#the softness that hid beneath his armor

[fluffylord]

Malcolm Tucker + comfy outfits THE THICK OF IT | S03 EP08

[kaszuma]

Oxygen is all we need | Hoshina Soshiro

Part 5 of “Certainly Yours”

pairing: Hoshina Soshiro x fem!reader

summary: you rarely see soshiro be breathless on the battlefield. And the one time you did, it was coerced by a sentient Numbers Weapon you had created.

warnings: NSFW explicit scenes with plot, mentions of sexual m/f activity, Fingering/handjob with Combat Suit on, Semi-public fingering/handjob, Hoshina being a little feral, slight description of gore for dissecting combat suits, mentions of injury for Hoshina, SPOILERS for Kn8 manga

wc: 7,719

–

note: Please tell me if I missed any warnings. There's kind of a lot. NSFW part was originally gonna be some soft lovemaking type of writing. But I figured I could save that for a future part. Went too feral on his Number 10 Combat Suit from reading the manga lmao. This is not proofread

–

Soshiro Hoshina, was an enigma.

He had always been that way to his peers. He was no different to you, now that you had been privy to see a small part of his life that people have yet to pry open.

Despite the laid-back persona he'd exemplify, you were always aware of the disciplined and hard working nature he hid beneath the surface of his jokes and smiles. And his everyday life only showed a fraction of this side of him that no one seems to pay attention to.

All except you of course, who had been keeping an eye on him well before the two of you started dating.

It started in the little actions he'd take. From the early hours of the morning, he'd wake up on the dot just to grab a cup of coffee before the day had turned busy. The privacy of his office had been made neat, filled with finished paperwork that he'd arranged the day before. Leaving room for him to swing his sword in the training rooms until the cool nights of the summer where even cicadas started sleeping early.

His comrades? Fast asleep in their bunks. Unaware that the Vice Captain was sweating. Recreating the battles he's faced in the wake of an emergency. Where Tachikawa's base had been left in his hands.

Every failure, every mistake, every mishaps he had allowed. He had made sure to embed the consequences deep into his body. Making a vow to never let anyone catch him off guard. Kaiju or humans included. And although it was a rare sight. Even you, his lover. Had not seen him work himself breathless.

Not once had you caught him wheezing to catch up. His hard work, hidden under people's watch.

His efforts were definitely there. But no one had been able to see his training first hand. Leaving people to chalk it up to simply talent, or the bloodline of his ancestry belonging to a family of generational Kaiju Slayers.

But his hard work, though hidden. Had not all been in vain. As he of all people knew deep down that he worked–no, strived to become better. To prove his existence in the field. And you, had strived to make it happen in the wake of Kaiju Number 10 readying itself to be weaponized upon your command.

It had been a few days since you and a team of technicians had decidedly worked on converting Kaiju no. 10 as a plausible weapon. A suit befitting for your lover to wear.

The first time you had seen its deformed body, trapped in a tank for containment. It had chilled you to the bone. When it briefly made eye contact with you. As if it knew something deep within your body that you hadn't known yet. Its one eye continuously staring at your form, in a strange admiration. Similar to how it looked to Soshiro.

Admiration was one thing. But said admiration coming from a potentially dangerous Kaiju was another. Such is the way of their line of work.

Surprisingly, anytime the tank had been registered open. You had not seen Kaiju no. 10 struggle at all in its restraints. Not at all bothered at the mere fact that its life was threatened to be converted into a weapon. The plates of armor, although mangled. Had not shown any signs of tension. And each incision you'd make was relaxed. The formation of the modified Combat Suit was simple. Unrestrained, even. To the point that it would obediently let you slice it as you wished. To shape and mold it to the combat suit you wished to make.

Hell, it even went as far as to talk you through it when you were removing the last bits of his shattered headpieces. Leaving the core and its surrounding muscle fibers intact. Beating, breathing like a heart. “So this is the one huh?” You heard it's gurgled laughter. As if you had not been cutting it open for hours by now.

Soshiro and a few soldiers were stationed right behind you. A team of other technicians and scientists assisting your movements to place the armor pieces together. The tension in the room was heavy, weapons readied in the case of an emergency. But like always, the Kaiju had all but stayed completely still. Obedient with a few laughs here and there for the hell of it.

“Even his woman is a weapons creator. I really did make the right decision to join forces with you, Swordsman.” Kaiju no. 10 had spoken. And you look over to Soshiro wearily at the way it had so easily figured out your relationship with him. It’s as if it read his mind, which both startled and irked your lover to no end.

“Shut yer’ trap. By the time she's done with you, you're as good as obedient to me.” You had seen the way Soshiro had glared at the dismembered monster. And the way his voice had lowered an octave. It made you momentarily forget that you were in a room full of people.

You purse your lips. Trying not to focus on his smooth voice. Not when you were potentially busy dealing with a Kaiju that had not been fully weaponized yet.

You had all but shook your head. No, get your mind out of the gutter.

“Stop provoking each other.” You spoke, pulling away at the last bit of veins connected to the hardened plating. "I'm trying to work here.”

You let out a sigh. Eventually taking the last muscle fiber and attaching the last bit of the Kaiju’s parts onto the mold of the suit. Its shape fully formed right besides its old carcass that had been readily discarded afterwards. The Combat Suit took ages to cut apart. With its armor far too hard to penetrate with just a scalpel alone. But somehow you and your team had managed. And all somehow went according to the blueprints you made.

The suit was the right size. The plating was sturdy, amplified with shields and wires that would support its structure. And the fact that it had an added limb for a tail. Its extension beautifully connected to the lower end of its spine that completed the look.

Number 10 had not made a single sound as it had likely died from being weaponized. Like the rest of the Kaiju before it. And you mentally pat yourself on the back for a job well done for making quick work of him.

Or at least..that's what was supposed to happen. “Wear me, swordsman. I want to fight something already.”

Huh?

“It's still speaking?” You had felt yourself be pulled back. Soshiro had wasted no time getting in front of you. Hand already on the hilt of his swords, as the weaponized Kaiju stared straight back at him. This time, instead of a mangle corpse, it had been a combat suit. Capable of speech and thought processing.

“Why is it still sentient?” He had glanced back at you. And you can see the faint traces of his still fresh bandages wrap around his lower neck, within the zipper of his jacket.

“I don't know.” You had spoken truthfully. “We've never had to weaponize a sentient Kaiju before.” You had replied. Weary of the tension in the room. Soshiro's back had all but blocked your view from the Combat Suit. And it laughed when the rest of the technicians also backed up. Cowering behind some of the soldiers who already had their guns raised. Pointed straight at the tank that held the completed weapon.

“Is it safe to use?” Soshiro asked.

“It should be. The rest of his core can't sync up to his body anymore, so I doubt he can kill anyone right now.” You explained. Not once had Soshiro looked away from the suit.

You had watched as Soshiro wearily stood straighter. This time, raising his hand so that the rest of the soldiers would lower their aimed weapons. And although they had been hesitant, they had done exactly that. With the weaponized Kaiju not reacting at all in fact.

“Well this isn't good..” He whispered. Skeptical about letting you get any closer to it as the Kaiju inside of it seemed ecstatic. Screaming praises towards you, excited that it might be worn soon. And Soshiro twitched, his smile irritated more than usual.

“It..probably needs a bit more time to adjust in the combat suit. For now, let me work on it alone.” You had suggested, seeing the skepticism of the other technicians who did not want anything to do with the suit who is very much still alive.

You had no doubt that no one wanted to work on the weapon, especially since it was still very sentient. Now in possession of solidified upgrades to strengthen its use in combat. If it was still able to formulate thoughts despite having been completely mangled as a weapon. Kaiju no. 10, now had the means to breach the combat suit's limitations. In the case it did lose control. And when you were working with an unidentified threat, there's a high chance it wouldn't hesitate to attack.

Meaning, if the higher ups wanted this weapon usable for Soshiro. Then you were the only one who'd be willing to work through the weapon’s new kinks and pieces. To stop it from getting wild and uncontrollable.

It had obediently let you work on it the first time. You were positive that it wouldn't be a problem now. Right?

“...Are you sure about this? I don't mind if it doesn't become usable ya’ know? It ain't worth risking your life like this.” He had briefly brushed a thumb to your cheek. Forgetting that there had been an audience of officers just behind them.

Though it seems Soshiro did not care much about that. More worried for your safety, in all of this.

“Calm down swordsman. I'm not interested in killing the woman who's bound to make me stronger. It'll keep things..Interesting.”

Soshiro had looked over to the tube that held the weaponized Kaiju in place. It didn't even register in your eyes when he had unsheathed one of his blades. Pointing the tip directly at the cross section on the combat suit's chest. Where the eye had been placed. “Keep talking and I'll slice you to ribbons ya’ little-”

But before he could threaten number 10, you had crossed your way over to lower his weapon. A gentle hand on his bandaged chest that had been healing for a few days now. “I will be just fine.”

“You heard him, he won't hurt me.”

“And ya’ sure about that?” He had a strained smile on his lips. Bordering frustration as he had not once moved his gaze from the suit.

“If he planned to, he would've attacked me way before I could dice him up to make armor out of him.” You had given him a small smile. Despite your own skepticism.

“I'll be fine..” You reassured him again. And silence took momentary peace in the room full of weary people. The others had not been convinced in the slightest.

Soshiro had a minute to take in your words. His hardened gaze softened momentarily as it met your pretty face. And as usual, you did not falter when you spoke confident sentences. Strong-willed and unafraid as you were. As self-confident as ever it seems, befitting for someone who worked closely on the defense force despite not being a soldier. You were troublesome indeed. But he had no doubt you'd be able to make something out of the living Kaiju he and Captain Ashiro worked so hard to kill.

He couldn't help but let out a sigh. Placing his blade back on his hip. “Fine. But, I'm staying here with you, so…”

“Get him ready, and I'll be the one to break him in for ya.”

–

It had been a few days since that incident occurred. After a few talks with command, you had been granted access to a private facility where the necessary tools and materials were given to you to fix Number 10's control over the weaponized suit. Having been quickly transferred to a private facility that no one but a select few had access to.

Surprisingly, Soshiro had done well on his promise. Leaving the Tachikawa base to stay with you on a daily basis in the case that Kaiju no. 10 would attack. Likely having already explained the situation to Captain Ashiro long before you had worked on adjusting the suit’s flaws.

Soshiro was usually a patient man. But being a Vice Captain of an entire division, you did not want to waste a second of his packed schedule when he was already so busy with his other responsibilities. So you wasted no time as you continued to limit the weapon's control over its armored body. Thoroughly eradicating its ability to disobey order from its wearer, but to no avail.

So far, all you had been able to do was to limit the monster's movements, down to a singular point which was its tail. The limb seems to have a mind of its own, and it did not bother to listen to any of you nor Soshiro's commands. Demanding that they let him battle a Kaiju to test out his new uses. And the moment Soshiro had declined. You weren't spared from Kaiju no. 10's complaining either. Constantly yapping in excitement for a battle that had yet to start.

Although it wasn't nearly as controlled as you liked, command had apparently dubbed the weaponized combat suit as usable enough for Soshiro to handle. And despite the dangers of its early prototypes, they were both given the permission to do a test run within the indoor training grounds provided near the labs.

Which is what leads you today, alone once more in an enforced room no less. Watching Soshiro step into the small pod, where wires had connected the Weaponized combat suit onto his body.

And from the control panel right next to it. You are able to grasp a few readings of his vitals. All seemed stable thus far.

“Are you sure about this? Wouldn't it be safer to have soldiers on standby for the simulation?” You had stood up from your chair. Brows scrunched the moment the combat suit had zipped closed around his body.

Your eyes had glanced over at the way his suit had all but molded to his form. The armor plating had fit distinctly to his chest. And his arms and legs had no trouble adjusting to the heavy heat of Kaiju no. 10's muscle fibers. The ones you had distinctly measured to fit his body. A combat suit made only for him in mind.

And he looked damn good in it. You thought.

“I’ll be fine sweetheart. I'm confident ya’ made it safe enough for me to wear it.” He had spoken through the standard respiratory mask he wore. And you could hear each audible breath he took in. Calm and steady unlike the buzz in your head that kept glancing down your lover's abdomen.

You had half a mind to look away. To not focus on the ridges of his plated hands. The hardened steel that covered his abs. And that damn tail on his back, that traced the ridges of his neck and spine.

Fuck.

Here he was, trusting his safety to the very core of your days worth of handiwork. And all you were thinking about is how you wished his hands were unbuttoning your blouse. And worse.

“Sure.” You stutter.

“Let's just hope it syncs up with your brain waves..” You had distracted yourself. Forcing your eyes to face the screen instead of his body. And you could see the way Soshiro had visibly slackened when he had noticed the way you had turned away from him. And this abruptness had made him frown a little. Thinking that the suit might've scared you to bits. A far cry to the actual thoughts swimming in your mind.

“Your woman here is quite talented in strengthening me. I see why you can't ignore her.” Kaiju no. 10 spoke to him. A chuckle sounding out from the small intercom he wore. Luckily you were too distracted to hear its comment.

“You show hesitation. If I had been the one in control, I'd show no restraint to your woman and take her as mine..” Soshiro had heard it's voice in his head. And flashes of their synced brain had shown him a brief future where you had pinned her under his arms. His clawed hands gripping at the plush of your thighs, and he'd carefully start to taste the droplets of slick that would caress the skin nearest your-

He shook his head.

“Quit yappin’ or I'll have you decommissioned before you can ever become useful to me.” He had stepped forward. The wires disconnecting from the skeletal structure of his armored back. And Soshiro could feel the weight of the weaponized combat suit completely engulf his body. That tail of his, which previously belonged to Kaiju no. 10. Was swinging around haphazardly, out of his control. Like it had been excited from being worn. After days of laying dormant in the table to be operated on.

But if Soshiro had to guess. It was likely this excitement had stemmed from the thoughts the Kaiju had dug up from the very back of his brain. Thoughts that he had kept for himself in the darkness of his room where no one would disturb him.

And a monster having access to that?

Shit.

He might not hear the end of it.

If only he hadn't put that image inside his head. Who would've thought that syncing his brain waves with a sentient combat suit would have him thinking sinful thoughts. In broad daylight too, where the suit could monitor every muscle and bone in his body. Each reaction recorded and documented for a report.

He had heard stories that this was a common side effect that the Weapon Numbers had. The non-sentient ones had at least some form of memory of their previous users. The difference was, number 10 was more talkative. Straightforward even. It had just been his luck that the monster somehow managed to resurface a few of his thoughts that he buried deep within the very corners of his brain.

And here he was, in a situation that made his body unbelievably breathless and hot. Alone and in front of you.

“Vital signs are okay..but your thermal readings are higher than normal.” You had spoken. Shaking away the tingling sensation you felt from seeing him in the Combat suit. More worried about his well being this time.

But Soshiro couldn't seem to look you in the eye. A strained smile seems to have overcome his features as he felt the heat travel from the pit of his stomach, all the way down to the valley between his legs.

Shit.

Now was not the right time for him to harden.

“Is everything alright?” You had walked up much closer to him. And you can see the telltale signs of breathlessness in him. Odd considering he had never been caught breathless like this. And the moment you had come closer in proximity, he took a singular step back.

Which didn't go unnoticed by you.

In actuality, he was lucky that your eyes had been focused on his face. His pants were loose, no different from the standard uniform all officers would wear. But if you looked hard enough, you might be able to see the signs of his printed heat. Carved on the fabric nearest his thighs.

“Just peachy.” He answers with a chuckle.

“He's just..a little noisy that's all.” He had cleared his throat. Feeling the familiar sensation of his erection start to throb. And another wave of uncontrollable thoughts had washed over his mind. Likely a result from No. 10 sharing its desires to him. No, rather than sharing its thoughts, it most likely resurfaced his feelings that he kept hidden from his lover.

It hadn't been that long since you had officially gotten together. Save one date or two during the rare occasion that they'd both be off-duty. But never had they been intimate in that way before. Hell, he didn't even know if you were a virgin or not.

He flinches. Suddenly feeling the shockwave of heat skim across his armored body, making him falter from his movements to back away. And he falls forward. A hand on your shoulder to steady himself before he could completely stumble.

“Soshiro!” He had heard you speak. The palm of your hand against his chest. But his mind was dazed. His name on your lips had made his pants feel awfully tight. And his ears had warmed slightly, removing the respiratory mask on his face so that he could breathe more evenly. “M’ fine..”

His tone had not been convincing. And you could feel the quick breaths he'd take to make up for the lack of oxygen that took up all the heat in his body.

Damn you, Kaiju no. 10. Soshiro could practically hear it chuckling.

“Stop lying..” You had spoken exasperatedly. “Is he talking to you right now?” You heard him give you a hum.

And such a curt reply makes you wonder. Finding it odd that Soshiro, who was normally talkative and easy-going, had all but quieted down. Your question remained unanswered as he was too busy hearing the words of the Weaponized suit in his head. Urging him forward which had left you clueless to the thoughts in his head. “Your hesitation is cowardly. Move. Or I will, swordsman.”

And he purses his lips at the thought. His head leaning against your shoulder. Hand abruptly moving to palm the small of your back to pull you much closer than before. And he gritted his teeth at Number 10's coercion. “Don't touch her.”

His growl had made you flinch. And you can see the way his fangs had showed up from the way his teeth had bared. The low baritone of his voice had been unlike him. Heavy and out of breath. But somehow the sound shot straight down your core. And it makes you gulp.

The reply had clearly not been for you. And such actions would provoke him enough to pull you closer. That and you had found it strange for him to be acting in such a way. You had assumed as much that Number 10 would be talking to him. Though exactly what they had conversed about you hadn't had a clue. Only going off in the little hints of emotions you’d find surrounding his body and face. But that had been impossible too.

Not when he had his nose buried on the crook of your neck where the scent of your subtle cologne had wafted thoroughly. Leaving a mark that made him want to do as Number 10 had desired. Or better yet, provoked him to do it.

“Soshiro..” you called softly. Running your hands through his dark hair starts to worry for both his physical and mental state. It was common knowledge that Weaponized Kaiju would put a strain on its user. And you did not want to risk his life for an early prototype that had yet to be perfected by you.

To your better judgment, you had led him to lean against the control panel. Gently letting his back hit the surface of the table. And you had slowly unwrapped yourself from him. Reaching to the keyboard which will let you issue a command to get him ejected from the Weaponized Kaiju.

