your lower lip while you were spending your evening overthinking – it had been your only occupation lately.

You had a feeling that this evening Feyd-Rautha would join you because you were left alone by your maids which was unusual. And indeed, a few moments later the doors opened again and he walked inside. His steps were heavy and confident as usual. It would be your first conversation ever since the one after your arrival.

“My Princess,” he greeted you in that harsh voice of his as he stood behind you and put his hands on your arms in quite a gentle but still very possessive manner.

“I have not made my decision yet,” you only said.

“Decision?” Feyd-Rautha was surprised and then he laughed. “You do not get to choose. Do you think I would let you choose death when I know that your womb might give me an heir that has been promised to me in a prophecy?” He lowered his voice and his words sent a chill down your body. His lips were brushing your neck and earlobe and you tried to get away from his grip but he tightened it and you couldn’t do anything about it.

“I should have killed myself,” you drawled out through gritted teeth.

“I suspected you might do so, therefore I ordered the maids to invade your privacy all day and night, my Princess,” he smirked. You could feel his lips curling on your skin.

“I’m going to kill every child you put inside of me,” you threatened.

“You can try,” he kept smirking but his grasp tightened even further.

“I will not be your slave,” you protested and kept shaking your head even though you knew it was pointless.

“Concubine,” Feyd-Rautha tried to convince you as if he really cared for the transaction to go pretty smoothly. And, apparently, he was in a mood to bargain. 

“Wife,” you spat out and a long silence occurred. His grip loosened and he took a step back, eyeing you up and down as he let out a deep laugh. You turned your head around to look at him. “I won’t push out bastards,” you stated.

“I have no desire for a wife,” Na-Baron dismissed you.

“And I have no desire for a husband but that is the only way I see it working,” you explained. “Of course you don’t need my permission to do anything with me. You might use me, imprison me to make sure I won’t get rid of your spawn and then you can kill me. But I am not as weak as you think of me, I am a daughter of the desert. I will change your life into hell and I will make you regret every hour, every day until I eventually die but believe me, I will make this time pass by very slowly,” you threatened.

“And why would I want to marry such a woman?”

“Because I have not described a wife. I have described a slave,” you explained. “Do you wish to know what kind of wife I would be?” You raised your eyebrow and took a step further towards him. He seemed to be intrigued as he tilted his head and you smirked to yourself. It seemed to be working – your plan to tempt him and convince him.

You had to secure your future and your position and since he was your oppressor, you felt no guilt about using manipulation to get there.

“You might think of me as lower than you but I am a Princess just like you are a Na-Baron and only our customs differ. Imagine taking me back to your world, your exotic war prize from Arrakis. You can dress me up in those pretty dresses and show me off, swollen with your special heir. I am a savage to the outsiders but couldn’t you turn the tables and make it an advantage? Your wild, savage wife that nobody knows anything about and who everyone fears?” You whispered, seductively.

“I know what you're doing,” Feyd-Rautha breathed out but even though he was aware of you trying to manipulate him, he was visibly giving in anyway. “You’re going to kill me in my sleep,” he added, looking intensely into your eyes and you chuckled at that.

“Perhaps,” you shrugged your arms. “But isn’t the prophecy worth the risk?” You asked.

After all, you were sacrificing and risking a lot, too. And it would be only fair if the transaction costed you both the equal amount.

“You are the jewel of Arrakis,” Feyd-Rautha chuckled and raised his hand to undo your braids and watch your hair let loose.

“And you are its poison,” you remarked as he smirked, eyeing you up and down.

“Together, we can rule over the worlds,” he whispered.

“Or destroy them,” you added.

Na-Baron shook his head but the smirk remained on his lips. He found it amusing that you had an answer for everything and how gloomy they all were. However, so far, it was entertaining for him. He brushed your collarbone with his fingertips.

“I surely have more experience in destroying them than I have in ruling over them,” he confessed but the hunger in his eyes was a clear message to you that he did not mean only Arrakis but also women overall.

“Some are too wild to be ruled over and too wild to be destroyed,” you informed him and he found your eyes again after staring at your chest and neck. For the first time, you saw that he was genuinely intrigued. Perhaps he finally saw you as a challenge. A riddle. A savage to tame.

Whatever would keep you alive and in a position of power.

Because no matter how much you were trying to convince yourself that you were ready to die, this life stubbornly seemed to keep you alive and there must have been a purpose in it.

Therefore, you were ready to receive everything this new life had to offer for you now. As if you had died in that temple and now you were given a second chance.

MASTERLIST

[thepunchingbag]

Don't think about how every single fucking inch of Karlach's body has been tattooed in Infernal to remind anyone looking upon her that she is Zariel's property. That her heart was ripped out of her body within seconds of entering the Hells. That even her horns are carved with a writ of ownership, "My champion, the Demonsbane. My blood is her strength." That she was literally only about 18-22 when her body was ripped apart and put back together, that it happened so suddenly she didn't even realize what was happeneing until it had already finished. That she was still reeling after the death of her loving parents, not able to see all the warning signs and red flags from a man like Gortash. That she was naive enough to trust a man like Gortash because he paid her well as his bodyguard and she felt respected by him. Don't think about how her loyal nature was taken advantage of.

Also don't think about how Karlach seems self-conscious if you actually call her pretty when romancing her, like she's never actually had anyone genuinely call her that, at least nobody in the past decade. Because she's been seen as a weapon for so long, that her entire worth has been valued by how good of a rampaging killer she is, that nobody has seen how truly beautiful in so many ways she is despite everything that has been done to her.

[inumaaaki]

« i will continue to love you in every timeline. »

SUKUNA SAVING YOUR LIFE

synopsis: this is based on this random thought.

a/n: this was way harder than i thought it'd be. and it took so much longer than i planned. (i even worked on it during my lectures i just couldn't get it OUT OF MY MIND). anyway, i hope you enjoy it!!!

the curse had come out of nowhere.

you'd been celebrating your victory of successfully eliminating the threat of the grade one curse with your classmates, when all of a sudden, an overwhelming surge of energy knocked the four of you to the ground.

it didn't take long for you to find yourself trapped in the special curse's domain, unable to move due to the sheer pressure of its presence. and it took even less for the three of you to become on the verge of exhaustion, able to barely fight by just for your survival.

"(y/n)! fall back!" you can barely make out megumi's urgent voice before the attack is sent your way, hitting you square in the spine.

the breath is knocked out of your lungs, your mouth opening in a silent scream. unbearable heat and discomfort surges through your bones, incapacitating you.

your hands are trembling, your vision is blurry. around you, the whole world is muffled, like a pillow settling over your five senses. the world is tinted red, and oh? was that a pool of blood increasing in volume with each passing moment?

you struggle to stand up, using whatever strength in your hands to raise yourself up, to keep fighting. if you fall that means you had failed your friends. nobara was already lying unconscious, yuuji and megumi ganging up against the special grade curse.

with shaking legs, you struggle to stand, to balance yourself. but you finally raise your head, bringing your crossed fingers in front of your temple, gathering all your strength into this finally attack.

you accumulate enough cursed energy, feeling your whole body draining, until all at once you release it, and it unleashes stronger than any attack you had ever made.

you were sure, this would hurt the curse badly, enough to create an opening for your friends to finish it off. you and the boys watch it as it finally reaches the curse, the force wave washing over it, you can see yuuji gathering his black flash, ready to take it down—

the curse stands still as the attack washes over it, it sets aflame, and you hear its terrible pained screeches. relief washes over you, the ghost of a smile making its way into your face.

until the flames die out all at once, and the curse slowly, almost comically, turns around. it's previous mocking face was all but gone now. replaced by an ugly frown, it looks angry. and it was looking straight at you.

your eyes widen, hands shaking in disbelief. you can't control the exhaustion as the aftermath washes over you, can't control your trembling lips as you finally collapse.

and then the fear, because you know it's making its way towards you, you know megumi and yuuji won't have time to hold it back. and you really don't want to die, not this soon. you have to move out of its way, but you're on your knees, watching helplessly as it dashes towards you.

unbeknownst to you, at that same moment, excruciating pain surges through yuuji's head. his hands fly up to clutch at his temples as he doubles over.

"get yourself together, we have to help (y/n)!" megumi yells but he knows it's no use, the curse had already crossed half the distance, it was going to get her, and only yuuji's supernatural strength is on par with its own, but he was busy having a migraine—

"he wants to come out!" yuuji finally yells, and in the next instant the all-familiar black tattoos slowly appear on his skin.

he begins growing in size as sukuna takes over his body. megumi couldnt believe his eyes. he had to help (y/n), why the hell did sukuna make an appearance at a time like this? he grits his teeth, taking his defensive stance, but sukuna doesn’t even glance at him.

he dashes towards (y/n), and megumi would have never believed it had he not seen it with his own eyes, but he stands between (y/n) and the curse.

with one swish of his claws the special curse they had almost been killed by is split in half.

there's rage in sukuna's face, rage that freezes megumi on his spot. a manic glint in his eyes as he pounces on the curse and rips it to shreds, even when it is clearly dead.

and when he’s done with it, as he turns around and kneels before you, that rage is nowhere to be seen.

instead, you are sitting there on your knees as you watch it unfold, certain that once the king of curses turns around, you were the one about to be ripped into pieces.

instead he's kneeling in front of you, a conflicted, almost gentle look on his usually demonic features as his large hand reaches out to you, before he stops mid-way.

and you realize with a jolt, that the great curse before you is hesitating.

you feel your heart beating wildly against your chest. you are afraid, very much so. he was so big, so animalistic. with his outstretched claws, his four eyes and his sharp fangs when he opened his mouth only to close it again.

suddenly you feel the tears running down your cheeks, and his eyes soften at the sight.

he isn't hesitant anymore when his hands, with the sheer strength you knew he possessed, wipe away at your tears so gently, so softly, cradling your face as if you were made of glass.

and when he leans in, pressing his lips to your forehead, you refuse to believe this is reality.

when he pulls away, its yuuji facing you with an incredulous look on his face. and you realize with another jolt, that with his kiss, sukuna had healed all your wounds.

you're left speechless, staring into the eyes of your pink-haired friend as if he had suddenly grown another head. he looks back at you with the same look.

***

a week has passed.

you were growing impatient, but you were also scared.

impatient because yuuji was banned from seeing anyone after his latest 'slip-up'. scared because even though you wanted an explanation for what happened, you feared what it could mean.

however, you should've known better than to assume this presumed ban would last any longer. it took only for gojo-sensei to burst into your room for you to understand his intentions.

"wanna go see sukuna-kun?"

you flush at his insinuation. to be fair, you preferred these jabs to be directed in front of your face rather than behind it. it was what everyone was speaking about, anyways. how you had somehow seduced him.

jujutsu sorcerers were truly insane, in more ways than one.

but that was at the very back of your head. as you follow your very tall sensei through the hallways, you finally reach yuuji's room.

as soon as gojo slams open the door, yuuji jumps up from his bed.

"i swear i have him under control. he just went all crazy and started torturing me from the inside. he made a pact and he only wanted to save (y/n)—"

yuuji stops as soon as he spots you.

you pale. so, it really was true. he didn't, say, hold a grudge against that particular curse, or he didn't feel bloodthirsty all of a sudden. no, but of course not, he had healed you after.

he had wiped away your fearful tears.

"yuuji-kun!" gojo-sensei suddenly exclaims. "do whatever (y/n) tells you to do." and with that, he leaves the both of you together, closing the door behind him with a slam.

"are you okay?" yuuji is the first one to break the silence.

you shake your head, "i am fine," you say lowly, "are you?" you ask him sincerely. this was, after all, the first time you'd seen each other after that dreadful mission.

he flashes you a wary smile, his hand flying to rub the back of his head. “well… ” he starts. “it’s been, strange.”

“what do you mean?”

yuuji’s face is serious when he replies. “he’s been awfully quiet.”

you don’t know how to react to that information, but you can’t help but look away.

you’re now both sitting on yuuji’s bed, knees almost touching. instinctively, you grab his hand with yours and squeeze it.

“that’s a good thing, no?”

“well, yes.” he turns to fully face you. “but he’s never this quiet. he’s always spouting insults and threats, this silence is…unnerving.”

you hum. “i see.” you nod, thinking of the best course of action. “i need to speak to him.”

the words surprised you as much as it surprised him.

“uh-oh, no well in hell.”

“you heard what gojo-sensei said, do whatever i say.”

“i am sure he didn’t mean letting out the king of curses.”

“i am sure that’s exactly what he meant.” and you were very sure. knowing your sensei, he must have known that this is eventual what you would want to do. which is exactly why he uttered that last command to yuuji.

yuuji thrashes around, muttering about how irresponsible and stupid you were being, you didn't disagree, but you stood your ground. with your arms crossed over your chest, your deadpan face finaly drives yuuji to agree.

"fine!" he finally concedes. "but you get ten seconds with him."

you laugh humorlessly, "two minutes."

"you're mad," yuuji shook his head. "i'll give you one minute, but the second i sense malicious intent i am switching."

you nod. "fair enough."

and as yuuji steps back and closes his eyes, you start to panic. what exaclty were you going to do once you face him???

you had no time to think as yuuji starts growing in size, the black tattoos appearing slowly on his skin.

and when narrowed, red eyes glare back at you, you take a deep, shaken breath.

he does nothing but stare at you. you don't miss the way his eyes scan your body, or how his displeased frown only seems to grow by the second. his overwhelming presence takes over your senses. an aura of destruction and death fills the room, and it becomes harder to see anything past the fear clouding your thoughts.

"what do you want, brat?"

somehow, hearing those words helps to calm your nerves. even if they were spoken with such disdain and displeasure. it was the indication you needed to be certain he wasn't going to attack you.

but deep down, you knew all along that he wouldn't hurt you. not really, anyway.

despite every fiber in your being telling you to take a step back, you take one step forward with shaky legs.

he seems taken aback, and if you weren't hyper aware of every slight movement he made, you would've missed the slight inhale of breath when you took another step forward.

"you have some nerve, to stand unarmed before me." he says sowly. "if this were anyone else—"

he realizes his mistake and stops. his jaw is harshly set, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. if this were anyone else.

"i know you." you finally say the words that have been plaguing you all week.

sukuna freezes. three, simple words rendering him in a state of disarray he hadn't experienced in hundreds of years. it was all he could to maintain the scowl on his face, the leer as he looked at this woman to whom he had given out his heart so, so, many years before.

he barely remembered her, and it made him all the more pissed. why would such a puny, tiny, (beautiful) creature make him, this confused? this obsessive, this protective?

he hadn't been able to stop thinking about you ever since he first saw you through the eyes of yuuji. something in him stirred, something he had long lost. but of course, he ignored the jabs he could feel every time you got yourself hurt. he didn't care. he never did.

so why had he gone feral when you had laid there, on the brink of death? the thought of losing you, of your death. it was suffocating, unbearable, he couldn't allow it. he didn't allow it. did he?

and this was why you were here, standing so close to him. loooking at him with those big (e/c) eyes that searched his for answers. you look so soft, so weak compared to his strength; he knew he could kill you with one swipe of his claws. the thought, however, didn't entice him one bit.

and then you spoke those words. i know you. and it was as if you had read him perfectly, saw right through him. understood exactly what was going on here.

"you know me too." it wasn't a question.

your voice was so low, so shaky, but not uncertain. you suddenly wanted to touch his rough skin with your own, to close the distance and feel him. how was it, that one felt affection for a monster?

"you need to stay away from me," he says, and your eyes find his. they were pained, but stern.

"why?"

"because i am a curse." he steps closer, and you realize with a jolt how close he was to you, how, if anyone of you takes one step closer, your chests would collide. "isn't that common knowledge for you troublesome sorcerers?"

and then his hands hover again, just like they did back then when he saved you. and even if he does hesitate like last time, this time, he continues. until his finger is on your face.

gently, slowly. one finger, and then the rest follow as he cradles your cheek.

the breath has long been knocked out of you. he towers over you and you're frozen. how can a beast such as him gaze at you with such longing?

