#the market they pull is insane

[renarots]

YOU MEAN TO ME THEY REJECTED ANDRETTI INTO F1 BECAUSE THEY WOULD BRING NOTHING TO F1 LIKE THEN WHAT IS HAAS, STAKE F1 TEAM AND THE VISACASHAPP RB THEN HUH?!?!?

[vaguely-concerned]

in shambles over lucanis' big ol' 🥺eyes while asking rook if they can come with him to plan caterina's funeral and the barest pretense that it's because spite might pull something. spite, who we have no reason to infer from how that goes down says or does anything during that whole thing. I do so love the consistency of the background hum of 'hm. you know lucanis perhaps the real problem here isn't so much the demon thing but a lot more about the life experience you've had up until now that makes you think wanting a friend to come along to help you bury a loved one is something you're not allowed (nor frankly know how) to ask for'

*agonized rook voice* LUCANIS lucanis you must understand I would go with you into hell itself. I will live in your heart, die in your lap and be buried in your eyes. and moreover I will come with you to your grandma's funeral arrangements fuck sorry about your life 😬

[confinesofmy]

teenage girls on tiktok will have a kindle covered in stickers with a clear case on top and the stickers are all just various representations of reading as a concept and they will be obsessed with them. same with a nintendo switch covered in stickers with a clear case on top and the stickers are all the concept of gaming. they love the concept of concepts so much.

[evilkaeya]

how much do you ahve saved for arle so far???? i have 260 wishes and 340 primos from multiple patches of no pulling :3

.......You are on my rob list

[lunar-system]

During covid lockdowns I wrote a long Good Omens fic catering to a very specific group of people: it takes its plot from a Scrooge McDuck comic. It's impossible to convince people who are not familiar with Don Rosa's comics that a Scrooge McDuck comic could have a fucking heartbreaking romance storyline, but it's true. Rips my heart out every time.

The main point is: it's an extented added scene to Aziraphale's and Crowley's past, set in Klondike Gold Rush, 1897. Crowley is a showgirl. Aziraphale is assigned by heaven to blend in with the miners and dig gold, human style. Crowley finds an excuse to get herself spend time at Aziraphale's claim, away from people, just the two of them out in the wilderness. Drama ensues.

A long historical fic series of 109k words, Friends to Lovers to Enemies to Friends to Lovers -arc, protective aziraphle, slutty crowley, angry sex, botched love confessions, decades of regret, and teary reconciliations with a happy ending.

Give it a go!

omg it’s FAN FICTION FRIDAY

Reblog and promote a fic of yours <3

[gallusrostromegalus]

The Van Has Officially Declared It Spooky Season

---

I've got my parent's van for the week and it seems determined to establish my status as The Local Cryptid by terrorizing an innocent 7-11 clerk.

...I might need to back up a bit.

My mother is an eminently sensible woman who knows herself well, and when The Plauge hit, she knew she'd need some sort of mentally and physically engaging craft project to keep herself from going insane and massacring the local zoning and water management boards (even if they have it coming). So she and Dad acquired a utility van and converted it into a camper van because while they love camping, they're past the age where their joints and immune systems will tolerate sleeping on the cold ground in a nylon tent.

They did a terrific job of it and my mom taught herself woodworking and carpentry and now the van has it's own cabinets, fold-away dining table, and removable queen-sized bed with memory foam mattress. My Dad was already a computer engineer, but he learned the dark magics of automotive software and electronics to install after-market backup cameras, a media player that would take a terabyte hard drive and a solar-powered battery and outlet so they could wake up and just turn on the kettle and griddle for breakfast without having to exit the van into a cold morning on an empty stomach.

Truly, the height of Camping Luxury.

My parents are both in their mid-seventies and my primary life goal is to be at least half as cool and hale as they are when I get old.

Anyway, they take it out at least a dozen times a year and it works fabulously, but, being as I am on good terms with my parents and also finishing the process of moving house, I've been borrowing it to move large and cumbersome objects that will not fit in the back of my equally lovely but minuscule Honda hatchback.

It's a Great Van. Very easy and comfortable to drive. Stunningly good MPG for it's size. The best cruise control I've ever had in a car.

It's just also. Quirky. Mischievous, even.

---

If this van has a fault its that it bears the unfortunate affliction that all lightly used white utility vans have in that the combination of an utter lack of branding features and the large dent/scrape I accidentally put on it while trying to escape a Denny's last Thanksgiving means that this vehicle is one addition of a Badly Spray-Painted "FREE CANDY" on the side away from being the sort of vehicle you see in an edgy horror movie.

It's got the same issue that Doberman Dogs have where they look like the sort of creature that likes to snack on toddler's faces whilst actually having personalities made of marshmallow fluff. This vehicle is unnecessarily menacing and I think nothing short of an airbrushed Epic Van Wizard will correct this. People see this van pull up and lean over and squint suspiciously at me when the driver's side door opens, and then look moderately confused when, instead of Charles Manson, a small, potato-shaped creature with neon purple hair and a statistically unlikely assortment of dogs emerges.

My own two dogs, Herschel the Hanukkah Goblin/Corgi and Charleston Chew The Taco Dumpster Dog, Do Not Like The Van. Even with the bed in it, they have a tendency to slide and roll around in the back, and both WILL chew through dog saftey belts or other attempts to secure them in there.

On the other hand, my house mate's dog, an exceptionally tall standard poodle whom we lovingly call "The Creature", loves the Van because SHE wears her doggy seat-belt with only mild complaining and gets to sit up in the passenger seat like A People.

Also like A People, The Creature likes to stand and walk around on her hind legs. It doesn't hurt her and it's entirely voluntary, but every so often I will feel a hand on my arm and instead of my husband or friend, it's a canine that's taller than I am on her hind legs who wants to stare at my face with soulful, concerned eyes. The Creature's favorite thing is that she is exactly the right height for me to hold her arm in Genteel Fashion and walk around the pet food or hardware store with her like I'm a count escorting a debutante around a royal ball.

---

As it stands, I am set to inherit this vehicle whenever my Honda gives up the ghost, and I fully intend to paint an Epic Van Wizard on it when that time comes.

The other peculiarity of The Van is that while Dad did manage to successfully install all his after-market electronics, not all the electronics get along. Sometimes, they fight for Dominance. The Terabyte Music Player and the Backup Camera have a particularly contentious relationship, and turning on the music has about a 25% chance of turning on the backup camera as well, and turning on the Backup Camera is equally likely to turn on the music.

Firthermore, The Van has a favorite song.

I am not kidding that Dad filled an entire terabyte hard drive with music and the software to sort it via the radio controls, but of all the Early Boomer Dad Rock (Kingston Trio over The Eagles) and Irish Folk and Symphonies and the entire discography of Weird Al Yankovic, The Van's favorite song- The one it picks to play as victory music every time it beats the Backup Camera at their weird electronic game of rock-paper-scissors -is The Liberty Bell March by John Phillip Sousa.

You all know this song already.

...but in case you've forgotten the tune:

Yeah.

The Van's favorite song is the goddamn Monty Python's Flying Circus Theme Music.

It does not play this song at a normal volume.

Every time I turn on the Backup Camera and it manages to turn the music player on as well, The Van insists on absolutely blasting this nonsense on at the maximum volume it's physically capable of producing, which I know is loud enough to be heard from the Denver International Airport's Pickup zone when they Van decided to start playing it from the economy lot about half a mile away.

Perhaps it's The Van's way of honoring the aesthetic sensibilities and sonic enthusiasm of Mr. Sousa.

...I can't help but wonder if the purpose of an Epic Van Wizard is to control this sort of faerie-like malarkey, and channel these chaotic energies into things like Spell of Don't Break Down In Nevada or Enchantment Of Always Have Good Parking.

---

So last Friday the 13th, I get a call from my friend and housemate, at said airport.

It's roughly 11PM at night, and I have already retired for the evening. I am in the exact minimum of clothing required to be a decent housemate and not scandalize the neighbors should I happen to walk by a window. My feet are up. There is a cat in my lap and fictional British people murdering each other in highly inventive fashion on the tv. -But my friend has returned from her friend's wedding,and either American or United Airlines has managed to lose her luggage, including, among other valuable possessions, the keys to her car. ...So she cannot just drive home as originally planned.

There are, as luck would have it, her spare set of keys not eight feet from me.

Being a good and decent person, I agree to bring the spare keys to her so she may get home before daybreak and not spend a semester's worth of tuition on an uber across the greater Denver traffic jam.

Being also that she Loves Activities, and it's her mom we're going to pick up, I elect to take along The Creature.

I am primarily focused on remembering how to get to the airport and not leaving my friend's spare keys on the counter, so I throw on a pair of flip-flops, step outside, remember that it's AUTUMN and my minimal evening attire is not sufficient thermal protection, step back in, grab the first coat in the closet I lay hands on, pull it on, check that I have her keys again and leave.

The trip to the airport is largely unremarkable, save that it becomes necessary for me to put on sunglasses to drive, despite it being nearly the witching hour and almost entirely darker than the inside of a cow.

It's necessary because this blissful darkness of night is violently punctured by a startling number of cars that seem to have installed miniaturized but no less powerful lighthouse bulbs in where their headlights ought to go so the oncoming traffic and sports cars that insist on tailgating me in the slow lane alike illuminate the road and my mirrors with the kind of radiance I'd normally associate with the arrival of a Seraphim.

I arrive at the distant highly discounted airport car lot where my housemate is waiting, deeply apologetic. It's nothing. I say. Once I see that your car starts up, I'm gonna go to that 7-11 across the way that I parked in front of, get a slurpee or something and I'll see you at home.

While she is retrieving her vehicle (an equally eccentric but much more stately Subaru that is old enough to be elected to congress) I rifle through the loose change in the glove box and discover that I have exactly $6.66 in small bills and coins. The Subaru, continuing it's long voyage into vehicular immortality, immediately starts up.

Upon her return, we all remember that my friend had all her camping gear in the backseat of the car and there is no room for The Creature to ride home with her parent, so I again assure her it's nothing, and will just take The Creature into the 7-11 with me. She is trained as a service animal and needs the practice after the plague.

I wave my friend off and turn to enter the 7-11.

I promptly trip over the jutting back bumper of The Van and fall, cartoonishly, face-first onto the sidewalk.

Fortunately, I have a lot of practice falling on my face, and have learned not to throw my hands out but instead cover my face, so my unexpected self-inflicted attempted curb-stomping lightly scrapes my hairline and nothing else -my sunglasses even stay in place- and I get up and resume my quest for a slurpee.

It's well known that the airport is a lawless place, and the 7-11 across from the discounted airport parking at the stroke of midnight is no exception.

I know it's the stroke of Midnight because there's one of those Audubon society bird-call clocks that makes bird noises, and my arrival is heralded by the twittering call of a Summer Tanager. I am almost charmed enough by the unusual choice of chronological device to excuse the exorbitant Airport-adjacent mark-up of Slurpee prices. I stand at the machine for some time, trying to decide on a size for the price and guess what the fuck "Blue Lighting Blast" is supposed to taste like.

The Creature is being Very Polite but is somewhat agitated, I assume because she *just* saw her mother for the first time in three days and then she LEFT with no explanation, so The Creature is on her hind legs, staring woefully into my eyes, asking to be escorted around the 7-11. Even though that's not what she's not supposed to be doing, there's nobody else in here, so I let her hang off my arm and discuss various Slurpee Flavor options with her.

We eventually decide on an experiment in which I try a Small Blue Lightning Blast, and discover it tastes a bit like licking a nintendo cartridge but in a pleasantly satisfying way.

I go up to pay and realize something is amiss.

The Cashier is a young man staring at me with wide eyes, one had over the register and the other wrapped up in his rosary.

I look down at myself.

In my haste to reunite my friend with her spare keys and service animal, I had left the house in the following accoutrements:

Flip Flops. Not matching. It's below freezing outside. That last part is not particularly odd footwear for the weather in for Colorado, but it's an important detail for the rest of the ensemble.

Assorted scrapes, bruises, cuts and welts on my arms and legs that come with doing outdoor work and living in a house with three dogs and a fully-clawed cat that all want to be in my lap all the time. It's cold out, so vasoconstriction has pulled the blood away from my skin, a trait that served my ancestors well during the last Ice Age, but leaves me with pale skin to contrast the various wounds and I look like a corpse that fell out of the back of a pickup truck.

The black Bootyshorts with "CRYPTID" painted in bright red gothic font across my ass, that @theshitpostcalligrapher gave me for my wedding present.

A peculiar but extremely comfortable garment that straddles the line between "Lacy Camisole" and "Industrial-Strength Sports Bra" like the Ever Given straddling the Suez Canal. It is also Bright Red. with black accents.

The Jacket I had grabbed out of the closet, which is in fact, a black Velour Dinner Jacket.

The Tokyo-Ghoul inspired reusable anti-covid mask a friend made me with the set of Coyote Teeth.

My sunglasses, which are shaped like a Halloween Bat. The lenses are the wings and the body is the nose bridge. It is ALSO bright red.

A Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle that I have been audibly affectionately calling "Dear Creature" who is hanging off my arm like she's my Prom Date.

The Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle is ALSO dressed up in a black Dog Sweater that has white bones printed on it to look like its an X-ray jacket showing off her skeleton.

I look like I am taking my Very Fancy Werewolf Girlfriend to a particularly casual Dinner Party for Vampires, but the thing that's really selling it and probably alarming the kid the most is the fun accessory I acquired in the parking lot not five minutes earlier:

The "Small Scrape At my Hairline" is actually a painless but PROFUSELY bleeding head wound that I had somehow entirely failed to notice covering my face, neck, decolletage and magnificent cleavage with blood like a Tarantino Film Extra.

This does explain why The Creature has been delicately trying to use her bodyweight to push me down onto the floor for the last ten minutes. So I don't injure myself while we wait for the paramedics she hoped this kid called to arrive, you see.

The Creature has such a High and Naive Opinion of humanity.