But before you could reach to press a few buttons, he pulled you back. Strong hands wrapping at the softness of your waist. Gingerly pulling you back, closer to him in proximity to prevent your escape. Your spine was pressed up against his chest where you could feel the sturdiness of his suit against your shoulder. And your frown at your lover's unusual stubbornness. Not one to often find him resisting any actions you'd issue when it came to testing weaponized materials. “Soshiro, just hold still I need to-”

You flinched. Stopping your sentence midway.

The sudden feeling of his teeth sinking into the nape of your neck had overridden whatever words that wanted to leave your mouth. All but too focused on the feeling of his teeth taking a bite from the skin of your very neck.

Surprisingly, his bite had not been enough to draw blood. It was softer than you anticipated. One that oddly made you yelp in a pleased manner. And just as quickly as he marked the area, he moved to lick away at the reddened state your skin had been left in. Which you had not expected, placing a hefty hand over your lips to strangle any noises your throat attempted to make from his intimate actions.

“Soshiro, wait.” You had flinched again.

Feeling his lips trail kisses southward. Down from the nape, all the way over to the pulse point on your neck. He had hummed, giving your skin a few kitten licks. Before he immediately sank his teeth into your skin once more.

Leaving red marks that left you jolting against him. Your head leaning back to press closer against his shoulder. Likely to let his teeth sink deeper, if he wanted to. But Soshiro, even in this dazed state, remained disciplined. Rigid as he didn't let the bite intensify in fear of injuring you. His only intent was to leave ravishing red marks that proved to him that you were his. A warning to the Kaiju that threatened his place beside you.

“Mm..sorry dear. You're jus’ way too fuckin sweet.” He mumbled against your skin. His tail, which had previously been quiet, had now wrapped itself loosely against your leg. As if trying to pull you closer to Soshiro's body. The same sentiment seemed to have been shared between Kaiju No. 10 and Soshiro. And you wonder if this had been the result of their minds syncing up. The conversation they would have in their head remained a mystery to you as they worked in tandem to challenge each other further. And you had hesitantly tried to pull away despite not wanting to stop.

“We're still at work..” You had whispered out. Breathing heavily as he licked and sucked on your neck. Leaving purple marks on the wake of his careful lips. Even in this state he had been meticulous. Leaving careful bites that only ever felt ticklish and pleasant. And he pulled you closer, halting you from escaping.

He had not been rough at all in the way he had so easily painted your skin with his masterpieces. And although his grip was firm. All you needed was to push him away. To stop him from going further. But you hadn't moved a single inch away. Let alone stop him.

“I know..I just..” He breathes heavily against your jaw and ear. Taking your free hand to drag it behind you. Guiding your touch to trace the ridges of his abdomen. Reaching all the way down to the softness of his pants. And you feel the cold zipper of his clothes graze against your fingertips.

But more importantly. Something warmer had touched her fingertips. And you could feel the shape of his length under the confines of fabric. Painfully hard and tight from his size. And you feel your breath hitch the moment you had realized why exactly he had been heating up so abnormally since he wore the suit. The strangled sound of his groan had been muffled by his lips pressing thinly together. Biting back the soft sighs as he guides your warm palm to press harder against his crotch.

“Jus’ tell me to stop.” He whispered.

“Tell me you don't want this..” He breathlessly groaned. Suddenly finding relief that your hand had cupped the very place he had been craving friction from. The texture of his pants made him shiver as you had delicately traced the imprint of his hard-on. As if all but admiring the large warmth in your hand. And you realized that your body showed no signs of stopping. Giving into the inhibitions that that struggle through the restraints of your logic.

And although you couldn't face him right now, you spoke softly. Immediately in your reply. “I want this..”

Soshiro had taken a moment to glance at you. And he sees the redness of your cheeks bloom against your skin. Chest heaving just as much as he was when he had started thinking about the pleasure in his body. Number 10 had seemed to read both you and him so easily that he didn't need to hold you both in place just so something would happen. The work is already being done in place as you suddenly press yourself further into his erection.

Without warning, you start grinding your hands against him. Moving it up and down, feeling the way the fabric rolled against your palm and the traces or dampness. Ones that alluded to sticky mess he made underneath the fabric.

A hiss came from his mouth and Soshiro couldn't help but pull you closer by the hips. His enhanced hands, one that had been strengthened by the weaponized suit, would likely leave bruises on the handle of your hips. If he had been too caught up or careless in his actions.

So he faltered, moving his hand away from your body. Instead, deciding to prop itself up on the surface of the control panel they leaned on. The other hand, which had still made contact with your hips. Had caressed you hungrily upon your own touches. Holding back his urges to grab you too tightly lest he breaks your body from his strength alone. An idea likely from Kaiju no. 10 who had oddly quieted down from his actions. Whether it too can feel the effects you have on him was a mystery to him. One of which he had greedily just decided to ignore for the time being.

He'll save the lectures for later.

“Fuck-” He had sighed out. Feeling your fingers start palming him harder. Rubbing his crotch vigorously. Enough to cause him to squirm in place. His eyes had momentarily opened. Squinting around for any cameras or recording devices hidden in the training room. Luckily, there was conveniently none. Likely a result of keeping Weapons 10 a secret in the case they get infiltrated by a Kaiju.

Not that it was a problem for him. He'd wipe any footage he finds later. And everyone would be none the wiser to their endeavors.

His focus had solely fixated on the way your fingertips felt upon his crotch. His hips have grown desperate. Moving to grind against your hand to get more friction out of you. But to no avail, the fabric was in the way. And right now, his only thought was that this moment, although as pleasing to him as it did to you, had been the worst time for the both of you to start in.

He had it all planned out too.

He'd take you out on a date on his off-duty. Make you wear a pretty sundress that he could easily peel off. And focus on your pleasure for the rest of the night should he be allowed to do so.

But this had been too different from his plans. Far too risky and sudden for his liking. His pleasure had been amped, and he had felt the careful touches you'd do in order to please him. Touch and palm his dick until it was beyond the point of arousal. Make him spill an early load in the confines of a training room no less.

But he'll be damned if he doesn't please you too.

“Ngh..You too sweetheart..” He groaned. “Let me make you feel good too.” He whispered, trying to regain a sense of control when his crotch had surely been sticky and wet from all the precum that damped his own boxers.

The hand that had hesitated in gripping your hip had slid forward to your stomach. His fingers tracing down the crumpled blouse that had tucked into the standardized pencil skirt that you had worn. And time and time again, it had not failed to grab his attention in each waking moment you decided to wear the damn thing.

The way it had hugged your figure, where he'd sneak a glance at the curves of your stomach and hips. His thoughts couldn't help but darken, admiring the way you had always managed to capture his attention. Unwarranted and without warning.

He didn't hesitate to pull your skirt up. Trailing the fabric directly above your navel until it revealed the pretty underwear you wore. And his textured fingertips traced his name on the waistband of the fabric. Playing with the mere shudders you'd make upon his touches. Your hands, which had busied themselves by touching Soshiro’s crotch, had stilled for a moment. Giving him a stellar opportunity to make up for lost time. It was his turn now.

“Keep yer legs open for me sweetheart..” He had whispered out. Immediately running his hand through the valley of your clothed core. Feeling the dampness of the underwear, stain his coarse fingertips with your slick. Your inner thighs which had quivered against his light touches had glistened as a few droplets slipped past his fingers which made the skin of your thighs all the more tantalizing to watch.

He'd like to admire it more if he were being honest. He could tell number 10 had been all the same as his tail trailed up further onto your thighs. Gripping the skin to keep you in place. But right now, it wasn't the ideal setting for such a thing. Had this been a perfect world, he'd have taken you somewhere more comfortable. More private to please you. But right now, the suit isn't responding to any of his commands. And the best way to shut him and his damn urges up was to do this as quickly as possible. He'll have to make up for this at a later date. For now, all they needed was each other's touches.

“Soshiro..wait, I've never-” You threw your head back. Pausing when the hand that had moved to palm your cunt had suddenly invaded your space. His fingers had slipped past your waistband to quickly pinch at the sensitive bundle of nerves above your entrance. Your clit throbbing to meet his touches as you clenched against nothing in particular. Leaving Soshiro's own pulsating erection shuddering from your lack of touches. Far too distracted to continue your previous movements. Pinching your tender clit had made Soshiro groan in response. Feeling just how wet you had gotten for him despite only touching you just now.

“This your first time?” He whispered. Kissing you squarely on the shoulders. Trying his best to calm your nerves at the new feeling he was giving you. His hand was far too occupied at touching the quivering spot between your legs. And he starts rubbing circles with his fingers. Pressing down on the nub of your clit which made you moan and buck your hips in response.

“Shh..S’okay. Let me take care of ya.” He breathed next to your ear. “I won't enter ya..just focus on the pleasure.” He sighed out. His fingers were already making quick work of your entrance which had not wasted any more time than he should have. Weary that anyone could walk in and see them doing other things that didn't involve number 10's prototype testing.

Immediately, he didn't hesitate to run his hands through your fleshy lips. Mixing the liquids of your slick to help satisfy the itch your heat had felt. And the noises you made when you spoke his name had all but proved to encourage his touches further. Stretching your cunt wide open to make way for his fingers.

And you had all but yelped the moment his movements had made quick and distinct touches to your cunt. Your entrance trying its damndest to swallow his fingers whole that had so easily helped build up the euphoric high your core desperately chased after. But to no avail, his fingers teased. Slipping past the entrance just to help you fit his fingers in much easier. Testing out whether you can take the stretch of his fingers or not.

Despite the strain on his pants, his hand had expertly rubbed and felt your fleshy entrance. Squeezing the slick out of you as it had completely dampened his fingers and the underwear that had threatened to slip past your thighs.

The shaky moans you'd let out was followed up by a finger slowly prodding at your cunt's entrance and without warning his coarse gloved hands had invaded you without struggle. His finger easily made it past the slippery exterior he worked so hard to prep. All for this moment. “Nghh..Soshi..ro..feels good.”

“I know sweetheart. You're close right?” His own shaky breaths had replied back. His fingers suddenly pistoning in and out of your sopping wet core. Invading and reaching spots no one, not even you had reached before. And your head throws back against him. Hand immediately palming his clothed dick to encourage him further. The unfamiliar feeling of a string coiling around the pit of your stomach had formed. And it threatened to spill out from your cunt like a glass cup that had been too full.

“Mmm..let me touch you too.” You had managed to let out between sighs. Your legs are shivering at this point. And you feel your underwear slip down to pool against your ankles. No longer struggling to keep itself up against your inner thighs. Revealing the lewd scene of his fingers penetrating your cunt. You hadn't even realized he added a finger until he started moving it in a scissoring motion. And you had half a mind to give up on your endeavors to match his euphoria.

But you have always been quite a stubborn person. Even when you had carefully tiptoed around each other. You had been bold in your endeavors. And you were bolder now, more than ever.

“Shit- hold on a second..mmm..” Soshiro had felt the way your hand had reached to unzip his pants. And your palm had gradually encased his dick with the warmth of your fingers. Massaging his erection directly to feel the ridges and veins it naturally had. The tip of it was a raging red that dripped pearlescent drops of his precum. Bubbling at the slit to land on the floor below them.

And Soshiro couldn't help but groan. Imagining that it had been your cunt that had engulfed his dick in languid motions.

Number 10 didn't need to coerce him this time. Getting lost on the feeling as he bucked his hips to meet the sensations you dished out. But despite this, he did not falter in his actions at all. Completely enamored that he could touch you and feel you all at the same time. Driving his mind into a short circuit the minute his fingers managed to reach deeper into your cunt. Finding the hardened button of your g-spot that only makes your vision blurry.

“uh…ahh..I'm close. Soshiro..I'm close..” You had closed your eyes, your movements beginning to turn sloppy as you tried to keep up with his pace. And your shaky moaning had increased in volume since then.

Soshiro could feel the telltale signs of your release. Feeling your cunt squeeze onto his fingers which had been knuckle deep into you at this point. And he too lets out a shaky moan when he feels his semen drip down more steadily from his dick. Leaving the liquid dripping between your fingers and soft palms. “Me too..”

“Just..keep your voice down dear.” He spoke slowly. Burying his face unto the crook of your neck before bucking his hips wildly into your hand. Letting him control the pace in which you had massaged his dick. And he began seeing stars. Your moans had been crystal clear while his fingers stretched you open. Grinding up against your cunt whilst his thumb pressed deeply against your clit to further push you on the edge.

And without warning, you had arched your back to scream.

Soshiro hadn't realized this as you both came. The release for both of you had been so intense that he had forgotten all about Kaiju no. 10 who was still silent but active within his suit. Silently snarling and listening in on the intensity your pleasure had dictated the scene. Number 10 had not been perfected as a weapon, So it still had somewhat of a mind of its own. Able to control just a part of its tail upon being worked on for days on end.

And surprisingly, he made himself rather useful when its weaponized tail wrapped around the jaw of her mouth. Muffling your pleasured screams before you'd be found out by any passing officers outside of the training room.

Your body convulsed at the feeling.

The euphoria traveling in shockwaves as your ivory essence had pooled between your thighs and his hand. Coating it with the liquid that you had not thought you'd be able to reach without Soshiro's expertise. Luckily, his dick was much the same.

Shooting out thick semen that had stained the skin of your calf to create a messy picturesque sequence that he's sure would be number 10’s leverage for the next time they try to test him as a prototype. And that had been all Soshiro needed to know for a sigh to escape his lips. His weird suit sure had its ups and downs he supposes. But if this were to happen again, he'd rather keep you as far away from him when he's wearing this suit for the next time around.

“Sorry..” You had heard Soshiro breathe out. And you watch him in the corner of your eyes. As hair clung against the sweaty sheen of your cheek. The tail that had muffled your mouth slowly retracted upon Soshiro's command. And you could've sworn you heard a faint laughter from within the Number 10. As if he too had been satisfied by such an event.

“What for?” You had smiled. Glancing at the way your lover had breathed heavily. Taking in the steady breathes he needed after the passionate event you had both experienced. And his face had gingerly lifted up from your shoulder. A baffled look crossing his features.

“I didn't mean to attack you like that..I-” He paused. Feeling the way the Combat suit had finally cooled down. Signaling that it had been shut down. Likely because it had not been fitted for a better power source yet. So it turned off on its own before Number 10 could even make another snide comment, one of which Soshiro was sure he'd be doing just about now. Had he the actual power capacity to do so.

And he grits his teeth upon the suit slowly opening up to reveal the compression shirt he wore underneath it. Finally his control had been mostly back. With Number 10 no longer plaguing his thought process.

“Damn this Kaiju..” He whispered. Removing his fingers from your core. And you flinch upon the loss of his warmth.

“It's fine.” You shook your head.

“Was it the Kaiju giving you ideas? or was it all you?” You had asked. Suddenly it was strange that the researcher in you would surface after just touching each other so lewdly earlier. But you couldn't help but wonder. He had acted strangely upon putting on Number 10. You'd only assume they had a spoken agreement earlier when Soshiro had looked protective almost, in the way he had held you.

“Most of it..yeah..” Soshiro had admitted. Awkwardly looking away knowing that he might've crossed boundaries with you. He'd be remiss if you didn't get a little bit angry at the sudden attack. And he wouldn't blame you if you had not wanted to be anywhere near him ever again.

But you surprised him once more when you moved to kiss him on the lips. Unchanged in the way you felt when you had consented to his advances. It was partly your logic that encouraged him. It was partly your fault too for not stopping him when he asked. Now you both were held responsible in submitting a fake report that would inevitably be submitted to command. And such a kiss that spoke those very sentiments leaves him breathless, trying to catch oxygen before it could leave him panting for another.

“Good. I'd be pissed off if you told me you didn't want me at all.”

“Did’ya really think I didn't want you?” He sighed. “I just..wanted you to feel special. Unlike how I treated you before..”

And you couldn't help but smile. Knowing how hard Soshiro had likely been working a lot harder to make time for you despite the nature of their work. And that fact alone, has been enough for your cheeks to flame. His efforts have been enough for you for some time now. Unbeknownst to his better judgement.

“It's fine..just make it up to me another time.” You had spoken softly. Wrapping your arms around his neck. And he in turn hugged you just as tightly back.

“I will. I promise you I will, sweetheart.” He spoke. Leaning back in to capture your lips despite the slight fatigue the suit has done to his body. The heaviness didn't matter much to him anymore. And damn the suit if he had to beat into submission on a later date. Number 10 may have had a grip on him this time, but next time around he won't be the one dictating his desires.

He'd do it himself. Properly and in a much better setting, where he wouldn't be panting like a puppy in heat.

His breathlessness had been a rare sight indeed. But Oxygen was all he needed to kiss you breathless too.

[leoivys]

𝑵𝑬𝑾 𝒀𝑬𝑨𝑹'𝑺 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑭𝑬𝑺𝑺𝑰𝑶𝑵 — 𝑱𝑨𝑺𝑶𝑵 𝑻𝑶𝑫𝑫

– contents; fluff, a hint of angst and implied smut

– summary; spending new years with your childhood best friend with who you spent a night with

– word count; 1.2k

– a/n; This is rushed, late, and my first time writing smut. But happy (late) new year! ♡

Your friendship with Jason goes way back, even before he became the vigilante he is today. When you used to play in the garden of the Wayne Manor and always ended up getting a bit too rough, leaving your knees bruised and bloody before Alfred would fix them up for you. The young boy would sit by your side and hold your hand as he muttered butchered apologies – he wouldn't hurt you. It was never his intention.

The small frown of pure concern etched on his face every time you got hurt as he rushed to your side in order to help in any way he possibly could always give you a feeling of security.

He was always there for you like you were for him, earning titles like his most trusted associate in the militia, his closest friend before and after what happened to him in Arkham, his first time.

That night, when you promised no romantic attachments to each other – even after you saw a grown man who had missed so much of his life due to what he had to go through so vulnerable under you; reacting to your every touch, letting you taste the desperation on his tongue as he pulled you in a bruising kiss to muffle any sounds of weakness his mind was encouraging him to let out for you to hear. A man people have learned to fear in such a short period was writhing – no, begging, for you to not take your hands off him.

Where had his innocence gone? You couldn't help but wonder how this messy, broken person that was currently kneeling before your frame was the same one you grew up with, and God help him, for he was so far gone. His cold hands rested on your thighs, keeping them in place; his touch gentle against the softness of your skin in contrast to his rough one as he made his best efforts to impress you.