"why do i know you?" you whisper, and he gently shakes his head.

the movement is slow as his eyes roam your face, until they finally settle on your lips. he slowly brings his thumb to brush over your lips.

your heart almost burst through your chest. your lips slightly part.

you can't move, not under his gaze. not when he was this big, this magnificent.

all too soon, he pulls away.

"never seek me out again." he says. you panic, hands reaching out to stop him as he steps away.

but you were too late, yuuji's confused face staring back you.

***

you toss and turn in your bed that night.

a simple moment you'd spent with him, and it had completely taken over your thoughts.

despite your better judgment, for the nth time that day, your fingers ghost over your lips.

you could still feel his touch, hot and hiding a secret you wished to unfold.

who were you to him in your past life? you shudder at the possibilities, at the truth you saw in his rough, yet sincere gaze.

eyes softening at the reminder, you hug your pillow tighter to your chest, as you let out a defeated sighed.

until they suddenly harden upon the following events.

somehow, the higher ups had gotten wind of the situation. you were summoned immediately after departing from yuuji's room.

"this is an unprecedent case," they had said.

"you do understand the importance of this task, don't you, (l/n)?"

"make sure to earn the affection of the king of curses, that way, we might finally be able to control him."

what did they expect you to do? you were barely able to get a minute to speak with him, let alone earn his affection. whatever that meant.

amidst your jumbled thoughts, a yawn makes its way to your mouth. you feel the fatigue washing over you. tapping on your phone screen, it lights up. 2:47, it says. you really should sleep.

but just as soon as you start closing your eyes, your phone starts buzzing non-stop.

annoyed, but more so alarmed, you quickly reach out for your phone. it was yuuji who was blowing up your phone.

pink-haired dork:

(Y/N)!!

he's killing me

he wants to see you

he's demanding to see you

(y/n) i want to see you too, something has happened i need to tell u.

don't come to my room we're both being watched.

(y/n) are u here??? wake up!!!!

you sit up straight, staring at the screen apprehensively. your fingers begin tapping away.

what do u mean we're being watched?? wth

your phone buzzes instantly.

pink haired dork:

megumi told me. he and nobara overheard a conversation earlier. we didn't understand what it meant but i think sukuna does.

he's been pestering me for hours but he just told me it means you're in danger

your confusion increases as you begin to reply.

and you believe him?

pink-haired dork:

i can't risk not to. if this true, (y/n), then we need to get you out of here.

before you can reply, your phone buzzes again.

meet me by the fountain in 15

climb out of the window.

DON'T USE THE DOOR

THEY'RE WATCHING IT

it wasn't that you didn't believe him, this was a hundred percent a scenario you should have seen coming. the higher ups would take advantage of any situation if it meant gaining an advantage over a curse. what you were doubtful again, was the sukuna part.

you don't think too much as you sneak out, not wanting to make yuuji wait out in the cold. you wear a jacket and rush out into the chilly night, being extra careful not to make any sound.

you spot him pacing back and forth besides the fountain. once he hears you coming, he lifts his head. the next moment he was dragging you by the wrist to a more scheduled spot in the garden.

"yuuji what—"

he shushes you, until you reach the location hidden by overgrown trees and vines. "we can't risk anyone seeing us together," yuuji says. "we can't anyone see you near him."

"i got that, but why? what happened?"

"by the ocean's might she was reaped. the devil's claw invincible after an era of peace. the skies welcomed his calamity. against the cruel sorcerers he swore his wrath. the world shall never again know peace shall she be reborn.''

the words were suddenly spoken from yuuji's cheek.

yuuji only nods. as if you were supposed to understand what that meant.

"what does that even mean?" you cross your arms over your chest. and when yuuji only looks as confused as you, you frown.

"this is what megumi and nobara overheard, and sukuna is saying—"

"so you don't know what it mean?"

"no. but he does."

"so tell him to explain!!"

"he won't, unless i let him out."

"let him out then!" you finally retort. you see yuuji falter, you understand his hesitance. but if sukuna wanted to hurt you, he would have already, wouldn't he?

"okey, okey. just be careful alright?" he sends you a stern look. all you could so is nod as you prepare yourself for another showdown with the king of curses.

and once he stands before you in all his glory, you realize this is a bit easier than last time. after all, he was the one who wanted to see you.

"i thought you said, 'never seek me out again'" you make a terrible impression of his previous order.

a big mistake.

you blink and you're pushed on the ground, his hand wrapped around your throat. he was only lightly squeezing, but with his intimidating form leering over you, his fangs barred inches away from your face, you can't help the fear that crawls into your senses.

"know your place, brat." he whispers into your ear. goosebumps erupt against your skin. you can't believe how fast he was, you didn't even see him coming.

you glare at him, trying to wiggle out, but he overpowered you compeltely.

"let me go," you meekly say, looking up into his eyes.

he had already been staring at you intensely, no, not you. your lips. you suck in a shaky breath. in this compromising position, it wasn't difficult to assume what he was thinking about.

"what are you doing?" your voice, barely a whisper.

and then his eyes look up at you, focused on you. "if you'll allow me, i'll make you remember."

you don't know how to answer because you don't understand what he's saying. you also can't form words, they stay, stuck in your throat. and he can see you’re confused, so he decides to show you what he meant.

he leans his whole body in. his breath fans your face. his presence consumes you, he was everywhere. you couldn’t nt ignore it even if you wanted, how his lips were grazing yours, how you knew if you didnt stop this—

you turn your face away. "no!"

"you don't really have a choice, sweetheart."

and you really don't know what he's going to do to you. and you're really scared. and you're trapped, and helpless. and you're wondering why yuuji isn't switching back. you can only close your eyes and await what's to come.

you were expecting a lot of things, but sukuna gently kissing you wasn't one of them.

his rough lips move against yours. a small peck, at first, as if testing, and when you relax into his touch, (a rush of warmth curses through you, as if this is exactly where you need to be), he molds his lips on yours. his hands that had left your neck land softly on your cheeks, in your hair.

and when his gentle ministrations continue, you finally understand what he meant.

you think he had imbued some cursed energy into the kiss, because suddenly the memories come crashing on you.

you see yourself, but not quite you, loving him. not his human form, no. you had loved him as a curse. you see yourself living with him, chastising him against hurting humans. and he listens. for a decade you lived together.

until he had gotten you pregnant. and that's when the jujutsu sorceress of that era had come together. they had ignored your dallying with the curse because it had benefitted them. the biggest threat to them had been tamed by you, after all.

by when they heard news of your condition it was decided. you could not bring his child into the world. a hybrid, an abnormality. they couldn't risk this unpreceded situation from unfolding.

and so they drowned you when sukuna was away, with your unborn child. sukuna came back to find your body floating lifeless ashore. and the sorceress ambushed him then.

in his grief he was overpowered, and despite killing every last one of them, he was still sealed away.

when the vision stop and you're back to reality, you come face to face with a sukuna watching you intently, with concern flashing on his face.

tears were streaming down your face.

"the world shall never again know peace shall she be reborn.'' he whispers. "a mother's wrath born and unseen, awaiting endless moon cycles to be unleashed."

"that's the rest of the prophecy." he pulls away completely, leaving you lying there, consumed by an overwhelming feeling of grief. "they believe you will avenge what happened once i restore your memories, this is why they're discussing what to do with you."

sukuna might have pulled away, doing nothing but staring as your tears fell, but it was taking him everything not to wrap his arms around you, to comfort you and tell you he'll never let those bastards touch you. never again.

and then you sit up and look at him, with those big eyes he had once worshipped. you don't say anything, processing what he had just told you.

the elders want you dead because of a baseless 'prophecy'? how absurd. how utterly foolish.

but you can't help but be scared. they had killed you once. or, even if that wasn't really you, it certainly felt like it. you rub your shoulders, trembling and whimpering.

and then sukuna can't hold back anymore. he makes his way to you, and takes both your hands with his. he squeezes tightly, tighter than he intended.

"no one will hurt you again, or i'll kill them." he says, and watches as your eyes widen, as the tension in your shoulders dissipates, even if by just a little.

because you know. you can feel the truth in his world. he was't going to let anyone harm you ever again. and you weren't sure if that thought ought to comfort you or scare you to the bone.

a/n: i might do a part 2??? there’s just so much sexual tension between them that deserves to be….written about XD

taglist: (everyone who liked/reblogged the prompt) (the ones i could tag anyway) (faceless blogs ignored)

@multiple-fandom-here-wego @odwashere @nikster1111 @dellalyra @shigaraki-b @omgher @minjilovers @scarletbedlam @moonseye @honeyhoneyyyyyy @manjiros-wifey @zoeylunar @soheexxe @gimyeongbestboymain @incognitoowl @ipandora001 @eymahys @imvivian @1-800-mika @stareatch @odwashere @weirdnewbie @bulletinreporter @sukustar @17cherries @sofdah11 @kenmaslittlebrat @dabishotgf @xoiajules

[illiterateaffairs]

a simple favor | stiles x reader

masterlist

pairing: stiles stilinski x f!reader (enemy/witch)

word count: 7,120

warnings: language, banter, minor blood, allusions to sex *gasp* but no smut (sorry!)

summary: despite being self-proclaimed "enemies", you manage to drag stiles to your house for help with a spell...and maybe more.

author's note: hi friends! hope everyone is doing as well as they can be, and hope i can offer up a small distraction. i'm back with another witch!reader x stiles fic but this exists in a universe in which you are a "bad guy" and stiles can't stand you...for now ;) more deets at the end! also please just roll with me on any witch stuff idk if anything is accurate to witch lore, i feel as if with magic the rules are made up anyway so i'm doing what i want :)

“Hi!”

“AH- Jesus, what the hell are you doing here?” Stiles jumps before his face contorted in annoyance. 

He was on his way to pick up Scott. For some god forsaken reason his best friend wanted to get a tattoo before they started junior year and Stiles was meant to “supervise”. However, just as Stiles hops into the driver’s seat of his jeep, he’s greeted in the passenger seat by you. 

And you may or may not be Stiles’s least favorite person in the world. 

“I was waiting for you,” you state, point blankly like it was normal for you to have broken into his car. 

Stiles rolls his eyes, “God, do I want to know why?”

“Doubtful,” you sigh, turning in the seat to start putting on the seatbelt, “You should probably start driving.”

Stiles slowly narrows his eyes, “Why?”

“I need your help with a spell.”

“My help? What makes you think I’m going to help you?”

“Because you know I could kill you with the snap of my fingers.” you roll your head in his direction with a pointed look, “Besides, you owe me.”

Oh yeah. Because you saved his life this past spring when Gerard Argent kidnapped him after his lacrosse game. 

Stiles inwardly groans. You had a point. He had a feeling though no matter how many favors he paid you, you’d never let that go. 

You may have saved his life, but the thing was, to him and his friends you were still the “bad guy”. You were still the same witch that pretended to befriend him and Scott when Scott first became a werewolf, just for them to find out you were playing them to help Peter, who had enlisted your help to regain his strength and heal from the Hale fire. Stiles had barely tolerated you since the day you met, but after that, any ounce of trust and respect he had for you vanished. 

From that point on, Stiles decided he hated you. And despite defeating Peter, your presence loomed. For some reason, Derek leaned on you when he was building his pack of betas, giving Stiles more reason to despise you. But shortly after that, out of nowhere, Scott sought your help to try to stop Jackson as the Kanima and figure out who was controlling him. There was a brief moment where Stiles thought you could become an ally but admittedly he fucked that up when Peter came back from the dead and he jumped to the conclusion that you, once again, aided and abetted him. Turns out, in fact, he was wrong, and it was actually Lydia - his hopeless crush for nearly a decade - and he had accused and berated you for nothing. So any shot at you guys finding common ground was dead in the water. And you had decided to be petty and align yourself with the Argents just to piss him off. 

He hadn’t seen you since that night. He’d heard off hand from Isaac who’d heard from Derek you were spending the summer on the East Coast, doing some witch training or coven bonding shit with your family. 

That was until right now, in the front seat of his jeep.

“Scott is waiting for me.” Stiles finally responds; a half-hearted attempt to get you to go away.

You make a face, “Scott can go one night without being codependent.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, but he finds himself starting the engine. “Where are we going?”

“My house.” 

“You’re taking me to your lair?”

“Ha ha.”

“I don’t even know where you live.” 

“I’ll give you directions as we go. It's just right on the outskirts of the preserve.” 

“You live in the woods?”

“Just drive.”

Stiles should question how quickly he concedes but there is in fact the possibility of you hexing him or something. Which you’ve yet to do in any serious or fatal way. But another part of him is admittedly curious; to know what exactly you want, to see how you actually live. 

From the little information he’s learned about you the past year, he knows you live with your aunt and were home schooled up until recently when you enrolled in Beacon Hills High during the winter semester. But other than that, you were just the mysterious witch he hardly knew anything about. Aside from knowing you were a pain in his ass and someone he’s hesitant to trust. 

But he thinks he can survive one evening with you. 

The drive is quiet with just you providing simple directions. At one point he tries to make a feeble attempt at small talk, but you instantly lunge forward to turn on the radio. 

You turn to look at him in disbelief when the channel that’s on is the police scanner he rigged up. He shrugs sheepishly before you shake your head and turn the dial to some indie station. 

Stiles puckers his lips and nods as soft music fills the car. “Arctic Monkeys, nice-”

“Turn left at the stop sign.”

“Right.”

You turn to him with an amused look. “You don’t know how to act when we’re not at each other’s throats.”

Stiles scoffs, “Can you blame me? I barely think of you as a real person half the time, I don’t know what to say to you.”

You chuckle as you stare out the window, “Well we’re almost there.”

“What kind of spell do you need my help with anyway? And why me?”

“Because you’re a human.”

“Okay…?”

“And I need your blood.”

“Oh great.”

“It’s a spell to make a protection amulet. So I can wear it and not be found by other witches.” 

“And why do you need that?”

“Now that is none of your business.” You sigh, unbuckling your seatbelt, “And we’re here.”

Stiles observes the road they’re coming to the end of. Your house is indeed at the edge of the woods: a modest victorian-gothic style home hidden by trees. 

“I didn’t even know there were houses out here.”

“Not many,” you reply as the two of you hop out of the jeep. 

Stiles glances between you and his phone as you lead him to the front door, also texting Scott that he’ll need a raincheck on the tattoo adventure and he’ll explain later. 

“Is your aunt home?”

“Nope, she’ll be gone until late.” You answer, unlocking the door for you both to enter. 

Stiles takes in what he can from the foyer. He can’t get a full view of the space but he can definitely tell witches live here. The living room is lined with wooden bookshelves and candles and trinkets. He doesn’t have much time to observe when he watches you head for the staircase. 

“Um, where are we going exactly?”

“My room,” You call without turning around.

“Woah,” Stiles huffs nervously, “We’re doing this in your bedroom?”

“Don’t get too excited Stilinski, you’re here for business not pleasure.”

Stiles is grateful you still haven’t bothered turning around to look at him, because he feels his face heat up as he finally follows you up the stairs.

No surprise, your room also fits right in with the aesthetic of the house. Moody colors, wooden bed posts, and candles on every surface. He watches you flick your wrist and every candle lights up, casting a warm glow around the room. It's the first time he’s thought your powers were cool, but he’d never admit that out loud.

“Is this the lair you were expecting?” you ask, turning around to face him while standing in front of your desk, which is littered with books, potion bottles, and a large pot. 

Stiles shrugs, “It’s a little underwhelming.”

“Were you expecting me to live in an underground dungeon?”

“Something like that.”

You hum and turn back to face your desk, taking stock of the potion ingredients on hand.

Stiles wanders over to stand beside you, his hands in his pockets. “So explain to me what you mean by needing my blood.”

You pick up a necklace from your desk: a silver chain with an empty vial hanging on it. “I’m essentially making a potion to put in here. And if I wear it, it will make it harder for witches searching for me to track me or my magic. And human blood is on the recipe.”

“But why me?”

“I told you, because you’re human. Not a werewolf or a witch; a human. And humans have the purest form of blood. It's basically the secret ingredient.”

Stiles rolls his eyes at your nonchalance. “Okay I get that I guess, but why me? Couldn’t you have found some other schmuck to help you? Or have you scared off every other person in Beacon Hills with your shining personality.”