I decide this social situation is already fucked, and the only way out is through, and with haste, before I start dripping on the floor.

"Hi there!" I say cheerfully, to indicate this is a visually alarming but not terribly serious situation. "Just a Small Slurpee!"

The Cashier has entered the relevant code into the register before I finish the sentence. His gaze flicks off me just long enough to look at the total, and he grips his Rosary harder.

$6.66

"Oh cool! I have exact change!" I say, taking the money out of my as-yet-unsanguined pocket without looking and slap it down on the counter. "You have a good night and be safe out there!" I wave, leaving.

I get in The Van, mortified, buckle The Creature up, and as I make to leave, I have to put it in reverse, which automatically turns on the backup Camera.

It also turns on the music player.

I make eye contact with the cashier as the dulcet tones of John Phillip Sousa boom from the van hard enough to make the windshield and the windows of the 7-11 rattle for the nine-and-a-half seconds I have to wait to be able to turn the volume back down. Not knowing what else to to, I give him a thumbs up, and leave.

Anyway, now I know what my Future Van Wizard has got to be dressed like, and what their familiar is.

---

If you enjoyed this story, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi or Pre-ordering my Family Lore Funny Stories book on Patreon

[starlightseraph]

house md will always be remebered as the most insane thing ever broadcast because of how unabashedly feral everyone involved was.

a short collection of things that happen on the show, just off the top of my head, not even scratching the surface:

- house shoots a random dead body in the morgue and then sticks him in an mri machine, which pulls the bullet out of the dead guy’s head and destroys the machine, costing the hospital millions

- foreman gets bitten by a person with rabies

- chase kills an african dictator

- cameron steals drugs from a patient after possibly getting hiv from said patient

- house induces a migraine and then takes a drug made by his arch nemesis (who he’s been stalking for 25 years) to get the drug taken off the market. he then takes lsd (in the hospital, in the middle of a case) to cure the migraine.

- chase goes into anaphylaxis after doing body shots

- house stops an elevator so he can perform a cavity (vaginal) search on a teenage heart transplant patient who’s in cardiorespiratory arrest

- they give a neurosurgeon mushrooms to cure his food poisoning, then they stick him in an operating room. the neurosurgeon strips in front of a health board assessor.

- kutner dies for gay marriage

- house sets an autopsy room on fire while trying to juggle flaming bottles

- house gets recruited by the cia

- taub gets held at gun point after diagnosing a stripper with skin cancer

- in almost every single episode, the team breaks into multiple houses

- house fakes terminal brain cancer so he can get drugs implanted directly into the pleasure centre of his brain

- house cons us immigration to get his fake wife a green card. he also uses his fake wife’s ukrainian food truck to spy on people

- house tries to get wilson, his closet case boybestfriend, into bed every few episodes. every other sentence out of house’s mouth is about wanting to rail wilson.

- taub has a kid with his ex-wife, after they divorce, at the same time he has a kid with his 25 yo side piece. the kids’ names are sophie and sophia.

- house and wilson have a bet on who can hide a chicken in the hospital the longest without anyone finding out

- house tries to kill himself like 6 times and always fails (insulin shock, overdoses, electrocution, jumping off a building, cutting, etc)

- house fakes his death to get out of a prison sentence after violating his parole so he can live out his bi love story with his gay best friend who has 5 months to live

[wankstain-mcgee]

Me: hmm weird, I don't really have any special interests

Also me, definitely not for the first time, nor the last: it's 9am and I can't sleep, because I've been too busy thinking about trains and mines

[askshivanulegacy]

These comments are a really weird take, and the video is less than fantastic. And also the comments are a complete tangent from anything the video actually says; i.e., the video does not support them.

I dislike Thomas Kinkade, but not because the art is "bad." It's not bad art. You don't make millions on art people think is bad, bottom line. His art is beautiful, and none of OP's negative comments about it apply. As the video itself points out, there's nothing wrong with creating art in the niche you enjoy. That is, in fact, the entire point of creating art. You don't HAVE to throw angst and drama into art to "say something." Art can just be beautiful and compelling, and speculative merely because it's beautiful and compelling.

The video compared Kinkade to Norman Rockwell, and ofc both the styles and subject matter are leagues apart - because the artists had different influences and wanted to pursue different subjects. This is normal. They don't even look similar. I'm not sure why you would bother comparing them in the first place, unless you are simply misinformed.

If you want to compare Kinkade, as beautiful artwork without a political message (which is a large majority of art), then he falls exactly among the ranks of:

Lisa Frank:

Christian Riese Lassen:

Bob Ross:

James Gurney (who worked with Kinkade, actually):

And all such artwork, like the painting of any sunset, landscape, or sailing ship ever. Most photography is in this category too.

Are Frank's, Lassen's, Ross's, and Gurney's artwork devoid of creativity, meaning, soul, and wit?

No. Neither is Kinkade's. Or maybe Bob Ross is a fascist too for the crime of (checks notes) creating beautiful and uplifting art.

You don't have to like the subject matter, but then you wouldn't like the above artists either.

I take exception to Kinkade too, but more because the cost of his prints are inflated beyond all reason. As an artist, if you make prints, the prints must be at a reachable price for the average person. That is the point of a print. Kinkade's prints are all at scalper prices which don't reflect their worth. Of course, this ties in to the "scam" he was running ... but honestly, if stupid people are willing to pay $200-$6000 for a print with a hand-painted rock in the corner because they think it's going to be worth more someday, then that's a personal problem. Buying a physical object as your investment mechanism is a risk, as is all investment. That's your problem and your own fault. Kinkade is detestable, not because of the art which is perfectly good, but because he found a way to exploit stupid people at scalper prices (also for his personality I guess, but that's not relevant to most people). But if you're convinced it's worth paying $6000 for a print with a tiny fragment of hand-painted something on it, that's not really exploitation if you knew about it, is it?

This is really more commentary on the idiocy of the average American person than on Kinkade himself. I object to his methods on a philosophical level because art prints should be accessible. I don't object to the art itself, or care that stupid people paid those prices.

Also, that video is extremely sub-par. Sure, they walk through Kinkade's life story, which is interesting, but they make fun of his personal appearance, which is extremely unprofessional and irrelevant. And this, despite the fact that the people producing the vid look worse than Kinkade does. The guest speaker artist adds zero value to the video. He also doesn't know who James Gurney is, which is ... embarrassing to say the least. I'm not sure why he's on the show because he's just not useful. Both men consistently speak over the lady on the show, and the number of words she says can be counted on one hand. Either she simply has nothing to add, or the two men are chronically obsessed with pointless quips to the extent that they never leave room for her to contribute. In essence, the main narrator simply reads from a script he's presumably written, and derails himself with bad taste jokes every two minutes, which the guest artist contributes to, and which the lady looks either unimpressed or disgusted by. The story they tell could have been interesting in terms of Kinkade's business practices and how he made his millions, had they actually dived very deep into it, but they didn't. It was a supremely superficial coverage that obsessed more over personality flaws extremely common to many famous people. That Kinkade also had these flaws is not remotely interesting.

Also the video says nothing about fascists, so defaulting to that opinion just because you hate everything conservative is weird and also a bad faith take. I don't care that many people dislike Kinkade and his work (I would never buy Kinkade, but more out of principle and because my tastes have evolved since then), but I do care when people take their own opinion as gospel regarding what is and isn't good art. Quite obviously, there's nothing factual about an opinion, and opinions about art are meaningless because they're about personal preference and nothing else of relevance.

Kinkade's art is good. It's real art. You don't have to like it. The people who paid more than $20 for a print of it are stupid.

You also can't psychoanalyze a fascist by their art preference or even make sweeping statements about the type of art they like. And even if that's what you wanted to do, one bad video about one artist isn't how you do it.

If you want a really good basic-level exploration about why fascists have no fucking taste and can't make good art, the Behind the Bastards episodes about Thomas Kinkade are fantastic.

Basically, the fascist view of art is that art should always be beautiful and uplifting, with an incredibly narrow definition of what beautiful and uplifting means. It's fundamentally anti-creativity and its art is removed of all meaning, soul and wit.

[nerdlvr]

mr. lee (donghyuck)

(MDNI)

smut , boss hyuck RAHHH , this hyuck , secretary reader , business company stuff idk stock market stuff HE'S A RICH BOSS CEO OKAY , a bunch of shit that is UNETHICAL , jealous hyuck , park jisung cameo yuhh , kissing ofc , a singular pussy lick , insane backshots , clothes sex ig? , creampie woop , unprotected sex (be smart ffs) , hair pulling , hyuck's kinda mean and degrading but in a hot boss way , the real warning is unpaid overtime (paid in dick) , inspo from my situationship and this request !

last time he checked, the intern's desk was on the opposite end of the office, a small dim corner, exactly where he belonged. so could someone please explain why he's been standing at your desk for half an hour talking your ear off?

the worst part is that you seemed to enjoy his company, giggling at his words, even throwing in a couple arm grabs when the joke was just that funny. what does an intern even know about funny? the only thing funny about him was that sad little thing he called his salary.

his tie seemed to suddenly be suffocating him, quick fingers working to loosen the fabric, an intern really y/n? did you have no standards?

your soft giggles were muffled, only your pretty smile being proof of some lame joke mr. park was telling.

he watched you like a hawk through the glass walls of his office, fist balled and leg shaking uncomfortably against his desk.

.

you and jisung jumped at the loud bang of mr. lee's door, your heads quickly turning to where he stood.

"go home."

jisung's eyes widened, his words coming out weak and stuttered,

"s-sorry?"

mr. lee rolled his eyes, his long legs pressing against his suit pants as he strode towards the two of you.

"i said- go. home."

he lifted his finger to point towards the elevator, his head turning slightly to tease jisung.

"you're the last one here, and instead of catching up on work you're deciding to flirt with my secretary who-"

he turned towards you, hands now coming to land at your desk,

"also should be catching up on work. isn't that right ms. l/n"

you bit your lip as you looked towards jisung's tense figure. your eyes only met for a second before mr. lee had lifted a folder in between your faces, a small scoff leaving his lips.

"please, while i'm asking nicely, go home park jisung. or i promise you won't have a job to come back to tomorrow."

jisung didn't even give it a second thought, grabbing his bag from your desk and bowing deeply towards you both before b-lining straight to the staircase.

mr. lee turned to you, a sarcastic smile on his face as he clasped his hands together,

"meet me in my office in 5 minutes."

you peaked from your desk to watch as he walked away, you were in so much trouble.

.

why was 5 minutes taking so long? maybe he should've said come to my office as soon as possible but that was definitely too desperate. not that he has anything to be desperate for... he just wanted to have a little talk on using your work time wisely, instead of flirting with some low grade intern.

he impatiently looked towards you desk, your soft eyes already staring towards his office nervously. he lifted his hand, gesturing for you to come. the scene was almost comedic as you scrambled to line up your paperwork, almost tripping as you rushed into his office.

.

you stood tensely in front of him, chest rising and falling quickly with each hesitant breath. your neat pencil skirt hugged each of your curves, white button down slightly unbuttoned revealing just enough skin to drive him insane.

you followed his gaze, hand coming up to quickly button your shirt.

"i- i have your paperwork mr. lee, i called our contractor but he said that he wanted to wait until mr. zhong approved, but he's on a business trip in-"

he raised his hand, your lips clamping shut,

"did i call you in for paperwork?"

you swallowed hard, fingers playing with the ends of the folders you carried,

"i just figured- since you said i had work to catch up on- i- i've caught up on everything-"

he knew you were competent, probably the most competent secretary he's ever had. he looked up at you, a small smirk playing on his lips,

"i didn't call you in for paperwork ms. l/n. i apologize if it seemed like i was questioning your work ethic earlier."

your shoulders relaxed, a soft sigh leaving your lips,

"i called you in to talk about your lack of professionally in the workplace."

your eyes grew wide as you stared down at him, you relaxed posture now once again tense.

"this is the third day i've seen you blatantly flirt with the intern for longer than half an hour. do you have any shame?"

"i- i- i wasn't flirting with jisu-"

"it's a yes or a no ms. l/n."

"no mr. lee."

his smirk grew, his legs spreading as he relaxed into his chair.

"no? you have no shame? ms. l/n likes flirting with that boy in my face?"

your head hung low as you waited for his next words, folders in your hands now slightly crumpled from your fidgeting. you heard him leave his seat, his black dress shoes coming into view as he stood in front of you.

he brought his hand up to hold your chin, lifting your head to look at him,

"be good and look at me when i'm speaking to you."

you nodded against his palm, his warm fingers burning your skin,

"yes sir."

his free hand moved along your hip and up to your shirt, tugging apart the button you had just fixed. his fingers slipped past you shirt, poking softly at your exposed skin.

"you know how hard it is to watch you flirt with a nobody when i'm right in here waiting for you?"

your eyes widened slightly, your hands now gripping his to stop the light tickling against your breasts.

"for- for me?"

he leaned down towards your ear, his breath hot against your skin,

"why else do you think i call you in here so often? time after time i tell you to come into my office, but the only time you show any interest is when you're talking to some low grade employee."

he released his hand from your grip, bringing it down to hold the back of your waist, pulling you against his chest.

"why are you so stiff with me? am i not worthy of your attention?"

your breath shuddered, hands now gripping the ends of his suit jacket,

"n-no that's not it mr. lee-"

"because you've clearly caught mine, how could i ever ignore this pretty girl, hm? so let me show you i'm worthy of your attention."

this was wrong. so wrong. but as he untucked your shirt, hands finding warmth against your bare skin, you couldn't help the soft sighs that threatened to spill past your lips.

"stop holding it in, let me hear you."