Jason took his time, his logic skills? Long forgotten. A faint smile tugged on his lips. He allowed himself to feel the taste of your ‘essence’ on his tongue overwhelm his senses – visibly shivering while he found himself mindlessly admiring you as much as each and every one of your pleasant reactions. Communication skills? Completely turned off, and you could tell when you noticed him mumble incoherent gibberish all in a pathetic attempt to beg.

You were brought back to the present when Jason's sigh of disappointment echoed in the emptiness of the room, another group of militia soldiers had lost their base to the one person he made a promise to kill – the Bat.

His expression grew tired. You could tell, regardless of the mask that he hid himself beneath and all the armor he used to protect his scars, you knew him that well. As soon as the fuzz of the mask's robotic effect faded, you spoke up, “I hope you follow along with the plans we have.”

Your intentions were clear; try to get Jason to cheer up a little, and the bare minimum was to at least help him get his mind off of everything he had going on. Although, your remark earned you a huff of air before his mask was lifted by the press of one button. “Alright… You're a pain, you know that?” He responded with a playful hint to his usually serious voice, a look of defeat settled in his expression.

In your books, that was a win.

It's funny seeing how people ignore the cold for the sake of getting the preparations ready for their guests or those who are lucky enough to expect family members to come back to spend their holidays back at home. The house filling up with chatter and laughter in every corner is a miracle not everyone had the chance to enjoy.

Sometimes life doesn't turn out exactly how you expect. The kind of thoughts that consumed your mind weren't anything other than what you had done in your course of life, leaving your vision clouded.

“You're uncharacteristically early.” Jason pointed out with a tinge of playfulness to his tone. He never had the difficulty of calling you out on your bullshit. New Year's Eve. You had arranged something casual, changing into another year and hoping for the best atop a rooftop where the big screen of the city's center was visible, and a champagne ready to be opened after the countdown and emptied into the two glasses he had brought along.

It wasn't long until the countdown had already begun, people's voices echoing in the city's filled streets along with yours harmonizing with Jason's rough one. The light of the bright screens brightened its surroundings, making the thin layer of snow shimmer in the darkness the midnight sky had to offer – a sparkle that reminded you of Jason's eyes, but you quickly snapped out of it.

His drunken smile was a sight for sore eyes, bearing all of his teeth like he used to when he was less broken – his little smile. Jason’s gaze seemed focused on every part of you, and at the same time, he looked so out of it. You couldn't feel even just a little grateful that the alcohol had gotten to his head and momentarily lost the mask he had grown such an attachment to, so much that he preferred it.

It was the same Jason under all the walls he had built up around himself when his the most important years of his life were snatched away from his shaky hands, the very same that cradled you after nightmares that left you heaving and searching for your sanity among the most vulnerable pieces of yourself, the ones that you held onto during the freezing nights like this to stabilize yourself upon the ice that had settled on the ground.

Jason, with his fucked up past – one of the few ones who had every right to be mad at the world and rough around the edges to the world for turning its back, yet you were his world and he chose to be gentle. You were his witness as a feather-like touch ran down your arm and made itself comfortable over your hand.

The scent of the bubbly drink on the tip of his tongue brought you back to the present. It was clear that he was lightheaded, but part of him was still aware of his surroundings. Well, he was anyway, until he rested his head on your shoulder without a single care in the world. “I love you.” He muttered, his breath coming out in a cloud of fog in contrast to the coldness of the world.

The words slip out easier than he could ever imagine, but he means it. This time was unlike any other time before. He wasn't comforting his best friend or hugging them goodbye because he was leaving for a mission. It was a confession and a drunken one at that.

Jason hadn't lost himself. “Happy New Year, Jay.” You muttered. A sharp sigh escaped him as he allowed himself to get overwhelmed by the feeling of your hand rushing through his hair.

A new year comes with new beginnings, and maybe this year can be better than what you expected.

[carooosa]

Craving Temptation Part 2: Psychic Ecstacy

Part 1: First Bite

Word count: 2.7k Rating: Explicit Pairing: Astarion x AFAB!Tav/Reader Warnings: 18+, tadpole, masturbation AO3 link: Psychic Ecstacy

Summary: You can't sleep and instead spend the night thinking of the vampire who was wormed his way into your mind, in more ways than one. How will you react to Astarion's smooth voice and honeyed words as he talks you through your pleasure?

A/N: If you've read the previous fic, this one is in Tav/Reader POV. If it seems like Astarion is OOC, good, because he's manipulating Tav.

You toss and turn in your bedroll, sleep refusing to bless you this night. Your mind is racing with questions and worry as you think back to all the failed leads so far. Nettie tried to poison you, the goblin “priestess” locked you in a cell, Ethel turned out to be a hag and made you blind in one eye, although you didn’t have to deal with that long since Volo accidentally removed it, and Halsin, while unable to heal you, has agreed to journey with you to Moonrise Towers for a cure.

Thinking about all of your adventures so far gives you a headache, but that pain is soon replaced by the wriggle of the tadpole behind your eye.

A sultry voice fills your head, pushing all of your previous thoughts away. “Unable to sleep, darling?”

Although you were unsure about using the tadpoles… powers, Astarion had quickly accepted the changes they brought. You shoot back a short reply, a simple “No.”

It feels as if he’s chuckling right next to your ear as he responds, “My, my Tav, I thought you didn’t want to use the tadpole’s power. What ever could have changed?”

You scoff out loud at that. “Nothing has changed, I still don’t want to use whatever this tadpole is giving me.”

“Well, I’m simply flattered, dear, that you’d make an exception just for me,” Astarion quips back, and you can vividly imagine the smug smirk that’s across his face.

You huff and roll over in your bedsheet again. Astarion always seemed to pick on you. After you turned down his proposition at the Tiefling party, you were sure that he would leave you alone, but that rejection only seemed to fuel his desire for you further.

It’s not that he wasn’t attractive, gods no, he certainly was. But with the threat of being turned into a mindflayer, as well as the never-ending side quests you seemed to be going on, you didn’t have the time or energy to even humor his advances. Although, you did have the time to at least imagine how a night with him would be.

You picture his face, the sharpness of his nose, and the way his hair is always a perfect mess. His eyes, a piercing crimson, always lingering on your body for a moment too long. His soft lips, an unassuming pretty pink that hid his sharp fangs.

You imagine how those fangs would feel in a kiss. Would they get in the way? Or would they add excitement to the moment? How would Astarion react if you bit him?

You think about how elegant he looks when lounging around camp, leisurely reading a book in the sunlight— just a hint of his chest peaking out beneath his shirt. His arms are muscular, usually hidden beneath his armor but put out on display when he rolls his lounge shirt up.

And his hands. Gods, his hands. You’ve seen him make quick work of a lock, his fingers nimbly maneuvering his lock-picking tools with ease. You imagine those hands on your body, feeling you up and down, the coolness of his touch would somehow heat you up. You picture his hands going lower.

“Having fun, darling?” Astarion’s voice rips through your thoughts.

Embarrassment washes over you as you realize that he was spying in on you obsessing over him. “It’s not what it looks like, I-” you start, only to be interrupted by the silky voice of the man you admire.

“There’s no need to be flustered, now, is there? To be honest, I thought there was something utterly messed up in that head of yours when you turned down my offer. But I’ve noticed the way you look at me. I see the longing in your eyes. Why not let me relieve some of your stress?”

“Astarion, we don’t have the luxury to fool around with each other. We have to get to Moonrise Towers as soon as possible,” you reply back to him, and you can feel a twinge of annoyance in your tadpole.

“Yes, yes, getting rid of the tadpole and all that. You’ve made it perfectly clear that no time is to be wasted.” He responds. You expect him to leave you alone at that, but instead, he offers a new proposition. “You’re certainly not going to sleep anytime soon, and I can feel your arousal from our connection. I won’t give you the best night of your life, against my better judgment, but who’s to say we can’t keep this connection while we both take care of ourselves, hm?”

You think for a moment. It might be beneficial to, as Astarion says, alleviate your stress. You have been wrangling a handful of companions who all have different ideas of the best path to take. It’s been over a tenday now and you’re exhausted, not just with them but from the constant creeping of anxiety in the back of your mind. Perhaps letting go would give you the refresher you need to keep pushing forward. And besides, you’ll just quickly and quietly masturbate, clean up, and then go right to bed. You wouldn’t lose any more sleep than you’ve been losing lately.

“Fine,” you say back to Astarion and you feel a hint of surprise before the overwhelming feeling of lust, causing your heart to skip a beat.

“So you can make smart decisions,” he quips. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable, pet.”

You feel like a disobedient child who’s stayed up past their bedtime to sneak some sweets as you prop up your pillow and undress your lower half. You reassure yourself that this is the most logical thing to do and that you’re doing it to clear your mind to be a better leader, nothing else.

“Tell yourself whatever you want, but we both know that you’ve been craving my touch and have finally succumbed to your yearnings. It’s understandable, really, that you would be distracted by my dastardly good looks and body. But what you don’t know is that I am well experienced when it comes to pleasing others. While I’ll settle with talking you through your pleasure, I’ll ensure that after tonight you’ll be begging for the full experience.”

You know that you'll reprimand yourself for this later. You've already agreed to do whatever this is that you're about to do, and you're never one to back down from a challenge.

"Don't make me regret this," you warn the vampire as you close your eyes.

His voice overwhelms your mind. "I wouldn't dream of it."

He pauses for a moment leaving you wondering if he's changed his mind, when suddenly you hear his silky voice yet again. "I've got to say, Tav, that I never expected you to have so many scandalous thoughts in that pretty little head of yours. It took me by surprise to see you imagining my face, my body, my hands. Perhaps I could give you a lesson on lockpicking sometime."

An image of Astarion expertly unlocking a chest flashes in your mind. With years of experience, he's able to use only one hand to undo the contraption. His fingers languidly run over each hook of his tool, pausing over the one he needs and rubbing it between two fingers. While he shows you this image, one of your hands travels down your body and to your entrance. You mimic the movement on your clit, finding the perfect spot to rub and pinch.

“Good Tav, keep touching yourself for me. Pretend your hand is mine, teasing your clit and working you up into a mess,” Astarion instructs.

You feel guilty for a moment, taking your own pleasure and not thinking of anyone else. Astarion must have somehow picked up on your dread as your attention is snapped away from your guilt. You feel the whisper of a cool hand against your face before it disappears, and Astarion reassures you.

“We’ll have none of that now, darling. You’ve every right to turn down my advances, but it’s simply cruel to deny yourself pleasure.”

You stop touching yourself and respond, “I’ve done nothing to warrant a ‘reward’ for myself. There’s still so much that’s yet to be done; this was a mista-”

Astarion abruptly cuts you off “Blasphemy. You’ve done nothing but help others this entire time I’ve known you. You’re the epitome of what a savior is, yet you refuse yourself the title. Even the gods above take their praises in pride.” He pauses for a second, letting the words sink in before continuing, “I suppose that just proves that the gods themselves are nothing compared to you.”

Your heart catches in your throat at the words he throws your way. You freeze, scared that if you even breathe you’ll ruin the moment.

“Besides, if nothing else it’ll make the playing field even again,” he quickly adds.

“What do you mean even again?” you ask, only to be met with silence. Although you don’t want to embrace the tadpole, you decide to push into Astarion’s head. You’re met with a flash of a scene: Astarion, mouth full of your blood with some dripping down his chin, frantically fucking his hand in the woods behind the camp. As quickly as the image appears in your mind it’s gone.

“You drive me mad, Tav. Bless me with the privilege of being your undoing. Allow me to be your ecstasy.”

You’re unsure how to respond to such a plea. Exploring your own wants and desires had always been pushed to the background, the responsibility to help others always taking precedence.

You decide to give Astarion one last chance to back out. “I’m not as experienced as you are with this sort of thing. I’ll be awkward.”

“Let me guide you, then,” he offers, and you finally decide to give into this want of yours.

“Tell me what I should do.”

You feel a rush of excitement through the mind-link you share. “Oh darling, there’s nothing I’d rather do. Now, let’s give you the most mind-shattering pleasure imaginable. Follow my instructions and let me know if there’s anything you don’t like. Open your mind up to me so I can see what you’re doing.”

You take some deep breaths and relax, strengthening the connection to his tadpole until your minds are completely connected, Astarion’s voice as loud as your own thoughts.

“Why don’t we spend some time worshipping those breasts of yours? I want you to massage them, try different speeds and different amounts of pressure, until you find a momentum that you like.”

You oblige, tentatively touching yourself and wondering what the point is of doing this.

“Tsk, tsk, you refuse yourself pleasure so much so that you think masturbation is just a means to an end. My darling, your body is simply divine. If I was ever given the chance I would make sure that no inch goes untouched, no part of you unloved. Gods, Tav, you captivate my mind every second of the day.”

Your face flushes red and a warmth spreads through your body. You’ve found a slow and gentle pace, but Astarion urges you to press further.

“Don’t be afraid, darling. Your body can withstand some roughening up. Hells, what I wouldn’t do to mark you up, leave bruises on your unblemished skin.”

“Your body is a temple yet explored, and I intend to be your guide. Rub and pinch your nipples for me, darling. Bite your lip and rub your thighs together. You like being bitten, don’t you, Tav? Don’t think your little whimpers and shakes went unnoticed by me. Fuck, Tav-” Astarion’s voice falters, instead replaced with some grunts.

You listen to Astarion’s instructions and squeeze your nipples tightly, yelping at the pain but then doing it again, quickly becoming addicted to the sensation. You think back to the night you awoke to find the vampire looming over you, his eyes filled with hunger, a hunger for you. You jolt at the thought and bite your lip, hard, relishing in the slight pain. 

All the while you experiment with your pleasure, Astarion has gone quiet. You search for him in your mind. You’re overwhelmed with the erratic thoughts going through his head, thoughts of you, your body, your voice, your scent; every single position Astarion would like to take you in.

“Astarion?” you gingerly ask.

As soon as you say his name, a feeling of bliss radiates from him.

“Hells below Tav, you’ll be my ruin.”

“What happened?” you ask.

“What happened? What happened?” Astarion repeats to you. “What happened, my dear succubus, is what I hope to bring unto you. I see you’ve been listening to my instructions as I can smell your arousal from my tent.”

You quickly notice the wetness that has begun to pool beneath you, your nipples fully hardened from your touch.

“You’re such an obedient little pet, aren’t you? Oh, how I would train you to become drenched at the sound of my voice if you’d let me. Let me guide your hands, Tav. Keep one hand on a breast and move the other to your clit.”

You oblige, his voice filling your mind and working you up. You gently place a finger on your clit and begin to rub, gasping out loud from the sensitivity.

“Don’t falter on me just yet. I have yet to explain how I would ravish you with my tongue, slicking you up before using my fingers to stretch you out. I’d leave you a writhing mess beneath me, begging for me to fill you with my cock.”

As you stimulate your clit, an image of Astarion looming over you with hair unkempt and eyes blown out from lust pushes into your mind. You rub faster, and right as you reach your peak, Astarion speaks.

“Cum for me.”

With the sound of his voice and the image in your mind, your body shakes as you cum. Your breathing steadies and you feel an overwhelming emptiness in your core.

“Already wanting more?”

You shake your head and try to come to your senses. “This was more than I’ve done and more than I expected to do tonight.”

Astarion starts to tease you, amused with this revelation. “More than you’ve done? Don’t tell me you’re a virgin, now.”

“No! I’ve had sex before, I just-” you start to correct him before he cuts you off.

“You’ve never orgasmed before, have you?” You don’t respond. “Oh, Tav. You sweet forbidden fruit. You have no idea just how much pleasure I could give you. The night’s young; let me show you what pure bliss really feels like.”

You’re almost tempted to agree before you remember that you’re on a mission to get rid of the tadpoles you’ve been using to talk to Astarion.

“Tsk, it’s a shame you won’t indulge in yourself. Nevertheless, I thoroughly enjoyed this. I would ask if you had fun, but I already know the answer.”

You decide to quickly shut this down before it continues further “Goodnight, Astarion.”

You feel a twinge of disappointment from him before it disappears. “Goodnight, Tav. Try not to dream of me too much.”

Before you’re able to sever the connection, Astarion shows you the mess he’s made of himself during your conversation. He sends the moment he came undone into your mind: you saying his name. You see him thrusting into his hand as streams of cum shoot out of his cock.

The connection ends, and you’re left alone with the silence of the night and your thoughts. You’re unable to get the image out of your head. Your hands start to wander over your body as you recall the instructions he gave you, this time imagining it’s Astarion touching your body. It looks like you won’t be getting much sleep tonight after all.

Part 3: Sanguine Relief

[moonlight-prose]

wip wednesday!

thank you for the tags @joelsgoldrush @eupheme @elflutter @joelsdagger & @sceletaflores!! i didn't do this last week cause i was thoroughly exhausted but i am very excited about what's cooking in my drafts this week!

Hopelessly Devoted To You

A shove against his chest had him stumbling towards the door, your entire body being used like a counterweight to push him out. He fell into the hallway with a grunt, teeth clamping onto his bottom lip to silence the laughter that threatened to echo off the empty walls. This wasn't an unusual position to find yourselves in—fighting like children who each held onto one end of a life altering secret.

Nights spent in the comfort of your home in high school with Eddie forced to sleep on the floor (per your mother's instructions) lead to picking on one another until the other caved. A past time you often ached to get back.

Maybe that's why you couldn't stop smiling at the sight of him trying to cling to the edge of your doorway. Maybe that's why your heart was set to burst when he snuck back in to simply hear you shout his name.

Two humans helplessly gone for one another with nothing to show for it but a lifetime of friendship. Never meant to be more than this.

"Night kitten!" he called from his room, the door shutting with a soft thud as you slipped beneath the thick comforter.

"Goodnight Eddie," you sighed, settled atop the mountain of pillows, your eyes fixed on the frame a few feet away.

The smiling image of younger you mocked the current situation; her haughty demeanor formed a sour pit in your stomach, your body desperate to curl in on itself the longer you stared at the past. You were so naive back then. Ready and willing to jump when Eddie gave you the go ahead. But what's changed? How had you moved away from that young hopeless girl? You still gave into his pleas, you relinquished your strength and handed it over without taking a second to think perhaps you should have considered the fallout.

Eddie said jump.

And suddenly you found yourself in New York.