You turn to Stiles with a tight smirk, “As you may know, not many people are even aware that the supernatural is real. I know you do, and unfortunately you’re my best option. Allison is still in France from what I’ve gathered, Lydia is something but I haven’t quite figured that out yet, and using my aunt would require me having to explain what I’m doing and why. So you’re it buddy.”

“Oh so I’m literally your last choice. Boy am I honored.”

“You should be.”

“Wait, do you mean your aunt isn’t a witch like you?”

“Nope,” you shake your head, focusing back on the bottles on your desk, starting to add ingredients to the pot. “She’s not even technically my aunt. She was a family friend that took me in when I was young.”

“Why? What happened to your parents?”

You swallow, “You’re nosy.”

“Fine don’t tell me, but I think it's fair I get a little information since I’m the one helping you.”

“You’re the one who owes me, remember?”

“Yeah but it sounds like you can’t complete this spell without me and it seems pretty important so…thinking that gives me some leverage.”

You glance over at him with a glare and Stiles shoots you an innocent smile that makes you want to wipe it off his face. 

You let out a deep breath, “My parents fled to god knows where when I was five. Apparently, my family has a centuries long feud with another coven and they’d evaded them for years until then. They decided leaving me with Jules was better for my safety. So I’ve been in Beacon Hills ever since. I actually didn’t know most of that until this summer. I sort of…had a run in with a member of that coven without realizing and now I’m afraid they’re going to find me here. Hence the protection amulet we’re making. Is that enough background information for you?”

Stiles raises his eyebrows as he absorbs everything. “Wow that’s…heavy. There’s some witch coven out there that's been trying to kill your family for centuries. No wonder you’re the way that you are.”

I let out an unamused huff as I add the last of the pre-prepared ingredients. 

“Wait, is that unicorn dust- are unicorns real?”

I smirk as I pour it in, “Like I’d give away that information to you for free.”

I bite back a laugh as Stiles mutters dammit. 

Turning back to him, I hold up a tiny needle. “Your turn.”

Stiles’ eyes widen briefly, holding up his hands as he steps back from you, “Woah, woah, be careful with that thing.”

You scoff, “Stiles, it's a sewing needle.”

“Well, I still haven’t completely agreed to this. How do I know you’re not tricking me into draining all of my blood?”

You roll your eyes, “Stiles I just need one drop. And then you’re free to go off on your date with Scott.”

Stiles rolls his eyes this time.

I try to fix him with a genuine look for the first time in the months we’ve known each other. “Come on. Haven’t I made it clear enough that this is important to me? I seriously would not have brought you here if it wasn’t. Don’t make me beg.”

“I’d kind of like to see-”

“Reminder, I can kill you.”

“Alright,” he groans, “Let’s just get this over with. Did I mention I hate needles?”

“Aw poor baby’s scared of a tiny needle,” you fake pout.

“Oh my god shut up, like you’re not afraid of anything.”

“Yeah, I’m afraid of admitting something embarrassing like that.”

“Okay, just stab me already.”

You chuckle and take another step closer to him, holding out your left hand. Stiles takes a deep breath and apprehensively places his hand upwards into yours, and you gently hold the tip of his pointer finger. Stiles glances around the room, wanting to look anywhere but you pricking him with the needle, as minor as it is. 

“Jesus, I can feel your pulse, you need to calm down.” you comment. 

“Sorry that I’m a generally anxious person.”

“Yeah I gathered that over the last year from the fact that you literally never stop talking,” you snicker, “Have you always been like this?”

“As long as I can remember.”

“And it doesn’t drive Scott crazy?”

“Well, I think Scott, like most sane people, finds it endearing.” 

“Oh. Does Lydia find your constant yammering endearing?” 

“Woah, okay, there’s no need to bring her into this,” Stiles sighs rubbing his head, “Can you just prick me?”

“I already did,” I reply, making Stiles whip his head back, staring at his finger between yours, and sure enough, a red drop of blood was already forming. 

“When did you…” Stiles whispers.

I shrug, dropping the needle into a bin beside my desk. “I kept you distracted.”

Stiles watches you quietly, his lips slightly parted in disbelief, while you guide his hand over the pot and gently squeeze his finger so three drops of his blood fall into the potion with a hiss. Stiles grimaces at the pressure but it's not as bad as he thought. He’s trying to get over the fact that you tried to make this a little less painful for him by pricking him with the needle while he wasn’t thinking about it. It was surprisingly…thoughtful?

“There, the final touch,” you murmur. You turn back to face him, his hand still in yours.

“Great. Do you happen to have a bandaid for the patient?” He asks. 

“No need,” I reply, grabbing a small piece of gauze from the table and placing it over his finger to stop the blood. 

Stiles once again watches you carefully. As you apply the pressure to his finger, he takes note of the way you bite your lip while you concentrate. After a few more quiet moments, you toss the piece of gauze away and gently press your thumb into his pointer finger and close your eyes, murmuring something under your breath. Once you open your eyes, you look back down at his finger and suddenly there is no puncture wound. 

“There, good as new.” 

You finally look back up at him - his face closer to yours than you remember - and he’s still staring at you silently. 

“What? Were you expecting me to kiss it better?”

Stiles shakes his head, snapping out of his stupor. “Wha- no! No. Just…not used to you using your powers for good.”

I shake my head and finally release his hand, turning back to the pot and start mixing it all together. 

Stiles clears his throat and glances over your shoulder. “So what now? You mix everything together in the pot and boom, you’re good to go?”

“Cauldron,” you correct, “And I also have to pour it into the vial and cast an incantation to activate it.”

Stiles nods, genuinely intrigued by the process. He watches you quietly mix everything for another minute or so, before you reach for the tiny vial, and then you basically ladle an ounce of it into the small tube.”

“Wow, that’s a lot of potion you’re not using. Do witches care about waste?”

I fix Stiles with a hard look and he holds up his hands in surrender. He continues watching you close your hand around the vial tightly and hold it to your chest, once again quietly reciting an incantation. Stiles is almost certain the words you are saying are in Latin, and again, he’d never admit it to anyone, but he was kind of impressed. 

When you are finished, you open your hand and look down to study the vial. From over your shoulder, Stiles sees the vial now has a slight green glow to it. 

“Assuming it worked?” Stiles comments.

You shrug, “I guess the only way to truly find out if it didn’t is if one of those witches show up here.”

Stiles nods and then proceeds to stand there and watch you struggle to get the chain clasped around your neck. 

He snorts, “What, is there no spell to put on a necklace?”

You roll your eyes, “Shut up.”

He can’t help but chuckle as he stands up straighter. “Look, do you- I mean, would you want…I could..”

You groan, tired of listening to him ramble, “What?”

“I could help you, you know!” Stiles exclaims in annoyance. “God I don’t even know why I offer.”

You frown, too stubborn to stop trying but also too frustrated to keep going. Sighing, you remove your hands from around your neck and forcefully place it in his hands, “It's one of those stupid, teeny tiny clasps that aren’t meant for human sized fingers.”

Stiles chuckles as he takes each end of the necklace into his hands, while you turn around and move your hair out of the way. “Are you saying you know of non-human fingers that handle necklaces because if so I’m crossing my fingers for a tiny mouse because that would be adorable.”

You bite back a smile, thankful you’re not facing him, “Shut up.”

Stiles keeps chuckling to himself as he brings the necklace around your neck, and carefully works to clasp it. He definitely also doesn’t use the time to inhale your scent and start to wonder if you use some kind of fragrance or if witches have a naturally alluring smell. 

As you impatiently hold your hair and try not to think about the cramp forming in your arm, you also definitely aren’t thinking about the feeling of his warm breath on the back of your neck and praying he doesn’t see any goosebumps form on your skin. 

“There,” Stiles whispers unintentionally soft, making him clear his throat in surprise, taking a steep step back, “All done.”

You let out a quiet sigh of relief, dropping your hair and turning around. “Thanks. For the assist and the blood donation.”

Stiles snorts with a nod, “Yeah.”

I look down at the amulet I created and gently hold it in my hands, “Seriously though. You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. So…thank you.”

Stiles swallows and nods firmly, a little unsettled by the sincerity of the last few minutes, “...You’re welcome.”

You nod as well, unsure of where to go from here. “Well, I guess now your services are no longer needed and you are free to go, and we are free to proceed with business as usual; only speaking when we see each other against our will.”

Stiles huffs, crossing his arms, “What if I want to stay a little longer?”

You raise your eyebrows, “Why?”

“I have a few more questions.”

“Haven’t I told you enough?”

“I think I’m entitled to some more information,” Before you retort, he barrels on, “Look if some evil coven could potentially be invading Beacon Hills - ideally not since that spell should prevent that from happening, so you say - I think I have the right to know more about what's going on so I can be prepared for it.”

“And how exactly will you, Stiles Stilinski, prepare for that?”

“By…telling Scott…”

You snort and nod. Well fair enough I guess. “What else do you want to know?”

“How dangerous are we talking? Like, how badly do these people want you dead?” 

You shrug, “I’ve only heard stories about how the feud originated. Supposedly, my family at some point in time, did something to steal powers from this other family.”

“Well it sounds like you guys are the bad guys in this scenario. Which tracks knowing you.”

“Well I’m pretty sure they did it in retaliation to them killing someone in my family in cold blood.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. So this thing goes back generations but I’m pretty sure something must have happened between my mom and this woman from that coven. I don’t know what, but she in particular has a vendetta against her and our family.”

“Is she the witch you had a run in with this summer?”

“No,” you frown looking down, “It was her son.” 

Stiles’s eyebrows raise, “Oh. And did he immediately try to kill you with some spell at first sight?”

I shake my head, “Nope. He just…pretended to be someone else to gain my trust and subsequently asked me out just for me to find out none of it was real and he was trying to get to my magic the whole time.”

Stiles widens his eyes with each new piece of information, his stomach dropping as he learns that this guy used and manipulated you. Yeah you definitely weren’t the bad guy in this scenario. 

“So, fun summer for me. How was yours?” You ask looking back up at him with a blank look on your face.

Stiles ignores your attempt to diffuse the conversation. “So you were seeing this guy all summer thinking he was some innocent…fling…and the whole time he was actually plotting to, what, kill you? Take your powers?”

“Something like that,” You shrug, “I didn’t stick around long enough to find out the end game with that one.”

“How did he even track you down in the first place if you’ve been hiding away here your whole life.”

“Apparently they’ve been biding time in Salem, hoping one day I’d find my way there to train with other witches. And I didn’t even know there were people to look out for until a few days ago, when I was talking to another witch I had met, who recognized his mom in a picture. I left on the spot and haven’t seen him since.”

“Did you tell him where you were from?”

“Nope, was trying to go for the whole, casual, mysterious summer fling thing.” you chuckle humorlessly. “That worked out so well for me.”

Stiles sighs, “So he has no idea where to look for you, and that amulet should keep him from getting any hints.”

“Yup.”

“And after all this…your parents are still out there hiding from them, too?” 

You nod, looking down again, “Yeah…sometimes I wonder if they’re even still alive.”

Stiles frowns, “Jesus…now I’m almost sorry for…”

“No, no,” You shake your head, your face twisting in discomfort. “Don’t do that. This isn't what we do. You don’t feel sorry for me. You despise me. And honestly I prefer that version of us, I can’t stand the thought of you sympathizing with me.”

“Okay, okay,” Stiles holds his hands up, “I get it. You know maybe I’m not sorry, because a fucked up childhood doesn’t excuse the shit you did to us last year with Peter, and the generally annoying shit you’ve done since.”

You make a face but don’t argue with him.

Stiles continues staring you down, with an unfamiliar look on his face. “But…that shit that guy pulled on you this summer…even you don’t deserve to be taken advantage of like that.”

Your eyes slowly revert back to looking at his face, trying not to give away how vulnerable you felt sharing that information; not to mention how vulnerable you were this summer just to have that blow up in your face. You shift slightly, still uncomfortable with the atmosphere surrounding you two right now. You cross your arms tightly across your chest. 

“Thanks…”

The two of you let the moment hang in the air for another few seconds before you clear your throat, not being able to stand the sincerity any longer.

“Well I guess next time I try to have a casual fling, I shouldn’t do it with a stranger I knew for all of a day before going out with him.”

Stiles chuckles dryly, “Guess not. Maybe you’d be better off getting to know a guy for a while first. If you can keep one around long enough without driving them up the wall.”

“Ha ha. Because you’re the picture of a guy with a successful love life. Remind me of the last time Lydia gave you a second look?”

Stiles glares at you, as he starts to sputter, “She…was looking at me when I was playing in that lacrosse game.”

“Oh so over three months ago? Wow you’re making huge strides.”

“Look, I’m playing the long game alright?” 

I shake my head, “God, I don’t know why you even bother.”

Stiles' jaw teeters open and closed, “What? Is it that out of the realm of possibility that she could ever like me?”

“No, I just meant you could do better.”

Stiles stutters but no words immediately form in response to that. He stares at you blankly for a few beats. “I can do better? Me? Can do better than Lydia Martin?”

You roll your eyes, “You say that like she’s God's gift to this Earth.”

“Yeah, well…she’s still nice - sometimes - and highly intelligent, not to mention gorgeous.”

“Stiles, I’m not trying to disparage your precious Lydia, I just think you could do better than someone who doesn’t give you the time of day.”

“What…What do you mean?”

“Well for one it's kind of pathetic you’ve been hung up on her for so long with no reciprocation whatsoever.”

“Okay, I wouldn’t say-”

“And second, I don’t understand why a guy like you can’t find a girl who actually likes him back.”

“Well you say that like I’ve got a parade of girls waiting in line to date me.”

You shrug, “Trust me, there are some.”

Stiles scoffs, “Yeah right.”

“I think you're underestimating how many girls just want a sweet guy who will treat them well with a moderately nice face.” 

Stiles shifts awkwardly, “Is that your type?”

“My tastes are a little more refined than that.”

“Well how do you know most girls see me that way?”

“Because objectively speaking, you do have a moderately nice face. Maybe even a step above that. And look at you, you grew your hair out this summer. Do that to impress Lydia?”

Stiles flushes, “Well not just…”

“Because I’m sure it will work on plenty of other girls when they see you at school next week.”

Stiles lets out a deep breath, looking at you curiously, “Why are you saying all this?”

You uncross your arms and sigh, taking a step towards him, “Look I’m just stating facts, and maybe I can spare you a compliment since you helped me out tonight. You deserve better than waiting for someone who may never come around. And maybe, who knows, I’m wrong and one day Lydia will come to her senses and see what's right there in front of her. But don’t waste all your time doing nothing. You could at least have fun in the meantime. And I’m sure there are plenty of girls who would jump at the chance.”

You give Stiles’ shoulder what should be a supportive squeeze, but because it's the two of you it feels wrong. You awkwardly lift your hand and pat him a couple times before retracting your arm all together.

Stiles stares at you, once again in awe, confused why you’re being so civil with him…let alone…kind? His eyes hone in on the way your nose scrunches up when you instantly regret touching his shoulder, and the way your lip curves up in amusement as you look back up at him. Your eyes have a warm glow amidst the candles lighting up your room. And he’s once again in close enough proximity to you to inhale your scent; a mix of vanilla, berries, and amber. 

Yeah it definitely must be a witch thing, because he somehow finds himself being drawn closer to you. And before he knows it, he’s leaning completely in and kissing you. 

It's a rare occurrence for you to be taken by surprise, but you do jump slightly when his lips touch yours. He did it so fast you didn’t even have a chance to process it, let alone prevent it from happening. You don’t immediately kiss back but you don’t immediately pull away either, chalking it up to the shock. 

Stiles very quickly realizes what he’s doing and the fact that you’re not reciprocating as he pulls away slightly to take in your full reaction.

You narrow your eyes at him slightly, “I didn’t mean me.” 

Stiles’ eyes widen and his lips part, once again struggling to form words as he starts to pull back.

For some reason you’ll probably never understand, you instinctively reach out to hold his arms to keep him in place. He looks at your hands and then back to your face curiously. 

You quietly breathe out, “I also didn’t say to stop.”

Stiles breath hitches, his lips curving up just slightly before he dives towards your lips again. 