"thi- this is wrong mr. lee, we can't-"

his hands reached up to the back of your bra, fingers skillfully opening one clasp after the other,

"who said we can't? your boss?"

he chuckled into your neck, your body still tense in his grasp,

"come on baby it's just us."

he brought his free hand towards the end of your skirt, pulling it up to reveal your black lace panties. he tutted at you, an unimpressed expression on his face. his hand slid against the fabric, snapping the waist band against your skin,

"wearing this to work? were you expecting mr. park to see you in these?"

your grip on his suit tightened as he ran his hands against your ass, stopping to grab onto the supple skin,

"answer me."

"n-no sir."

he hummed in approval, hand moving past your ass and towards your core, his fingers softly pressing against your soaked panties.

"did you wear these for me then, hm? wanted your boss to see you in these? cause this pretty pussy clearly wants me, so who else would it be for?"

you couldn't help the soft whimpers that left your lips, your hands moving up to hold onto his shoulders, your legs weakening at his touch.

"no-nobody else sir, just- just you."

he chuckled as you melted against him, arms wrapping around your waist to hold you up. he leaned down to plant a kiss on your lips, soft and reassuring,

"you're in control baby, just say no and i'll stop okay?"

you reached your hands up to cup his face, pulling him back down to press your lips against his.

this kiss was different from the one before, your actions giving him the confirmation he needed. his grip against your body was tight, pulling you impossibly closer to him as he licked into your mouth. he pulled away grinning as you chased after him, a small whine leaving your lips,

"so needy baby."

he pulled you towards his desk, quickly pushing away any paperwork that has been splayed on the surface,

"mr. lee!"

he rolled his eyes at your shocked expression,

"you're practically dripping on my floor ms. l/n. there are bigger issues to deal with right now than some- fuck- shut up and turn around."

you listened to his orders, gasping as he pushed you against his desk, his hand firm against your back,

"sorry-"

he rubbed your back soothingly, his clothed length now pressing against your ass, watching as your juices stained his pants,

"shh, it's okay baby, look at you, you're just begging to get fucked."

you winced as you felt a harsh slap land against your ass,

"like that? i can see you squeezing your thighs, don't hide from me."

he slipped his fingers past the waistband of your panties, pulling them down to hang at your ankles. the groan he let out was animalistic, hands immediately spreading your ass to get a better look,

"shit- got the prettiest pussy i've ever seen-"

you lifted your leg slightly, squeezing your thighs together as he got down to lick a stripe up your cunt, savoring the taste of you,

"and so fucking sweet too- jesus."

your turned you head as you heard the buckle of his belt, his fingers quick and impatient as he released himself from his confines, length slapping against his stomach.

"like what you see?"

the smirk on his face was borderline mocking, his hand coming down to pump his length. you bit your lip, wishing it was you wrapped around him instead. his smirk only grew as you pushed you hips back towards him, slightly arching your back.

he pushed his bare length against your heat, leaning down to press his weight against your back. his hand wrapped around your hair, pulling your head to the side so he could get close to your ear,

"didn't think you'd be so desperate ms. l/n. want your boss's cock that bad hm? want me to fuck you? teach you how to behave at work?"

you grunted in response, his hips rocking against your core,

"yes, yes. want you so bad mr. lee, so bad."

you felt his hand move down to grip the base of his length, angling himself to push his swollen tip against your entrance,

"say that again for me, say, 'want your cock so bad mr. lee, need it'"

you could hear the smirk in his tone, the tip of his length already stretching your walls,

"want your cock, mr. lee- fuck- need it so bad."

"close enough."

he filled you up in one swift movement, the stretch making your eyes water. you let out a gasp, hand reaching for the corner of his desk for support. his hips were pressed hard against your ass, hands gripping your waist to keep you in place,

"shittt, got the sweetest little pussy, you're sucking me in so good baby- fuck-"

he pulled his length out of you completely, his tip pressing at your entrance again before he snapped his hips into you. you shook against his desk, strangled moans filling the room as he repeated his movements, over and over.

he ran his hands up your back softly, stopping them to hold onto your shoulders, fingers digging into your skin roughly,

"don't move, be a good girl and take me."

he picked up in pace, the sound of skin slapping growing louder. your eyes were squeezed shut as you gripped onto the desk, his name leaving your lips like a prayer. you grunted as he slammed his hips into you, his body coming down to lay against your back,

"say my name baby, wanna hear you say it, say donghyuck."

he brought his arm down to wrap around your hip, fingers pressing hard against your clit as he rocked his hips against you,

"fuck- fuck, you're so deep donghyuck please, please i'm so close."

"just like that baby, so good, so fucking good for me."

he used his free hand to grab your messy hair, his other still working against your sensitive bud. you were a blabbering mess under him, a mix of curses and his name, his real name, spilling out of your lips, your head was glued to the desk as his hips picked up in pace.

"shit- how are you getting tighter?"

his dirty words filled your ears, your core squeezing impossible tighter around him as you felt your stomach tighten. you turned to look at him, his suit was a mess, sweat building all over his body, his tie practically falling off of him. his eyebrows were knit together, bottom lip stuck in between his teeth as his eyes focused on where your bodies met. the image of him was more than enough, your thighs squeezed together as your head hit his desk, your mouth hanging open in a silent scream.

his hips never faltered, grip on your hair only tightening as he continued to fuck you, your body grew limp against his desk, his laugh mocking as he watched you twitched under him, his fingers still moving quickly against your clit,

"hyuck- donghyuck- 's too much, please, please."

you squeezed tightly around him, a groan leaving his lips as you moved your hips away from him. he moved his hands to grip tightly at the skirt that was bunched at your waist, keeping you in place,

"don't fucking move- or i swear, fuck."

you whined against his desk, spit dripping from the side of your mouth as he slammed into you, chasing his own high. your whimpers only led him on, your fucked out face making his stomach tighten. his perfect little secretary, laid out on his desk, begging for his cock, what a dream.

you tightened around him, overstimulation making your core ache,

"please hyuck, please, want you to fill me up so bad, cum inside me please, please."

your begging was what finally set him off, his hips stuttering as his cum spilled into you, a strangled groan leaving his lips as he hunched over you, pulling you close.

he laid his forehead on your shoulder blade, his light pants warming your skin,

"fuck-"

he slapped your ass lightly,

"don't do that."

you giggled as he huffed against your back, his length softening inside your pulsing walls. your body was weak against his desk as he slowly pulled out of you, his cum dripping onto his floor. he reached forward to spread you open, watching as you clenched around nothing.

"i'm firing mr. park tomorrow morning for even thinking he could touch you."

you groaned at the feeling of him squeezing your ass, body growing sore.

"mr. park? who even is that?"

you heard him chuckle as he reached for some tissues,

"smart girl."

[roosterforme]

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 24 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley intended to take care of a few important things while he had the week off from work, but a quick visit to base brought with it a change of plans.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, adult language, smut, very hands-on Bradley, spanking, 18+

Length: 3500 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

The following day, instead of dressing in a uniform or flight suit, Bradley pulled on jeans and a tropical print shirt while he watched you get yourself ready for work.

"You look cute," he murmured as you wiggled into a dress and some simple flats. "And I like it that you're officially living here now instead of just staying for a few days."

"The commute is not ideal," you told him immediately. "But this is." You placed your hand on his abs before giving him the sweetest kiss that left him soft inside. "This is ideal."

Fuck. He was so in love it was insane. As soon as he was back in your presence for a few hours, having sex and eating pasta, he could barely remember how miserable he'd been on that deployment. It was like nothing else mattered as long as he kept coming back to you.

"Let me pack your lunch," he whispered, tilting your chin up for another one of those kisses. Then he was on his way to the kitchen before he could make you late for school. Before he got home, you filled the refrigerator with everything he liked to eat, and he inhaled two yogurts and some peanut butter toast while he made your sandwich. 

The notes you opened from the box he sent were on the kitchen counter, and he smiled. Nat covered for him big time on Christmas Eve so he could make that happen. He was excited to get to see her when he stopped by North Island, but he had to get you to work first.

"You don't need to drop me off. It's so far out of the way," you told him as you appeared with your tote bag. "I'll drive myself."

When he pouted, you laughed. "Come on, Gorgeous. I want to. I need to stop on base anyway."

"Oh, can you remind Marty and Nat about Career Day?" you asked, holding your bag open for your lunch.

"Nat's coming, too? You'll have the whole of the Navy there, Baby."

"The kids would love that."

Bradley narrowed his eyes. "As long as I'm still the favorite."

"You're irreplaceable," you promised.

You weren't exaggerating one bit when you said the commute was a killer. Bradley hummed along to the radio and held your hand, barely making it through the Starbucks drive-thru line and up to your school before the last minute that you needed to be there.

"I love you. Bye," you told him, kissing him quickly before jumping out the passenger door and running up the sidewalk with your enormous drink in one hand. He was absolutely addicted to the coffee now as well, and after he was sure you made it inside, he sipped his own cup as he drove back down the highway.

It was strange to be going through the guard gates this late in the morning, and when he approached the hangar in his street clothes, he heard Nat's voice and sassy whistle immediately. 

"Looking good, Rooster. Did you forget to do your laundry? Did you forget what time work started while you were deployed?" she called, and he made a point to mess up her hair when she gave him a tight hug. "You're the worst."

"I missed you too, Nat," he told her with a laugh. "Thanks for looking after my girl."

She shrugged and said, "I'm always in the market for drinking wine and talking about you behind your back. Plus, she's actually great. Hanging out with her is the best."

"Yeah," he replied, laughing harder. "That's why I want to do it all the time. I intend to do it forever."

One of her dark eyebrows shot up, and she smirked as she said, "Like forever, forever?"

He ducked his head and cleared his throat. "Yeah, but engagement rings are expensive." Natasha screeched and punched him in the shoulder. "Why are you like this?" he asked as she smacked him several times and jumped around excitedly.

Bradley was saved from being attacked when Maverick walked in with his familiar clipboard in hand and a frown on his face. "Phoenix, you're supposed to be in the tower. Rooster, welcome back. Why aren't you dressed?"

"My vacation days got approved," Bradley replied as Natasha quietly crept away. "I'm off the rest of the week. Didn't anyone tell you?"

"It's probably in my emails." Maverick's frown faded away as he pulled Bradley in for a hug. "I was a little worried for a minute there that you'd end up back in Norfolk." He slapped him on the back. "If you're off all week, why are you here?"

Bradley chuckled. "I just wanted to see everyone. Like you said, I was a little worried about Norfolk, too."

Maverick eyed him closely. "And did I hear you say something about an engagement ring?"

It wasn't like there was anything to hide. Bradley figured it was pretty obvious to everyone by now that his relationship with you was the real deal. Hell, Maverick even compared it to his own parents. "Yeah, I'm going to buy one this month. I just need to juggle some finances around to make sure I can get her something really pretty. But I'm going to start looking today."

A slow nod turned into a beaming smile, and then Maverick said, "Before you do anything, I have something you might want to know about."

-----------------------------

You were dead on your feet at work. Staying up half the night making love and snuggling left you with a smile on your face, but you couldn't stop yawning. Your students noticed right away as you drained your coffee and groaned when the bell rang signaling the start of class.

"Did you have a hard time sleeping?" Jayden asked.

"A little bit," you replied, remembering the way you had to keep pinching yourself to make sure Bradley's strong arm wrapped around you all night was real.

"Was there a loud noise that kept you up?" Nia asked.

You tried not to snort as you thought about Bradley's moans and grunts in your ear as he fucked you from behind. "Something like that. It's time to review our spelling words."

Even though you insisted that Bradley didn't need to drive you to work, he did, and he promised he'd be back right on time to pick you up at the end of the day. But he was such a liar. He arrived at your classroom fifteen minutes before dismissal time with rosy cheeks and eighteen envelopes.

"Lieutenant Bradshaw's here!" Nia called out when your boyfriend knocked on the door before slipping inside. 

He made a beeline right to you, placing a rather innocent kiss on your cheek. "I hope you don't mind, but I wanted to drop these off," he said, holding up the envelopes. The top one had Jackie's name on it, and your heart soared. Butterflies took off. You had to work really hard not to kiss him again.

"We don't mind," you told him, and you watched him pass out the individual notes he must have written for your students while he was deployed. All eyes were on him as he walked around your classroom, delivering envelopes and answering questions.

"When did you get home from the Atlantic Ocean?"

"Was the food good on the aircraft carrier?"

"Are you coming back for Career Day on Friday?"

Bradley took everything in stride like he always did, but his eyes returned to yours frequently, and his flushed cheeks left you feeling dizzy.

"I got home yesterday," he said, voice deep and commanding as he set the last of his envelopes down on Violet's desk. "The food was terrible. So bad. Nothing like the Pacific Fleet. Nowhere near as good as what you ate on your field trip to North Island. I'm thinking about writing a letter to complain."

"You should," Violet told him seriously. "Yummy, balanced meals are so important."

"You're so right," he replied with a nod. "And yes, I'll be back on Friday for Career Day. Your teacher worked so hard on it, I wouldn't miss it for anything." You were gripping the edge of your desk now as he smiled at you.

"I didn't know you were allowed to wear anything except your uniforms," marveled Oliver.

Bradley looked down at his patterned shirt and laughed. "Should I stick with the flight suit for Friday?"

Then the dismissal bell rang, and your kids started to scramble. You usually had them packed up and ready to go a few minutes early, but Bradley was clearly more exciting than the end of the school day. 

"Don't forget about the spelling test tomorrow!" you called out as they all exited the room in a mass of chaos after high fiving your boyfriend. "Thanks for surprising us," you said as you spun to face him.

"Thanks for being so perfect that I can't stay away from you."

Your cheeks blazed with warmth as you ducked against his chest. Muscular arms wrapped you up in a hug as you muttered, "Did you remind Natasha and Marty about Friday?"

"Mmhmm."

"And did you get to see Maverick?"

He paused before squeezing you a little tighter and kissing the top of your head. "Uh, yes. I did. Now will you let me take you home so I can get back to my busy schedule of eating delicious food, napping and fucking you senseless?"

---------------------------

Bradley spent the following day unpacking more of your stuff while you were at work. You had all these fancy things he needed to make room for. Like an air fryer. And a rice cooker. Things he would have never used otherwise, but he didn't mind having them here now. 