Still naive. Still hopelessly in love with a man who might never see you as anything other that highschool girl. The kitten who trailed after him looking for an owner who might show you some love, who might spare you a second glance.

"Pathetic," you muttered, flipping to your other side in the hopes that sleep would find you.

The creak of your partially shut door is what roused you from a restless and fitful two hours of chasing sleep to no avail. Your eyes cracked open in the pitch black, body rolling to see the kitchen light illuminate a rather tall and shirtless Eddie. He rubbed a hand over his face, eyes bleary with lack of sleep, and wordlessly you pulled the blankets back to the empty side on your right.

A smile curled on his lips, lazy and barely there, but it lit you up from the inside out—his feet softly padding on the cement floor as he stumbled through the room. Unsuccessfully if the whispered cuss word muttered under his breath after hitting his leg was anything to go by. You hid your grin beneath the edge of the comforter, feeling the bed dip when he shuffled to find the comfiest spot.

"'S fucking cold in here," he mumbled, shoving the blanket up to his neck.

"It's your apartment."

"Yeah, yeah. Just c'mere." He sighed, long and bordering on defeat. "I missed you."

He didn't give you the option of backing out, his hands grasping blindly for your waist. Of course, you didn't put up much of a fight either. The bed felt desolate in his absence. As if it'd been waiting for him all this time—hoping he might come to fill the gaps where frigid air seeped through. Somehow Eddie remained your knight in shining armor. Your savior against the horrors no matter how minuscule.

Dark bedrooms and empty beds included.

Silence swept over you in gentle soothing waves. The promise of sleep settled contently in your grasp, allowing you a moment to finally rest for the first time since you got on that plane. But you couldn't find it in you to close your eyes. Instead you let your gaze wander over Eddie's face as he sunk into the depths of sleep—his hand clasped in yours and settled between your bodies.

"Hey Eddie," you whispered.

"Hm?"

"I missed you too."

tagging: @ovaryacted @silverskyeline @guiltyasdave @superhoeva @zloshy

[jandthecrow]

Hope

SUMMARY: König after winning a minor battle

CW: Mention of death, fem!reader, friends with König

König stood at the edge of the battlefield, his towering figure casting a long shadow over the dying earth. The smoke from burning villages curled into the sky - the scent of iron and ash hung in the air - suffocating all. His heart, however, remained slow, like the stone beneath his boots. The war had raged for years, but today, something felt different… Off. The wind was silent, as if the world was holding its breath.

His armor, torn and destroyed, shone dully in the beautiful sunset of reds, pinks, and oranges. It had been untouched - before - a symbol of his power and strength, but now it was just another layer of the past, worn through by seemingly unending conflict. His helmet, a dark steel, hid his face, but his eyes - those eyes - spoke of countless battles, of comrades lost, of victories and losses.

“ König” a voice called from behind him, soft and clear amidst the chaos. You, his lieutenant, a young woman who had followed him into battle since the first skirmish years ago. “They’re retreating. We won.”

König didn’t respond immediately. He had heard the same thing a hundred times before, but it never felt like victory. Not in his heart. He turned slowly to face, his movements deliberate, as though considering the very weight of the word.

“Retreating…” König repeated, tasting the word as if it was a stranger to him. “Victory, is it?” His voice was deep, the quiet voice of a man who spoke only when there was something worth saying. “How many of our men died today?”

You shifted uneasily, your eyes glancing to the ground. You had seen Konig like this before - cold, detached, always questioning the price of every win with the bodies that lay after.

“Too many, sir,” You admitted, your voice almost a whisper.

König nodded slowly, his gaze once again drifting to the horizon, where the last traces of daylight were slipping away. “Victory,” he murmured again, almost to himself. “If it comes at this cost, is it truly worth it?”

You didn’t have an answer. No one did. You had fought for so long, for so many things - honor, loyalty, survival - but in the end, it felt like there was nothing left to win. Just more death and sorrow.

For a moment, the silence between you and him was loud - deafening -, and then König spoke again, his voice softer now. “Tell the men we’ll rest for the night. Tomorrow, we will continue.”

You hesitated, and then nodded slowly. You knew better than to question your commander.

König looked back to the horizon, his thoughts shifting back to those who had fallen in combat, to the death still to come, and to the truth that weighed heavy in his heart: war had always been a cruel disease, and he had stopped trying to understand it long ago.

But in the end, there was always one thing that kept him going: the promise that, maybe one day, the war would end. Until that day he would carry on. For as long as he fought, he would hope.

That would have to be enough.

[withclawandvine]

title: meet you after dark 

tags: smut, 18+ only, slight domme/sub dynamics. what can i say… i love it when men beg, y’know those statues of men on their knees for a woman?? this is my love letter to that 

wc: 4k

summary: Elain’s fingers knotted in his hair, and she used the leverage to push his head back, giving herself access to the near-feverish skin of his throat. Her legs locked around his waist as she kissed a path up to his ear before whispering, “What else do you think about?” 

“You,” he said, breathless as he tilted his face up to the stars, exposing more of his throat and moaning gratefully when she scraped her teeth over the taut skin. “What you feel like. The kinds of noises you’d make, how you’ll taste.” 

author’s note: i can’t believe this is finally done !!!! i’ve been workin on this shit since like.... march?? it was literally supposed to be for elriel month 😭😭😭

read on ao3 here!!

After years of hard work, the garden, nestled in the peaks surrounding Velaris, was once again lush and expansive. The couple the land belonged to had called it home for what might have been eons, for all Elain knew. She was honored they had trusted her not only with the garden’s reconstruction, but also with tending to it while they stayed with relatives. 

Three tiers had been carved into the mountainside, all connected by cobbled staircases that led to meandering paths through the flora. Elain sat on a blanket along the low wall dividing the highest tier from the middle, her feet hanging over the ledge, toes just barely skimming the soft grass beneath.  

The long afternoon of harvesting, pruning, and weeding under the sun had left her with aching hands and pink cheeks. And for her efforts, she’d been encouraged to take whatever she wanted for herself. 

From the basket at her side, Elain withdrew an apricot and bit into it. Juice dripped down her chin and onto her front, making her once again grateful for the stained overalls she wore. The garment was perfect for gardening, right down to the pocket stitched into the panel that covered her chest. The pant legs, made of breezy linen, hid her shape almost as well as a dress, while being much easier to move around in — less likely to catch on branches or her own feet. 

She leaned back on her elbows to watch the lowering sun set the sky ablaze, then disappear behind the mountains, bringing the stars to life, and along with them, the night-blooming flora. Some, she’d recognized from her old garden at the estate on the other side of the wall, while others — such as those with faintly glowing petals — were native to Prythian. She sat among it all, breathing in their heady scent and mountain air, in perfect serenity. 

Until her pointed ears twitched at a faint noise from above. A rhythmic drumming grew louder with each beat, until the sound was accompanied by a breeze that swept up the fine tendrils of hair that had escaped her braid and a dark, powerful figure landing softly in the grass. 

He wore no armor, wasn’t cast in the azure glow of siphons, or surrounded by swirling shadows. It didn’t matter. Elain, whether she wanted to or not, would recognize Azriel anywhere. 

She stiffened, eyeing him warily. 

He’d landed in the middle of the garden level below where she sat, several paces away. But still closer to her than he had been in weeks, when they’d been seated across the table from each other at a mandatory family dinner at the river house. 

It was the first one Azriel hadn’t been able to wiggle out of since Solstice and it had been painfully uncomfortable. Their sole conversation had lasted roughly two minutes, and Azriel spent the entirety of it looking anywhere but at her, his eyes shifting around the room, as if searching for anything that might liberate him. 

Elain couldn’t begin to fathom why he’d intentionally seek her out now, and he certainly wasn’t making it any clearer as he remained still and silent. 

“Are you going to stand there like a gargoyle all night, or were you planning on saying hello?” 

“Hello.” 

Despite herself, Elain couldn’t contain her laugh. The sharp, undignified snort breaking the tension between them. Her keen Fae eyes could make out the flash of Azriel’s teeth in the dark, making her heart jump. A genuine smile on Azriel’s face reminded Elain of Starfall; it was as brilliant as it was ephemeral, and stirred in her the same sort of dewey-eyed wonder. 

She willed the feeling away; she couldn’t let herself fall back into him or her own guilelessness. She cleared her throat, as if it might expel any lingering traces of her laughter from her voice. “Is there something I can do for you?”

But as he ventured closer to Elain’s perch, Azriel just asked, “Is this one of the gardens you helped rebuild?”

“I’ve been checking on it while Celstine and Zekiah spend the summer in the Dawn Court with Celestine’s sister,” she said, feeling two steps behind. As if to make up for it, her next words came out in a rush. “And they asked me to draw up some plans for a water feature.” 

She pointed up to the empty space next to the house and started explaining her ideas for a pond that would cascade over the nearest wall into a trench dug to look like a natural stream that would slither through the whole garden. She’d read about a system of spelled pipes that would force the water at the end back up into the pond so it never ran dry. 

Azriel’s attention never wavered, and damn if it didn’t remind her of her first Solstice, how engaged he’d been as she sketched and rambled, even going so far as to encourage her to go on once she’d fallen into self-conscious quiet. Like there was nothing else he’d rather be doing at half-past midnight. 

Elain felt the ache of losing it — whatever it was they’d shared — all over again. 

So she steeled herself, made her voice hard when she asked, “And is that what you came to discuss? Water delivery systems?” 

Finally taking a few steps toward her, he said, “It’s not.” 

“Then what is it you need?” 

It was unlikely that Rhysand would need her for anything, and if Feyre wanted to send a message, she would knock on the doors of Elain’s mind. Could Nesta have sent him? 

Elain was still trying hard to sound disinterested as he stopped right in front of her. If she wanted, she could swing her leg and kick him. Her left foot twitched, as if persuaded into motion by the mere thought. 

“A moment of your time, away from —” Azriel’s jaw worked, forcefully holding words back. “Please.”

His eyes found hers, heavy and imploring. It was that small fracture in his composed exterior, rather than the plea itself, that made her nod. 

“I lied,” he said. “On Solstice, when I said we were making a mistake.” 

Elain felt herself recoil at the word, but Azriel pressed on, undeterred. “I go back to that night all the time. What I’d do differently. What might’ve been if…” 

Azriel leaned in closer, the words fizzling out. As if he’d driven himself to distraction by daring to cradle her cheek in a rough palm. 

“If?” Elain prompted, a little breathless. 

“If I’d just…” he murmured, thumb tracing over her bottom lip. And when he leaned in, she didn’t stop him. His lips brushed against hers — a soft, sweet thing. Tentative and brief, it was nothing like the kiss that would’ve been, had he gone through with it that night, when the air had already been laden with desire. 

“If I’d told you that I once thought myself something of an expert on longing,” he said. “And that after spending so many years yearning for my freedom, for a family, for something that was truly mine, I knew everything there was to know about wanting something you didn’t have — knew how to live with it.” 

“But then I met you, and I…” His smile is faint, and a bit rueful. “It was different than before, when I was young and hoping for things that seemed impossible. Because you were within my reach. And yet, all I could do was want you. And I have carried it with me for so long, and I have said nothing — even when I should have — but I’m saying it now. I have to say it now.”

With a gentle hold on her chin, Azriel tilted her head back a little, so his lips nearly brushed hers when he said, “Because I don’t just lose sleep thinking up grand speeches.” 

There had been thousands of questions racing through her head for months, answers she wouldn’t allow herself to beg him for. She was still angry, still hurt. But all of it was losing the battle for her attention while Azriel stood between her knees and the feel of him still buzzed on her lips. 

Elain’s fingers knotted in his hair, and she used the leverage to push his head away, giving herself access to the near-feverish skin of his throat. Her legs locked around his waist as she kissed a path up to his ear before whispering, “What else do you think about?” 

When his only response was a strangled groan, Elain nipped at a sensitive spot below his ear, prodding. 

“You,” he said, breathless as he tilted his face up to the stars, exposing more of his throat and moaning gratefully when she scraped her teeth over the taut skin. “What you feel like. The kinds of noises you’d make, how you’ll taste.” 

The admission was like oil poured over the smoldering embers of her arousal. 

“Do you still want to know?”

Head tilted coyly, she watched Azriel all but shudder as the words and their meaning landed.

There was hardly anything seductive about unfastening the buttons keeping her overalls secure before having to wiggle out of them, but Azriel watched the graceless movements like a charmed snake. And when she struggled to kick her feet free, he sank smoothly to his knees and guided the garment over each one. 

A hand lingered, wrapping around her ankle and worrying his thumb over the bone. The heat of his touch rolling through her like thunder.

He hadn’t been the only one to fall victim to wanting and wondering. Elain was desperate to memorize the taste and shape of him. But even as he gazed up at her — drinking in every inch of her newly exposed skin, her nipples, peaked through her undershirt — eyes dark and heavily lidded, Elain couldn’t let herself forget that she’d been here before. 

Or rather, in a dim corridor, to be left feeling humiliated by her desire and betrayed by the object of it.

Now she was half naked and soaking through her panties, but if she was going to offer any of it up to Azriel again, she needed some reassurance, indisputable proof that he wanted her. 

Without giving herself the chance to think herself out of it, Elain pushed her panties aside and dipped her fingers into her wet center, gasping a little at how easily they slid in. She watched Azriel’s face, the hungry way he licked his bottom lip, as she circled her clit with trembling fingers. 

She felt Azriel reach for her other ankle, then the tensing of muscles, poised to pull her closer. A shift in energy that built… then buckled under his hesitation. Whether he had intended to back away or pull her closer, Elain would never know, because she moved first. 

She brought her slick fingers to his mouth, felt his satisfied hum as he closed his lips around them. 

Elain’s breath caught at the sight of him, a warrior, powerful and unyielding, on his knees before her, savoring the taste of her on her fingertips as he looked up at her with heavy-lidded eyes. Even in the dark, it was easy the desire plainly etched into his face. Gone was the impassive spy, the formidable soldier. 

This was Azriel. Open and vulnerable. Gentle and…  

“Beautiful,” she whispered, and pushed down on his tongue a little, just to watch his eyes roll back, before pulling her hand away, brushing her thumb across his bottom lip and wiping away the trail of spit. 

She felt his shaky exhale against her skin as his wings twitched, the movement small, brief, and agitated. It was a silly impulse to reach out and stroke the arc of bone that formed the top of his right wing, as if he were an anxious horse, but it was also impossible to resist. 

He trembled under the caress, and the wounded sound he made had Elain yanking her hand back in surprise. 

The question that had been forming in her mind was answered when Azriel leaned in, chasing her touch, and let out a very unspecific “please.” 

She touched him again, more purposefully this time, and Azriel muffled his moan by pressing his face into her thigh. Elain’s fingers straying along the inner curve of his wing had him sinking his teeth into her skin. The pain was sharp, but short-lived, arousal its echo, pulsing through her. 

Azriel looked up at her, nostrils flaring. 

“I need another taste,” His voice, usually cool and smooth as a midnight breeze, was gravelly and low. It struck her, this change in him — the knowledge that he trusted her with it. “Need you to come in my mouth.” 

“So greedy,” she mused, unable to fight the smile pulling at her lips. 

“Yes,” he agreed readily, then paused to kiss the delicate skin where the mark from his teeth was already blooming. 

“You…” he shook his head a little, breathing out a soft, dumbfounded laugh, as if he couldn’t quite believe that after such a long life of convincing himself that he was content on the fringes, he was finally allowing himself to want more. “I’ll take anything you’re willing to give me.”

Elain’s heart soared at the words while her body burned hot from the way he spoke them. She wanted to swear to give him everything; she wanted to put her lips to better use. But in her indecision, she must’ve been quiet for too long, because wariness had crept into Azriel’s gaze, the way he said her name. 

Her hand found his cheek, her thumb caressing the flushed skin, which seemed to settle him. 

“I like you like this,” she admitted with a blush. And as Azriel looked at her with black eyes, chest heaving, she thought he might like it too. Kneeling for her, being at her mercy. She moved her foot, nudging his stiff cock, and his hips jerked at the contact. 

“Fuck, Elain,” Azriel groaned. “Please.”

He pinched the lace waistband of her underwear between his thumb and forefinger, and pulled at the material gently, supplicatingly.

At her nod, Azriel slid them down Elain’s legs. 

His hands were hot and frenetic, guiding her gently onto her back with her feet hanging over the ledge, toes skimming the grass below, reaching for an ankle and propping it on his shoulder. The cool night air against her wet cunt made her whimper, the soft sound seeming to echo through the otherwise still night. 

As awkward as the position was, Elain kept herself propped up on her elbows, so she could keep looking at Azriel. Watch his eyes, heavily-lidded and cloudy with lust, flutter closed with the first broad lick through her folds. 

And with that one taste, it was as if all the urgency had bled from his body. 

He’d gotten what he needed, so now he could take his time getting what he wanted: Elain, pliant and breathless, as he teased her with his tongue, slow and indulgent. 

“Azriel,” she whined as he took clit between his lips, sucking at her. It was as if the heat and tension building in her abdomen was sapping the strength from everything else — her voice, now high and reedy. Her legs, shaking under Azriel’s hands. Her arms, buckling and dropping her flat on her back.

Elain couldn’t see Azriel anymore, but gods could she hear him. He moaned into her, noisy and salacious. Letting her arousal coat his nose and chin, and then smearing it on her trembling thighs when he pulled away from her pussy to kiss and nip at them. 

She was panting by the time he sank a finger into her, slowly working her open while his tongue circled her clit, before adding another. And when his fingers found that sweet spot inside her, the stars above swirled like a snowstorm. 

Squirming, Elain couldn’t decide if she wanted reprieve from the burning pleasure sparking in her core or if she wanted to chase it. 

The choice was made for her by a hand, splayed across her stomach and pinning her in place. Too breathless to make any real noise, Elain’s mouth fell open, a cry caught in her throat, as she came. 

Azriel settled back to watch himself fuck her through it on his fingers, moaning as if it were his cock inside her instead — pulsing around him, begging  him to stay. 

Still so wet and sensitive, Elain was sure that if he kept going, he would make her come again. But if that was going to happen, she didn’t want it to be while she couldn’t really see him or get her hands on him. Suddenly desperate to have him closer, she clumsily surged forward and grabbed his shirt collar.

Only when she knew he was getting to his feet did she let go and settle herself at the center of the blanket, giving him the space to climb up after her. But the instant he was within her reach, Elain was crashing back into him, capturing his lips in a near vicious kiss, needing his mouth to be on her again, in one way or another. 