This time you instantly kiss back, pulling him closer by cupping either side of his face, as his arms come to snake around your waist. 

As the kiss becomes more intense, Stiles reluctantly pulls away for oxygen. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he murmurs breathlessly, pressing his forehead against yours.

“You started it,” you muse, chasing after his lips.

He laughs softly, letting you kiss him deeply another few minutes before he gently caresses your face, pulling away.

“And I don’t hate what we’re doing but it's also very out of character. For both of us.”

“To make out with a hot person?”

“No,” Stiles sighs, but can’t fight the blood rushing to his cheeks, “I mean making out with each other. Honestly, this whole night has been out of character. We normally can’t stomach being in each other’s vicinity for more than five minutes.”

“Well if you haven’t noticed, this activity doesn’t require a whole lot of talking so I’m finding it easier to tolerate you.” 

You watch Stiles roll his eyes, trying to rationalize what’s happening between you two. So you take a deep breath.

“Look, we’re not going to suddenly stop despising each other but there’s nothing wrong with two consenting people having a little fun. And you know…probably never speaking about it again.”

Stiles shifts the weight between his feet, becoming overwhelmed by the situation and the possibilities of where it could go; possibilities that both scare and excite him. And he can’t figure out what emotion is winning out. 

“This probably won’t come as a shock to you,” Stiles speaks up again quietly, not meeting your eyes, “But I’ve never really…been with a girl…like this.”

The corner of your lips curl up. It wasn’t new information, but there was something about seeing this boy who usually goes toe to toe in insults with you be so open and honest with you.

You place your hands over his where they still rest on either side of your face. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. We can go as far as you want. Or we can stop now and pretend like this never happened. You are more than welcome to go.”

“I don’t think I want to go,” Stiles whispers hoarsely.

“Then don’t go,” You whisper back, leaning closer again.

“You’d really want to do this too?”

“Yes-”

“Because I know why I want to but why do you want to? After the guy you were with this summer I would have thought you’d be more…selective.”

“Oh that's exactly what I’m doing.”

“And you want to be with me? Why?”

“Because unlike the last guy, I know what I’m getting with you Stiles,” You state simply, “You’re a good guy. This has no chance of going anywhere. Absolutely no feelings whatsoever to get in the way. It’s perfect.”

Stiles stares at you, taking in your expression for any sign of uneasiness or lies. But he can tell you’re dead serious. His skin starts to burn in anticipation. 

“So we’re doing this,” He says softly, somewhere between a question or a statement. 

“I’m in if you’re in.”

“We do this once and we never talk about it again.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“And no one, and I mean no one finds out about this. I mean it, you can’t tell anyone.”

You scoff, “Trust me, I plan to take this to the grave. You should be more concerned with yourself. I can’t see you going five minutes without squealing to Scott that you’ve finally seen a girl naked.”

Stiles closes his eyes and groans, praying you can’t see him blush again. He also can’t even process the fact that he is indeed about to see a girl naked.

After a moment, Stiles finally says, “I don’t have to tell Scott everything.”

“Okay, if you really believe that.” He rolls his eyes, making you chuckle. “So are you game, Stilinski?”

Stiles’ eyes flit across your face, before settling back on your lips. “Fuck it.”

He kisses you deeply and the two of you tug at each other like your bodies are never close enough. Your hands wander over his body until they end up at the buttons of his flannel, and you haphazardly start to undo them before he pulls away briefly to help you get it off of him. He shivers as your cold fingertips trace the contours of his chest and stomach, but he doesn’t get a chance to linger on the feeling as you kiss him again. He takes his turn to pull off your jacket, before sliding his fingers under the hem of your shirt, which you help him maneuver over your head. You once again only let him have a few seconds to take in your exposed skin, only your bra separating you two from complete skin to skin contact, before you’re pulling him back to you again.

“Do you have…” you mutter against his skin as you start to kiss down his jaw and neck, “Protection?”

Stiles’ stomach twists with nerves and excitement as he nods. “Yeah, I have a condom in my wallet.”

You smile against his skin, trailing down to his collarbone, “Been hoping one day Lydia would want to jump your bones?”

Stiles groans, tangling his fingers into your hair, “God, shut up.”

You chuckle darkly before gently pushing against his chest so you can move onto your bed. 

Time passes in a hazy blur as you and Stiles finish undressing each other between sloppy and heated kisses. You try to go at a moderate pace with him, despite your own eagerness. To your pleasant surprise, Stiles is a quick learner as you talk him through how to touch you and make you feel good. And he makes you feel very good. And despite his own timidness and learning curve, he is very attentive to your needs as well as your comfort levels, constantly checking in and making sure you’re okay. 

You’re more than okay by the time you’re done, the two of you collapsing back onto the bed, sweaty and panting.

“Holy shit,” he breathes out staring at the ceiling. 

You smirk, pulling the sheet up to cover yourself, “Yup.”

You lay in silence for a few moments as you catch your breaths before Stiles speaks again.

“I hope tonight makes us even, because I think that counts as two additional favors,” He says teasingly, but when you don’t immediately respond, his head turns to you quickly, “You finished both times right?”

You chuckle softly and nod, turning your head towards him as well, “I did.”

“Good,” he sighs in relief, “I did, too.”

“I know you did.”

Stiles rolls his eyes but laughs softly, “Right.”

“And I’d say I was the one doing the favor,” You muse, “Now the next time you find a girl willing to sleep with you, you’ve got some tricks up your sleeve.”

He huffs with a nod, “I guess you’re right.” Another few moments of silence pass between you when Stiles looks at you again, and asks softly, “But seriously, it was good for you?”

You roll your eyes, “Yes.”

“Like, you’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

“When have I ever worried about preserving your feelings? Trust me, if it was bad or you were doing something wrong I would have told you.”

“Yeah I guess that’s true,” he sighs. Another beat. “But like on a scale of one to ten?”

“Stiles!”

“I know, I know.” he regresses. “Can I ask for real though - and full permission to punch me if this is insensitive - but compared to the last guy…was I better?”

He watches you stare at him blankly for a few seconds before he starts to back pedal. “Probably not right? He was probably way more experienced even if he..”

“This was better.” 

He turns to you again in surprise. 

“You were better.”

Stiles stutters, “R-really?”

You nod, “You’re not an asshole who only thinks about himself. Don’t ever lose that quality.”

Stiles smiles softly, his cheeks warming up again. 

“Seriously, it was good. Great even,” You continue, “If that’s what you’re like with me, I can’t imagine how good it would be with a girl you actually like.”

That last statement was like a bucket of cold water splashing over him. Right. You guys hated each other. And you were still the same girl who made his life inexplicably harder this year. But those things were easy to forget while he stared at you, your messy hair splayed across your pillow, your bare skin lit by the soft glow of the candles in your room, with a few noticeable marks across your collarbone that he was responsible for. 

But this would be the first and last time this ever happened. And he will probably have complicated feelings about it for the foreseeable future, knowing the memory of his first time will always connect him to you. But he surprisingly feels less guilty than he would have thought.

“I should probably go,” He whispers after another few seconds of taking her and the moment in. Part of him wishes he didn’t have to leave at all and continue living in this bubble of false reality and denial. But he thinks his brain takes over in an act of self preservation to get out of there before he gets in too deep. 

“Yeah, you probably should,” You whisper back, taking a deep breath. 

He watches you sit up, dragging the sheet covering you up with you. He sucks in a breath as you grab a dark purple robe off of your bedpost and slip it on, covering the rest of your body and taking the image away from him. With that, he also forces himself up, locating his boxers and jeans on the floor and pulling them on. 

You circle your bed as he starts to pull on his flannel again. He feels nervous under your gaze, and about how to act right now, making him fumble with the buttons. Without a word, you reach out and slowly and quietly help him finish buttoning it. He takes this one last opportunity to watch your face at this level of proximity, knowing he’ll probably never have the chance to do that again. 

As you finish the top button, you look up at his gaze still laser focused on you, and for some reason he doesn’t feel compelled to look away. 

“Thank you for tonight,” You say softly with a small smirk playing at your lips, “Thought I just needed a protection spell after the summer I had, but I guess I needed that as well.”

Stiles feels himself smirk too, “Happy to be of service to both.”

You slide your hands across his chest, smoothing out his shirt before taking a deep breath and step back. 

“So, business as usual? I’m sure we’ll run into each other again once Scott gets himself into some more supernatural shit, and we’ll be back at each other’s throats in no time.”

Stiles chuckles, “I look forward to it.”

You give him your version of a tiny genuine smile. “Do you need me to walk you out?”

He shakes his head, “I’m sure I can find my way.”

You nod, also taking in his appearance under the glow of the candles while you can. You decide to take the opportunity to close the distance between the two of you and kissing him chastely one last time. 

Stiles closes his eyes and reciprocates automatically, but the kiss is over before its even begun. He watches you pull away from him, unable to tear his eyes away from yours.

“Goodnight, Stiles,” you whisper before stepping away and walking around him towards your desk again to clean up.

With his back towards you now, he smiles to himself, huffing in disbelief at the night he’s had. 

“Goodnight,” He says back softly as he takes steps towards your door. He glances back at you one last time, before leaving and finding his way back downstairs and out your front door. 

Once he shut the door after sliding into the driver's seat, he lets out a long deep breath and rubs his face. Losing his virginity to his self-proclaimed mortal enemy was not on his bingo card for the night - or ever. But the more he sits with it, the more he’s weirdly pleased that it happened. Honestly, it was like best case scenario. Figuring out sex with someone he’s not trying to impress - well, to a certain degree - took some of the pressure off. And now he doesn't have to think about it anymore. Unfortunately, it was really good. Extremely good. Too good to just have been a one time thing, and part of him is disappointed there’s no chance of ever experiencing it again. 

It was for the best. The moment hell freezes over is when he’d have actual feelings past irritation and mild rage when it came to you. So he shakes his head, putting their night together behind him as he pulls out of your driveway.

Still in your bedroom, you lean against the wall watching him drive away from the window. You smile to yourself, having a sneaking feeling this wouldn’t be the last time the two of you do this. Stiles just didn’t know it yet.

author's note: dying to know what people think of this, not the type of stuff i usually write. firstly, sorry for the lack of steam, i've never written smut and not sure i ever will but hope it alluded to enough for yall. also again, took my witch idea and flipped it into an alternate universe where the reader is a lil evil. there are elements of the other pieces i'm writing that assumes similar lore/backstory for the witch, but in this version, you don't grow up as stiles & scott's bff, you're isolated leading to some villianous tendancies. i also know i hinted at a lot of back story with some pieces from seasons 1-2, with this ultimately taking place right before season 3. so i have some ideas of writing other parts that dive into some of those moments, plus more parts that come after this of course. so let me know what kind of stuff you're interested in seeing from evil!witch x stiles (evil being used pretty loosely) THANK YOU FOR READING!

[johnwickb1tsch]

The Girl Next Door - XVI

A Constantine x FemVampire!Reader (feat John Wick!) fic based on this imagine. all chapters gen. warnings: NSFW, blood, biting, violence divider by animatedglittergraphics-n-more

⚠Chapter warnings: A bit more graphic violence. Character death. If you made it this far, you'll be fine...⚠

16. epilogue

John Constantine stands on the rooftop, looking out over the glittering lights of the city. 

He wants a cigarette so fucking bad, but like he can hear you grousing about how he was given a second chance and he shouldn’t waste it, he pops a stick of gum instead. 

It’s not the same thing. 

He misses you. 

He can’t stop himself from thinking about that night, not so long ago, when the two of you headed off an early Apocalypse by the skin of your teeth. He remembers how in the end, somehow he found the strength to stumble to your side, and how whatever small grain of hope he’d allowed himself vanished at the sight of you, the Spear piercing your heart to the hilt, your body deathly still. He’d collapsed to his knees beside you, clutching your cold little hand in his. The knowledge that your eternal soul was saved was hardly a consolation at the moment–he was the one who was supposed to die, not you. 

He’d tried to budge the spear–but couldn't. 

And so he’d clutched at your hand, pressing his lips to your knuckles as silent tears slid down his cheeks. 

“She saved me,” Angela had said, making her way on shaky legs over to press his shoulder. 

You saved him too, he realized. If not with anything but the determination of your love, you’d saved him, and he was finally able to save you in turn. That should count for something, but at the moment it was all so raw that he still wanted to curse God for taking you from him in the mortal realm, if not the next. 

If he ever wanted to see you again, he was really going to have to walk the line. 

He and Angela had both jumped as a bedraggled Gabriel surfaced from the bottom of the pool–their wings naught but bloody stubbs protruding from their shoulders. They had looked upon your lifeless body with zero remorse. They dared to say with their usual blind righteousness, “You should rejoice, John. She’s gone home.”  

John had narrowed his eyes, but his scathing tirade died on his tongue as a hulking figure had emerged from the water behind the ex-angel, his eyes glowing that deadly blue. Constantine had felt nothing but the most un-Christian gratification, as Wick seized Gabriel’s head in his massive hands and twisted.

The angel sank back to the bottom of the pool, and Wick stepped over their body to pull himself out of the water, a horrific wound barely knit together over his abdomen. Paying it no heed, he’d collapsed to his knees beside your body, tearing out the Spear and throwing it to clang against the far wall before sinking down to weep upon your shoulder. It had been unsettling for Constantine, not to see a man cry, but the utter despair with which Wick expressed himself. In a way, he found that he envied him. 

“My little bird,” Wick whispered desperately against your lifeless flesh. “I will find you again. I swear, I will find you again.” 

In a strange twist…Constantine found that he actually felt sorry for the dhampir.

Whatever his sins…his love for you had certainly been real, and true. 

But then…you had that effect on people. 

♰♰♰

Constantine continues to stand vigil on the roof, and there is something about the warm desert breeze that night, like a breath of heaven on his skin, that reminds him of you. 

Then something silken soft brushes against his face–and in his mouth. He spits, making a show of expelling something from between his lips. 

“Really? I gotta use the tattoos on you?” 

Laughing, you assume your most corporeal form, appearing in front of him. Your raven-black wings enclose the two of you like a privacy curtain, a cozy little space just for the two of you. Steadying yourself with hands on his chest, you incline your head for a kiss. 

He grants it, his soft lips lingering on yours, his big hands on your waist pulling you closer. “You’re back early.”

“Hmm.”

“I was afraid he might not let you go.” 

You reach up to brush dark hair out of his eyes; he softens for your touch, a small sigh betraying his enjoyment. “He’s happy with our deal.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh.” 

He has trouble hiding how relieved he is to hear this. Fighting John Wick wasn’t something high on his list of suicidal things he wanted to try out, but he might have had to, had the vampire hunter not been in such a seemingly generous mood. 

He had to admit, he’d never envisioned himself in a polyamorous relationship with a dhampir and an angel. 

At least, that's what they think you are, or some derivative anyway. The black wings are a little wildcard–but then, you had been carrying around a baggie of blood taken from the other Antichrist, which was pierced perfectly by the Spear. Beeman theorizes that it counteracted the blood of Christ in a way that somehow saved your life. And after Constantine’s little deal with Satan…supposedly, you were home free.

Or at least…no longer damned by default.

You liked being an angel, so far. You still had the immense power to help people, but didn't have to get your hands quite so dirty to do it. 

And, he won't admit it, but you're pretty sure John Constantine has a wing fetish.

You think about the first time you'd appeared to him, about a week after your supposed death. He'd broken into your apartment, and was just sitting amongst your things. You'd been trailing him invisibly, not having quite gotten the hang of your corporeal form yet. You didn't even really know what you were, yet. You kind of fancied yourself a sort of guardian ghost for John, your heart breaking all over again as you watched him mourn you. 

You didn't think that he could sense you–but when you couldn't stop yourself from reaching out to touch his face he’d straightened like you'd slapped him. You'd watched as he’d rolled up his sleeves, admiring those corded forearms even as he chanted the words and joined those archaic tattoos. The magic in them felt like being tugged hard by a rope, and suddenly–he could see you. 

You're not sure who was more shocked: him, or you. 

“Y/n?” 