He took breaks to read from the journal you kept while he was away, often smiling and laughing at what you'd written in your daily log. It was no wonder he fell in love with you through your writing; you were just the same as you were in person and so authentic this way. Then he read about the day you helped Edith with some chores, and he sprawled out on the couch with a groan.

You were the sweetest thing in his life. One time, Vanessa told him that Edith was annoying and only wanted attention. He rolled his eyes then, and he rolled them again now. She was elderly. Of course she wanted attention. But Bradley knew she also had arthritis, and helping her with yard work was fast and painless for him. He couldn't imagine you saying anything like that.

Bradley slipped into a hazy daydream, thinking about how he wanted to propose to you as his feet hung over the end of the couch. He wasn't going to last long now, and he knew it. Not with that ring tucked away in a Zip-lock bag which was duct taped underneath the bathroom sink vanity behind the pipes. If nothing else, he knew it was there, and he could rip it down any time he felt like asking you to marry him, but he wanted it to be special. Really special.

Maybe he could write something for you. Maybe he should take you out to dinner again. There had to be a way to make it just right so you couldn't say no.

After a few more minutes of indulging in the fantasy of having you as his wife, he stood up and attempted to use the air fryer to make lunch. Pretty soon he gave up and made a sandwich instead before walking next door to knock on Edith's door.

"Bradley!" she said, pulling the door open for him. "You're home. Your girlfriend told me you were deployed earlier this month."

"I just got back on Monday. A little bruised, but no worse for the wear," he told her with a smile. "I wanted to see if you needed help with anything."

"Oh, your sweet girlfriend already changed my light bulbs for me," she told him. Then she lowered her voice and smirked. "She's a looker."

"Yeah," he confirmed with a nod. "She's Gorgeous. She also moved in with me, so if I'm not home and you need something, you can always ask her, okay?" 

Edith fretted her hands, and Bradley leaned back out the open front door, knowing she wouldn't agree to his help unless she paid him in some way. Truthfully, he really did feel like playing the piano anyway. "It looks like you've got some weeds that need to be pulled, and your downspout is loose again. How about you think of a cool song to teach me, and I'll be back in like fifteen minutes?"

He ducked outside before she could answer, but he could hear her tapping away at the piano keys as he yanked some dried up weeds out of the soft soil. While he worked, he pictured the sheet music that Edith kept stacked up inside the piano bench, and he started to come up with an idea. The more he thought about the pages stacked up in his own house, the more he liked his plan. 

He was all smiles when he sat down for her to teach him how to play a Bob Dylan classic, and he was still whistling the tune when he went to pick you up from work.

---------------------------

On Thursday night, Bradley had you snuggling on top of him on the couch when you should have really been going over your final plans for Career Day. "You are such a distraction," you whispered, arms and legs wrapped up with his to keep warm since you were wearing nothing but his old sweatshirt.

His fingers flexed on the back of your thigh as he smirked and turned his head to face you instead of the TV. "And you're the best for helping me relax all week." His breath was warm on your cheek, and he kissed you there, saying, "Don't stress about tomorrow. It'll be perfect."

You nuzzled your cheek against his shoulder. "I still have to put all of my guests in order. I need to schedule the most impressive presentation last, for the grand finale."

"Okay, so put me last then, Gorgeous."

You grinned and tried not to giggle. "I was actually thinking Marty."

Bradley's hand slid up from your thigh, smoothing over your butt, and you knew what was coming even before you clenched with need. Bradley smacked you one time, and you moaned as he soothed away the sting with his palm. You were instantly aroused, fingers tingling and ears burning. Bradley's dark eyes were wide, searching your face, questioning what he should do next. When you nodded once, he grunted, and that big hand landed on you again, breaking the silence.

"Fuck," you gasped, rear end stinging as Bradley cupped and squeezed you, pulling you a few inches up his body so he could kiss you. His cock was getting hard in his gym shorts, pressing against your belly, driving you wild.

"You like that?" he whispered between heated kisses, but you barely wanted to take the time to breathe.

"Yes," you replied, mouth mashing against his. Both of his hands came up to your waist, yanking the sweatshirt over your head and dropping it on the floor. Then your lips were back on his as you moaned into his mouth.

The sex had been so sweet since he got home, and neither of you could be blamed for wanting so much of it after going so long without. But this was something else. Bradley's fingers dug into your flesh, and his kisses were rough. Demanding. You spread your legs a little wider, arching your back, silently begging for him to spank you again.

He did not disappoint.

You were aching, whining his name, enthralled by the cocky smirk on his face and the possessiveness in his eyes. "You want more, Gorgeous?" he asked, voice dark as his smirk grew. When you nodded vigorously, he kissed your lips so softly before he said, "You'll schedule me last for Career Day? I think it's where I belong, since I'm the most impressive."

Oh my god. He was playing with you now. You knew he wasn't actually jealous of Marty or Nat or any of the classroom parents, but he knew that you knew that your students would always think he was the most impressive. You would, too.

When you tried to kiss him, he pulled his face away from yours as he stroked your tender rear end with his fingertips. "Yes," you promised, "I'll put you last. You're the most impressive."

"Good girl." 

You gasped as he spanked you one more time, then he kissed you before pushing you up so you were straddling his thighs. When he yanked down his gym shorts, you were treated to the sight of his cock, thick and hard, smacking against his abs.

"Clearly I think you're impressive," he grunted, licking his thumb before running it along your swollen clit. It took no more coaxing before you had your hand wrapped around his cock, guiding him right where you wanted. You sank down on him, already a mess as he thrust up into you, hard.

"Bradley!" His hands were on your breasts, cupping you as he bucked his hips up again.

"Look at you," he rasped, fucking you rough while his hands were gentle. You bounced up and down, bracing yourself awkwardly on the too small couch. "Where do you want me to touch you?" he asked, eyes glued on your face and body. "Show me."

Without hesitation, you wrapped your fingers around his right wrist and moved his hand back to your butt. "A little more," you told him, voice shaking as he fucked you so good. Then he spanked you again and again, and you could feel it everywhere as you cried out. 

It was too much and not enough, and you bit your lip as he alternated between soothing you and spanking you until you were shaking, orgasm building. "Baby, you look and feel too good like this," he whined, wrapping his hands around your hips. "I'm so close."

But you were already there. You came as you leaned down and kissed him, those big hands sliding up, stroking your shoulders and neck as gently as you were used to while your ass tingled. You were making some wild sounds as you rode him until he filled you with his cum, then the two of you were panting in unison as your forehead came to rest against his.

You could feel him smiling, mustache brushing your lips as he said, "That was fun. Didn't know you would like it so much."

You moaned and said, "I'm as surprised as you are. And I'll put you last tomorrow. You're the grand finale. Obviously."

"Obviously," he agreed. "Just keep in mind, I'll be more than happy to spank you when you give me a hard time like that again." His lips found the side of your neck, his cock was still inside you as he murmured, "Got it?"

"Oh, loud and clear."

He chuckled, nipping along your skin as your butt throbbed a bit. You didn't want to move, but his stomach started loudly growling. Carefully, you started to sit up, brushing your fingers through his hair as you said, "It's been hours since you ate. Let's find something in the kitchen."

When you stood on wobbly legs, Bradley stayed lounging on the couch, guiding you and turning you so he could place one soft kiss on the spot on your butt where he had spanked you. Then he got to his feet as well, picked up the sweatshirt, and put it back on you.

He kissed the back of your neck and told you he never wanted to leave you again while you made him a grilled cheese sandwich. "Love you too much," he muttered, hand on your thigh as his leg brushed your tender rear end.

You thought about the weeks he was deployed without communication and how awful it was, but this right here was worth it. Making love in bed and rough sex on the couch. Learning what makes each other tick and sharing meals and enjoying how good it feels to have him hold you. All worth it.

When the sandwich was ready, you cut it into four triangles and took a small bite out of one before holding it up for him to eat it. "Thanks, Baby," he whispered, finishing it in one bite before you fed him the second one and then the third in similar fashion. He was finishing the last piece when he wrapped his arms around you and said, "Okay, Gorgeous, now I'm ready to help you get organized for Career Day before bed."

You laughed. "I just need to write a few things down and pick out an outfit."

"Oh. I wouldn't wear anything too tight," he suggested, smirking once more. "You're about to be sore tomorrow."

---------------------------------

Okay, Maverick. Okay. Career Day is up next, and I need something nice to be there for Marty. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 25

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[gaywineauntsstuff]

Dick Grayson was so abnormal as a child but so normal as an adult which leads me to believe he’s a liar.

Like 8yro dick stared into the abyss (Bruce Wayne’s entire personality as viewed through the windows of one’s eyes to the soul bc he’s a creepy 8 yr old ofc he can tell ur life story from the amount of light reflected in your eyes don’t be dumb) and instead of running away screaming he just nodded like that made complete sense and then went

I need to look like a traffic light to fight crime bc the big guy is into thematics and that all makes perfect sense to me

And Dick as an adults is like

“What are you doing?” *pinches no bridge* “no that’s stupid don’t be stupid”

“No I don’t think dead bodies are a healthy escalation”

“Idk man when I’m sad I call Clancy ya know my therapist I don’t traumatize random strangers?”

Like yeah sure he has anger issues I would also have them if I had his life

And he’s like suffered hallucinations sometimes (after living in Gotham who wouldn’t?)

But he has like friends and hobbies and seems like the type of dude who’d wear flannel and take you to a dog friendly farmers market for organic lavender honey but also the best pulled pork sandwich of your life for a first date.

Like normal guy with quirks

Vs

Might be the anti Christ

So he’s lying

(But it’s also funny to think that Dick accidentally developed himself into being a normal dude and then him and Bruce fought bc Dick no longer matched is insane- I disagree with this bc no they just can’t communicate also nothing in Dicks internal monologue bodes well for his mental health)

Like 1000% lying

Like he still does the creepy giggle to scare criminals when no other hero’s are around

He definitely does like ventriloquy stuff where he’ll make people think there are children’s ghosts trapped inside cargo

Like he absolutely has made the riddler cry out of sheer wtf

[innerfare]

Random Ace Headcanons 

Summary: A collection of random Ace headcanons

Genre: Fluff

CW: None // SFW

———

Really enjoys spicy food. Has such a high tolerance for it that he’s not allowed to cook for the crew if the chef is out because he always ends up knocking everyone on his feet. The sort of guy to carry a bottle of hot sauce on him. 

If he had a tail, it would be wagging nonstop. Seriously, nobody would ever be intimidated by him ever again because even when he was mad, that tail would be going a mile an hour. He started to grow out of his tsundere-ness as an adult, but he still had his moments, and the tail would totally ruin it. 

Is dyslexic, but had never even heard that word before he met Marco. He didn’t exactly receive a quality education from Dadan and the mountain bandits (no hate, Dadan is mom of the year). He can barely read but plays it off out of pride, always thought the words were supposed to look like that and the ease with which others could read was fuel to the fire that is his low self esteem. Marco diagnosed him but hasn’t made much progress in treatment because Ace can’t sit still long enough. 

Is far more intelligent than people give him credit for. A lot of the time, when he seems dumb, it’s because he’s not confident enough to say the answer out loud. His intelligence really shows in strategy games. Thatch thought Ace always winning at go was a fluke at first, but he quickly realized he never should have doubted the young new recruit. 

Is very much aware he can get away with things if he flashes a cute smile. The rest of the crew is very much aware of it, too, to the point they have assigned him a new, designated position: fixer. Whenever someone gets into trouble, they send the Second Division Commander in to rizz up the offended party (or take them out, if his cute smile doesn’t work). He's a sweet talker, too.

Always gets free stuff from markets, bakeries, etc. Literally can’t go into a bakery without the cute girl behind the counter insisting he take one of the warm cookies she just pulled out of the oven. It drives Marco insane, especially since he knows he himself is not immune to that cute freckled face and boyish smile. 

Loves having his hair played with so much that he can’t get through a haircut without blushing.  Doesn’t get a haircut on deck of the Moby Dick like some of the other guys because he’s so embarrassed about it, just cuts it himself with a knife like he started doing when he was just a little kid, won’t let anyone (except perhaps a lover) touch it. 

Makino used to give him haircuts sometimes, and it was definitely one of those adolescent awakening moments for him. Still embarrassed at the thought. Sometimes wonders if Makino would be impressed by him now or if she still would view him as a cute little boy. Isn’t even sure which one he would prefer. 

Is actually a really good dancer, can move like he was made for it. Nobody ever taught him formally, but he’s really good at picking up steps. It’s his go-to when there’s someone he likes, and he’s so good at it, it actually drives the crew a little insane. 

Has a collection of animal teeth taken from the beasts he’s taken down, going back to when he was just a little kid, even before he met Luffy or Sabo. He remembers each and every one and can recount the story of taking them down. He also has a tiger pelt that he keeps in his cabin; it was supposed to be a blanket but he runs too hot so now he keeps it as a rug. 

Sends money back to Dadan every month. He keeps the angry letters she sends him telling him to stop as tokens of gratitude. Initially, he told himself it was to pay her back for taking care of Luffy on her own after he left, but once Luffy turned seventeen, he kept doing it because he got such a kick out of the angry letters (and it eases his guilt for growing up there since he feels he was a complete imposition). 

Tears down his wanted posters when he sees them. Everyone thinks it’s because of some gripe with the World Government, but it’s actually because he once came across one of his father’s old wanted posters as a child, and when he saw his own, was struck by the similarity in their features. Hates his appearance in general for this reason, lies to people and tells them he got his mother’s looks (doesn’t even know what his mother looked like). 

Shed a tear (in private, of course) after he ate his devil fruit because he missed swimming so much- the feeling of running around the woods, hunting dinner, and then diving into a cool stream to cool down while the meat cooks was one of his favorite feelings in the world. Would give anything to dive into a mountain stream with Luffy and Sabo again. 