She could taste herself on his tongue, feel his hands shaking as they cradled her head, fingers knotting in her hair. Elain reached again for Azriel’s shirt, pulling at it, trying fruitlessly to peel it away.

“Take it off,” she breathed, dimly aware that she was the one begging now. 

But as if it had been a command, Azriel unraveled the network of buttons and flaps keeping his shirt on his back, then grabbed a fistful of the fabric covering his chest and yanked it off. 

The fastenings of his pants were much more straightforward. 

As he sat back with his weight braced on his hands, Elain crawled into his lap. She knelt, trapping his legs between hers, feeling as if she could melt into the heat of his skin on her thighs, the curve of her ass. While one of her hands curled around his hip, the other wrapped lightly around his length, flushed and dripping with arousal. 

Azriel sucked in a stuttering breath, as if she’d punched him in the gut instead. 

Elain quirked a brow — a little surprised and a little smug — but he was unabashed, arching into her touch, his hands coming to clutch at her waist. He was uninhibited in the way he reacted to the languid slide of her fist, yet clearly holding back. She could feel it in his fingertips, the way they dug into her ribs — the effort it was taking to keep still and let her touch him as she pleased. 

Azriel’s cock throbbed in her hand, and she squeezed him at the base, just enough to keep him from tipping over the edge, to pull a low whimper from his throat. 

Tempted as she might have been to continue toying with him, nothing compared to Elain’s desire to feel him everywhere. 

“Can I —” 

“Yes,” he breathed. “Please.” 

She never said what she wanted, didn’t get the chance to ask for it, but Elain got the sense that it wouldn’t have made a difference.

With a hand on his shoulder for support, she guided him into her, bracing herself for pain. But while, yes, there was some discomfort as she stretched to accommodate him, Elain felt most intensely the relief of having him. It was the first bite of food hitting a growling stomach, a flushed cheek against the cool side of the pillow on a hot night. 

One of Azriel’s hands trailed to the apex of her thighs, his thumb finding her clit. A feathery, coaxing touch to tempt her body into staying pliant for him until she sat heavy in his lap, her legs loosely wrapped around his waist. 

Elain’s fingers linked behind his neck. Under her thumbs, she could feel the blood surging, propelled by a ferocious, erratic heartbeat. 

“Does it…” Azriel started, the words choking out as Elain clenched around him, adjusting. “How do you feel?” 

Her response came more as a sigh than a word, “Good.” 

Elain rocked against him, slow and deep. So exquisitely full, she could feel him everywhere. “You feel so good.” 

Azriel practically whined at the praise. His hands slid up her body, pushing her shirt up as he went, finally exposing all of her to him. His fingers roamed all of it — from her wrists to her shoulders, her hips to her ribs — before splaying across her back, fingertips pressing into the skin, holding her to him. 

Elain’s arms fell back down around his neck, cradling his head between her shoulder and her palm, holding him just as tightly. He turned his face into the spot behind her ear where she always dabbed her perfume oil, inhaling heavily, as if trying to trap her scent inside his lungs. 

It was a slower burn than before, but no less intense. Every touch, every roll of her hips stoking the fire until she was entirely consumed by the heat, her desire. Became single-minded in her need. Azriel must have been thinking the same thing, because as her hand strayed to one of his wings, his drifted down to where their bodies were joined. 

A few messy circles of his fingers and Elain was coming. The hand in Azriel’s hair closed into a fist, holding him tight to her, the crook of her neck muffling the near-guttural sounds he made as she fluttered and squeezed around his cock. 

And then Azriel was leaning forward, getting his knees under him and letting the momentum tip Elain onto her back. He braced himself over her, one of his hands between the back of her head and the ground. Cradling her gently, even as he fucked her without restraint. 

Elain’s arms, which had landed limply at her sides, wind around his shoulders, at first to hold him, then to reach again for the sensitive membrane of his wings. 

The touch seemed to unravel Azriel and any remaining thread of control he had over his body. The rhythm of hips faltered, becoming frantic and sloppy. His eyes squeezed shut, just before his head fell forward, hanging heavy over her. He was too far gone to do much more than slur something that sounded like her name against her cheek as he came, his whole body tensing with the intensity of it. 

And then, all at once, a softening — his brow smoothed and his eyes fluttered open, holding her gaze. A deep sigh relaxed his clenched jaw. Slowly, his body melted into hers. 

Elain welcomed the comforting weight of him. She curled a hand around the back of his head, gently dragging her nails through his dark hair, damp with sweat. He kissed her collarbone before pressing his cheek flush to her neck  — nuzzling a little, she realized — then shook with a breathy sort of half-laugh that had her thinking he was just as giddy and dazed as she was. 

But when he spoke a moment later, his voice was pensive: a confession, murmured into her skin, “There’s still so much I need to tell you.” 

There was still so much she wanted to know. But Azriel’s warmth was seeping deep into her bones and his fingertips were skimming up and down her arm in a tender, lazy rhythm that had her lulled halfway to sleep. 

“In the morning,” she murmured. 

“We can’t stay out here all night.” 

“I don’t want to leave.” 

You, she thought, I don’t want to leave you.

She hadn’t said the words out loud, but it didn’t matter. Azriel, as he so often did, seemed to understand them anyway.  

“Alright,” he said, tightening his hold on her. “A bit longer then.”

[secret-smut-sideblog]

Prey Drive

Astarion x F! Dark Urge

18+ violence, death, dark urges (duh), bloodlust (literally), fingering (f!), roughness, deranged shit and I'm not sorry, tenderness

Her violent needs going unfed for too long, Astarion has an idea to help...

-

"Hunting..." She sighed, exhausted. Then seemed to consider. "Would that even work? Animals?"

It had been a long time since their last battle, her last bloodshed. Consumed with more mundane but equally important tasks.

She hid it well but he could see the strain in her body, the circles under her eyes. Knew she hadn't been sleeping, faking until the rest of the their companions fell under. Getting up to walk the perimeter of camp in circles, far from them. Far from him.

It hurt him to be away from her but he understood. If there was anything he understood it was hunger.

Pulling her reluctant to his tent, just for a moment, he promised. He had an idea.

"Honestly, I dont know." Laying on his bed roll he looked up at her, her gentle hand smoothing one of his curls back into place. Her eyes dark rimmed, tired. Sitting openly but limbs stiff.

Recognized so many of his own long nights in her exhaustion.

"But Gods, It's worth a shot right? Besides," Sitting up to reach her, putting on a fake pout. "I get so lonely out there most nights."

She rolled her eyes, smiling. "Oh you poor thing." Nuzzling into his neck. "How could I desert you in your time of need."

"Ready?" He asked, the glow of her eyes uncertain. They stood together on the treeline outside camp. The night air still.

"I guess so." She murmured. "It feels weird to be out of my armor." Smoothing her hands down her camp clothes.

"We'll be much quieter this way, darling."

"Yes, yes, you've explained." She huffed, the slightest tremble in her hand.

"Nervous?" He whispered, voice kind.

Her eyes fell shut, a dejected sigh. "Yeah."

He threaded his hand in hers. Thumb brushing the inside of her soft wrist.

"You aren't going to hurt me." A command, a blessing.

"I'm not going to hurt you." Gripped his hand in determination.

Though they had been careful, stealthy, there was little in the woods that night. He tried not to show the desperation on his face. He wanted to help, really wanted to help.

Between the two of them he was rarely the one to offer solutions. Often bringing in new problems. Needing to prove himself. He knew she would huff at him if she knew but it was important to him.

Her eyes didnt betray any despair as they stalked the empty forest, if anything she seemed more focused. Moving just as quiet as him, steps sure. Always thrived under pressure.

His ears picked up voices, seeing the faintest glimmer of light on the trail far beneath them. Hooded figures moving in the dark. Cultists, of course.

He sighed, no wonder there was nothing. These imbeciles stomping their way through like rothe in heat.

Turned to her to reassure her, they'd try again tomorrow.

A flash of silver hair.

Running. She was running.

Startled, he almost called out to her but had no time, planting his feet to take off after her. Ducking and weaving through the underbrush.

Gods, how was she so fast.

Like a bat out of Hells she burst from the treeline, leaping down onto one of the figures. Heard a startled cry. The three other robed men turning sharply in shock. Pulling daggers from their sides.

Glad he had the foresight to bring it he readied his bow. Firing down shot after shot into the chests of the men attempting to descend on her. The sound of many arrows hissing through the air.

His eyes still trained on the pierced men, assuring they stay dead, he stepped down onto the gravel.

A wave of blood struck the ground below the cultist she was straddling. Another. Another.

He hadnt seen her pull her dagger, had he?Confused he stepped closer. On tip-toe he skirted around her side, curious.

Her entire front drenched in blood, her sharp teeth ripped into flesh. Head wrenching side to side. Clawed hands gripping the soil. Moaning and slurping.

Gods, was she..? She was. She was drinking.

Heat spread like a fever from his pelvis, eyes wide.

She groaned in ecstasy, talons digging into the wound. Pulling open for more.

The whole front of her face, her hairline stained dark. Grinding her hips into her prey.

Unbelievably aroused he watched her, dumbstruck.

Lifting the limp body up she ripped and ripped with her talons, eyes closing as the last of the blood struck her. Leaning back on her haunches in a scattered puddle of it. Eyes closed she slicked it back into her hair. Throwing the body down, chest heaving.

Gods he needed her. Badly. But had no idea if she was sated. If he could be next if he tried to touch her. Surely one couldn't be enough.

Taking the dagger from the dead he plunged it into a chest. Sternum cracking against his force.

Glowing eyes whipped to his work. Up to him.

"Take more." He urged, his voice a pant.

Descending on fresh meat she kneeled next to the body, plunging her hand inside the hole he made. Other hand wrenching, cracking the ribcage open.

He moaned, straddling around her back. Pulling her hair from her neck. Licking long stripes up the still warm viscera coating her.

Crack, crack, crack. Her hand caressed the still heart, viscera coated up to the elbow. Expertly spinning the discarded dagger in her free hand she cut into the valves, freeing it.

Reaching his hand around her front he pushed his hand into her waistband. Finding her drenched. Plunging his fingers inside with a groan. Oh this was very wrong.

Her prize in hand she bit into it, a garbled whine of pleasure. Hips rolling into his hand, knees pushing out to give him more access.

Trailing messy kisses down her neck he was entranced. Pulling her collar from her shoulder, groaning at the line of clean skin that it revealed.

His free hand cupped her breast, the blood squelching against her, pushing between his fingers. Watching her bite and tear in awe, unbearably hard. Grinding into her lower back to get some relief.

Turning her head she caught his mouth in hers, her desperate whine filling his mouth. His other hand coming to rub hard on her clit. Blood soaked hand reaching up behind, talons digging into the back of his neck. The pain sharp, delicous.

She was already almost there, he could tell. Death, despite her best efforts, her strongest aphrodisiac. Her body rolling in waves, rising onto her knees. He kept pace with her, not letting up.

Ripping her shirt open, needing to see her breasts move with their riding. Biting and suckling on her earlobe.

"I'm, I-" She whimpered.

"Dont you dare hold back." He growled in her ear. Hand gripping her hair taut. Fingers unwavering.

Going rigid against his pull she muffled a moan. "No." He pulled her hair hard. "Louder."

She whined a handful of desperate moans, clenching hard on his fingers. Buckling into him, a huge wave about to hit her.

Teeth gnashing, a guttural growl erupted from her that slid into a shriek, her whole body erupting, shaking. Gripping his neck so hard she drew blood. Driving the dagger hard into the ground, just barely grazing his thigh. The slick gushing out of her onto his waiting fingers.

He came along with her, shocking himself. Shuddering hard against her gore slicked body. Hips stuttering against her back. Groaning a cry into her neck. The inside of his trousers a mess.

She turned to face him, catching his mouth in a hungry kiss. Fingers tangling in his hair.

The inside of her mouth still lined with blood. Licking it out of her with a growl.

The sound of many unfamiliar voices coming down the trail broke his trance, hers too it seemed.

Body stiffening she came back to herself, grabbing his hand and leaping up, moving like lightning to the cover of the forest.

Running again, he wanted to laugh. Watching both his feet and her. His love stained all red. Both of them a joined bloody blur in the moonlight.

Reaching a clearing she released his hand, fell to hands and knees. Dry heaving, coughing. Wrenching forward.

He fell in front of her, cupping her face in his hands. "Its okay, I'm okay, you're okay." A chant. Forced her eyes on his. "You're in control. You're right here."

She gripped his hand against her face, eyes wild. Took big shaky diaphragm breaths, trying to steady herself. He breathed in tandem with her, encouraging.

"You've got this, I'm here. I'm here."

She buried her face in his shoulder, gripping his shirt. Breathing him in. Relaxing into him. Coming back.

"How do you feel, Bhaal-babe?" He teased.

She groaned at the name, but he knew she loved it. "All spawned out, if I'm being honest." Paused, getting serious again. "Better, much better." She muffled into his shirt.

"I'm so proud of you." He smiled into her wet hair.

Heard her laugh. Pulling him further into her. "You're the only person who could ever say that about what I just did."

"Well, did I die?"

She snorted into his shirt. Sighed into him, body fully releasing. His hand trailing in her hair. Nuzzling, his voice soft into her. "You're so much stronger than you think."

After a moment she took a deep breath, pulling away. Smiling up at him. Her eyes so full of light it made his chest ache.

She looked down and groaned.

"Oh Gods, I'm going to have to throw these clothes away, arent I?" She pulled at them, dejected. "I like this shirt..."

"Oh please, we'll get you a new shirt. A better shirt."

"...Were we actually just fucking?" She groaned in embarrassment.

"That was my favorite part."

She hit his back in protest. "And our companions think I'm the deranged one..."

"Was it your favorite part?"

"Of course it was, you degenerate."

~

Part 4

[darcydarlingdabbles]

The Melody Between Us~ Part 1

RadioApple (+ Static) 🍃 Explicit 🍃Omega!Alastor /Alpha!Lucifer

🍃Rough🍃 Bratting ~ 6.8k

A/N: Happy Christmas~ Also, I might have slightly over done this...but I don't usually do rough stuff without more...communication? IDK just enjoy XD

❣️Ao3❣️Original Fics❣️BlueSky❣️

The cacophony of Pentagram City's streets parted like the Red Sea as Alastor strode through, his crimson suit a splash of blood against the grimy backdrop.

Demons scurried out of his path, their eyes wide with a delicious cocktail of fear and awe that made a smirk play at the corners of his mouth.

"Good day, my dear fellows!" Alastor's voice crackled with radio static as he tipped his head to a group of cowering imps. They flinched at his acknowledgment, and he chuckled. "Why so glum? It's a beautiful day in Hell!"

His gaze swept over the crowd, noting the way they averted their eyes, how they hunched their shoulders as if to make themselves smaller targets.

It was intoxicating, this power he wielded. With each step, he felt more like the predator he presented himself to be.

And yet…

The crowd's fearful whispers faded into white noise as Alastor's mind turned inward. The dirty little secret he'd guarded for decades, threatened to unravel everything he'd built.

The vaunted Radio Demon, was an omega.

And omegas did not do well in Hell.

Alastor's lip curled in disgust, though outwardly his grin remained fixed.

He’d made the most of his eternal damnation. Seized power at every chance he had it. Aligned himself with the most powerful beings in the Ring of Pride. Carefully cultivated the image of power and control.

But…even Alastor couldn’t escape the torment of the afterlife. Beneath the glamour that hid his omega scent and the suit and coat he wore like armor, the demon that despised being handled was soft and inviting.

His biology demanded to be touched, to be had, by an alpha no less.

The heat cycles were a curse, a reminder of a vulnerability he refused to acknowledge.

Having a week of heat in spring was terrible enough as a human. But his personal torment had been amplified in death. The deer demon suffered heat for two days a month, for three months during his season.

Making the proud overlord into a whimpering, cloying whore, desperate for a knot.

An affront to everything Alastor presented himself as.

The price of power was eternal vigilance, and Alastor knew that one slip, one moment of weakness, could bring his carefully constructed world crashing down around him.

A bead of sweat trickled down the omega’s temple, and he quickly wiped it away with a red silk handkerchief, staring at the cloth like it personally insulted him.

His smile tightened, a hint of strain creeping into the corners of his eyes.

Not here. Not now.

A nearby demon sniffed the air curiously, and Alastor's eyes flashed dangerously.

"What are you looking at?" he snarled, his antlers elongating menacingly.

The demon yelped and scurried away.

Alastor's thoughts drifted unbidden to Vox as he ducked into an alley, scaring the riffraff out of his way. That insufferable television overlord. The omega’s lip curled in disgust, but a tremor of need rippled through him.

Pompus, preening, little peacock of an alpha—but the arrangement was necessary. A means to an end. Nothing more.

Alastor was unwilling to finish the thought even in his own mind.

Going to Vox—his rival, his lesser—was humiliating. The flathead made sure it was so. And Alastor could do nothing. Lest his secret be revealed. Lest…Vox stop giving him what he needed.

Alastor did not want to need him.

Maybe this time, he could manage on his own. Just spare his pride a little longer…

But as another wave of heat washed over him, Alastor's resolve faltered. He paused, leaning against a grimy wall, his breath coming in short gasps.

With a herculean effort, Alastor pushed himself upright, plastered on his signature grin, and continued down the street, each step a battle against his own biology.

As Alastor rounded a corner, a familiar voice cut through the din of Pentagram City.

"Hey there, Smiles! Fancy meetin' you here," Angel Dust called out.

Alastor's eyes narrowed, taking in the scene before him. Angel was surrounded by a group of leering demons, their catcalls and crude gestures making their intentions clear. As if cornering the most well known omega in this Ring weren’t enough

With a flick of his wrist, Alastor summoned his microphone staff. "Gentlemen," he purred, his voice laced with menace as he tilted his head, pupils turning to spinning dials, "I suggest you find your entertainment elsewhere."

The demons scattered, leaving Angel alone with Alastor.

"Aw, you do care," Angel teased, batting his eyelashes. "How about a thank you kiss, hot stuff?"

Alastor's grin tightened.

"My dear Angel, your attempts at flirtation are as misguided as they are unwelcome. Perhaps you should aim your affections at someone more…receptive to your charms."

Angel snorted. "What's the matter, Smiles? Afraid you can't handle a real omega?"