You swear his hands shook as he reached for you. And then his eyes went wide, as his gaze fixed behind you, on what you would soon find were oil-black wings, your feathers shimmering with green and violet highlights in the low light. 

With no concept yet of what you'd become, you’d flung yourself into his arms, and he'd welcomed you gladly. Finally, when you could come up for air again between heated kisses, he demanded, “Have you been here the whole time?”

You nod. “Mostly.” You'd gone to check on Wick for a little while, trying to comfort him in the manic depths of his grief, but he’d been untouchable. 

Then, he’d disappeared. 

You will admit, that you’d been more worried about Constantine, if for anything because you knew Wick was a survivor to the bone.

“I thought…I was a ghost,” you'd admitted. 

Constantine actually laughed, a short, disbelieving burst of mirth. “Oh, honey.” He’d cupped your face in his large hands and kissed you deeply, filling your heart with something like sunshine. Then, his attention had turned to your wings again. He ran an experimental hand down your silky flight feathers, and a delicious shudder ripped down your spine. “They’re sensitive,” you admitted, and the look John Constantine paid you could have melted granite, one angular black brow lifted high.

“Are they now?”

Suddenly you could barely speak past your libido lodged in your throat. “Yes,” you whispered, and his fingers found their way into your hair, drawing you to him again. The new addition of the wings made things interesting between you, but somehow you managed to come together with only one casualty of a lamp you never really liked much anyway. 

It reminded you of the first night you made love in this bed, riding his beautiful cock while he teased your needy little clit with his thumb. Desperate for each other, hardly able to believe that this was real, that you were even allowed to have this blessing after everything you went through…you came together as you held on for dear life, your eyes locked with his as you found bliss with his body joined with yours. 

“There's a Touched By An Angel joke here somewhere,” he’d teased in the aftermath, as you curled up in his arms. 

“I always thought that show sounded like something you'd have to report door to door,” you mused, winning the coveted prize of his mirth, and his lips on your forehead. 

Much later, while you were cooking for him [and you, because God you missed solid food] he told you, “I never thought I’d say this…but we better go find Wick. He's gone on a rampage killing vampires, but I don't know what he'll do when he runs out of fangfaces to mangle.”

You looked back over your shoulder from the stove, your eyebrows raised high. “Where?”

“Last I heard, he was tearing Portland apart.”

“Fuck.”

Constantine offered you a commiserating ghost of a smile. 

“The High Table…are not going to be amused by that?”

“Ah…probably not.”

Your heart fell like a stone. “Will they go after him for it?”

“I would feel sorry for anyone they sent his way, but…”

You sigh. “Can we go tomorrow?”

“I suppose.” He looked down at the table. “Well. I had you to myself for all of 24 hours.”

“John…do you want me to yourself?”

He’d looked up at you through his dark hair, those eyes filled with a mix of heart-crushing sorrow and longing, his long fingers clenching then unclenching upon the table. The bond between you was different, after your transformation, but you still could tell in a rare instance this man was nervous. 

“I’m not saying I think I’m…husband material or that I’d even make a good boyfriend, and I know you deserve better…but…I love you, y/n.”

How far you'd come, that he could say that last part aloud. 

All you had to do was die. 

You’d nodded in earnest, your knees weak. “We can work with that.” 

Suddenly he was on his feet, and you gravitated towards him until you were in his arms again. He kissed you like you were the air he needed to breathe, for so long that you almost burned the chicken, and you found out that when you're that happy your wings flutter, the same way your toes curl. 

♰♰♰

In the end you’d convinced Constantine that you should probably go on your own, not knowing Wick’s state of mind, and you caught up with your dhampir at a cabin deep in the Snoqualmie Forest. It seemed he’d retreated there to heal after tearing through the vampire population of Seattle, almost like he was daring the High Table to come after him. 

It was a beautiful setting, the fir trees towering all around. The cabin was small, rustic, and you wondered if Wick did not build it with his bare hands. The air smelled fresh, and clean, and reminded you of a different time, long ago. Something that came to you as fact, in the fever dream of your resurrection, and somehow you were allowed to retain the long buried memory. 

When you were a young woman, in another life, 300 years ago, vampires ravaged your village, killing and pillaging as they pleased, the dead including your own parents and young sister. A dhampir named Jardani Jovanovich came to hunt them. Tall and true, dark as the devil himself, and from the moment you laid eyes on his tall, terrible form, you’d felt as though you had a fever burning inside you. He’d looked your way from astride his beautiful black horse, as though you’d said his name, and when your eyes met you knew he’d stolen your soul. After he delivered the heads of the strigoi to your village starosta he took you as his wife, and the two of you never looked back, and never separated, until the day you died.

Despite the fearsome man he’d been, Jardani Jovanovich had always been good to you. 

Perhaps it was this memory that gave you the courage to let yourself into the cabin, as though you had every right to be there. It was deathly quiet, and an empty bottle of vodka on the table, along with a pile of bloody gauze, perhaps explained why. You found him in the back bedroom, half-clothed, passed out on his side. 

You weren’t sure there was any good way to go about this that wouldn’t startle him, so you shed your shoes and lay down beside him, taking his hand in your smaller one between you on the counterpane. Now that you’d found him, you wanted to sleep. You’d flown (on the wing!) all the way from L.A., after all. Being an angel–or angel-ish–was strange. You got the sense that you didn’t need food, or drink, or sleep–but you liked to have it. The cold damp wouldn’t kill you, but you certainly felt it. Perhaps this is why you snuggled into Wick’s furnace of a body, as you dozed. 

You half-woke to the sound of him mumbling in his sleep–or rather, the vibration of it from within his broad chest. “Yelena Ivanovna, gde ty byl…”

Where have you been?

“I’m here,” you answered softly, not really awake yourself. 

“Hmmff,” he’d answered, holding you closer with a grip that would have crushed a human woman. You managed to worm loose a little, perching on his chest. 

“Jardani,” you’d said softly, brushing back his unkempt dark hair.    

That was when his eyes finally slitted open, slowly focusing on you. Then they drifted up, taking in your wings. Maybe he thought he was dreaming, for he questioned nothing at first, simply taking your face in his hands and kissing you deeply. “Milaya…my pretty little bird, what wings you have grown.”

“You like them?” 

You sit up, straddling his torso, and as his hands gravitate to your jean-clad thighs he seems to begin to realize this is not a dream or a drunken vision–you are here. 

Bolting upright, he seizes you in his arms, holding you hard against him. “Y/N?” His face is buried in the bend of your neck; your name is lost in the distortion of a sob. 

“I’m here,” you told him again, running your fingers through his tangled dark hair. 

“...How?” he asks as he pulls back to look you over again, seemingly in awe of the feathered appendages protruding from your shoulders, but most amazed by the smoothe, unbroken skin over your breastbone. 

You have a scar there, where the Spear pierced your heart. You wondered if you would have managed to heal, had Wick not wrested the blade from your body so quickly. 

You shrugged, because you really didn’t know the answers, and his calloused fingers caressing your chest so gently crossed the wires in your brain. You couldn’t help but lean into him, winning something like a growl from deep in his throat. 

“Do you remember what I told you would happen, when we finally found ourselves a bed?” He'd almost posed it like a threat, his hands ghosting over your breasts, running down the ladder of your ribs. It felt marvelous, and you giggled nervously as you undulated against him. 

“I might recall something of that nature…” 

The sound he made was nothing less than animal, as he fell on your lips and devoured you whole. You let him gladly, giddy with bliss as he seemed bent on tasting every inch of your bare skin with his seeking lips and tongue. “You are so beautiful, my love, my darling little angel, my own heaven on earth.” He whispered this like a prayer upon your skin, consecrated each word with a kiss, and you utterly melted beneath what was nothing less than an onslaught. 

You lost track of how many times you came, in that man’s mouth, on his thick fingers, and with his insatiable cock buried inside you. By the time he was done with you, for the moment, at least, your body was covered in lovebites, full of his cum, and your usually supernaturally sturdy limbs were rendered into utter jelly. You could do nothing but curl up with him under a blanket beside the fire he’d built for you, joyfully stupefied by his relentless affection.  

 Later, you ate soup together made from a freeze-dried packet, and it tasted like a gourmet meal when eaten in the warm glow of his tender gaze upon you, your legs tangled under the table. You talked of what happened after you died, and what you can’t remember but you theorize happened in the interim. You wonder if the High Table witch’s spell was another factor in your taking on a new earthbound form, rather than going on to Heaven like Constantine had bargained for.  Wick found it amusing that you thought you were a ghost. “I felt you,” he tells you regretfully. “But I was mad with grief–I thought I was hallucinating it. I am sorry…I let you down.”

Perhaps he is thinking back on how he wept on your corpse and vowed to find you again–but you were there all along.

However, you shook your head, reaching out for his big hand on the rough-hewn table. “You didn't let me down. We’re both still new to this, aren’t we? And John figured it out.” 

Wick narrowed his eyes a little at the mention of your other beau. It’s funny– you really could not have picked two more opposite sorts of men. “Yes. He is very clever, your John.”

You smiled a little, perhaps masking the bloom of warmth in your heart that flowers any time you are speaking of John Constantine. “He is.”

“He loves you?”

You can't stop your lips from curling a little more. You'd in fact heard it from that stubborn horse’s own mouth.

“Yes.”

“But he was not good to you?”

You sighed. “Things were…complicated.”

“They are not now?”

“Less so, maybe.” Somehow, you thought you were actually telling the truth. Something about the lifted weight of certain damnation brought a lightness to John that was never there before. He is more open, with you, at least. He is, in fact, damn near affectionate, when you're alone together in your own little world. Maybe the truth of this showed on your face; Wick seemed attuned to your every tell. The look he paid you next  was nothing less than wolfish, long in fang and a sharp hunger in his gaze. 

“This does not mean I am letting you out of your promise to me. You will like New York.”

“For a visit,” you answered sweetly, ready to do battle. “But I'm not uprooting from L.A.”

He smirked at this, as though he did not think the matter closed by half. “Hmm. You think I will share you, little bird?” 

“I think…it’s the only way this will work,” you answered him honestly.

“You won't give him up?”

“I can’t,” you admitted. 

“Mmm,” he grumbled, that deep sound from his chest that did not fail to make your pulse quicken. “Stubborn woman. You always were a disobedient wife.” 

There was a sparkle of mirth in his dark eyes that signaled to you that this was an inside joke between you that you just didn’t remember. 

Or so you hoped.

“Honey, we are not married,” you dared to remind him. 

He smirked at you like you said something very funny. “Maybe not yet…but I know how to make you pliant and sweet…” 

The rabbit impulse to run came too late. You barely had time to even squeal before he caught you up in his strong arms and had you on the table, his narrow hips wedged between your thighs, your hands pinned over your head. All you were wearing was your panties and his oversized flannel shirt. You felt utterly vulnerable to him, and it was so terrifyingly wonderful you feared you might burst. “Give me…an hour…between these luscious thighs,” he’d purred, kissing down your neck as you tried to struggle, giggling all the while. “And you'll see things my way.”

He bites off one of the buttons of his own shirt, clearly not caring in the least. 

“That is so not fair!”

“I am not interested in fair,” he chuckled against your skin. “Only in making you mine.”

It occurred to you that not once had that intoxicating power of his surfaced between you. Were you immune, now that you're no longer a vampire? No bewitching scents, no tantalizing magic–the desire between you is fire, but it’s just pure, good ol’ fashioned, human lust, woven through with love, and it was its own potent magic indeed. 

“Jardani…”

He sat up on elbows above you, looking down at you with a warmth that rivaled the red hot coals in the stove as you stroked the hair out of his face, tracing the ridge of his brow. His eyes closed under the lull of your touch, leaning into your hand. 

“You need him, little bird? To be happy?”

“Yes,” you'd answered in a whisper, aware that something binding was happening between you. 

“Do you need me too?” There was a vulnerability in this simple question from this fearsome man that melted you to your toes. 

“Yes,” you confirmed, going for broke. 

His answering smile was like a baring of teeth. “My little angel is greedy.” He kissed you hard, your head pressing down into the table. “Fine,” he grumbled as you gasped for air, and maybe your sanity too. “I will grant you this. I am a generous man, ptichka. You will see.”

You were so delighted that you pulled him down into another tonsil-teasing kiss, holding him closer with your bare legs around his waist. “Thank you.”

He sat up to sweep you with a considering look, your body laid out like a feast for him on the table, and he made a sound that reminded you more of a bear, than a man. “But when you’re with me, malyshka,” he warned you darkly, “you are all mine.” Suddenly too impatient to even bother with removing your panties again, he moved them to the side so that he could sink into the wet heat of your needy cunt, stretching you deliciously while he played with your clit, his voracious tongue mercilessly toying with your peaked nipples. You came on his cock with a ragged scream, the searing pleasure of another release tearing through you like a punishment as much as a blessing. You were impressed that the table held, after the way he pounded into you, finishing with a roar like a battle cry as he filled you again with his seed. 

You held him, as he collapsed on you, and you knew you were going to have your hands full.  

Deep down, a part of you knew that he only agreed to this arrangement out of pure practicality. 

You don't know if he's immortal, per se, but he certainly isn't aging fast. You suspect your own situation might be the same. But John…is mortal, and even if you hate the thought, the fact is that you and Wick have time that Constantine doesn't. 

All the dhampir has to do is be patient. 

And, not piss you off, of course.

You keep telling yourself that just because you were his wife in a past life doesn't mean things are a done deal between you. You have to keep reminding yourself that you barely know him, because when you're together? 

Everything else melts away. 

♰♰♰

Perhaps Wick is patient, but he does not waste time. A month after Snoqualmie he’s already bought a house in Los Angeles, and a cabin in Big Sur. 

Oddly enough, the arrangement suits Constantine just as well. He’d meant what he said, that he wasn't relationship oriented, and you knew it. You had zero interest in molding him into something he didn't want to be. 

Besides.

You have your own thing going. 

You don't move into Wick’s posh manse in the Hills, despite his invitation.

You keep your humble apartment next to Constantine’s. You like your little space, and frankly…you need something of your own. Splitting your time between the two of them…can be intense, truth be told. Blissfully, maddeningly so, but sometimes, you need a break. 

You are having one of those, when you hear a knock on your door. John had been away on an exorcism, clearing out an infestation of aswangs in the Bay Area, and you were afraid you might not get to see him before your upcoming trip to Paris with Wick, to officially receive his release from Service to the High Table.

You missed him.

Eagerly you open the door.

“Hello, handsome.”

John Constantine looks down at you with that half smile that still quickens your heart, leaning on the door jamb. He could push you over with a feather when you see he is not only holding a bottle of delicious red wine, but a bouquet of flowers. 

Who is this man, and where is your surly demon hunter?

You can tell that they came from the gas station around the corner, but they are pretty, and that he even thought to bring them to you fills you with a fluttery glee. 

Amused by your stupefied expression, he lifts one angular eyebrow at you. “Hello, angel.”

You feel the warmth in his eyes to the marrow of your bones–and if you’re being honest, right between your thighs. 

You've really missed him. 

You express your enthusiasm by tugging him inside by his tie, pressing your lips to his. John puts down the wine and the flowers as you breeze by the table–en route to the couch, where you direct him to sit in no uncertain terms. 

The wings complicate things–you've discovered you can glamor them away to mingle with the public at large, but it doesn't actually make their volume disappear. It’s just easier to be on top–good thing you both like it. 

But you notice he flinches a little, and immediately you hold your weight off of him. “Are you hurt?”

“Just a scratch.”

“Let me see.” Frowning, you undo his tie and unbutton his shirt. He lets you do what you want, having long learned it's no good to fight you. 

And, you suspect, he secretly likes being coddled a little. 

What he calls just a scratch is in fact angry claw marks that rake across his entire abdomen. “Oh, John. Why didn't you call me?”

“I just…wanted to come home to you,” he admits, looking up at you with those soulful dark eyes in a way that makes your wings quiver, your most visible of tells these days. 

“Okay, baby. I’ve got you.”

You hold up your hands, and they begin to glow. 

Something else you've discovered? 

You can heal with your touch. 