Speaking of Sabo, he always pours one out for his brother. The same can be said especially for food. He’ll set aside a portion of meat for his brother. He sets some aside for Luffy, too, knowing how much his baby brother would enjoy the meal if he were there. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[blindmagdalena]

Center Stage in a Gilded Cage (chapter three)

18+ 3.8k. homelander x f!reader. pre-s1. stalking, kidnapping, imprisonment, forced relationship, slow burn, eventual smut. fic directory | AO3

Now that he's got you all to himself, it's clear that Homelander has no intention of letting you go. For the sake of your own survival, you have no choice but to adopt his madness and play along with his domestic fantasy.

Homelander is insane.

You don’t know how to reconcile the hero of Vought’s marketing with this man, whose very presence unnerves you. There’s something uncanny about the way he moves, speaks, even the way he smiles at you. It all feels simultaneously practiced, and yet like he’s never actually spoken one on one to another human being.

The sentiment spins in your mind like a record, the melody scratchy and discordant. It’s as though you’ve fallen into some kind of bizzaro dimension where up is down, the sky is green, and Vought’s golden hero is a delusional kidnapping maniac who premeditated your abduction to the point of filling his home with a perfectly curated wardrobe for you. Even the products in the bathroom mirror your own.

You are home.

The conviction with which he said it gives you goosebumps. In the moment you’d been numb, trapped somewhere between reality and dream. That feeling–some mixture of shock and whatever he drugged you with–lingers with you even now, like you’ll wake up from this nightmarish fantasy at any moment.

You smooth your hands down your body, now clad in unfamiliar silk that feels cool and expensive against your skin. The sleep wear fits you like a glove. It’s your favorite color. It could have been pulled straight from your own closet if not for the lack of wear and the undoubtedly exorbitant price tag. All for wearing to bed.

Bed.

Nerves flutter in your gut like caged birds. You give yourself one last lingering look in the mirror. Washed and lotioned with the menagerie of products left for you, you’re unable to stall in the bathroom any longer. You’re as “comfortable” as you’re going to get, and Homelander’s waiting for you.

The thought makes you shiver. You can still feel his hands on your wrists like phantom shackles. From the moment he snapped and grabbed you, shocking you with immeasurable inhuman strength, you knew you were going to have to proceed with extreme caution.

There’s something deeply wrong with him, and you’re terrified of what else he’s capable of.

What if you’re not the first person he’s done this to?

Worse than that thought, what if you’re not the last?

It’s a short walk back to the bedroom, the way lit by the dim spotlights that hang over the portraits that litter the walls. There’s an eeriness to the penthouse that makes you feel as though you’re walking through an empty museum after hours.

The glossy wood flooring is as cold as tile beneath your bare feet, every part of this place hard and manufactured. It feels more like an enclosure than a home.

Even more bizarre than the decor is the layout itself. You haven’t seen the whole place yet–he had insisted a tour was for daylight hours–but rounding the corner from the living room takes you to an open alcove that serves as his bedroom.

You hesitate in the open hall, struck by the sight of yourself reflected a dozen times over in the mirrors that make up his bedroom walls and ceiling, and Homelander himself already tucked into bed, his torso bare.

Your stomach flips. He smiles at you, beckoning you with a nod towards the empty side of the bed. Anxiety crawls up your spine like an insect with every step you take towards the bed, worsened by the open anticipation he watches you with. It goes against your every instinct to move closer to him.

Just as you reach the bed, he flips the blanket down for you. You tense, gaze dipping, but you’re relieved to find that he is not entirely nude.

He’s wearing sleep pants with a thin band that nicely hugs the sharp jut of his hip, following the slight curve of his stomach. He’s leaner than the chiseled exaggeration of his suit implies, but his strength is no illusion. His hand felt like a steel vice around your wrist, his pull like being guided by a freight train. 

Homelander clears his throat and your eyes snap back up to his. You realize all at once you’ve been standing there in silence staring for far too long at his half-exposed body. Embarrassment hits in a hot rush and you mumble some kind of half formed apology, busying yourself with slipping into the bed, lingering at the edge.

“Don’t apologize,” he says, watching you settle on your back and tug the blanket over yourself.

“Like what you see?” he asks, smiling crookedly. Though he claims he has no intention of eating you, you wouldn’t know it by the look in his eyes. He has all the intensity of a bird of prey watching a rabbit skitter through an open field.

Not knowing how to respond, you stare wordlessly at him. You notice the asymmetry of his mouth for the first time, how it curves on one side.

Christ, why can’t you stop staring at him like this? Every time you try to formulate a response–something, anything–the words get jumbled up in your throat, threatening to choke you.

At a loss, you roll onto your side, putting your back to him and screwing your eyes shut. The bed dips suddenly and an arm slipping around your waist startles you into a jerk, your body going tense.

“Jeeze, so jumpy,” he laughs, breath hot on the nape of your neck. He pulls your body flush against his, your soft curves fitting seamlessly against his wrought iron edges.

His strength is impossible to ignore, inhuman and titanous. You can feel it in every part of him, but nowhere more keenly than in the flex of his arm as it encircles you, pinning you against him.

He sighs into the crook of your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

“I’ve really been looking forward to this,” he murmurs, his words nearly beneath the thunderous racket of your own heart in your ears. Your body is awash in heat, and not just from the flush rolling through you. He’s as hot as a furnace at your back, as if his skin conducts heat just as well as the steel he feels made from.

If there was any doubt before that you had no choice but to yield to him, it’s evaporated now. He could crush you without so much as a second thought if he decides you don’t fit whatever elaborate fantasy he’s created in his mind. He could make you disappear.

“Hey,” he says softly, nudging the shell of your ear with his nose. “I’m gonna take good care of you, okay?”

The pressure of a sob swells up in your throat, the reality of your situation folding in on you with the weight of the world, but you choke it back. Hesitantly, you place your hand over his forearm and squeeze, hoping it will be enough of an answer to appease him.

You feel his smile in the way he caresses the sensitive flesh of your neck with his mouth. In turn, he squeezes you against his chest like a child would his new favorite toy, covetous and possessive. It makes you wonder what sort of boy he’d been: was he the sort to be precious with his toys, or was he the sort who wore them threadbare before looking for the next new and shiny thing?

“‘Atta girl.”

Although sleep doesn’t come easily, it does at least come eventually. The room is dark, but not pitch black, and the ambient sounds of high altitude winds spilling in from his open windows are surprisingly soothing, better than the scratchy ocean recordings you usually drift to.

The exhaustion you experience in the aftermath of your abduction overtakes you, pitching you into a deep slumber. You spend the night dreaming a tumultuous mix of reality and nightmare, some aspects exaggerated while others play out perfectly as they were. The truth of your situation is nightmarish enough without any theatrics from your imagination. 

Waking up in Homelander’s bed for the second time is no less disorienting than it was the first time.

Last night returns to you in bits and pieces, but nothing grounds you in reality as swiftly as the heavy arm looped around your waist, and the steady warm breaths wafting over the back of your neck, giving you goosebumps. His other arm is stretched out under your pillow, his hand resting palm up by the edge of it.

Is he asleep…?

“G’morning,” Homelander purrs, giving a firm squeeze around your middle.

Not asleep, which leaves you wondering how long he’s been awake, assuming the man actually does sleep. There’s been no lack of speculation towards how human supes really are or aren’t, whether they need to eat or rest the way regular humans do.

Especially those as powerful as Homelander.

The sleepy slur and fray of his voice gives you hope that he does, though. On top of everything else, it would be too unsettling a horror to learn that he doesn’t.

“Morning,” you give back after a beat, hating how meek your voice is. The tension in your body makes everything sound tight and forced. You see his fingers flex just before he curls his arm inward, hand clutching your shoulder to embrace you.

“I don’t know about you,” he says in your ear, lips brushing the shell of it as he speaks. “But that was the best damn night of sleep I’ve ever had.”

That solves that, you suppose.

The silence that follows makes you realize he was prompting you.

“Same.” The lie hitches in your throat like a hiccup.

Another pause, and then Homelander is shifting, uncoiling his arms from around you and lifting up on his side. With a hand on your shoulder he turns you on to your back, bringing you to face him.

You meet his gaze, but something about the look in his eyes turns your gut cold. There’s no softness in the lines of his face, not even thinning tethers of patience. There’s simply… nothing.

“Don’t ever lie to me,” he says, his voice set low and strangely hollow. “You’re free to do whatever you want. Except for that. Understand?”

Your throat clicks on a dry swallow. The weight of his stare makes it hard to breathe. You nod.

“Tell me you understand,” he says slowly, each perfectly annunciated word dripping with malice. There’s no pleading in his voice the way there had been last night. He’s composed entirely of cold and hard lines that make you feel caged, the bars shrinking around you.

“I understand,” you choke out.

Just like that, the lines at the corners of his eyes soften, crinkling with his smile. He leans in to press a chaste kiss to your forehead. The abruptness of the shift is enough to give you whiplash, leaving you dazed. For just a moment, he was another person entirely.

“That’s my girl,” he says, seeming to savor every word on his tongue. Dumbstruck, you watch him climb out of bed, swinging his arms in a slow stretch.

“Uhm,” you start, clearing your voice of the faint tremor in it. “I should, uh… Call someone. Work. They’re going to be worried if–”

“Already taken care of,” he cuts in, lifting his suit from the suit rack next to the bed. Your eyes dart to the crumpled one he shed the night before, still in a pile.

How many of those does he have?

“Everyone you know is under the impression that you had a mild stress-induced nervous breakdown, and are currently on an impromptu vacation in Europe, totally off the grid,” he says with a smile, sliding his hand smoothly through the air.

You pale. Whenever work came to be too much, you’ve joked about disappearing like that, but would anyone actually believe you have? You suddenly regret the plethora of hyperbolic existential posts you’ve made.

“Oh,” is all you manage to say, feeling sick.

Homelander, on the other hand, looks as bright as the morning sun. “So! Who’s ready for breakfast?”

Regardless of whether or not cooking is enjoyable, it’s always a reliable routine. Breakfast perhaps most of all. Eggs, toast, bacon and whatever fruit is in season. You find all these things and more in dizzying variety and proportion in Homelander’s lavish kitchen.

The eggs are large and brown, the bacon wrapped in butcher's paper rather than plastic, and cut in thick strips. The artisanal loaf of bread has a perfectly crisp golden crust, soft on the inside as you slice it. It’s everything you know, but elevated.

The opulence feels weighted. It makes you wonder how you could ever be expected to pay for any of this. How you could be worth any of this. Every ounce of silky butter you swipe over the piece of artisan toast in your hand feels like another smattering of grave soil peppering you from above, burying you deeper than you already are.

You don’t owe him for any of this. You didn’t ask for it. Regardless, you lick an excess smear of jam from your thumb–the color of it as red and vibrant as fresh blood–and all at once you are Persephone taking the pomegranate seeds between her lips. There is a terrible feeling of complicitness in this, despite that you’re only trying to survive.

Homelander lurks behind you while you cook, observing from a slight distance with an idyllic smile, his hands clasped behind his back. While you’re still wearing your pajamas, he’s wearing his hero suit again, the bulk of it returning to him his larger than life silhouette.

The silence he observes you in is unnerving, making everything else too loud in comparison. It would be nice if he’d at least sit. Instead, you’re keenly aware of the oppressive weight of his expectant gaze the entire time you cook.

“Looks delicious,” he says, his voice suddenly so close that you startle, the butterknife slipping from your hand and clattering on the marble countertop. His gloved hands cup your elbows and squeeze, soothing and overly familiar. “Oops-a-daisy,” he laughs, as if you’re just clumsy. His hands stroke slowly up and down your arms.

You snatch the knife up from the countertop and dutifully wipe away the jam splatter with a dishtowel. “I hope you like it,” you say distractedly, heart racing.

“How could I not?” he asks in that same low, pleased tone. He gives your arms an excited little shimmy before releasing them, reaching around either side of you to grab each plate. You feel his chest against your back, where he lingers just a second too long. “You made it just for me, after all.”

He moves away from you, taking the plates with him to the small round table near the floor to ceiling windows. The view from his penthouse is stunning–overlooking the entire city, all the way out to the waterfront–but it’s also dizzying. It unsettles your stomach to sit so close to the window, the size of them making it feel as though there’s nothing between you and a hundred story fall.

“You’re not scared of heights, are you?” He asks, settling down across from you.

You look from the window to him. He wastes no time splaying a cloth napkin in his lap and picking up his utensils, though he never takes his eyes off of you. You’re not sure he ever does. “Uh…Not particularly. I just don’t think I’ve ever been up so high,” you say, draping your own napkin similarly in your lap. Never has breakfast felt like such a formal affair.

“You’ll get used to it,” he says confidently, jabbing his knife into the yolk of his egg to spread over his buttered toast. “I’ll take you flying again. You’ll be conscious this time around,” he chuckles, flipping a piece of bacon on top as well.

Your gut tightens, toast paused halfway to your parted lips. You gawk at him. It’s difficult to comprehend how someone can be so beyond reproach, so intensely cavalier about something like drugging you into unconsciousness and kidnapping you.

I saved you. That his voice already lives in your mind–correcting you–is sickening in and of itself. Your already tenuous appetite vanishes, but you take a bite of the toast out of spite. The jam’s farm fresh sweetness is tart, though it’s offset perfectly by the savory sea salt richness of the butter. 

It’s as exquisite as it is repulsive.

A crisp snap brings your attention abruptly back to Homelander, whose hand is still poised in the air, his thumb and middle finger pressed together. His hand falls away once he has your attention, his smile returning. “That good, huh? Looked like you went a million miles away.”

If only, you seethe, taking another bite of the toast. You use the moment to chew, swallowing the anger over being snapped at alongside your mouthful of food.

“It’s delicious,” you say, curating your words carefully. Don’t ever lie to me, his words echo again, helping you to shape a mental survival guide. Feeling his eyes on you, you meet them. His smile widens a touch, though you don’t think it quite reaches his eyes. He’s appraising you like one might an exhibit at a museum.