A surge of heat coursed through Alastor's body, his composure slipping for a fraction of a second. He gripped to his staff, forcing himself upright.

"Handle? My dear, I could obliterate you with a mere thought. Your crude advances are beneath me, as is your very existence."

“Big talk from someone who looks like they're about to swoon.” Angel's confident smirk faltered. But the look of concern that crossed his mismatched eyes was more insulting than his flirtations. "You feelin' alright there, Radio Demon?"

Fuck. Was his condition that obvious?

"I assure you, I am in perfect health," Alastor said, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have more important matters to attend to than entertaining your delusions of adequacy."

How much longer could he maintain this facade? The heat was intensifying, threatening to overwhelm him at any moment.

The streets of Hell had never seemed so long, so daunting. Each step was a battle against his own nature, a fight he feared he might soon lose.

Alastor paused at a street corner, his ever-present smile fixed in place as he surveyed the scene before him.

Demons of all shapes and sizes scurried about, their eyes darting nervously in his direction before quickly averting their gaze. A satisfying tremor rippled through the crowd as he took a single step forward.

It never did get old.

“Mr. Radio Demon, sir" a brave or foolish demon ventured, "is there anything you need?"

Alastor turned, his eyes glowing with barely contained power. "What I need," he purred, "is for you to mind your own business. Unless you'd like to become my next broadcast?

As the demon fled, Alastor's smile faltered for a fraction of a second. He could feel sweat beading on his forehead.

"Not yet," Alastor muttered, straightening his bowtie. "I won't give him the satisfaction. I am the Radio Demon, and I bow to no one, least of all my own biology."

With renewed determination, Alastor stepped back into the flow of foot traffic, ignoring the burning sensation coursing through his body. He would endure. He had to.

A passerby, emboldened by liquor or stupidity, called out, "Hey, Radio Demon! You're looking a little flushed there. Everything alright?"

Alastor's head snapped around, his grin stretching to manic proportions.

"My dear fellow," he said, his voice dripping with honey-coated venom, "I assure you, I've never felt better. Though I can't say the same for you in about five seconds."

As the foolish demon's screams faded into the distance, Alastor allowed himself a moment of quiet pride.

He was still in control, omega status be damned.

Let them wonder.

The omega straightened his posture and continuing his walk.

Let them fear.

He was the Radio Demon. He would not be defined by his biology, or the expectations of anyone else.

With each step, Alastor reaffirmed his resolve.

The heat could rage, Vox could wait, and Hell itself could burn. Alastor would remain master of his own destiny, no matter the cost.

The show must go on.

🍃

Lucifer's eye twitched as another crash echoed through the hotel lobby. He turned, unsurprised to see Alastor's grinning face peering over a shattered vase, feigning innocence.

"Oops," Alastor drawled, his radio-tinged voice grating on Lucifer's last nerve. "How clumsy of me."

This had been going on for days now. Alastor wasn't just being his usual abrasive self—he was actively causing chaos, like a cat desperate for attention. Lucifer's patience was wearing thin.

"Alastor," Lucifer said, his voice deceptively calm. "A word, if you please."

“Yes, sire? Is something pressing on your mind?” The demon smirked, casually leaning an arm against a nearby short bookshelf—an obvious threat to the kitschy little happy clown figurine atop it.

Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly.

"Yeah, you.” The angel snapped, realizing what he said only when the demon’s eyebrows arched. “I mean, not what I—you’re pressing on my last nerve.”

"Why, whatever do you mean?" Alastor's eyes widened in mock surprise, his grin stretching impossibly wider. He twirled his microphone staff, narrowly missing another piece of Charlie’s, admittedly questionable, decor.

Yes, Lucifer could fix it with a snap. Without breaking a sweat. But it was the principle of it.

He was here to support his daughter, not sweep up after Bambi.

"Oh, I don't know," Lucifer drawled, gesturing dramatically. "Maybe it's the trail of destruction you've left in your wake. The shattered chandeliers in the ballroom, the 'accidental' flood in the east wing, or maybe it's the fact that you've somehow managed to turn all the paintings upside down."

Alastor chuckled, a staticky sound that sent shivers down the spines of nearby hotel guests. "Why, I'm simply livening up the place!" Alastor's eyes gleamed with mischief. "It was getting dreadfully dull around here."

Lucifer felt a vein pulsing in his forehead. “Believe it or not, this place doesn’t exist solely to entertain you.”

"Obviously, as it’s failing entirely." The demon huffed, folding his hands atop his staff. “Unless, you have other suggestions for…entertainment.” Alastor purred, sidling closer to Lucifer. "I thought you enjoyed a little…chaos now and then."

"There's chaos, and then there's whatever game you're playing.” The air crackled with tension as Lucifer met Alastor's gaze. “And I don't appreciate being toyed with."

"Toyed with?" Alastor's voice dropped an octave, his eyes glowing dangerously. "I assure you, if I were toying with you, you'd know it."

“Careful, Bambi,” Lucifer felt his lips pulling back over his teeth. To snarl or to smirk, even he didn’t know. “That threat almost sounded like you were flirting.”

“You’ll find I am perfectly capable of doing both,” Alastor countered, leaning in close enough that Lucifer could feel the static emanating from him.

Lucifer felt more crackling tension, and for a moment, he wasn't sure if it was from Alastor's proximity or his own sudden realization.

Was Alastor flirting with him?

The Radio Demon had always been an enigma, his true intentions shrouded in layers of showmanship and misdirection. But now, with barely an inch between them, the hunger was unmistakable—and it mirrored his own.

Struggling to maintain his composure, Lucifer cleared his throat. "Well, I, uh," he said, aiming for nonchalance but missing by a mile. "I never took you for the type, to proposition a guy out of the—”

“Your majesty, you sell yourself short.” Alastor he purred, his voice a low, static-laced rumble. "And there is so much you don't know about me."

Lucifer felt his face grow warm with a golden blush, a sensation he hadn't experienced in a century. He fumbled for words, trying to find a way to ask what he really wanted to know without sounding like a complete fool. "I…that is to say…are you more of a…leader or a follower, typically?"

Alastor threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing through the lobby like a discordant symphony. When he looked back at Lucifer, his eyes were gleaming with amusement and something darker, more primal.

"Oh, you’re far too ancient to be so precious about this," he cooed, running a clawed finger along Lucifer's jawline. "It might make one think…that you can’t keep up."

“I’m not being precious.” Lucifer snapped back, ignoring the way he shivered at that claw running along his skin. “And I can take whatever you can dish out.”

Alastor leaned in close, his lips brushing against Lucifer's ear. "Then I suggest you hurry up and make a move, darling," he whispered, his breath hot against Lucifer's skin. “Before you bore me.”

“Bore you?” Lucifer's eyes flashed with a mix of irritation and desire. “Oh, you have no idea what you're in for, sinner.”

Not to brag, but he was the sin of pride for a reason. And he’d had eons of practice over Alastor.

Alastor chuckled, a tuneless sound that sent shivers down Lucifer's spine. "My, my. Such confidence. I do hope you can back it up, darling."Alastor straightened up, brushing off his lapel with an irritating air of nonchalance.

“Well, quit talking and start walking.” Lucifer folded his arms.

Alastor's grin took on a predatory edge. "I believe the music room on the third floor is currently unoccupied."

"Lead the way, Bambi."

Alastor's eyes glowed with mischief. "Oh, but where's the fun in that?" In a blink, he dissolved into shadows, his laughter echoing through the lobby as he vanished.

“Creepy show-off," Lucifer muttered, rolling his eyes. With a snap of his fingers, a swirling golden portal materialized before him. He stepped through, emerging in the opulent music room just as Alastor's shadows coalesced.

Lucifer flicked the doors shut, locking them with a decisive click.

As Alastor moved to sit in one of the high-backed chairs, those gorgeously long legs primly crossed, his usual bravado seemed to falter for a moment. His nostrils flared, and Lucifer noticed a slight tremor in the demon's hands as he vanished his staff.

Alastor's grin widened, but there was a hint of strain around his eyes.

"Well, well," he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "Here we are at last. An alpha and an omega, all alone in this cozy little room." He cocked his head, his smile never wavering. "What ever shall we do?"

Lucifer's brow furrowed in confusion. "What…?"

“Oh, come on,” Alastor chuckled, though there was an edge to his laughter. “Don’t play reticent with me now.”

And then, like a bolt of lightning, it hit Lucifer. His eyes widened as the realization dawned on him. "Wait, you said…you're…an omega?"

As the words left his mouth, Lucifer found himself reassessing everything he thought he knew about the Radio Demon.

“Surprise,” The demon said in that sing-song, mocking tone that lilted into a laugh. “I told you, there is so much you do not know about me.”

Alastor seemed to preen under Lucifer’s slack-jawed stare, giving a coquettish tilt of his head to rest his chin on his red-tipped fingers.

The fallen angel found himself noticing details he'd overlooked before.

He'd always assumed it was just Alastor’s style to be covered from neck to wrist to ankle. That the sharpness of the shoulders of that coat, the tapered waist, and the impeccably tailored suits. Were an omega’s curves hidden under all those layers?

The sharp angles of Alastor's face, his commanding presence—all of it designed to deflect attention from his true nature.

Lucifer thought back to the way Alastor moved, the graceful sway of his hips that he'd always attributed to the demon's showmanship.

Now, he saw it for what it truly was—the unconscious allure of an omega, even one as controlled as Alastor.

The Radio Demon's aversion to touch, his carefully maintained personal space—it all made sense now.

Lucifer's gaze traveled over Alastor's form, seeing him in an entirely new light.

The demon's slender neck, usually hidden behind his high collar, now seemed delicate and enticing. His wrists, peeking out from crisp cuffs, looked almost fragile.

Even Alastor's antlers, usually a symbol of dominance, now appeared to Lucifer as an omega's clever mimicry of alpha traits.

The way Alastor's chest rose and fell with each breath, slightly quicker now than usual. The faint flush creeping up his neck, barely visible against his gray skin.

The subtle scent in the air—spicy and sweet, like cinnamon and honey—that Lucifer now recognized as the first hints of an omega's arousal.

The playful banter, the casual touches that Alastor both sought out and shied away from—it all took on new meaning.

He remembered the times when Alastor had seemed particularly agitated or withdrawn, wondering now if those had been the demon's heat cycles, carefully hidden from the world.

Lucifer's alpha instincts, long dormant, stirred to life.

He felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to protect and possess, to claim the omega before him. The air in the room seemed to thicken, charged with pheromones and possibility.

Yet beneath the desire, Lucifer felt a twinge of something else—respect, perhaps even admiration.

For Alastor to have risen to such power in Hell, to have cultivated such a fearsome reputation while hiding his true nature—it was no small feat.

"I gotta say," Lucifer said slowly, still processing this new information, "I'm impressed."

Alastor's grin widened, a marauding glint in his eyes. "Oh, you flatter me, your majesty," he purred, deliberately taking his time to uncross those sinfully long legs and stand. "But tell me, now that you know…does it change things?" His voice dropped to a sultry whisper. "Does it make you want to…put me in my place?"

Lucifer felt his fists clenching at his sides.

The taunt was clear, Alastor's intention unmistakable. Part of him, the alpha part, growled with the desire to do exactly that. To show this insolent omega who was really in charge.

"Listen, Alastor," Lucifer warned, his voice low. "You're playing a dangerous game here, messing with my instincts."

"Am I?" Alastor challenged, circling Lucifer like a shark. "Or is that exactly what I intend to do?"

Lucifer's jaw tightened. He was tempted, oh so tempted, to give Alastor exactly what he was asking for. To pin him against the wall and—

No.

Lucifer shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.

He barely knew Alastor beyond his role as Charlie's business partner. He wasn't about to engage in some hate-fueled encounter just because the Radio Demon was pushing his buttons.

Alastor's eyes glowed with mischief as he sidled closer to Lucifer, his hips swaying hypnotically.

"Oh come now, your majesty," he purred, voice dripping with honey-sweet venom. "Surely you're not going to deny us both what we clearly want?"

He trailed a clawed finger down Lucifer's chest, catching in his vest and pulling him close. "You’ve wanted nothing but to shut me up from the moment we met, " Alastor leaned in close, his breath hot against Lucifer's ear. "Now’s your chance."

Lucifer swallowed hard, fighting against the urge to grab Alastor and pin him.

"Alastor, we need to talk about this first. I don't even know if you've—"

"Talk?" Alastor scoffed, rolling his eyes dramatically. "How dreadfully dull. I didn't come here for conversation, darling." He pressed his body flush against Lucifer's even as he towered over him.

The angel’s breath hitched, his hands instinctively moving to Alastor's tiny waist. "We can't just—"

"Can't we?" Alastor challenged, nipping at Lucifer's jaw, trying to trigger his alpha instincts. "Are you not the King of Hell? Can you not do as you please?" His voice dropped to a throaty whisper. "And right now, I'm very much hoping it would please you…to fuck me."

Lucifer groaned, his resolve weakening. "Alastor, please. We need to discuss boundaries, expectations—"

With an exasperated sigh, Alastor stepped back. "Why must you insist on being so…pedantic."

Suddenly, the air in the room seemed to shimmer. Alastor's form flickered, like static on an old television, and then—

The scent hit Lucifer like a tidal wave. Rich, intoxicating, unmistakable. His eyes widened in shock as he realized what was happening.

"You're in heat," he gasped, the words barely a whisper.

Alastor's eyes gleamed with a mix of desperation and challenge. "Oh, very astute observation, sire," he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "And here I thought you might need a written invitation."

Lucifer's eyes widened as the full force of Alastor's heat pheromones hit him. His pupils dilated, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

"Bambi," he warned, voice strained. "That's not fair."

"All's fair in love and war, darling," Alastor smirked, slowly unbuttoning his own coat. "And I assure you, this is both."

Lucifer shook his head, trying to clear the fog of lust clouding his mind. "We still need to talk about—"

Before he could finish, Alastor surged forward, grabbing Lucifer by the lapels and crashing their lips together in a searing kiss.

It was all teeth and tongue, passionate and demanding.

Alastor poured all his pent-up desire and frustration into the kiss, effectively silencing any further attempts at conversation.

The scent of Alastor's heat was overwhelming, clouding his judgment. He took a step forward, almost involuntarily.

"Alastor, this isn't—"

"What?" Alastor interrupted, his smile sharp. "Proper? Wise? Oh, do spare me the virtuous act, Lucifer. We both know what you want."

With a growl of frustration, Lucifer surged forward, closing the distance between them in an instant. He grabbed Alastor, pulling the taller demon off of his feet, fully intending to push him away, to end this dangerous game.

Instead, he found himself pulling the omega closer.

"Don't," Alastor hissed, even as he pressed against Lucifer, grabbing his shoulders, making the fallen angel pause until he heard the breathless plea, "Don’t you dare treat me like some delicate little flower."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Lucifer's eyes flashed scarlet.

The blonde grabbed the omega’s hands, not letting Alastor get off his knees as he slammed those delicate-looking wrists against the wall.

Alastor seemed to give a token struggle, before letting out a low groan of realization. He had no chance at breaking free of an archangel’s grip.

"Is that what you needed, omega?" Lucifer purred, leaning in close to one of those flicking, fluffy ears. "To be put in your place?"

The rush of slick was immediate and unmistakable. Lucifer inhaled deeply, a primal part of him reveling in Alastor's response.

The alpha’s nose sought the demon’s mating gland, and to his eternal surprise, the omega tilted his head to allow it. Baring his neck. Even if he was still covered up to the chin.

"Tell me, is that what the big bad Radio Demon craves?" he purred, voice low and dangerous. "To feel like your alpha is strong enough to make you submit?"

Alastor shivered in Lucifer’s grip.

“Quit barking.” The omega hissed. “And bite already.”

Lucifer leaned in close, tightening his grip on Alastor's wrists. He latched his teeth around the sensitive skin at the crook of the omega’s neck—not hard enough to pierce the cloth and leave a claiming bite, but the threat was there.

Alastor squirmed at the onslaught, but the omega seemed to forget to resist.

He could feel the deer’s pulse racing beneath his lips, the scent of his heat growing stronger with each passing second.

Their bodies pressed together, the warmth between them almost unbearable. Lucifer's hands slid down Alastor's arms, tracing the lean muscles hidden beneath his scarlet shirt. He gripped Alastor's waist, fingers digging into the fabric, itching to tear it away.

Alastor's antlers scraped against the wall as Lucifer pushed him harder against it, their bodies flush.

The omega's legs wrapped around Lucifer's waist, pulling him impossibly closer. Lucifer growled, the sound reverberating through both their bodies.

Their lips met again, this time in a bruising kiss. Lucifer nipped at Alastor's lower lip, drawing a hiss of pleasure from the demon.

Lucifer’s tongue darted out, seeking entrance, which Alastor gladly granted. Their tongues danced, battling for dominance even as Alastor submitted to Lucifer's hold.

The angel's hands roamed the demon’s body, mapping out every curve and angle. He found the buttons of the omega’s

shirt, fumbling to undo them.More eager to get his hands on bare skin than he was to push that coat off his shoulders.

Alastor arched into his touch.

Finally, Lucifer released his grip on Alastor's wrists, expecting the omega to immediately reach for him.

But to his surprise, Alastor kept his hands where they were, pressed against the wall in abject surrender. The sight sent a jolt of desire through Lucifer.

Their kisses grew more heated, more desperate. Alastor nipped at Lucifer's bottom lip, hard enough that it would have drawn blood from anyone else.

"You can't taste my angel blood just yet, Bambi." Lucifer chided, pulling back slightly.

Alastor groaned, frustration evident in his voice.

"Oh, come now," he taunted, his radio-tinged voice crackling. "Does the great King of Hell intend to make out like a horny schoolboy all night?"

"I was actually debating whether to rip your clothes off or take my time undressing you," he growled, his hands tightening on Alastor's hips. "But if you're so eager…"

For a moment, genuine alarm flashed across Alastor's face. "Not the coat," he said quickly, a hint of desperation in his voice. "Everything else, fine, but not the coat."

Lucifer raised an eyebrow, filing away this unexpected tidbit of information for later.

"As you wish," he murmured, popping open the buttons of Alastor’s shirt instead, sending them skittering over the floor.

Lucifer's fingers deftly worked their way down Alastor's shirt, exposing his pale beige chest inch by tantalizing inch.

To his surprise—scars littered Alastor’s chest.

As Lucifer reached the last button, his hand brushed against the obvious bulge in Alastor's trousers.