You found this out when visiting Chas in the hospital, when he was trussed in traction, and the doctors weren't sure he'd ever walk again. Heartbroken, filled with guilt and the wish that it could have been different for him, you'd taken his hand and something poured out of you. 

His recovery within weeks was considered nothing less than a miracle, utterly boggling the medical community. Bless his heart, but Chas kept your secret. It was an ability certain clandestine government agencies, not to mention unscrupulous billionaires, would certainly have snatched you for. 

It also comes in pretty handy with a boyfriend like John Constantine. And others, too. You spend a lot of time in the children’s wards of various hospitals (in invisible form). You've discovered the ability is not infinite, nor without its price. You can run out of juice, and you have to take time to recharge. You will feel like shit tomorrow, but it's a price you'll gladly pay. You've downplayed that particular effect–John doesn't quite know the toll it takes on you, but you prefer to keep it that way. 

It still does not cease to impress you, watching John's skin knit back to its previous milky pale perfection, only the faintest hint of pink scars left behind in your wake. He sighs, his eyes closed, head tilted back in bliss.

“I warned it that my liver wasn’t exactly grade A, but it was determined.”

You narrow your eyes at him playfully. You know he drinks a lot less now, but the bottles still appear with regularity. You lean down, catching his lips with yours. “You taste pretty good to me.”

He chuckles, holding your face in his hands. “Mmm, so do you, Girl Next Door. My favorite vintage.”

“Am I?”

You can't hide your surprise. You'd kind of assumed that he might start seeing Angela on the side eventually. They liked each other, and you weren't exactly in an exclusive arrangement, considering. But he looks at you the way he does when he's afraid he's said something that only belatedly he realizes is hurtful. 

“Yeah.” He cups your face in his big hands, and you feel your wings quivering again. “I know I don't tell you enough, y/n, but I love you. So much.”

You know you were always ridiculous, and becoming an angelic being of some sort has not changed that. Your eyes brim with tears, and your lip quivers. “Oh John. I love you too.”

He sits up to pull you into an embrace, holding you close against his heart. “Jesus Christ. I still don't know what I did to deserve you.”

You think about the journey that brought the two of you to this moment, and the transformations you’ve both undergone. It’s nothing less than incredible, really, and yet that is the miracle of the human spirit. The ability to endure, and to change. The power of love truly is an awesome thing. 

“Hmm. I think…you were just yourself.” He huffs at that, holding you harder. He’s getting better, at not hating himself all the time, but for a man like him it’s still a daily battle. So you tell him, and you will keep telling him, until someday maybe he sees the light that you saw in him all along. 

You stay like that for a long time, just holding each other. 

It's moments like these that you savor to the last second, knowing how very precious they are. Maybe you've never exactly received any direct marching orders from the Big Guy Above, but you can't really refute the existence of some sort of Divine entity after what you’ve been through, and you can’t help but feel like your time with either of your Johns is something sacred. You've learned, if anything, that He or She or The Universe, whatever you choose, works in mysterious ways, and maybe, just maybe, things have worked out exactly the way they should. 

the end.  for now.  until, it all begins again. but that’s another story…

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*starosta - the village elder/mayor figure *strigoi - evil spirits risen from the dead, vampires *aswang - evil, bloodthirsty, sometimes organ-eating spirit from Filipino folklore

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You guys!!!!!! 😭😭😭 Finishing a story is always bittersweet, but I’m so happy to have gone on this journey with all of you! You kept me going with your love and your encouragement, and the way this story evolved thanks to your feedback is pretty cool, I have to say. It NEVER would have turned out like this without you! A huge thanks to @treedaddymcpuffpuff @sweetwolfcupcake @discoscoob @donaka-screaming @reallongwire @scarlettspectra @lilithlinen @lilspookymeh @xxjaejaexx-blog1 @casuallyobssessed @girl-at-the-verge @babsharrison @luminousmoon21 @luluvstars @lonelyspadez @desolatewrath @fernpetals @axshadows @junojunimo @nightmare-bean @ghcstpyre and so many others for your kindness and your readership, I really can’t tell you how much it’s meant to be over the course of this story! And a special thanks to @lilspookymeh , I know you haven’t been on in a while but in case you ever read this, your comments and analysis back when I first started this story were just utterly crucial in molding it into what it became, you’re so insightful and I can’t thank you enough! I love you guys! ❤❤❤❤❤

[ashleyfilm]

Seeing Clearly

Hi Everyone, this is my first fan fiction. I love Joel Miller and Pedro and I just wanted to write something about him/them. I was inspired by the many many many fantastic fics I've read and all their writers. You all are amazing. I don't know what I'm doing so, if I do something wrong, please let me know and I'll adjust. Please leave comments, I'd love to know your thoughts. And if you feel inclined to reblog, that would be so nice.

Chapter Warnings: violence, cursing, gore, blood. (There Will Be Smut, eventually) Minors - DNI

Characters: Jackson!Joel Miller x F!Reader Plus Size. I will give her some physical descriptions because she is me for this one but I've taken to writing her and You (Reader) so hopefully you can still imagine yourself. Black hair, glasses, tattoos, big body, wears dark clothes, won't stop talking, a little annoying. Joel is tv show Jackson Joel.

Story Summary: Joel just saved your life, begrudgingly. He doesn't know exactly why but he brings you back to Jackson and you ingratiate yourself into his very small circle and his life. This takes place after season 1 of TLOU and season 2 doesn't exist in my brain because no.

Chapter Summary: Joel saves your life and takes you back to Jackson.

Chapter 1: Him.

It all happens so fast. You step on that fallen fucking branch and it snaps. It feels so loud in the eerie quiet of the forest, like an explosion. Your heart almost burst in your chest, and the clicker you were hiding from, praying would pass you by, turns on the stumps left of its heels and comes towards you. Its limbs flailing, but at a speed that seems impossible. Next, you’re on the ground, pushing the things’ rotting neck and shoulders as hard as you can to keep its snapping jaws from your face, when suddenly, with the sound of a shot, the head splinters, and bloody debris falls onto the skin of your face as the clicker’s strength weakens and its weight falls against you.

Your brain can’t catch up with what is happening as the corpse is lifted off you and the sound of a man’s voice starts to come through as if you’re hearing it under water. “ANSWER ME!” You finally make out the words, “WERE YOU BIT?” You find your voice, shaky but still strong, matching the man’s intensity, “I DON’T KNOW.” You hear him sigh, almost as if he’s irritated rather than fearful. You still can’t see him clearly, the viscera of brain matter from the clicker being shot above you still blurring your vision, along with the loss of your black framed glasses that helped you see, even if the prescription wasn’t exactly right. Damnit, where are they now? You wipe your face as best you can and move your mass of black hair streaked with gray out of the way as the man, who you can now see is large, broad shouldered, only being able to make out his shape without your glasses. He grabs at your collar and moves your head from side to side to check your face and neck, and then pulls you up to a standing position. You’re weak on your legs after the, let’s face it, near fucking death experience you just had, and reach out to the man, grabbing his hand for balance, after you seem steady and not a second before, he pulls his hand back and squeezes his fist like you burned him. Okay, man, just trying not to fall over again.

“Roll up your sleeves and show me your hands and arms, both sides. NOW!” You do just that. His brow furrows at the site of the tattoos covering your arms, like he’s wondering how you got them all, and trying to figure out if it was before the world ended, or after. How old you would have been, and if you could have gotten them all before. You can see the gears turning, then it seems he finally deems you unbitten and therefore not an immediate threat, but certainly not safe. “What are you doing out here alone, where are your people?” He says while looking around him, checking his six or whatever the fuck, you wonder if he was in the military or something, he seems like a soldier but also like maybe the Jason Borne kind. You never got to see the sequel they announced before it all happened, sequels usually sucked anyway. God, you miss movies.

“What is wrong with you, kid, you got brain damage? Answer my questions,” the man says, still more irritated with you than anything else. Kid? You’re fucking 40. Whatever. “Um, no brain damage that I know of, but I have a theory that I had an undiagnosed concussion as a teenager, um, but I’m out here trying to not get eaten by clickers, or raiders, or murdered, or worse and trying not to starve. Also, no people. I have no people.” You ramble quickly and the man sighs, AGAIN. You look down and see a rough black outline in the grass below and- “Oh, thank fuck.”

You reach down, clean them off on the part of your black long sleeved shirt that doesn’t have blood or clicker gunk on it and put them on with a long sigh of relief, “Do you know how hard it was to find glasses that actually helped me see and hold onto them and not break them in this shit show of an existence…” another sigh of relief as you open your eyes to finally look at the man who saved your life and already seems like he wants to take it back from you and Holy shit. He’s hot, there’s no other way to put it. He’s the hottest person you’ve ever seen on planet earth, and you’ve just ran your goddamn smart mouth like a fucking moron this entire time. Without the decency to be quiet and nervous in front of, again, THE HOTTEST PERSON YOU HAVE EVER SEEN. You choke on your own thoughts and wide-eyed look into his eyes, they’re chocolate brown and filled with life and emotion, he’s gruff and scary but his eyes…god, they betray him. His hair is just below his ears, curled and brown with slices of gray throughout. His face is worn, scarred, like he’s been through shit, you know because you have too. His nose is like a roman god’s, aquiline and fucking beautiful. He’s got a patchy beard the same two colors as his curly hair and his lips are full and pouty with a mustache and you wonder how it would scratch if he put his mouth on your neck. Wait, what the fuck. I mean he’s hot but instantly thinking of him kissing your neck… relax bitch.

He clears his throat, looking at you like you have two heads and sighs. He really likes to sigh. Then he finally speaks in a stern but soft voice, “Okay, look, don’t know why, but I believe you when you say you’re alone, your eyes look like you haven’t eaten in a few days, that true?” You nod and he seems relieved that you don’t start speaking again, so you stick with it and stay silent. His southern drawl continues, “I come from a community. If you want, I’ll take ya there. Food, shelter, medical. You gotta contribute and you gotta behave. Might want to watch that smart mouth of yours until people start trustin’ you, or maybe forever.” You look at him, tears threatening to fall, turning away to shield him or yourself, you’re not sure. Food. Shelter. Medical. My god how is this possible. He takes this time to look away from you and retrieve jerky from his pack which he holds out for you, and you take it. “Thank you...” you say in the quietest voice you think you’ve ever used realizing you don’t know his name. “Joel, name’s Joel Miller.” He nods and points his head in the direction he wants you to walk. Looking at your hair he says, “C’mon Ash,” and he follows just behind you. What you don’t see is the uptick of his lip on one side that reveals a dimple you’ve yet to witness on his beautiful face and his eyes linger on you for far too long when he should be watching your surroundings. That’s what you don’t see.

[queers-gambit]

I Solemnly Swear That I Am Up To No Good

prompt: ( requested ) basking in the sunshine, breathing fresh air, bare skin tickled by tall grass, and Felix, who can't focus on the Half Blood Prince when his girl's got his full blooded attention.

pairing: Felix Catton x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Saltburn

word count: 2.3k+

note: i wrote this in an hour 'cause, you know, brainrot.

warnings: slight request variation (you'll see), there's probably cursing. anyways, suggestive language, no real spoilers, slight Ollie slander, college kids doing drugs, and no HP spoilers for those who haven't read.

All you could smell was his expensive cologne, barely breaking a sweat under the summer sun as he remained wrapped around you like a child did their mother on the first day of school. You were never one for suffocating affection nor clingy behavior, something leftover from childhood, but with your boyfriend, you craved it; and he knew it. He took advantage of it.

"Are you even listening or are you too busy trying to identify the smell of my shampoo?"

"Hmm? Yeah, yeah, 'M listenin', love, uh, you know, something about... Harry doing something stupid, yeah?"

You snorted lightly, head tilting back to look up at your boyfriend's amused expression. "A lucky guess - 'cause Harry's always doing some dumb shit."

"Yeah, you know, there's a reason he wasn't considered for Ravenclaw."

"Don't be mean, we all have our strengths and weaknesses," you gently reprimanded. "So he's not the smartest guy ever, but he's brave as hell, isn't he?"

"Has to be, being a Gryffindor and all."

"I doubt we would've done half this shit at 16."

"Totally right, we had other worries - like our first pregnancy scare."

"Felix!"

"What, doll face? Huh? C'mon, what's the quote? I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!"

"Oh, you absolute cheesy fuck!"

His laugh could've echoed across the field, the two of you laid out on an oversized blanket; crushing the long grass surrounding his home, Saltburn. 'Home' always felt so mundane when describing the freaking castle his family inhabited; after all, his father, Sir James, was literally knighted - making the Cattons feel larger than life. You'd known the family for over a decade now, meeting Venetia on your first day of school when a rude boy smacked your lunch tray right out of your hands, being inducted to their family almost straight away.

As it turned out, your mother and father were friendly with Sir James and his wife, Elspeth Catton, and after only a month in your new town, you were invited to Saltburn for a family meal.

It became a monthly occurrence.

And when you started dating Felix when you were both 15, it was like life was simply alining with the stars. Destiny being fulfilled. Fate smiling on you both.

Your parents tried to play off the relationship, but after you turned 16, they realized how serious you two seemed about each other. And when you both decided to attend Oxford together (rejecting your father's alma mater, the University of Edinburgh), your mother made constant jibes about your wedding. At first, it was just a few, little, sometimes funny, but mostly harmless comments here and there, and then it escalated to full-on conversations between your mothers.

Like they had flowers and color scheme picked out, deciding on hosting at Saltburn, even debating wedding dress ideas! Your mother wanted something lacy, Elspeth wanted something form fitting and "sexy" - being where their opinions clashed and the conversation elevated to near arguments.

Anyways, laying on the blanket in the field, alone, became a regular occurrence for you and Felix once you realized the absolute HOLD the Harry Potter series had on you both. Where the brother and sister had matching HP star tattoos on their hands, that had convinced you to get a set of three stars - your only tattoo, nestled behind your left ear. Venetia technically got you into the series, letting you borrow the first book, and then gifting you each book once published; but it was more like a "tradition" to read them with Felix.

See, when you were younger, you had a stutter that made you wildly insecure, but reading out loud helped you work through it. Was it a perfect system? Of course not, but your boyfriend was adamant that it'd help - and eventually, it did. So much so, you received top marks in each of your public speaking or debate classes, something the Catton's still praised you over.

Felix liked listening, and the times you got a little tongue-tied and frustrated, he would take over to let you a small reprieve. Today was no different, laid in the field, the grass tickling your bare feet and calves as the sun soaked into your bare skin. Either of you only wore a pair of sunglasses, Felix sat up on his elbow to support your body laid against his; his fingers dancing light patterns over whatever body part he could reach. Currently, it was your hip.

He laid quick kisses where he could, whispered sweet nothings in your ear, used his teeth to nibble your flesh. Anything to make you trip over your words, like the little shit he was.

You felt your breathing shift when Felix's lips and tongue ghosted up your neck, sweeping stray strands of hair from your shoulder before his fingertips were ghosting over your collarbone and down your chest to tweak your nipple. The cold of his bracelets and watch on your sticky skin felt like a drastic contrast to the warmth of the day.

"You're infuriating, I'm trying to read," you scolded, swatting his hand away; but smirking in amusement that assured him you weren't truly annoyed.

"Roll over, sweetheart, I needa rest my arm," he muttered in your ear, licking the shell - making you squirm with a small giggle.

"Can you behave? For once?"

"How can I? When you look like this? I mean, Goddamn, I really got the prettiest girl, don't I?" He smirked, watching you lift off his chest to roll onto your stomach; perched on your elbows. "Now, that's a sight, might be my favorite," he grinned, bringing his hand down to smack one of your arse cheeks - palming the flesh tightly, giving a jiggle for his amusement.

"Felix!" You squealed, fully anticipating this treatment; trying to hide your full-teeth grin.

"C'mon, love, let's get a bit naughty," he teased. "Oliver doesn't get here for another two days, we're not gonna be alone much longer."

You scoffed lightly, "You're the one who had to befriend The Clinger."

"Oi, c'mon now, tellin' me t'be nice about Harry? Don't call him that, love, he's just a lonely chap. Needs a friend."

You hummed, readjusting the book under you. "He's a bit creepy, Fi," you admit. "I mean, he stares - like a lot. And remember I told you, I saw him looking through your dorm window that one night?"