Glancing down at his plate, you notice he hasn’t really eaten his breakfast so much as he’s toyed with it. It’s all just cut apart, yellow egg yolk oozing slowly across the pristine white plate. “Is there something wrong with yours?” you ask with a lurch of anxiety. He’s drugged you once already.

“Not at all,” he beams with clean white teeth, hands resting in loose fists on either side of his plate. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

The strange earnestness of the compliment stuns you. “Thank you,” you say uneasily, still not convinced there wasn’t something in the jam, or maybe the butter.

His smile broadens and this time it reaches all the way up, crinkling his eyes at their outer corners. There’s a sort of pride in his expression that makes you feel like a dog that’s finally learned the trick he’s been trying to teach you. 

“Whelp,” he sighs, clapping his hands together as he stands. “As much as I hate to go, duty calls,” he says, sliding his chair back beneath the table. Rounding it, he holds his hand out to you. “Walk me out?” he asks, his smile gleaming with predator charm. You only hesitate briefly before slipping your hand into his, reminding yourself to choose your battles wisely.

He lifts you to your feet with such ease it makes your stomach flip, breath hitching in your throat. He doesn’t let go of your hand, choosing to keep it snug within his grasp as he walks you through the decorated halls of his penthouse. There’s scarcely a space untouched by decor, making even these spacious corridors feel claustrophobic, dozens of carved and painted eyes leering at you as you pass.

The tour of the penthouse had been brief, awkward. He hadn’t especially known what to say about each room, giving you more facts about the artwork than anything. The lack of personal effects only make the place feel even more like a museum than it had before.

The only pictures of him were Vought promotional material. Not a single photo of him outside of his suit. No trace of family or childhood. Just The Homelander.

He holds your hand all the way up to a set of double doors made from dark wood, where he stops and turns to face you. “Thanks for breakfast,” he says with a picture perfect pearly white smile. Not a speck of food to be found. Uncomfortable with how fixated you’ve become on the condition of his teeth, you force your attention back on his eyes and nod.

“You’re welcome.”

He leans closer, and you have to fight the urge to lean back.

“Will you kiss me goodbye?”

You blink, the question striking you in the same way his compliment had, but for a different reason. In the wake of asking, his smile has lost that razor sharp edge it usually carries. Like his eyes, it’s softer now. More boyish. There’s a level of nervous apprehension in it that’s a stark contrast from his usual smugness. Yet again it hardly feels like you’re even looking at the same person.

Swallowing dryly, you bring your hand to the underside of his strong jaw. His skin is warm under your fingers, and he leans readily into your touch. You can feel the tension in the muscle beneath his cleanly shaven face as you turn it away, simultaneously moving in to press your lips to his cheek.

When you pull away, he’s staring sidelong at you, his face still turned away, his thin lips parted. For a beat, you think he’s going to be upset, but you realize quickly that the heat you see rushing to his cheeks isn’t anger. It’s a blush. Of all the ways you expected him to react, bashful was not among them.

“Okie-dokie,” he says, suddenly sheepish, and the tension in your shoulders drains as he relinquishes your other hand, busying himself with slipping off one of his gloves. “Should be home around 4:00, but I might be able to squeeze out closer to 3:00,” he says, tossing you a conspiratory little wink. As if you should be as excited as he is at the thought.

You watch him reach for a black plate next to the door handle, which he slides up to reveal a sleek number pad with a glowing blue circle, which he presses his thumb to. The circle turns green, and you hear a mechanism unlatch. Your stomach drops. All at once you understand why he brought you all the way to the door. He wanted you to see this.

“Pretty nifty, huh?” he asks, sliding his glove back on. “State of the art,” he says with a grin, pulling the door open. Over his shoulder, you see nothing but a long, long hall and a distant elevator at the end of it. You consider screaming down it to see if anyone might hear you, but the noise gets stuck in your throat. Even if they heard you, no one would reach you in time.

Homelander steps through the threshold, lingering in the doorway, leaning partially inside. “Don’t you worry,” he says, taking in the stricken expression you wear. He looks pleased with himself. “You’ll be perfectly safe. No way anyone’s getting in or out–aside from me, that is.”

He offers a few parting words, but they distort into unintelligible static. The door closes. That green circle turns blue, and the locking mechanism echoes in your ears like the slam of a prison gate. Turning around, you stare down the lengthy corridor you came from, your ears buzzing with the eerie quietness of the penthouse.

I need to get the fuck out of here.

[autumnshighlady]

Run For Your Life

Dark!Azriel x reader

summary: you have a stalker who has been following you for a while, and suddenly things escalate

warnings: DARK DARK DARK FIC! seriously, Az is a psycho stalker, dubious consent, oral sex (m and f receiving), voyeurism, masturbation, violent language, oh did i mention Az is insane in this fic

word count: 7.2k

see the playlist for this fic

this fic is the reason I'm never getting into heaven. y'all better enjoy it. let me know your thoughts! also it's heavily inspired by the book Haunting Adeline, which isn't a good thing haha. also none of this is proofread sorry lmao

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

seriously, this is a dark fic. consent is dubious at best, reader is definitely coerced. read at your own risk.

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

Darkness began to creep in, the shadow of the mountains swallowing the edges of Velaris. For most people in the city, the evening brought a new sense of life to the community. They’d go out dancing at the various pubs, or browsing the night market in the town square. Shop owners would be headed home to their families, content after a long day’s work. Everyone in Velaris looked forward to the hours after dusk.

Everyone except you.

While the crowds rushed towards the city centre, you went the opposite way towards your house on the edge of town. You hurried down the winding path, the noise from the city growing faint. A cold breeze stung your cheeks, making you walk faster. You clutched your bag tightly to your chest, a faint yet distinct sound of footsteps echoing in your ears.

He knew how to be quiet, yet he was making noise anyway.

Your heart raced as the footsteps grew closer. You didn’t break into a sprint like your instincts screamed at you to. He had never hurt you, never even come close. It was a game he seemingly liked to play with you – make his presence known and set your teeth on edge, creeping closer only to disappear at the last minute. Every time you turned around at the sound of his footsteps, there wasn’t a trace of a person anywhere near you. At first, you thought you were going crazy. But after a few weeks, you realised it was him.

Teeth chattering in the wind, you pushed through the gate to your house. The footsteps behind you had vanished, but you knew he was somewhere nearby. Watching. You could always tell when he was there – the world around you seemed colder, more silent, like the quiet before the breaking of a storm that never came. You would get a chill up your spine, as if invisible shadows were gently licking at your skin. That’s how you knew he was there.

You closed the door behind you as you entered your house, fiddling with the seven locks you had bought and added to the door. You grabbed your bag and pulled out yet another lock, one that had cost you a pretty penny. The shop keeper had assured you that it had an ironclad spell on it, making it impossible to be picked or broken. But that didn’t matter, he would somehow find a way through it just like he had with the other seven.

After installing the heavy lock, you scanned your house’s main room. Nothing appeared out of order, everything was where you left it. There was no eerie chill in your house, indicating that your shadow had not been inside today. Content as one could be in this situation, you made quick work of getting ready for bed. Your stomach screamed at you to get something to eat, but you ignored it. Your pantry door creaked open, but you grabbed the handle and slammed it shut. You could tell that he disliked when you went to bed without dinner, but after the long day you had, you couldn’t be bothered to care.

Weary, you climbed under the covers, knowing that somehow he was still watching. Despite all your curtains being closed and windows being bolted shut, he would still find a way to watch. He never touched anything – you or anything in your house, which reassured you enough to drift into sleep.

Until the next day.

******************

You woke up to the smell of an omelette filling your nostrils. Blinking away the last blissful sensations of sleep, you sat up in bed and sighed before pulling on your fuzzy robe and waddling out to the kitchen. The fogginess around your head instantly cleared as you approached the counter, noticing a fresh veggie and cheese omelette sitting on a plate by your usual stool. A tall glass of orange juice was carefully placed next to it, and a bouquet of midnight-blue roses were perched in your previously empty vase.

Your stomach did a backflip. This was new. Your shadow had never done anything like this before – he had been content just to observe you, to play with your fear like a cat toying at a mouse. Evidently, he didn’t like being ignored. The rational part of your brain wondered if the meal was poisoned somehow, a trap designed to render you unconscious or dead. But some sick part of you knew that it was safe, and urged you to eat it.

You weren’t stupid, you knew he was a stalker. You were pretty sure you knew who he was, too. There was only one male in the Night Court with the ability to be so discreet. As an advanced linguist, the High Lord had come to you several weeks ago for help on decoding an ancient language from a manuscript. Alongside him was his spymaster, whose intense hazel eyes sent a chill down your spine much like the one that haunted you now.

If it was indeed the spymaster who was your shadow, then you had no hope. He was the best there was when it came to spying – there was no chance of anyone being able to help you. Not that you’d told anyone about it. If you had, they would never believe you.

So you accepted your fate, doing your best to live your everyday life with a haunting presence always a few steps away. Begrudgingly, you took a seat on your stool and took a bite of the omelette. It was still warm, and you scoffed. Surprisingly, it was delicious, better than anything you could cook for yourself. A cool but soft sensation gently stroked at your cheek, as if to praise you for eating. You ignored it, glancing at the door you had bolted shut last night.

It was still closed, but every single lock was undone.

******************

A few days later, your shadow had made a new routine. You had gone to bed again without eating, and the exact same thing happened every morning – you’d wake up to a freshly cooked breakfast. Soon enough, you found yourself going to bed without eating on purpose, knowing he’d make sure you ate in the morning.

It was insane, you knew. Letting him do this to you – watch you while you sleep, eat the food he prepared for you. Evidently, your self preservation instincts were lacking, but you were lying if you said it didn’t send a little thrill through your body knowing he was watching your every move. You felt sacred, yet protected at the same time. It excited that sick part of your brain that relished in the danger of it.

After another long day in your office studying manuscripts, you headed home. For the first time in weeks, there were no echoing footsteps accompanying you. It felt almost lonely, which made you want to slap yourself for your stupidity – who misses being followed? So you walked in silence, an uneasy feeling churning your stomach. Your shadow had stuck to a single routine for weeks, and now things were changing. Now, you were less sure that you were safe in his presence. Yet you didn’t fight it. One way or another, he would get whatever it was he wanted. He would decide when to leave you alone, not you.

Immediately upon entering your home, you knew he had been there. A fresh bouquet of blue roses adorned your table, and there was that eerie chill in the air despite the heat from the fireplace. Heart racing, you set your bag down on the table next to the roses, scanning the room. Everything seemed in order, but something tugged you towards your bedroom. You found yourself blindly following it, anxiety making your bones jitter.

You stepped into your bedroom and gasped. Your bed was perfectly made, despite you leaving it a complete mess this morning. But that wasn’t what grasped your attention. At the foot of the bed there was a rectangular box. It was black, a dark blue ribbon wrapped around it and tied in a perfect bow at the top. There was no card, but you knew who it was from.

Any rational female would have simply grabbed it and thrown it as far away as possible, but the rational side of your brain was losing lately. Your curtain was slightly open, and you knew he was watching through the gap. With shaking hands, you undid the bow, letting the midnight blue ribbon fall from the box. Carefully, you opened the lid, holding your breath as you did so. You expected maybe a decapitated head, or a bloody knife, something to prove just how insane your stalker was. But no, what was inside the box was somehow even more startling.

Within the box was a dark blue nightgown. The cups were lacy and sheer, leaving nothing to the imagination. A small bow adorned the centre of the plunging v-line, and sheer panels of cobalt blue fabric were draped from the lace cups. Folded right next to it was a thong in the same colour, so thin it barely counted as panties. 

“What the fuck?” You wondered aloud, holding up the nightgown. It couldn’t even be classified as a nightgown, the way it covered nothing. You could have sworn a deep chuckle was carried in through the breeze from your window, so faint it was practically inaudible. But you knew he was watching, gauging your reaction.

For the first time, you spoke aloud to him. “No, I am NOT wearing this you sick fuck.” You shouted, tossing the lingerie onto the floor. “I’ll eat your stupid food because it tastes better than anything I can make, but I refuse to put this on. Creep!”

Fuming, you settled into a steaming hot bath. It was the one room your stalker’s presence never entered, the one place you got peace from him. At least he has a shred of decency not to spy on me in the bathroom, you thought bitterly to yourself. He was getting bolder, and his recent gift made you squirm. On the one hand, it was terrifying – a strange male wanting you to wear lingerie for him, breaking into your home day after day and watching you without you even catching a glimpse of him once. But on the other hand, it was exciting. Your life seemed so dull and mundane, having him in it brought excitement to your day.

Yup, you were definitely sick in the head.

You finished your bath and ignored the lingerie, opting for your usual t-shirt and shorts attire. You climbed under the covers, ignoring the eerie presence outside your window. “Go fuck yourself.” You muttered to him as you drifted off into sleep.

******************

The second you woke up, you knew he had done something. Typically, the first thing you did upon sitting up in bed was brushing the hair out of your face, having gone to bed with it loose. Instead, you felt no tendrils of hair sticking to your cheeks. Heart racing, you slowly reached behind your head and felt your hair. To your horror, it was pulled back into a neat braid tied together with a fragment of the blue ribbon from the box. It was slightly damp, as if someone had put an oil in it. Your breaths shortened as you pulled the braid over your shoulder, hands shaking. You noticed the chair in the corner of your room. The lingerie that had been on the floor all night was nearly placed on it, ready to wear.

The message couldn’t be more clear. He was escalating things – not once before had he ever touched you, until last night after you refused to put on the nightgown. Wear it, he seemed to say.

Your throat was dry as you peeled back the covers and walked over to the chair. Today was your day off, and you hadn’t planned on going anywhere. Several chores needed doing around the house – reorganising, cleaning, the works. You’d be damned if you had to do it basically naked. So you scoffed, strolling over to your wardrobe and opening the doors. Every nerve in your body froze as you faced an empty closet.