Without hesitation, Lucifer cupped Alastor through the fabric, squeezing lightly.

In a flash, Alastor's hand shot out, batting Lucifer's touch away. “Don’t.” He hissed.

Lucifer blinked at him—wondering how the hell he was supposed to know the difference between this ‘don’t’ and the ‘don’t’ that actually meant ‘harder’ or ‘rougher.’

“Thought you might enjoy some…attention.” Lucifer's lips quirked into a smirk, despite his confusion.

"Then give me the attention I actually want," Alastor snapped, his usual composure slipping.

"Okay, okay, whatever you want, Bambi," Lucifer purred.

It was all too easy to flip Alastor onto his hands and knees. Lucifer snapped his fingers, too impatient to rip the fabric away, but leaving it neatly folded nearby.

The Radio Demon's breath hitched, but he didn't resist.

Lucifer's breath caught in his throat as he beheld Alastor in all his glory.

“Wow…” the devil said softly.

His lithe form was a study in contrasts—soft curves and sharp angles, strength and vulnerability intertwined.

The omega’s fur was a pale beige, so short and fine it felt like velvet beneath Lucifer's fingertips.

It covered his body in a seamless coat, broken only by the network of scars that crisscrossed his back and sides.

Some were thin and faded, barely visible.

Others were thick and ropey, telling tales of battles hard-won and pain endured.

Alastor’s waist tapered dramatically, accentuating the curve of his hips and the swell of his ass.

“You have a tail.”

“Your keen observation skills astound me, sire.”

Lucifer could practically hear Alastor rolling his eyes.

The deer demon’s tail, usually hidden beneath his coat, now curled almost demurely over the cleft of his ass.

Hiding the part of Alastor that Lucifer wanted to devour most.

It was long, sleek, and scarlet, ending in a tuft of darker fur that matched his ears.

Those ears, usually so alert and attentive, now lay flat against his head in a display of submission that sent a thrill through Lucifer.

His gaze traveled down Alastor's spine, following the subtle ridges of his vertebrae to the dip at the small of his back, watching as the omega seemed to bow under his gaze. Ducking His head down.

Lucifer’s eyes lingered on the glistening slick that coated Alastor's inner thighs, evidence of his arousal and need.

"Damn, you're gorgeous," Lucifer breathed, awe evident in his voice.

Alastor gave a stunned laugh, the sound tinged with feedback.

"Why, do I get the feeling," he purred, glancing over his shoulder with a coy smile, "You’re just very fond of the sound of your own voice."

Lucifer chuckled, running his hands appreciatively over Alastor's flanks. "Oh, I am," he agreed, leaning down to press a kiss between Alastor's shoulder blades. "I’m a talker in bed, what can I say?"

“We aren’t in bed, so will you shut up?”

“You shut up, Bambi.” Lucifer traced a finger down Alastor's spine, savoring the shiver it elicited.

“I do wish you would make me.”

Damn deer demon and his ability to taunt like that, even in the middle of his heat. Lucifer reached the curve of the omega’s ass, and that tail twitched.

“Can I…?” Lucifer asked, glancing at the back of his head, only to see a growl vibrate through the demon’s frame.

“I thought I told you, I’m not delicate.”

Lucifer rolled his golden eyes, grabbing the omega by the tail, and giving a yank just to see if he would protest—to his continuing surprise, Alastor didn’t.

He made a muffled sound of radio noise, but his spine bowed. That perfectly tight little ass was lifted high, presenting itself shamelessly, a sight that made Lucifer's mouth water.

The omega’s perfect little furled hole, absolutely dripping slick.

“So gorgeous.” The alpha purred.

He was a wash in the smell of Alastor’s heat, and Lucifer’s mouth watered. But he doubted the already desperate omega would give him the time to eat him out properly.

Still, Lucifer moved behind Alastor, urging to spread those legs wider with his hands. The angel’s long fingers traced the cleft of his ass, circling his hole to gather his slick, before easily slipping inside.

Alastor yelped, more in surprise than pain. "What in the circles are you doing?" he demanded, craning his neck to glare at Lucifer.

"Making sure you're properly stretched," Lucifer replied calmly, working a second finger alongside the first. "I'm not exactly small, you know."

“You don’t have—”

Alastor's retort died on his lips as Lucifer's fingers crooked inside him, brushing against a spot that made his vision blur.

He bit back a moan, determined not to give Lucifer the satisfaction.

Lucifer smirked anyway.

Alastor rolled his eyes. His trademark grin strained at the edges.

"I can take it," he hissed through gritted teeth. "Or have you gone soft in your old age, devil?"

Lucifer's eyes narrowed, but he continued his ministrations. "Just because you don’t know how to be considerate of others.”

"Considerate?" Alastor scoffed, arching his back provocatively. "I didn't come here for consideration. I came here to be fucked."

A low growl rumbled in Lucifer's chest. "So you keep saying."

"Then stop playing and get on with it.” Alastor's grin widened, sharp and challenging. “Lest I find a more suitable alpha.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, but I would.”

Something snapped in Lucifer.

The idea of losing the omega, losing Alastor to another alpha. Just because he insisted on some foreplay?

Lucifer withdrew his fingers and lined his cock up to the omega’s hole. Without further warning, he thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt.

The taunt died on Alastor's lips, replaced by a strangled gasp.

His fingers dug into the carpet, body trembling as it adjusted to the sudden intrusion.

Lucifer paused, surprised by the sudden silence. He'd expected more quips, more needling.

But Alastor was unnervingly quiet, save for his ragged breathing.

"Cat got your tongue?" Lucifer taunted, rolling his hips experimentally. "Too much for you to handle after all?"

No response.

He frowned, unsure if he should be irritated…or concerned.

“Alastor…” He murmured, pulling back from the omega.

“For the love of all that is unholy,” the demon snarled out, his voice modulating like a radio flicking through frequencies. “Will you just fuck me.”

Frustration and desire coiled in Lucifer's gut.

"Fine!" he growled, tightening his grip on Alastor's hips. "You want it hard? I'll give you hard."

Without further warning, Lucifer snapped his hips forward, driving into Alastor with brutal force.

The sound of flesh striking flesh echoed through the room, punctuated by Lucifer's grunts and the creaking of the floorboards beneath them.

Alastor's body jerked with each thrust, but he remained stubbornly silent. Lucifer gritted his teeth, determined to wring some reaction from the infuriating omega.

He angled his hips, searching for that spot that would make him see stars.

 But Alastor remained frustratingly silent, head bowed, shoulders tense.

Lucifer's movements slowed as a new thought occurred to him.

Perhaps Alastor had slipped into omega headspace—a state of heightened sensitivity and submission that some omegas experienced during intense sexual encounters.

It wasn't something he'd expected from the notoriously sharp-tongued Radio Demon, but it would explain the sudden silence.

Lucifer lost himself in the sensations, his world narrowing to the tight heat enveloping him and the lithe body beneath his hands.

Alastor's fur was impossibly soft against his palms as he gripped those narrow hips.

The omega's scent filled his nostrils—spicy cinnamon and sweet honey, undercut by the musk of arousal.

He marveled at how perfectly Alastor's body yielded to him, taking every inch of his cock with ease.

The slick sound of their coupling mixed with the creaking floorboards and Lucifer's own grunts of pleasure. He reveled in the silence from the usually sharp-tongued demon, savoring this rare moment of having rendered Alastor speechless.

Lucifer's tempo doubled, driving into Alastor with punishing force.

He watched, mesmerized, as the omega's back arched beautifully with each thrust.

Those fluffy ears lay flat against Alastor's head, twitching occasionally when Lucifer hit a particularly sensitive spot. The Radio Demon's tail flicked rhythmically, betraying his pleasure despite his obstinate quiet.

He could feel Alastor beginning to tremble beneath him, small shivers running through the omega's frame.

A smirk tugged at Lucifer's lips as he felt Alastor's inner walls fluttering around him.

"What was that, about being able to handle it?" Lucifer purred, leaning down to nip at one of those twitching ears.

Alastor turned his head slightly, one heavy-lidded eye visible as he glanced back at Lucifer. "I'd thought you'd have finished by now."

His voice was irritatingly even.

"Archangel stamina, Bambi. I can keep this up all night if needed."

A full-body shudder ran through Alastor at those words.

Lucifer grinned, relishing the reaction. He snaked a hand around Alastor's waist, fingers seeking the omega's neglected cock.

To his surprise, Alastor's hand shot out, grabbing his wrist.

"Don't," Alastor hissed, a hint of panic in his voice.

Lucifer paused, confusion furrowing his brow. "I’m just trying to get you off."

Alastor's eyes narrowed, a flash of crimson in the dim light. "Stop trying," he hissed, pushing back against Lucifer with renewed vigor.

As the pressure built, Lucifer felt his control slipping. "Fuck," he panted, "I'm close. I'm going to—"

"Finally," Alastor's voice cut through the haze of lust, dripping with sarcasm even as he trembled beneath Lucifer's onslaught.

Lucifer's rhythm faltered for a moment. He hadn't expected Alastor to sound so…coherent.

A part of him, the alpha part, bristled at the implication that he hadn't been satisfying his partner.

But, then he saw Alastor lift a hand, cupping his own omega prick between his legs.

“Fuck, that’s—” Lucifer gasped, just thinking of Alastor getting himself off while he fucked the omega. Lucifer started, then swallowed hard. "Inside. Can I come inside you?"

A gleam of genuine surprise crossed Alastor’s features. He hadn't expected Lucifer to ask permission.

For a moment, the Radio Demon's carefully constructed facade cracked.

"Don't you dare knot me," The omega snarled, but there was a shiver in his voice that betrayed his uncertainty. He glanced back at Lucifer, crimson eyes narrowed.

The alpha whined, a low, desperate sound that reverberated through his chest.

His instincts yearned to claim, to mark, to knot. But he forced himself to nod, panting out. "No knot. Promise."

With a final, powerful thrust, Lucifer came, filling Alastor with his release.

The sensation was intense, overwhelming, but true to his word, he didn't allow his knot to swell. Instead, he gritted his teeth, fighting against his instincts as he carefully pulled out.

Alastor's body tensed, bracing for the stretch of a knot that never came.

When Lucifer withdrew completely, the Radio Demon let out a small, surprised gasp.

He hadn't truly believed Lucifer would keep his word.

Alphas never did.

Lucifer's gaze drifted down, noticing Alastor's still hard prick. A mix of alpha pride and genuine concern flickered across his features.

"You're still…" he began, gesturing vaguely. "I could…my hand, or mouth, whatever you need."

"Shut up," Alastor hissed, his voice crackling with static.

With a snap of his fingers, a silk cloth materialized in Alastor's hand. He gripped himself firmly, beginning to stroke with quick, efficient motions.

Lucifer watched, fascinated and perplexed.

This wasn't typical omega behavior, especially not during heat. The need for an alpha's touch should have been overwhelming.

Yet here was Alastor, stubbornly taking care of himself.

"Alright Bambi," Lucifer murmured, unable to entirely mask his bewilderment. “Give me a show.”

Alastor's only response was a low growl, his hand moving faster. His other hand gripped the floor, claws leaving scratches in the wood.

Lucifer found himself oddly captivated.

There was something almost beautiful in Alastor's defiance, in his refusal to submit fully even now.

When Alastor finally came with a choked gasp,

Lucifer felt a surge of…appreciation? Admiration? He couldn't quite name the emotion. As he watched the perpetually composed demon left a panting mess, back bowed forward, carpet burn on his knees.

Fuck, Lucifer wanted to touch him. All of him.

Lucifer hesitated, his hand hovering inches from Alastor's shoulder.

The alpha in him yearned to provide comfort, to wrap the omega in his arms and soothe away the tremors still wracking his lean frame. But this was Alastor—unpredictable, prickly Radio Demon—Lucifer knew better than to assume.

"I could conjure a blanket," he offered softly, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "Or we could just…talk."

Alastor's reaction was sluggish and instantaneous. He flinched at Lucifer's proximity, a barely perceptible shudder running through him.

But then, to Lucifer's surprise, Alastor leaned in ever so slightly, as if drawn by some instinct he couldn't quite suppress.

For a fleeting moment, Lucifer caught a glimpse of vulnerability in those crimson eyes. It was quickly masked, but it left him wondering what else was hidden beneath Alastor's carefully cultivated persona.

Then, as if awakening from a trance, Alastor's posture stiffened.

His eyes widened, darting around the room as if suddenly remembering where he was and what had transpired. The Radio Demon's usual sharp-toothed grin snapped back into place, but Lucifer noted it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Alastor?" Lucifer prompted, his brow furrowing with concern. He'd never seen the demon look so…disoriented.

"Well," Alastor said abruptly, his voice regaining its crisp, radio-host cadence, "that's quite enough of that!" With a snap of his fingers, his disheveled appearance vanished, replaced by his usual impeccable attire.

Lucifer blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift. "Wait, what—" he began, struggling to keep up with Alastor's mercurial mood. "Don't you want to…stay? For a bit?"

Alastor's grin widened, a touch manic around the edges. "Absolutely not, my dear!" he declared, already backing towards the door.

"I've heard tales of your legendary angelic stamina, and I'd rather not put it to the test. One round with the King of Hell is quite sufficient, thank you!"

Lucifer's mind raced, torn between amusement and frustration. "Alastor, that's not what I—"

But before he could finish his sentence, Alastor vanished in a crackle of static and shadow, leaving behind only the fading echo of his laughter.

Lucifer stared at the empty space where Alastor had been, his hand still outstretched.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he lowered his arm.

The room seemed too quiet now, devoid of Alastor's manic energy and biting quips.

"Damn it," Lucifer muttered, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

He couldn't shake the nagging feeling of incompleteness, like an orchestra cut short before its final movement.

"What did I expect?" he chided himself. "A cuddle and a heart-to-heart with the Radio Demon?"

But deep down, Lucifer knew it wasn't just about physical intimacy. There was a ritual to these things, a necessary comedown that Alastor had abruptly severed.

"Suppose I should have known," Lucifer sighed, a rueful smile playing at his lips. "Nothing's ever easy with that infuriating busboy."

❣️Ao3❣️Original Fics❣️BlueSky❣️

[pagesfromthevoid]

Glitter & Gold | d.d.

Din Djarin x princess!reader

A Cowboy Like Me drabble

In which Din’s princess prepares for two battles of her own

Word Count: ~660

Warnings: No Din interaction, sorry!

Author’s Note: Yet another drabble before we get into the thick of the angst. Inspo for her gown

Series Masterlist | Talk to Me!

She played her part well the remainder of the week.

She obeyed orders, she nodded and smiled. Promised to behave, went to her dress fittings without complaint. Her mother did not bring up the child again, though she knew that it was still part of the master plan. If Moff Gideon was truly making an appearance, then her mother would bring it up when it worked best for her. But she would be prepared.

The dress that was chosen for her was…fine. Simple, soft –a sad, monotone blue that was more gray than anything. It hugged her in the right places, and hid the scar that was angry and puckered on her arm. There was no slit, however, and she wondered if she could mend it herself to allow for better access to her beskar dagger. Not that she wanted to use it –but she wanted to be able to touch it. Without Din there, it was the closest thing she had to his touch.

The night prior to the engagement party, Isowen slipped into her room without a word. In her hands was a box, delicately tied together with twine. It was simple, and she stood from her vanity with her brow raised.

“I have brought something for you, milady.”

Isowen set the box on her bed, stepping back with her hands folded neatly behind her. She hesitated a moment before she sat on the edge of her bed. Then, she untied the string, pulling it apart. Her fingers traced over the edges before they slipped under the lid and pulled it off.

Inside sat a bodice piece that matched her gown, but instead of a fabric –it was metal. Chains hung from the neck to the chest, meeting at the base of the throat to cover her shoulders. Her fingers traced over the piece, where the same fabric of her gown was attached to the back. 

“I know why you ran,” Isowen whispered, sitting beside her now. “I know why you ran, and I know you plan to run again, milady. Let me help you.”

She looked to Isowen, brow furrowed as she watched the lady in waiting carefully. “What do you have in mind?”

Isowen smiled –a sweet one, but she knew there was danger behind it. “Let me mend your dress for tomorrow; I can add the piece. It is not beskar like your knife, but it is durable and will protect you.”

She nodded once, lifting the piece of the box to examine further. It was beautifully crafted, meticulously pieced together to ensure both beauty and practicality. 

“I am going to replace the sleeves,” Isowen continued, pulling a sheer piece of fabric from the box. It was similar to her dress again, but instead of a solid color, it was see-through. “I will make this dress fit for a warrior and a princess.”

She looked up at Isowen, smiling thankfully at her and took the Twi’lek’s hands. “You are a wonderful woman, Isowen. I owe you all the stars in the galaxy. But I need one more favor.”

Isowen tilted her head to the side, frowning some as she held out her arm. Then the maid shook her head fervently. “No, no. I-I can’t remove that, milady. I-I could kill you.”

“Please,” she begged, looking over the dull red flash beneath her skin. “Isowen, it’s the only way –,”

“Your Mandalorian will have to do it. I-I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Isowen stood, gathering the pieces of the armor then moving to collect her gown from the closet. The lady in waiting offered a sad smile, nodding once, and disappeared out the door. For several minutes, she sat on her bed, hands in her lap, as she stared out the window.

She had spent the last month and half with Din and his child. With that time, she had grown used to the tight space of the ship and the close quarters. The lingering touches and longing stares —on her end, at least. Though she was certain that Din had returned those gazes now. Even on Sorgan, she had grown accustomed to his presence, and their routines. It was domestic, and simple. The opposite life of what she lived in Senex, yet she adored it nonetheless. 

She missed the life they had built, even if it was in such a short amount of time. 

She just…she missed Din. That’s all. 

———

Taglist (CLOSED): @r4iner @sgt-morgan @mingeniee @darling1darling @teriolan-blog @venusfalling @double—take @sunshine96 @demisexuallover @mxtokko @ellesvoid @waddafaknik @c-ms1ut @kokoirne @sl-ut @munsons-queen @intense-sneezing @geekrenaissance @dilf-din @tizylish @ruleroftides @aheadfullofsteverogers

[inquisimer]

Happy Friday!!