He sighed, "He was just drunk, love, we've been over this."

"You're so quick to excuse him," you noted, offering him a bewildered look as he readjusted to lean over your back. His head nuzzled between your shoulder blades, letting a hand pet down the slope of your spine; forcing a small tremor through your muscles.

"He's got no one else."

"Doesn't mean he needs you, my sweet boy. Honestly, you stretch yourself too thin. Maybe if you focused less on these so-called friends and more on your studies...?"

"I appreciate the worry, babygirl," he mused, laying three kisses to your shoulders, "but it's all right, got you quizzing me nightly. Swear, you know my coursework better than I do. And besides, you're the one who says there's no such thing as too many friends."

"Hm," you let your eyes roll slightly, "I was obviously high when I said that and probably didn't mean bloody Oliver."

"Speaking of," he grinned, reaching for the rucksack he brought with you; now hosting your clothes, but also carrying the Altoid tin he used to store pre-rolled joints.

"Are you even listening to the story anymore, baby?"

"Of course I am, toots, I can multi-task." You hummed in response, waiting for him to finish lighting up before continuing onto a new paragraph; feeling him shift on your back. But you faltered when smoke blew against your cheek, Felix's lips descending a moment later to noisily smooch your skin. "You're so fucking pretty," he mumbled.

"I think you have ADHD."

"We knew that."

"Maybe you need something for that."

"Because I'm not listening to Harry Potter?"

"I knew it!" You laughed, shivering again when his free hand drew up your spine to nestle in your hair; handing you the joint with the other. "Fi, you're still distracting me," you moaned slightly, leaning your head back into his touch - contradicting your own words.

"You're doin' great, love," he grinned, licking the skin behind your ear, at your tattoo. "Keep goin', c'mon, I wanna hear what happens next."

"You're gonna reread this chapter when I go to bed, aren't you?"

Felix paused, "Maybe."

You grunted, dropping your head to the book before lifting it again and taking an inhale from the joint. Felix grinned at you in mischief, rolling over onto his back; hand behind his head as he stared up at you. You shook your head at him, handing the joint over before shuffling so you were laid on his chest with the book spread open in one hand.

"Love?" He mumbled.

"Hmm?" You glanced at him.

"Maybe... Uh, yeah, maybe start the chapter over? I'm a bit lost," he snickered, coughing when you tisked at him and offered a slightly annoyed look. "C'mon, baby, you can't tell me you were totally focused, either! You love me touching you, I can see it on your face."

To prove his point, the arm he had wrapped around you drifted to, once more, take a handful of your ample bottom - causing you to gasp slightly.

But you pouted, "I kinda want to finish this chapter, baby."

"And I'm distracting you?"

"Obviously."

Felix laughed, "Spot on Professor Snape, baby."

"If I read like Snape the rest of the chapter, will you pay attention to me?"

"You know what? I don't know, that voice is kinda a turn on... Everything you do is a turn on, doll."

"You'd think the consistent fucking we do would rein in your hormones."

"Nah," he tutted, squeezing his hand, "not when I got a girl like you, gettin' me all riled up. I mean, Half-Blood Prince, who? Got me full blooded, right here." You chuckled when he glanced at his cock, folding the book closed and deflating onto his chest and accepting the joint again. "Oh, c'mon, don't stop, 's just gettin' good!"

"You were calling Harry stupid literally 5 minutes ago."

"Come off it, when isn't he?"

"When he's fighting Voldemort?"

"Hm," he considered, tucking his hand into your hair to massage your scalp; gently pulling through your hair. "You might have a point."

"And now Dumbledore's - "

"Hey, hey, no spoilers!"

"It's not a spoiler if you were listening to me!"

"I'm always listening," he whined, you blowing smoke across his abdomen; watching his abs contract from the slight tickle; his cock bobbing from the movement and making you flush with heat not from the sun. "You're just so much more interesting, hmm?" He mumbled.

"Hey, hey. Flattery gets you everywhere with me," you teased, loving the easiness of his smile. "C'mon, pretty boy, your turn."

He took the joint from you, watching you try to pull back - but tightening his arm. "Stay here, love havin' you close," he mumbled, placing the joint to his mouth and reaching for the book again. Not wanting his arm to retract from your form, you reached up to take the joint from him; listening as he went back to the beginning of the chapter while your leg hiked up his hips.

Every other puff, you fed Felix the joint until there was nothing left; wee small roach being stubbed out in the dirt, leaving you two relaxed, high, and laid over one another as he continued to lazily read. But his hand still traced invisible patterns over your skin, the warmth of the sun making you sweat, but the way your boyfriend touched you made you shiver.

He knew you loved it, yet didn't so much as stutter on a single word when his smirk would grow feeling your reactions to his touches.

At the end of the chapter, he glanced down at you and let his lips follow; tightening his arm to bring you in closer, leaving repeated kisses on your forehead. You squirmed closer, giggling and bringing your hand up to hook around the back of his neck, directing him to your lips as he rolled over so you were on your back and he was hovering over you. "You're distracting me, now, li'l minx," he teased.

"Oh, how unfair, what ever shall you do?"

He chuckled, pecking your lips twice more, then asking, "Another chapter or...?"

"Yes, one more chapter," you laughed, "but then we're gonna have to head back up, your mum wanted my help with something."

"Oh, she's got you some new dresses she wants you to try," he relaid.

"I thought she stopped doin' that?"

"She loves spoiling you," Felix eased. "And Venetia stopped letting Mum dress her, so, you know... Here, you read this one."

You agreed, letting him readjust so he was sat up again, keeping you between his spread legs so he could peer down at the book from over your shoulder. Was it distracting, feeling his fully blooded cock at your back? Absolutely. Was it mildly erotic for you to ignore it and continue reading - as if his warmth wasn't making you wet? Also, yes.

"Fi," you whispered when his lips danced across your shoulder. "Distracting me, again," you half-scolded.

"You're doin' great, love," he chuckled.

But he didn't stop, it was like he was turning himself on (more) by his soft, gentle touches; and being spurred onward when he noted the way your chest heaved when your breath changed.

"Keep goin'," he whispered in your ear, dragging his hands up to cup either bare breast and swipe his thumbs around your nipples to stiffen them into peaks.

"Felix - "

"Don't stop," he encouraged, "'s real endearing the way you're tryna fight this."

"You try to get between me and Potter one more time, we're going on a sex strike."

There was a pause as you looked up at him, both sharing growing grins before bursting into echoing laughter that Venetia heard from one of the loungers close to the house. She grinned to herself, turning the page of her own Half-Blood Prince book.

requesting rules and masterlist

Saltburn masterlist

[yuujispinkhair]

Tribe leader/Viking Sukuna headcanons

After seeing this fanart, a sweet anon sent me this prompt: "Imagine that you are a simple girl in another tribe who attracted the leader Sukuna who at that moment came to negotiate with the leader of your tribe, he became interested in you and decided to make you his wife and cooperate with your people. So you left with him and began to live with him and give birth to his heirs."

Thank you so much for sending me this! When I saw the art, I was thinking of something along those lines, too! The picture reminded me of the tv show Vikings, so the following headcanons take place in that time.

Pairing: Viking!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: Smut + fluff Word Count: 2.5k Warnings: 18+, smut, arranged/forced marriage, virginity loss, blood, breeding, pregnancy, slight lactation kink, having children, miscarriage (Sukuna comforts reader afterwards. He doesn't just want her because of the heirs she can give him), general mentions of violence and human sacrifices. All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

There is art now for this fic by the lovely @sweetlandspos! Thank you so much Émilie, for bringing Viking!Sukuna to life! He's so beautiful!

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is feared for his ruthlessness in battle and his strength that seems almost god-like. All the other tribes try to stay on his good side and forge alliances with him instead of giving him a reason to burn down their towns.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who looks so intimidating when he comes to visit your settlement. Tall and broad-shouldered with all those buff muscles on display and the bones of his enemies decorating his clothes.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who you can't take your eyes off when you and the rest of your tribe gather in your leader's throne room and watch the negotiations. He sends shivers down your spine, but not just in a fear-inducing way, if you are honest. He is so enticing. Powerful and intelligent, and so attractive.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is such a beautiful man. His face is too pretty for a warrior. Not even his scars and tribal tattoos can hide his beauty. A smug smirk lifts the corners of his lips, and his voice is calm and confident. He moves gracefully like a big cat, beautiful but deadly. He is the most stunning man you have ever seen, and you hang on every word that falls from his lips as if he carries ancient magic in his voice.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, whose icy blue eyes scan the crowd slowly, glittering like two precious jewels in the firelight illuminating the crowded room. Your breath catches in your throat when that intense gaze lands on you. You feel like a small animal trapped in the gaze of its hunter. Should you lower your head to show him your respect? Or will he take affront if you dare to look at anything else but him?

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who takes the decision away from you when he smirks at you and laughs softly before he turns his attention back to your leader.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who announces his conditions for a peace treaty in a confident, demanding tone. The voice of a man who is used to getting what he wants. A man who knows he is too powerful to get turned down.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who suddenly points a long tattoed finger at you and speaks the words that will flip your whole world upside down, "And I want her."

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who makes your heart drop with his demand, but all you can do is stare at him in a mix of fear and excitement. A murmur runs through the crowd, and already, several hands are pressing against your back, shoving you towards Sukuna, making you stumble and screech as you are about to fall at his feet.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who catches you before you hit the ground, his muscular arms holding you easily, an amused smirk lighting up his handsome face, light blue eyes glittering in amusement as he drawls teasingly, "Aww, someone's eager to become my little wife, huh?"

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who makes you sit on his lap that evening when a big feast is held in his honor and to seal the peace treaty with your tribe. You barely dare breathe, full of fear as you sit on his strong, muscled thighs, gasping when one of his large hands wanders under your skirt to squeeze your thigh possessively.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who has two of his men stand guard in front of your door so no one will attack his future wife or maybe to prevent you from sneaking away. But you aren't even sure you want to run from him. Who are you here in your current tribe anyway? Just another orphan who grew up to help on one of the farms. Isn't this new role much more important? To be the bride of Ryomen Sukuna? To be a means that allows your tribe to prosper and ensures peace and trade with Sukuna?

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, whose large hand has a firm, unrelenting grip on your arm as he leads you to his horse the next morning. But he lets you say goodbye to all your loved ones, taking their blessings and well wishes with you before your future husband helps you onto his horse.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is such a rough man, but whose hands are surprisingly gentle when he lifts you onto the back of his giant horse. He sits behind you, his firm muscles pressing against your back, rippling with every move he makes. His muscular buff arms cage you in, keeping you captive or keeping you safe. You can't tell which one of the two it is.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who makes a conflict rage in your chest. On the one hand, you are scared of this dangerous big man who has the power to just demand to have you as if you are some cattle. On the other hand, you can't deny that small hidden part of you that feels excited that such a powerful and attractive man desires you enough to want to make you his wife.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who makes your pulse flutter nervously when you feel his strong arms around you and hear him order his men around with his low, velvety voice, telling them to find a good resting place for the night.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who kisses you roughly on that first night. His large hands that cup your face are calloused, but his lips are warm, and his tongue is soft and so skilled when he pries your mouth open and licks into it. It's nothing like the shy, clumsy kisses you shared with the boys in your settlement. Sukuna is a feared warrior, a powerful tribe leader, someone who people believe is actually the son of a god. And you can feel all that in his kiss. Deep and intense, making your head spin and your body brim with a desire you have never felt before.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who rides with you again the next day and trails teasing kisses down your neck to pass the time during the long ride. You are sure he is fully aware of what he is doing to you. How he makes your heart race and makes a mix of fear and arousal throb in your veins. Especially when he grabs your chin to tilt your face up and capture your lips in a heated, wet kiss, licking unashamedly into your mouth in front of his men, showing everyone that you are his.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who whispers in your ear, "Are you scared of me, my little wife?" and then breaks out in loud, barking laughter when you exhale shakily and tell him, "Only a fool wouldn't be scared of you... but maybe I am also flattered that you picked me, my lord."

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who still chuckles while his tongue licks a lazy stripe up the side of your neck, and he huskily tells you, "I am not a lord. I am a god. And I saw a goddess right there in that shabby throne room. I had to take you with me. It was a sign from the gods. You will give me such strong and beautiful children. Together, we can conquer the whole world."

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who forces himself to keep his hands off you before your wedding night as a show of respect to the gods, but who lets you feel his desire for you when he hugs you from behind and presses his hardness against you once you have moved into his house.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who has you dressed in the finest garments for your wedding day. A beautiful red dress lined with gorgeous white ermine fur that was specifically made for you. Your neck, wrists, and ears are decorated with glittering gold and precious gemstones.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who makes you squeal when he swoops you up into his muscular arms and carries you into the ceremony hall, accompanied by the loud cheers of his people. Your hand is shaking when you exchange wedding rings with him, but you stay brave, speaking your vows and taking Sukuna's heavy sword when he offers it to you as his promise to protect you.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who sacrifices several of his enemies to the gods to ask for their blessings for your marriage and your fertility. He looks scary with the pattern painted onto his face with fresh blood. But at the same time, it makes him look feral in a way that makes an unknown heat throb between your legs.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who shares his food and mead with you on the decadent feast held after the wedding ceremony, where you sit on the throne next to his. One of his strong arms stays wrapped around your waist the whole evening, and the deep glances he sends your way make your skin tingle with anticipation.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who takes your virginity that night, making you cry out in pain when his thick cock splits you open for the first time. But his lips silence your cry, and soon you make other noises. Loud moans of pleasure fall from your lips as your new husband moves inside you with deep and sure thrusts that hit a spot inside you that makes you scratch the broad muscles of his back and arch up against Sukuna's huge body. Your cunt throbs around his cock as you find the sweetest and most intense release you ever had.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who afterward pushes two of his long fingers into your used cunt to push his seed back into you, leaning down to kiss you savagely and murmuring in your ear that he wants to see your belly hard and swollen with his heirs.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who paints his clan symbols on your face with a mix of your virginal blood and his cum, telling you that you are his forever and that you are blessed by the gods now too after taking his seed into you.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is so proud when you show the first signs of pregnancy.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who becomes extremely protective and possessive now that you carry his heir. Who worships your body every night, cupping and kissing your swollen breasts, licking at the drops of milk that already spill from them, telling you it tastes like the nectar of the gods.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, whose large rough hands caress your swollen belly gently, who kisses it, and talks to your unborn child, telling his son, as he predicts, that he will be born under the blessing of the gods. That he will become a great leader and a god himself one day.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is triumphant when your first child is a boy with pink hair and a strong build and loud voice. A future leader just like his father. The first heir of many more to follow.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is feared by everyone but treats his wife and newborn child with a gentleness that surprises you. He asks you to let him hold your baby and carry him in his strong arms. And the way Sukuna looks at your child tells you that he doesn't just see little Yuuji as an heir but as someone who has Sukuna's heart.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, whose hungry and proud gaze follows you for days until he has you under him again, fucking you with hard, deep thrusts, moaning loudly, and pumping you full of his seed over and over again. "You gave me such a strong heir, my love. I know you'll give me so many more."

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who rushes to your side when you have a miscarriage during your second pregnancy. Who hugs you to his broad chest, wipes the sweat and blood off you, and cradles you in his arms.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who kisses your tears away and reassures you when you are scared he will kick you out if you won't give him more heirs.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who shakes his head and tells you, "I mourn our unborn child, but I thank the gods for not taking my beloved wife away from me too. You are more to me than just a vessel that gives birth to my heirs. You are my wife, my companion, the one who the gods sent to me as my soulmate. I love you. Even if we have no more children, I will never take a new wife."