He had taken all of your clothes to ensure you would put on the lingerie.

Pervert.

You angrily slammed the door. “Fuck you!” You yelled, not knowing which direction to aim your fury at. “If I put on your gift, will you give me my clothes back?”

Something invisible caressed your shoulder. Yes, it seemed to purr.

You rolled your eyes, but took a deep breath and turned back towards the chair. You figured it was better to make him happy, and with a sigh you peeled off your shirt and pants. No doubt he was watching, taking in your naked form – but with the revealing lingerie, he’d be seeing it all regardless. 

Swallowing what little remained of your dignity, you slipped the thong and nightgown on. You tried not to think about how it fit you perfectly, clinging to the shape of your breasts like it was custom made for your frame.

******************

By dusk, you had finally completed all your tasks. It was demeaning, washing dishes with your ass hanging out. No doubt your shadow enjoyed the view. But after a while you had begun to not care, trying to ignore the heat that pooled in your core at the thought of him watching you, exposed like this.

You groaned when you entered your bedroom, finding another gift at the foot of your bed. It was in a smaller, square box this time, but was wrapped the exact same way. “Mother above, what do you want now?” You muttered, sitting down on your bed and ripping the ribbon off your gift. You let out a gasp as you peeled off the lid and peered inside.

At the bottom of the box was a blue vibrator. It was shaped like an L with a white circle at the top and three buttons going down the side. Gingerly, you pressed the bottom button and the small ring at the top began to vibrate gently. So you clicked the top button and pressed the ring into the palm of your hand. The vibrating increased, and sucked at the skin on your hand.

“Fucking hell.” It was a suction vibrator. You knew without a shadow of a doubt what he wanted you to do with it. But you were stubborn, and chucked the device across the room. It hit your wall, and landed on the floor with a thump.

“Absolutely not.” You hissed. “I am drawing the line here.”

Deciding you had lost enough dignity for today, you crawled into bed grumpily and closed your eyes.

Hours passed, but sleep did not come. It felt hot in the room, so you kicked off the sheets, letting your warm skin breathe. You tried everything – counting down from 100, telling yourself a story, but nothing brought the peaceful bliss of sleep. He was watching you, without a doubt, laughing at your pathetic attempts to force your brain to shut down.

But you couldn’t stop thinking about how it might feel to get yourself off while he watched. Once, you had drunkenly confessed to your ex boyfriend that you wanted to explore the idea of being watched while he fucked you, or while you pleasured yourself. You had been shot down instantly, making your cheeks go red with embarrassment. But that hadn’t changed your feelings about it.

You flinched as an invisible shadow gently caressed your cheek. It felt like silk against your skin, cold but comforting. A few seconds later, it skimmed just above the curve of your breast, teasing the edge of the lingerie. 

“What are you–” Your question was cut off by a moan as the shadow flicked over your nipple through the thin fabric. You couldn’t help but arch up into it, your body already tempting to beg for more.

Your breaths became pants as the shadow graced your other nipple, teasing the buds through the fabric. It trailed down your sides before taking up residence on your inner thighs. Without thinking, you spread your legs for the invisible force that was touching your body and making your core heat up. That deep laugh you thought you had heard days ago sounded again, causing your cheeks to turn red. The shadows caressed your inner thigh, crawling up towards your pussy before jumping over to the other leg and starting again.

It was embarrassing how wet you were. Your core was throbbing, begging to be touched. But the shadows denied you, content to ghost over your pussy and continue their dance along your inner thighs. You reached down to grab the bedsheets, but your hand knocked against something hard. It was the vibrator.

He was persistent tonight.

You tried to hold out, to leave the vibrator on the bed and ignore the soft sensations driving your body wild. It went on for so long, to the point where tears began forming in your eyes. If the shadows weren’t going to satisfy you, you’d have to do it yourself.

“This is sick.” You muttered to yourself, grabbing the vibrator. Taking a breath, you switched it on and cranked up the setting. Settling into the sheets and spreading your legs wider, you placed the suctioning ring to your clit. Almost instantly, your body jolted at the intense sensation and you gasped.

A deep, velvety voice sounded in your ear, so low it was almost inaudible above the sound of the vibrator. Good girl.

You gasped louder, chills going down your spine. Your stalker was watching you get off wearing the lingerie he bought for you, and it sent a thrill through your body. You moaned, letting your back arch off the bed as you grinded into the toy. Your core was pulsing, and you nearly screamed when you felt that teasing shadow slip into your hole. It curled inside of you, instantly finding your g-spot. You whimpered at the sensation, as your legs began to twitch, approaching your orgasm at lightning speed. You shamelessly moaned as your orgasm ripped through your body, writhing your hips against the high speed of the vibrator.

You tried to pull it away, but that invisible force stopped you. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't drag your hand away. “No, no, no…” You whimpered pathetically, core screaming from oversensitivity as both the vibrator and the shadow relentlessly attacked it.

Yes, sweetheart. Take it. Give me another one. You heard the voice echo next to your ear.

“I can’t.” You cried, fighting with all your might to move. Yet your hand and hips remained frozen.

Yes, you can. 

You began sobbing, your body having no time to recover from your first orgasm as the second one rapidly approached. The shadow in your pussy pumped in and out even faster, hurling you over the edge just minutes later. 

Your pillow was soaked with your tears, and everything began to go fuzzy. You lost track of the amount of orgasms he forced you through before you passed out.

******************

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when you woke up. Your body was back under the covers, a fresh soft pillow behind your head. You groaned, the memories of last night flooding back like a burst dam. You had never orgasmed so hard in your life, nor so many times in one round. You remembered that voice in your ear, praising you and talking you through it.

You sat up in bed, rubbing your eyes. Instantly, you knew he was there. But it was different this time, closer. You slowly turned your head, and were met with a pair of hazel eyes and towering wings at the foot of your bed.

You inhaled sharply, finally meeting eyes with your stalker – Azriel, the spymaster of the Night Court. “Good morning, sweetheart.” His voice was as cold and smooth as the shadows that teased you last night. 

Finally, after weeks, your survival instinct kicked in. You scrambled off the bed, making a run for the door as fast as you could. Your heart pounded in your throat as you reached for the handle. Before you could grab onto it, a scarred, cold hand clamped down on your wrist. It was like iron, no matter how much you fought, he did not ease up. You closed your eyes, too scared to look at him.

“Let me go!” You screamed, using your free hand to slap his chest as hard as you could. Azriel did not flinch, as if you were nothing more than a fly. He grabbed your other hand, pinning it to your side. He stepped forward, forcing you to walk back until you were pressed against the wall. You felt him lift your arms until they were above your head, hands digging into the cold wood. He held them effortlessly with one hand, his newly free one coming down to stroke your cheek.

“You have such pretty eyes,” He murmured. “Let me see them.”

You sobbed, tears wetting your cheeks. You were terrified – you had heard stories of what the shadowsinger was capable of, the torture he inflicted on his enemies. Was this one of his sick torture methods? And why you? Still, you kept them squeezed shut.

The male growled, his hand gripping your jaw firmly and forcing your chin up. “I said open your eyes. Don’t make me ask again.”

You obliged this time, prying your eyes open to look at him for the first time. He was much taller than you, his muscled frame towering over your own. His short dark hair was tousled, strands of it teasing his forehead and making those hazel eyes look even more menacing. His face was sharp and undeniably beautiful, and Mother above his wings flared menacingly behind him. They were enormous. Your eyes met his – hazel eyes that had watched you, unseen from the shadows for weeks on end.

“Please don’t hurt me.” You said shakily.

His brows furrowed, confusion that looked genuine crossing his features. “Hurt you? Why would I want to do that?”

“Because that’s what you do for a living.” Your voice was meek, and you tried to ignore how smooth his voice was.

“But not you.” He said, thumb stroking your jaw. “Never you. Unless you asked. Gods, I would do almost anything you asked.”

You gulped, jaw beginning to ache from the pressure of his grip. “Including leave me alone?”

Azriel chuckled darkly, leaning in closer. “That’s why I said ‘almost’, princess.” His hand released your jaw, snaking its way down your body and settling on your waist. He gave it a squeeze, letting out a chuckle as you gasped. Your traitorous body giving away the faint scent of arousal that grew at his actions. “Besides, we both know you don’t want that.”

“Leave me alone.” You begged. “I don’t want this.”

“Oh, but your body says otherwise.” Azriel moved his hand down past your hip, cupping your backside and squeezing sharply. More arousal pooled at your core, and you whimpered. “See?” His velvety voice was laced with satisfaction. “You crave my touch. After hearing your sweet moans last night I don’t think I can live another day without hearing them again. I hadn’t even touched you and you came so hard all on your own. You’re going to utterly fall apart when I get my cock inside you, sweetheart. I’m going to ruin you.”

 He pressed his hips into you, letting you feel his massive bulge against your lower stomach. You gasped, the sheer size of it almost unsettling. You felt wetness pool between your legs, and you pressed your knees together. Azriel noticed, and chuckled again. “Do you have any idea how hard I tried to hold off touching myself last night as I watched you?” He purred, lips grazing your ear. “I couldn’t do it. After your second orgasm, I finally pulled out my cock and imagined it was your hand wrapped around it. It took everything in me not to take you right then and there.”

You growled, baring your teeth. “Let. Me. Go.” You hissed, ignoring your body’s desire to give into whatever he wanted.

Azriel sighed, letting go of your wrists and removing his hand from your backside. Your arms dropped down, shoulders aching from being pinned up. You let out a breath, unsure what was going on. “Disappointing,” He said lowly. “I was going to let you have me any way you wanted. I was going to be gentle, take my time, give you whatever you asked. I’d have tied myself up if that’s what you wanted. But have it your way.”

The spymaster took a step back, his eyes going dark. “I’m going to let you run. Run now, and don’t let me catch you.”

Your entire body went cold. What had you gotten yourself into? “And what happens if you catch me?” You asked nervously.

The smile that spread across his lips terrified you. “I fuck you. I claim you whatever way I want, and you take it like a good girl. You can fight it all you want, but you’ll learn your place by the end of the night. Now run.”

You didn’t hesitate before bolting out of the bedroom, throwing your door open and running towards the woods. You didn’t care that you had no shoes, or that you were still in the revealing lingerie. You ignored the freezing bite of the forest air as you ran into it.

******************

You weren’t sure how long you had been running. Azriel had reverted back to his favourite game from when he first began following you – every time you heard footsteps, you ran. They caught up to you, and when you turned around to face him, nobody was there. It was torture, and you were ready to give up. You leaned against one of the trees, gasping for air.

“Giving up yet?” Your shadow’s voice sounded in your ear. You spun around, but he wasn’t there. “You’re making this too fun, sweetheart.” He called from a distance, suddenly further away.

Taking another heaving breath, you forced yourself to run. You zig zagged through the trees, trying to lose him. You knew it was hopeless, that he was just toying with you. But you’d be damned if you didn’t go down trying.

You turned around to see if he was following, and the wind suddenly got knocked out of your lungs as you crashed into a tall figure. You thought you were going to fall on your ass, but strong arms grabbed you and held you upright. You couldn’t help but scream at the surprise. Panting, you looked up and were met with Azriel’s sly grin. “Caught you.” He purred. “Looks like I win.”

You gave up. From the moment he had laid out the lingerie for you, you knew it would come to this. To him having his way with you. It all led to this, and while the thought terrified you, it also ignited something animalistic in you. There had been a certain thrill to running through the forest like a deer being hunted by a lion. Again, that sick and twisted part of your brain won over the sensible part. Deep down, you knew that you wanted this. You had only fought for the sake of your own pride. You craved the thrill.

As if sensing your submission, Azriel leaned down and buried his nose in your neck, inhaling your scent. “You smell so fucking perfect.” He groaned, lips brushing your skin. “I can’t wait to taste you. That's all I’ve been thinking about.”

Suddenly, the world spun around you, and you found yourself back in your bedroom moments later. The warmth was welcome against your ice cold skin, and you were secretly relieved he wasn’t about to fuck you like an animal in the dirty forest. You didn’t have time to question his actions before he bent down and captured your lips in his.

You moaned as his mouth claimed yours with a dominance that made your core wet. There was no romance behind it, just pure claiming desire. You melted into him as one of his scarred hands reached around your lower back and pulled you against his solid chest. His other hand reached up and grasped your hair, tilting your head back to get a better angle. 

You gasped at the tug on your scalp, and Azriel snaked his tongue into your mouth, exploring every inch of it. You’d never been kissed like this before, and it was making your head spin. Hesitantly, you reached up and clasped your hands around his neck, tangling your fingers in the hair at the top of his neck. He growled into your mouth in response, kicking your legs apart with his feet and settling his thigh in between them. 

Azriel’s lips made their way down the column of your neck, biting and sucking harshly as he went. You moaned as his thigh moved against your throbbing core, sending a warm sensation up your body. The delicate panties you were wearing did nothing to hide how wet you were, the juices from your cunt seeping onto his dark pants. He moved his mouth down to the tops of your breasts, biting down hard with his sharp canines and making you cry out. You’d for sure be covered in a million bruises tomorrow.

“Fuck, I can feel how wet you are on my thigh.” The shadowsinger groaned into your skin. “I’ve barely even touched you and you’re this soaked already? It’s pathetic, coming from someone who said they didn’t want this.”

You could only whimper, defenceless as scarred hands grabbed the sides of your nightgown and ripped it apart with one pull. It fell to pieces on the floor beside you. You felt yourself being lifted into the air, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist. It was hard not to gasp as your sopping cunt was pressed into his rock hard bulge in his trousers. Azriel carried you over to the bed and roughly tossed you into the mattress, causing you to bounce over the sheets ungracefully. Quick as a viper, he snaked his way over top of your body, making you feel incredibly small.

He smirked as his lips met your nipple, sucking harshly and making you cry out. He did not treat your breast gently, covering the mound of flesh with bitemarks and bruises from his lips before moving to the other one. You went to push him by the shoulders, the intensity from his mouth bordering on too much, but his hands quickly found yours and pinned them to the mattress. You were utterly helpless beneath him, and it sent more wetness to your core.

Azriel lifted his head from your breasts, smirking at your flushed face before trailing his lips down your stomach. He let go of your hands, but tendrils of darkness snaked their way around your wrists, taking his place. They pinned your hands above your head, unable to move. You could have sworn they chuckled at you – the mischievous shadows at their masters command had been torturing you for weeks, finally getting to reveal themselves in their true form.

Azriel gripped the string of your panties in his teeth, hazel eyes making contact with your own. He pulled them down your legs with his mouth, the animalistic action making you even wetter. Instinctively, you closed your legs once he removed them. Once he tossed the panties aside, rough hands pried your legs open. “Now, now,” He tutted, his deep voice lulling you into obedience. “Am I going to have to restrain your legs, too?”

You shook your head, relaxing your muscles into his grip. Azriel smirked triumphantly, settling on his knees on the ground at the end of the bed and yanking you closer to him by his ankles. “Good girl.” He praised, wrapping his arms underneath your thighs and putting your hips in an ironclad grip. A fresh wave of arousal pooled from you, dampening the sheets – and his smirk grew wider.

“Do you like it when I tell you what a good girl you are?” He asked, cocking his head. “Or would you prefer if I told you that you’re a pathetic little slut, all spread out for me? An ungrateful brat who ran through the forest to defy me when she could have had things her way if she just asked nicely?”

You whimpered, screwing your eyes shut at the humiliation. It was embarrassing how much your body was responding to his words alone. If he didn’t touch you soon, you were sure you were going to explode. A harsh nip on your thigh brought your attention back to the spymaster.

“I asked you a question.” He growled dangerously. “Are you a good girl? Or are you my little slut, ready to give herself to me to do whatever I want?”

“I…” You tried to find the words, but found your ability to speak had gotten lost in the forest somewhere with your dignity. Before you could try again, your body was flipped over so that you were laying on your stomach, arm still bound in front of you. A loud cracking noise filled the room as Azriel smacked your left ass cheek with thunderous force. You couldn’t hold in the cry that slipped out.

“Every time you disobey me, you get ten spanks.” Azriel said firmly, his voice cold as stone with no mercy to be found. “You are to count them aloud. If you lose track, I start over. Understood?”

You nodded, but it wasn’t good enough. Your right cheek took the blow this time. “I expect a verbal response.” He hissed.

“Yes!” You cried out, skin stinging from the slap.

“Good. Now count.”

Azriel brought his hand down again, alternating sides. You counted out loud, tears dripping onto the pillow. The spymaster was a trained Illyrian warrior with three times your muscle, so it hurt like hell. But you couldn’t deny that it made you even wetter.

“Ten.” You sobbed as Azriel made his final hit before flipping you around so you were on your back again.

“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” He hummed, leaning into your cunt and inhaling your scent.

“Yes.” You said eagerly, not wanting to endure another round of his fierce hits.

“See? You’re learning. Soon, you’ll be perfect at it, my own little toy who will do whatever I ask without talking back. Unless you enjoy your punishments, I wouldn’t be surprised if a slut like you acted out so she could get put in her place.”

You whimpered, unsuccessfully attempting to move your hips up in his firm grip. “Please.”

Azriel smirked again, lifting his head. “Please, what?”

“Touch me.” You couldn’t take it anymore. The feeling of his warm breath fanning right above your cunt was getting to be too much. You didn’t care about anything else right now other than him.

“Since you begged so nicely, sweetheart. I will listen to you just this once.”

Finally, those sinful lips met your core. You cried out as he delved in like a man starved, licking a bold strip up your pussy before attaching his lips to your clit and sucking hard. He was rough and relentless, putting the vibrator he got you to shame. His lips and tongue were everywhere, exploring every inch of your pussy. You couldn’t move your hips against his attack, forced to lay there and take what he gave you. 

The male who stalked you for weeks, who happened to be the spymaster of the Night Court, was on his knees eating you out. He slipped a finger in your hole, the scars and ridges making your body sing. After a few more minutes, he easily slipped in a second.

It wasn’t long before you felt your orgasm rapidly approaching. It hit you like a landslide, and you saw white as the tension between your legs snapped. You almost sobbed as it wracked your body, unable to even buck your hips to ride it out. Azriel groaned into your core as you soaked his face, but he eased up as you came down from your high, unlike what he did with the vibrator. When he finally pulled away, your arms were released, and your entire body was trembling like a leaf. You opened your eyes to see Azriel pulling his shirt above his head, revealing whirling black tattoos and a muscled abdomen that snapped you out of your trance. Immediately, you sat up in the bed, fixing your eyes on his shirtless form. You didn’t have to glance up to know that his face was a look of pure male pride as he unbuckled his belt and pulled down his trousers and boxers all in one go, stepping out of them and leaving both of you completely naked. 

Your jaw went agape at the size of him. He was long and thick, unlike any male you’d seen before. While you certainly enjoyed sex with males, your mouth had never watered with the urge to put their cock in your mouth.

Until now.

Azriel stroked himself, wings flaring behind him. He looked like a god above you, pure muscle and desire as he stared down at you. “On your knees. Now.” He ordered with an authority that sang to your desires. You didn’t hesitate to scramble onto the floor in front of him, kneeling. He guided his cock to your lips, which you gladly opened to allow him entrance. The moan he let out as you encased as much of his cock in your mouth as you could was otherworldly.

You looked up at him through your lashes. He had tilted his head back, the column of his throat bobbing with groans as you slid your lips up and down. There was no way you’d manage to fit it all in your mouth, so you reached up and grabbed the base with one hand, pumping gently to meet your mouth.

“Oh, fuck.” Azriel moaned, reaching down and gathering your hair in one hand. “Just like that, princess.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you gagged around him, but kept going. You had expected the shadowsinger to be quiet, given his reputation. But no, his groans and sighs echoed throughout your bedroom, spurring you on. As the minutes passed your knees began to ache, but you welcomed the pain.

Suddenly, Azriel pulled himself out of your mouth. You whined, wanting to please him further.

“Such a pathetic slut, whining that she didn’t get to suck my cock for longer.” He growled, hoisting you up by your arm and flinging you back onto the bed. “I thought about coming in your mouth, but no. I’m going to fill up that sweet cunt of yours instead. And you’re going to take it.”

You were laying on your stomach facing the mirror on your wall to the left of your bed. You watched your reflection as Azriel grabbed your hips and lifted them up in the air, forcing you to prop yourself up on your elbows. His hazel eyes were so dark, the colour barely showed. They met yours in the mirror as he learned down and grabbed your hair again, forcing your head up to face the mirror head on. “You’re going to watch as I fuck you.” He said, lining himself up with your entrance. 

He kept one hand in your hair as he guided the tip into you, causing you to cry out. The stretch stung, despite being prepared. He was bigger than any cock you had taken, and your body struggled to accommodate. Azriel didn’t give you much time to adjust before he was pushing himself fully in, groaning. You tried to force your body to relax, knowing you were going to be sore the next day. He slowly slid himself almost all the way out, relieving your muscles before slamming back into you with a force that nearly knocked the wind out of you. You gasped, and instinctively went to turn your head into the pillow, but a harsh tug on your hair from Azriel made you stop.

“Keep watching.” He said firmly. “If you take your eyes off the mirror, I won’t let you cum. Got it?”

“Yes.” You whined. Azriel grunted, and began pounding into you at a relentless pace. The loud sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room as you were fucked mercilessly.

“This is what you fucking needed, isn’t that right?” Azriel hissed as he thrusted into you. “To be treated like a slut? All those other boys been too nice to you, letting you get away with talking back. They don’t know what you truly need. To be put in your place, properly fucked within an inch of your life. Nobody can make you feel as good as I can.”

His words poured over you like honey, the pain subsisting into drunken bliss. The bed was shaking beneath you, headboard banging against the wall loudly. As much as you hated to admit it, he was right. Nobody had ever fucked you like this, in a way you didn’t know you needed. It was so wrong, letting him do these things to you. But it felt too good to deny yourself it.

Azriel bent over, covering your back with his tall frame as he adjusted his angle and thrust even harder. One hand was pressed to the bed to steady himself while the other gripped your jaw firmly. You watched in the mirror, and it was perhaps the most erotic thing you had ever seen – Azriel’s wings flaring as he claimed you, muscular arm holding you in place, utterly helpless against him. He sunk his canines into your shoulder, hard enough to draw blood. You cried out as his teeth carved into your flesh, the mixture of pain from his bite and pleasure from his thrusts sending you towards another orgasm. He released your jaw and reached down to rub your clit harshly.

“Nobody’s allowed to touch you but me.” He growled in your ear, watching your face in the mirror. “You’re mine, and mine only, you got that? If I even scent another male has touched you, I’ll cut his hands off and leave them at your doorstep. You belong to me now. Cum for me.”

He accentuated those last three words with thrusts, and it was enough to send you over the edge. Your entire body shook as you came around Azriel’s cock, black fuzziness surrounded the edges of your vision. You watched through your lashes as Azriel bared his teeth, growling like an animal as his hips sputtered and he spilled himself inside you. He let out a moan that could have shaken the entire forest. You screamed weakly as he spurted inside you while you rode out your orgasm, the sensation nearly making you pass out.

You both panted as Azriel pulled himself out of you. He climbed off the bed and you immediately collapsed. The room was spinning, your body completely spent. The spymaster casually put on his clothes and crouched down so his face was level with yours. 

“I’m going to have so much fun with you.” He purred before his shadows encompassed him and he vanished, leaving you alone wondering what just happened.

[arthurbristow]

Keep it close - Shigaraki x Reader

"Keep close," Shigaraki muttered, his crimson eyes scanning the bustling market around them. "I don't want to lose you in this crowd." His white hair fell messily over his face.

It was an unexpected outing, to say the least. The League of Villains rarely ventured out in daylight, especially to something as mundane as a game market. The two of you had left the hideout that afternoon, Shigaraki’s rare urge to indulge in some new video games coinciding with the League’s need for supplies. Dabi had been particularly insistent, his grumbling about running out of cigarettes becoming unbearable. So, with a list of groceries in hand, you accompanied Shigaraki to the market.

“Look at them, scrambling around for their mundane little pleasures,” he continued, hands twitching slightly as he spoke. “Pathetic.”

Navigating through the crowded streets, your eyes couldn’t help but notice the occasional glances and whispers directed your way. Shigaraki’s presence was hard to ignore, even if people didn’t recognize him. And you felt a wave of unease. The noise, the press of bodies, the constant motion—it was overwhelming. Your senses were on high alert, every fiber of your being screaming to find a point of stability. Shigaraki walked ahead, his posture tense but focused, clearly absorbed in his hunt for the perfect game.

The press of bodies around you intensified, and an accidental shove from an overenthusiastic passerby sent you stumbling. Without thinking, your hand shot out, grasping Shigaraki’s. The contact was immediate, grounding. Only a heartbeat later did you realize the full extent of your actions. His hand was bare — no protective gloves. A cold shiver ran down your spine. One wrong move, one slip of control, and you could be reduced to dust. Shigaraki’s Decay quirk was lethal, merciless. 

He stiffened, his head whipping around to look at you. “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous, but not entirely devoid of curiosity.

“I…” You swallowed hard, the words catching in your throat. “I just… needed to hold on to something.”

His laugh was a harsh bark, but there was no malice in it. “You’re insane.” Tomura didn’t pull his hand away though, didn’t dissolve you into nothingness. Instead, his grip tightened slightly, with his pinky raised up in the air to protect you from being decayed on the spot.

The two of you moved through the market like that, hand in hand. It felt strangely intimate, a connection that defied the perilous nature of his quirk. The crowd seemed less daunting with him by your side, your anxiety ebbing away with each step.

Shigaraki led you to a stall filled with the latest games. His eyes lit up as he browsed through the titles, a rare smile playing on his lips. It was a side of him you didn’t see often, this almost childlike excitement. You couldn’t help but smile too, caught up in his rare moment of happiness.

“Found it,” he said, holding up a game with a triumphant look. “This is the one.”

“Great,” you replied, your voice steadying. “Now, let’s get those groceries before Dabi sets the hideout on fire.”

Shigaraki chuckled, “Yeah.”

As you moved to the grocery section, the crowd thickened again. Instinctively, you tightened your grip on his hand. This time, he didn’t question it, at all.

You quickly gathered the items on your list, your movements efficient despite the mass of people. Cigarettes for Dabi, snacks for Toga, and various other necessities for the rest of the League. 

Through it all, Shigaraki stayed by your side, keeping his head lowered, reading the information written on the box of his new game, your hand still in his.

Holding Shigaraki's hand was a paradox of sensations. His skin, surprisingly warm, radiated a heat that contrasted sharply with the chilling fear of his lethal touch. The rough texture of his calloused palm told stories of countless battles and hardships. Yet, beneath the coarse exterior, there was a vulnerability — a silent plea for connection. The knowledge that a single slip could mean your end made the experience electrifying, heightening every sense. It was like holding a live wire: dangerous, exhilarating, and oddly comforting all at once. In that grip, there was a fragile trust, a delicate balance between life and decay, and an unspoken promise that for now, in this moment, you were safe.

Eventually, you managed to complete your shopping list. Dabi's cigarettes, snacks and manga for Toga, and even a few items for yourself. Shigaraki, meanwhile, had amassed a small pile of new games, his crimson eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

As you reached the entrance, you reluctantly let go of his hand. 

He glanced at you, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "You apparently liked holding my hand, hmm?" Tomura cooed, his tone softer than you’d ever heard.

"Yeah…" You replied, feeling a warmth spread through your chest and flush claiming your cheeks.

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards. "Just don’t make a habit of grabbing my hand. Next time, I might not be so careful."