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who you see in a new light after the reassurance and love he gave you on that day. And suddenly, you find yourself falling in love with your husband, too. You treat him more tenderly. You caress his soft hair when the two of you cuddle in your bed to keep each other warm. You kiss the tattoos on his face and smile at him, your heart fluttering when Sukuna smiles back at you and pulls you into a slow, tender kiss. You will never forget the happiness in his eyes when you tell him you love him too.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who fucks you thoroughly that night until the two of you are sweating and rolling around on top of the warm furs, kissing and caressing each other needily while he fills you with his hot seed until you are overflowing from it.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is delighted when you give birth to your second child, and that child looks like the perfect mix of the two of you. He grins at you and tells you that this is clearly a child of love, conceived on the night you confessed your love to him.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is actually a caring husband who truly treasures you. Who likes to spend his nights with you wrapped under the warm furs, making slow love while he kisses you deeply, rolling his hips with those slow, languid moves that make you sob his name and come undone so sweetly on his cock. 

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who likes to hold you in his strong arms afterward, with your head resting on his broad chest and your small fingers tracing the tattoos on his chest and abs. He loves to talk to you for hours every night, telling you all about his day, about his current worries and plans, about political things and battle tactics, trusting you with all his secrets.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, whose love fills you with warmth even on the coldest winter days. Your heart is held securely in his strong hands. And you know that no one will dare lay a hand on you or your children in fear of Sukuna's wrath. His strength and power make you feel safe here in your new home.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who teaches you how to enjoy sex to the fullest. Who teaches you how to ride his cock and his face. Who teaches you how to take from him too. Because he is your husband, and that means he belongs to you just as much as you belong to him.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who trusts you with ruling in his place during his absence. Who declares that anyone who disrespects you will get sacrificed to the gods.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who keeps you on his thick, strong cock all night before he has to leave for one of his various exploration trips or battles, savoring you to the fullest. Making sure to fuck you so good that you will still feel him for days after he set sail.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who pulls you into his arms one last time before he boards the ship, kissing you deep and long. And there is this burning love in his blue gaze when he tells you, "I will do anything in my power to come back to you, my love. I have the gods on my side. But if, for whatever reason, they should decide it is my time to enter Valhalla, then I want you to know that I will wait there until you join the afterlife, too, and I will come find you, no matter where you are."

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who luckily doesn't go to Valhalla and always comes back to you with more scars on his gorgeous body but with the same love in his eyes.

AAAHHH I AM IN LOVE WITH HIM!!! This became much longer than I intended, but I really miss the show Vikings, and I love Viking!Sukuna to an insane amount, so it is what it is ;) This was, once again, very self-indulgent, but hopefully, some of my fellow Sukuna lovers will enjoy it too! Thank you so much to the nice anon who sent me that prompt!

Please let me know what you think. Comments and reblogs would be very sweet.

[tteokdoroki]

☆༉ — KATSUKI BAKUGOU. biceps.

about. idk the idea of riding pro hero!bakugou’s bicep could heal me? minors blank and ageless blogs dni, nsfw, smut, afab!reader, pro hero!bakugou.

just the idea of him lifting you up with his brute strength, looking up at you with those dark, blood red eyes like he’s begging you to do it — he knows that you want to. “use me sweetness, wanna see you make yourself feel good.” flexing the muscle between your thighs, his bicep bulging against the puffy nub nestled between your slick folds.

of course it makes you shy at first, you’re literally riding his arm — but you can’t help the way the thick muscle makes your stomach twist in knots. bakugou’s hot palm splayed against the small dip in your back doesn’t do much to help either, guiding your movements as you straddle the rest of his arm, your clear juices glossing over the pretty blue veins that twist around his limb.

“look at you, all fuckin’ riled up from riding my fuckin’ arm,” he’d laugh at how you shudder on top of him, your face hot but your head tipped back pleasure every time his muscle ripples against your soaked and ravaged pussy. “such a freak. she’s ruined down ‘ere.”

maybe he’ll let you buck your hips down on him, listen to that sticky clit slap against your name tatted in a loop around the firmest part of his arm while bakugou’s other hand grabs and squeezes at your hips, your ass, your thighs — his tongue spilling silver lined praises that shoot straight up your spine and ghost over your brain to dumb you down.

eventually those very hands will take purchase on your hips and lift you off his arm despite how you whinge in protest — groaning in awe at the clear, strong strings of your slick that connect your cunt to katsuki’s muscles — smeared along thick black inked tattoos and sun kissed skin.

“katsuki…please.”

“messy, messy.” he purrs proudly with a lick of his pretty pink lips, grinning as your pussy quiver above him. the dull edge of his fingertips prods af your sticky folds, glued together by your wetness — earning a shudder from you. “good enough to fuckin’ eat.”

by some grace of god, you find your voice — tiny and embarrassed. “t-then do it, what are you waiting for?”

“you sure you wanna be teasin’ me?” bakugou spanks your ass firmly before pulling apart the fleshy globes of your cheeks to watch you drip from between them, your juices splattering down onto his washboard abs and salty skin. “come sit on it for me, let me make you cum f’me, baby.” he rasps, goading you into straddling his face as he nastily inhales the raw and delicious scent of your sex.

“ride my face, make a mess all on me. just like ya do with the rest of me.”

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[gladiatorcunt]

you nailed how i imagined modern!feyd to be (batshit crazy) but you think he‘d let cute hello kitty reader put like stickers and bows on his motorcycle and stuff lmao? would he be an ass and be mean about it or would he allow it because reader is all sad and mopey otherwise 😔🎀 (maybe brat reader? like how would mans handle that in the modern au because in the canon verse pissing him off is a bit too scary) and alsoooo i laughed my ass off when you wrote he would debone coryo like a fish because yuh that twink (he could do bad things to me) wouldn’t stand a chance fr

he would actually make coryo so concerned, like they’re both from well off families (feyd just does underground fighting bc for the #love of the game) but coryo will be like “these poor people are CRAZY.” coryo gives off the vibes of he’d tell someone to kill for him (especially when he gets older, or he wouldn’t get his hands dirty if he does it himself & he’s methodical), feyd is tearing out throats with his teeth. he’d tackle his uncle and start stabbing, he’d gnaw his own arm off just for fun like you can’t compete where you don’t compare tbh. (coryo’s still my bf tho <3)

anyway,

cw: 18+ mdni, typical feyd warnings, spanking/pain play type stuff

modern!feyd would only let you put stickers on his bike if they’re the ones that are like hello kitty holding a gun or something. it’s not like he’s afraid that the softer ones will undermine his masculinity or anything, feyd’s ripping into other men with no real regard for keeping their bodies intact, it’s just that the cutesy stickers go on his helmet. he’ll let you tie a ribbon around his bicep and film videos of him flexing and making it pop off. he would wear matching pjs with you, but he doesn’t want to get blood on them so he sticks to his trusty sweats. he’s the kind of person to wear black in the hot summer sun because he’s spiteful enough to not give a fuck about heatstroke, like it’s something he could fight lmao. gets a matching dear daniel x hello kitty tattoo with you i fear, or a my melody x kuromi one since that’s more your dynamic.

brat!reader with canon era feyd does scare me to death, but with modern!feyd it’s fun to think about…. to a degree. like if you keep it up, he’s pausing the match and dragging you inside the ring to spank you in front of everyone. open palm strikes with half of his strength, if he used all of it your ass might fall off. his rings add even more sting. you learn quickly to know when to pack it up and throw in the towel, because he will NEVER be the one to test out your devious little ideas and macinations out on. he’ll shove a vibrator up your pussy and take you for a long ride on his bike, ignoring the way you try to hump him as he points out the sights he thinks you’d be interest in. weirdly punishes you by fucking nice and slow when you want your shit rocked, he doesn’t even edge you or anything, he just gives it you so soft and sweet and holds your hips down so you can’t try to buck them.

in some ways, you being at his matches has helped his abilities. (you do have to come to his fights btw, if you’re not there expect the rumble of his engine to be heard outside of wherever you’re at. feyd will get his unlce to cancle the match if you’re not there, he’s ultimately a certain kind of performer and if the key audience member isn’t there??? what’s the point.) he has to keep an eye on you, which helps him multitask. he’ll be punching some fuckin’ loser into an unrecognizable pulp while, out of the corner of his eye, making sure that no one’s trying to drag you into any wagers or into their cars. he’s curious if you could cum just from watching one of his fights, from hearing the agonized whimpers of his opponent as feyd effortlessly conquers them. something about you must be sick, because the more ruthless he is in a fight, the higher you’re jumping on him and the more marks you’re sucking into his neck.

you’re so clumsy with it, always putting too much teeth into your hickeys. but that’s just the way he likes it, because you know he’s actively holding back from biting you so hard that’s nearly cannibalizing you. (side note: loves gorey horror, nothing too funny or artsy, he likes shit that cares more about the pure carnage than quips or wide camera shots. hannibal is too “fancy” for him, he always asks you to explain what the fuck they’re talking about.) definition of mauling you like a bear, fucking him is like meeting God if they were an eldritch horror and you were on the brink of death. it is NOT for the weak, his thick arms holding you in a headlock as he pistons his gigantic cock into your cervix. he makes you cum until pass out, then he makes you do it again to wake you up. really good at resetting your brain if you need him too.

modern!feyd who gives you the ultimate scary guard dog priviledge. you’re going about your business in a store and he’s practically vibrating behind you, foaming at the mouth and waiting for some mf to try it with you so he can berserk. but no one ever takes the bait, just one look at his deranged ass and they’re swiftly turning on their heels and high tailing it out of the apple store (you’re taking too long to pick what color imac you want.) copies whatever pictures you saw on pinterest, acting as your little prop. wrapping a tattooed hand around your throat, mirror selfies where he’s holding you over his shoulder by your ass, gross close ups of his long tongue wrapped around yours, insta stories directed at paul specficially bc he won’t stay out of your dms. asks his opponents for date ideas while he’s beating their ass 💀, made his uncle organize a remartch (even though feyd won) with the guy who limped over to your adorably clad in pink form and asked you to get boba (because he noticed feyd giving you your favorite before his fights).

pierced dick, would sharpen his teeth and make his tongue forked. face tattoos + whatever piercing’s more painful. big in body mods overalls like he sees himself as an extension of his motorcycle that he’s always illeggaly modding, fast and furious type specs that no court of law would deem road safe. but he always devotes part of his brain to making sure you’re safe when you ride along with him, reaching behind him and his black painted nails rubbing comforting little circles into your plush thighs. ambidextrous by choice and practice, for sure has a cauliflower ear. whenever you’re sad and pouting, he’s grabbing your chin in between his thumb an pointer finger and lifting your head up so he lovingly teases you about being a crybaby and so he can lick your tears away. (and he doesn’t even do it with sexual intent, feyd’s genuinely just trying to consume your sadness directly since word’s aren’t his strong suit.) could fall asleep in an ice bath, has done it before, dad type snoring like you wouldn’t believe.

loves it when you ride him in any kind of water, you have to pack extra strength sun screen if you’re going to be out in the sun though bc he WILL burn more often than not. still has your pussy gorilla glue gripping his length though, there’s no pain on earth that would put him out of comission & that’s a promise.

[hotluncheddie]

For the @steddie-spooktober day 30 prompt : ‘Where in the hell did you find that costume?’

rated: M | cw: none | tags: vampire!Steve Harrington, chubby Eddie Munson, blood drinking, established relationship, d/s undertones, hand feeding

Inspired by @scoops-aboy86 ‘s little AU that u can read here !!! :3c

🧛🏻🧛🏻🧛🏻🧛🏻

‘Where in the hell did you find that costume?’ Eddie asks, stepping out of the green room bathroom with his eyeliner smudged just the way he likes.

‘What? It’s funny.’ Steve says from the doorway, having just finished a final perimeter check of the venue. He does a little 180, showing off his yellow and navy letterman and blue jeans, dressed just like Michael J Fox in Teen Wolf.

‘Yeah it’s funny, but when did you even have the time to shop?’ Eddie asks, picking at the table of snacks, popping a mini muffin in his mouth.

Steve tracks the movement. ‘Oh you know, I just called around a couple stores, had them put it aside for me and then sent someone to get it as part of your rider. Rockstar boyfriend perks.’ He shrugs, closing a locking the door. He can hear the stage hands in the distance setting up, they have time.

He hears Eddie’s heartbeat increase slightly too. ‘What are you dressed as?’ He asks, stalking slowly closer, setting his sunglasses on the coffee table.

‘A vampires latest victim.’ Eddie wiggles his eyebrows, finishing a donut. He’s in a sleeveless black mesh shirt, tattoos and round pink nipples on display, and wide leg, high waisted slacks that hug his thick waist in way that makes Steve’s mouth water. Every so often a tabloid will get a shot of Eddie and say something about his weight, the industry not used to a rockstar that isn’t heroin thin. After something like that Eddie always makes a point of showing more skin on stage, letting the people know how proud he is of his body.

After all, it keeps Steve alive. Perfect and plump as it is. Eddie needs to keep his strength up, to be able to handle Steve’s appetite.

Eddie’s sucking strawberry juice from his fingers and Steve can’t take it anymore. In an instant he’s across the room and crowding Eddie against the wall, having picked up a brownie on the way.

‘Vampires victim? So you need me to help complete your costume right? Give the kids a real show out there.’ Steve says, holding the treat just out of reach.

‘Stevie.’ Eddie slurs, opening his mouth, pupils growing. Steve feels his own flower shaped ones unfurl slightly at the soft pink of Eddie’s tongue, at the rushing of his blood.

‘Open up baby.’ He says, one hand wrapped possessively around Eddie’s chubby hip. ‘I know you want the adrenaline rush for the stage, little junky, but you know the rules, food first.’ Steve whispers, lips on Eddie’s cheek as he feeds the brownie into his panting mouth.

Eddie whines, chewing and writhing under Steve’s hands, baring his neck.

‘You’re more than just a victim though aren’t you?’ Steve murmurs, picking Eddie up easily and walking them over to the couch. Laying Eddie down beneath him.

‘Victim.’ Steve kisses Eddie’s temple, his cheek and over his sweet sugar coated lips. ‘Slave.’ Down his soft jaw. ‘Pet.’ Over the tense muscle of his neck. ‘Dearest love.’ Steve breaths deep feeling his fangs grow. ‘Soulmate.’ He bites; sweet molten blood flooding his tongue. They moan in unison, Steve drinking and laving and sucking. Eddie whining and thrusting below him, into Steve’s strong thigh, pinned and used and panting with pleasure.

Steve drinks his fill, licking over the wound to close it but keeping two little red puncture wounds and kissing the red mess around to really finish Eddie’s costume.

‘Fuck. I need, uh, well.’ Eddie babbles, still blissed out and Steve giggles at the faint blush across his cheeks. Even after all these years Eddie’s still gets shy about how much he likes Steve doing that.

‘I have clean underwater in my bag baby, like always.’ Steve says, kissing Eddie’s lips and rising off him.

Eddie hums and closes his eyes. Steve listens to Eddie’s heartbeat slowly descend as he rummages around for tissues and boxers. Coming back to the couch to help Eddie sit and undoing his pants for him. Any part of aftercare has always been Steve’s favourite, all of it just made easier with his powers. More easily in tune, stronger, faster.

‘Want another treat before you go out there?’ Steve asks.

Eddie blinks slowly at him, dopey little smile on his face. He nods and Steve laughs as he brings another brownie to Eddie’s lips, rubbing his palm in gentle circles over his stomach.

‘Showtime baby.’ Steve says, hearing the stagehand calling for the other members at the end of the hallway, on their way to Eddie’s changing room. ‘Ready to melt their faces?’

Eddie giggles. Blinking hard and holding his hand out for Steve to help him to his feet. He kisses Steve long and filthy until the door opens and he’s called to stage.

‘You better still have your costume on when I’m done. It’s hot.’ Eddie says. waltzing out the door.

Steve listens to the steady thrum of his loves heartbeat all through the show. Counting down the minutes until he can get Eddie under him again.

🧛🏻🧛🏻🧛🏻🧛🏻

Tag list : @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @marvel-ous-m @thecatkingsthrone @pearynice @wheneverfeasible

@cheesedoctor @chickensinrainboots @chameleonhair @hbyrde36 @bookworm0690

This is my last post for the steddie spooktober!! Ty so much to everyone who has read and interacted!!!!

It’s been a feat and I can’t believe it’s over, but it really gave me something fun to focus on this month! which has helped me deal with the stresses in my life immensely. Ty so much @steddie-spooktober for hosting! Mwah!