How about ‘i never gave up hope that i'd see you again’ for Nathaniel/Cousland 👀💚

happy friday and ty for the prompt! I've really been feeling these two lately, post-awakening and somft in love 🥺

477 words for @dadrunkwriting

-

He was a month an a half late and worse for the wear when the Vigil finally rose on the horizon. The sight of her, his childhood refuge and his present love, glittering with early morning dew lifted the weight Kirkwall had left on Nathaniel’s heart. As he approached, the bell began to toll.

The reinforced gate creaked open. Breathing hard, the recruit on duty snapped a sweaty salute as Nathaniel passed the guard post.

“Welcome back, ser!”

“At ease,” Nathaniel murmured, not really paying attention. There was a flash of red down from the battlements and he dropped his duffel just in time to sweep Ember into his arms.

This was home.

He was covered in the muck and mire of travel and a venture into the deep roads, but she paid it no mind, carding her fingers through his tangled hair, tracing the lines of his face for new scars. She drank him in like a woman starved.

When he kissed her, he felt the same. Her lips were soft against his chapped skin and he’d never felt anything so wonderful. He ran his hands up and down her arms, over her back and caught at her hips, relearning the shape of her, the feel of her in his arms, remembering all the things he had to live for.

He felt her anger, though, the fear and desperation as she kissed him breathless. When they broke apart, her eyes sparked like one of Dworkin’s explosives.

“You’re late, Constable,” she said. Her thumb pressed at the corner of his smile.

Such was the way of the Wardens—unpredictable and tenuous and frequently fatal. But it made the reunion all the sweeter, when the fates brough them back together again. Joy swelled in Nathaniel’s chest.

He bent his brow against hers, his laugh huffing across her still-parted lips. “Send your complaints to the darkspawn, Commander.”

“Oh, I will,” Ember murmured. She pressed a softer kiss to his lips, then, a gentler taste of relief, but he could feel the weeks of tension threaded through her. His task to relieve it, then.

Without warning, he scooped an arm beneath her knees, catching her shoulders as she scrambled, unsteady. He pulled her against his chest, smirking at her spluttering.

“Plans this morning, Commander?”

Her eyes darkened with untold promises. “Nothing that won’t keep.”

Nathaniel dipped down to catch her lips in a searing promise. “Then I’ll begin with a fervent apology for my delay.”

“You better,” Ember smirked, fingers tangling in his hair. “Or you’ll answer to me.”

Raising a brow, Nathaniel handily hid his dry throat behind kisses peppered along her neck as he climbed the stairs to their quarters.

“If that’s a threat, it’s not particularly convincing,” he teased.

“It’s not.” Ember’s fingers worked the buckles of his armor, teeth worrying along his jaw. “It’s a promise.”

[anony-man]

Chubformers drabble #66!

Characters: Optimus & Megatron (ES)

Word count: 369

“You’ve gotten fat,” Megatron says, his voice rumbling deep in his chest as he gently fondles the rolls of the Prime’s pudgy belly.

Optimus bats the servo away, but doesn’t hesitate to nuzzle closer to Megatron’s side. “So have you.”

The sky was cloudy overhead, a bright blue scene dotted with flecks of white. The air was warm, but hidden beneath the trees, the two mechs were comfortably basking in the midday’s heat.

A lot had changed, Optimus mused. Never in a million years had he expected to be here, by Megatron’s side. Not again, at least. Not in this context.

Earth had treated them well, the humans even better. It was a miracle, he eventually decided. Either that or Primus still lived on, watching them from beyond. Hell, if Primus was out there, Optimus was sure He must have been having a good laugh at the way things had turned out.

“Optimus?” Megatron said, hinting at curiosity from his tone alone.

He slung an arm over Optimus’ shoulder, drawing him in closer still. In this proximity, Optimus could feel the way every little part of his frame pressed flush against the other, soft mesh cushioned against Megatron’s old, pudgy frame.

“Just thinking,” he said. Before Megatron had a chance to ask, he added, “about us. Life here on earth. The…” he hesitated. “The war.”

There was a soft sound from Megatron, and the two fell silent once more.

“…it suits you.”

Optimus sat up then, his brows furrowed and his mouth twisting into a frown. “What?”

“The added weight,” Megatron said, his helm turned away. He pretended to watch the sky as the clouds rolled by, but Optimus could catch the flush in his cheeks. “Time has treated you well, I mean. I just—“

“Ah,” Optimus cut in. “I understand.”

He paused, his optics drifting over Megatron’s own softened frame. Where hardened strength hid behind cutting edges and piercing armor, there was only the constructs of his being highlighted by the soft pockets of fat that had built up during their time on earth. Optimus smiled, reaching across Megatron’s lap to give the soft rolls that had begun to form a gentle pat.

“It suits you, too.”

[witchofthesouls]

Okay, but what about Revelation becoming sparked with a Pharma babe while still in the possession of Tyrest or even if they manage to escape?

There's a scar inside his mouth, right on the inner part of his lower lip. Hidden away from optics, much like the bite on the base of his neck and the subtle crimp of the cables beneath the pristine armor of his left winglet.

Pharma finds himself running his glossa over the scar, catching the roughness of where you sank your denta into the softer mesh of his mouth.

He can't help but savor it. All those vicious hurts. Pharma may not have any idea who you were before, but he enjoys those rebellious, little signs. Burning optics, denta sharp, and crushing strength when raw and unguarded.

Tyrest preferred you docile. Slack and dreamy and biddable in his berth. Easy to guide and manage. Glossy and shiny outside of it. Something to be admired amidst the lawmaker's collection. Respectable to be matched to the Chief Justice.

What does it say that Pharma prefers your features twisted with intensity (with righteousness, with rage, and in the softer moments, a concentration something akin to devoured by) rather than that pliant, semi-aware self under the influence of whatever concoction Tyrest brought?

Within the Atrium, he was able to take you in the shadows of the library, datapads of medical charts and court cases pushed aside, careful not to damage them, as you and he nipped at each other. In his workshop, when everything was put away and neatly categorized, your legs crush his waist and hands and not-hands rake over metal, plating and the medbay berth. Energon tangled across shared glossa and bleeding bright over armor.

The Lost Light is a different story. You fall back on the Chief Justice’s training, you hid the strain behind the courtly manners, and it’s absolutely wasted on these mechs.

The only privacy is the habsuite shared between you and him, and already others question it.

But you’re a tenacious individual that’s adamant to stay with him when he couldn’t save himself, and Pharma can’t bring himself to care about other mechs’ opinions on this matter.

Fields tangled, sated, and relaxed in the aftermath of the third round. The tension in his frame has fled and your jittering anxiety and shimmering anger have calmed for the moment. He nuzzles your neck and savors the heat radiating off your frame, the sting of the bleeding scrapes from your talons etched in his back, the quietness of the room-

Remedy suddenly cries from the attached cradle-pod, limbs flailing out of the thermal sheets, hungry and awake, and drowns out the purring from Mercy -the photovoltaicat has fattened up with far more plentiful sources of prey.

He rolls off you, vents still steaming, and watches you flop to your side to scoop Remedy out from the pod, plating shifting away to expose your heavy wells. He shifts to press your back, your wingspan falling in a more comfortable position, easy to peer over your shoulder. Remedy mewls, fists clenching and suckles on a nozzle, vision still nonexistent from the milky film over those optics -it’s far thinner than before, and soon they’ll see the sparkling’s colors.

It's not proper to sink into a carrier's valve as a bitlet fuels, but Pharma hasn't been proper in a very long time and you're a strange creature that exists to defy everything, despite Tyrest's obsessions and adherence to proprietary.

Besides, this carriage is far more demanding than the last. With the sparklet directly forming inside the gestation chamber, it’ll take after more from himself with consistent supply, especially when you're reluctant to let anyone else between your legs.

You make no complaint as he sinks into your frame from behind, warm and wet and still deliciously tight, still trembling from the last round, just a soft noise at the back of your throat when Pharma rocks into you, mouthing your well-loved neck cables as you twitch.

[republicsecurity]

At the Spa

The train came to a halt, and the paramedic cadets disembarked with practiced precision. Their armored boots clicked in unison on the platform as they began the four-kilometer march to the resort. The landscape around them was a mix of muted colors and rolling hills, a picturesque facade that hid the strict control and discipline embedded in their society.

Approaching the resort, a solitary tactical paramedic stood guard, his imposing figure clad in gleaming red armor. His helmet concealed his expression, but there was an undeniable air of authority about him. The gate creaked open, granting the cadets access to the elegant estate beyond.

As they entered the lobby, the atmosphere changed. The air was scented with a hint of lavender, and soft classical music played in the background, creating an illusion of tranquility. Marble floors reflected the warm glow of chandeliers overhead. The cadets, still in their armored suits, stood out starkly against the refined surroundings, a reminder of the regimented world they came from.

The androgynous receptionist, his slender figure impeccably clad in the white skant of the medical corps, greeted the cadets with a disarming smile. His eyes, bright and perceptive, sparkled with a hint of mischief as he observed the armored newcomers. "Ah, our esteemed paramedic cadets," he said, his voice melodic and smooth. "Such cutees you are, even beneath those helmets. I trust your journey was without complications?"

The cadets exchanged puzzled glances, their expressions hidden behind the opaque visors. Despite their confusion, they nodded in acknowledgment of the receptionist's greeting.

"Allow me to guide you to your chambers," the receptionist continued, gesturing for them to follow. His movements were graceful, almost balletic, as he led the way through the opulent corridors of Tranquil Haven.

The cadets remained silent, their armored footsteps echoing in the elegant halls. They couldn't help but feel a sense of unease beneath the receptionist's affable demeanor. 

With a flourish of his slender hand, the androgynous receptionist indicated the alcoves in the room where the paramedic cadets could store their armored suits. His eyes, still twinkling with that peculiar mixture of warmth and mystery, lingered on them momentarily before he turned away to arrange the refreshments.

"As soon as you're ready, please proceed to the massage area," he said, his voice carrying a melodic cadence that seemed to linger in the air. "The therapists will be expecting you. Enjoy your session. And, of course, dinner awaits promptly at seven. 

With an air of nonchalance that came from their training, the paramedic cadets began the process of undressing, each layer peeling away until all that remained was the glinting metal of their chastity cages. The receptionist observed their actions with a knowing smile, his eyes flickering over them appreciatively. To the cadets, it was just another day, another set of regulations adhered to without question.

"I'm a conscript too," the receptionist mentioned casually, his tone light as he continued to watch. "Assigned to the nursing corps. Your show... it's quite popular among us, you know."

He grinned, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. "And I must admit, I find you all rather cute."

The cadets exchanged glances, a blend of amusement and bemusement in their eyes. The situation was oddly surreal — standing half-naked in front of a fellow conscript, discussing their own popularity as if it was an everyday topic.

"Well, thank you," one of the cadets replied, the hint of a smile playing on their lips. "We do what we can to maintain our standards."

With graceful movements, the receptionist led the paramedic cadets down the ornate corridors of Tranquil Haven, their footsteps muffled by the plush carpeting beneath. The soft glow of ambient lighting highlighted the polished elegance of the surroundings, casting a serene atmosphere that seemed to envelop them.

"Right this way, sirs," the receptionist said, his voice a melodic echo in the hushed halls. He guided them to a set of intricately carved double doors that seemed to beckon with promises of relaxation and indulgence.

Upon entering, the cadets found themselves in a sanctuary of tranquility. The air was scented with a subtle blend of essential oils, and gentle melodies floated through the room, invoking a sense of serenity. The massage chambers were appointed with luxurious furnishings — plush massage tables adorned with soft linens, each surrounded by delicate curtains that promised a veil of privacy.

"Please make yourselves comfortable," the receptionist gestured towards the waiting robes, his tone warm and inviting. "Your therapists will be with you shortly“

The entrance of the massage therapists brought a subtle shift in the ambiance of the room. The cadets, lying on their respective massage tables, observed the arrival of the therapists. The therapists, clad in the distinctive tight yellow uniforms of the LifeGuards, exuded an air of quiet confidence and professionalism.

Their physiques were a testament to years of rigorous training — broad shoulders, chiseled arms, and an aura of undeniable strength. Despite their formidable presence, their eyes held a warmth that put the cadets at ease. Their proximity in age to the cadets made the interaction feel less like a formal procedure and more like an exchange between peers, even if their roles were distinctly different.

The therapists, their faces adorned with polite smiles, introduced themselves with a subtle yet confident air. Their 5-digit alphanumeric designators marked them as individuals, but here, in the serene sanctuary of the massage chambers, they were simply skilled practitioners ready to offer respite to the weary paramedic cadets.

"Good evening, cadets," one of them said, their voice carrying the calm assurance of someone well-versed in their craft. "I am R1V3R, and my colleague here is S0L4R. We are members of the LifeGuard Corps, trained specifically as Massage Therapists. It is our pleasure to assist you in finding relaxation and ease."

"It's truly a pleasure to work with bodies as well-maintained as yours," R1V3R said, his hands expertly kneading the muscles. "Unlike some of the clients we get, your physique allows for a deeper, more effective massage experience."

S0L4R, his movements equally precise, chimed in with a nod. "Indeed, the elasticity of well-toned muscles allows us to access tension points more effectively. It's a joy to work with clients who appreciate the benefits of physical fitness."

In the dim, tranquil light of the massage chambers, the exchange of energies between therapist and cadet became a silent language. It spoke of trust and understanding, transcending the boundaries of alphanumeric designators and formalities. 

"In this segment," R1V3R explained, his tone gentle yet clinical, "we focus on the body's energy flow, seeking balance and harmony. It's a holistic approach that not only relaxes the physical form but also revitalizes the mind and spirit."

S0L4R added, his voice warm and reassuring, "Tantric massage is about connection, about understanding the body's subtle cues and responses. It requires trust between the client and the therapist. We're here to guide you through this experience, ensuring your comfort and well-being throughout."

S0L4R „I will now massage your prostate“, he started slowly to inch foward with a gloved finger of his strong and, slowly getting deeper and deeper into the anus. 

In the dimly lit chamber of the spa, the atmosphere had shifted, becoming almost ethereal. The LifeGuard therapists, their tight yellow uniforms now taking on an otherworldly glow, continued their meticulous massage, their movements guided by an almost ritualistic precision.

As R1V3R and S0L4R worked with an air of serene detachment, their skilled hands traversed the cadets' bodies with an unspoken understanding. They explored the contours of muscles and the flow of energy with a reverence that bordered on the spiritual.

And then, as if transitioning into a secret rite, their touch delved deeper, moving beyond the ordinary bounds of therapeutic massage. 

The cadets, their bodies responding to the therapists' guidance, experienced an intricate dance of sensations. It was as if the therapists were orchestrating a symphony of pressure and rhythm, a delicate balance of force and nuance.

R1V3R's fingers, with practiced finesse, traced the path to a specific point, the prostate, an area both intimate and enigmatic. It was a moment of subtle revelation, a convergence of trust, expertise, and vulnerability.

As the cadets lay in a surreal state between relaxation and heightened awareness, R1V3R's touch became an exploration of boundaries. He applied alternating pressure, the cadence of his movements akin to a secret language understood only by those who had ventured into this realm.

S0L4R, by his side, mirrored the intricate dance, their synchronized actions creating an experience that transcended the physical. The room itself seemed to hold its breath, cocooned in the delicate exchange of energy between therapist and client.

In the exquisite dance of touch and energy, the therapists applied their craft with utmost precision. The pressure applied on the prostate and the surrounding areas was not merely physical but transcended into a realm of profound understanding. The cadets, though initially taken aback, found themselves surrendering to the expertise and trustworthiness of R1V3R and S0L4R.

As R1V3R's fingertips traced the contours of the prostate, a subtle shift occurred. The pressure, expertly modulated, led to a unique sensation. It was not the familiar surge of pleasure but a nuanced, elongated experience. The therapists' mastery allowed them to navigate the delicate balance, reducing pressure in the seminal vesicles and the prostate.

This careful manipulation created a peculiar effect, akin to an ejaculation without the accompanying orgasm. It was a sensory paradox, an intensity without release, a moment suspended in time. The cadets, now fully immersed in this unorthodox experience, felt a profound sense of delayed climax, a tantalizing postponement of the inevitable.

In the hands of the therapists, the cadets experienced a state of heightened arousal without culmination, a tantalizing journey toward pleasure without the traditional destination. The room, once filled with the hushed whispers of energy and touch, became a sanctuary of exploration, free from the constraints of ordinary physicality.

As the massage continued, the cadets surrendered to the unspoken understanding between them and the therapists. It was a moment of transcendence, where the boundaries between self and other blurred, and the ordinary limitations of the body seemed to fade away.

In the aftermath of the extraordinary massage, the cadets found themselves enveloped in a state of profound relaxation. The room, once vibrant with energy and touch, now seemed to cradle them in a cocoon of serenity. The therapists, having guided them through an unparalleled sensory experience, allowed the cadets to bask in the aftermath of their ministrations.

Their breathing, once synchronized with the rhythmic movements of the massage, gradually slowed, becoming a harmonious melody in the tranquil atmosphere. 

In this profound state of relaxation, the cadets drifted into a deep and restful sleep, their dreams carrying them further into the enigmatic realms of sensation. The therapists, having witnessed the cadets' serene surrender, left the room silently, allowing them to embrace the tranquility of their dreams.

The melodious resonance of the singing bowl reverberated through the room, gently rousing the cadets from their deep slumber.

"Rise and shine, cadets," the receptionist said with a warm smile, the melodic tones of his voice resonating with the lingering echoes of the singing bowl. "I see you had a rejuvenating rest. Your presence is requested for the formal dinner; it begins in an hour. Please, take your time to freshen up and prepare for the evening."

The room buzzed with the rhythmic hum of preparation. Water splashed, the sharp scent of strong shaving cream hung in the air.

"Shiny boots for a shiny evening, eh?" grinned DY784, polishing his black boots with a practiced hand. The reflection of his shaved head mirrored back at him from the glossy surface. He had already polished his chrome dome.

HU55Y, meticulously ironing his bellhop jacket, chuckled. "Got to impress."

With swift, efficient movements, they slipped into their white undersuit, the fabric molding to their bodies like a second skin. They zipper closed the one piece undergarment that flattened their abdomen and shaped their body into a elegeant V shape. The white elbow-length gloves followed, accentuating the lines of their arms.

With their elbow-length gloves now in place, they gathered around the mirror to apply subtle makeup, enhancing their features with practiced ease. It was a skill they had honed at the academy, and it allowed them to present an image of immaculate perfection, concealing any blemishes or signs of fatigue.

The red bellhop uniforms clung to their bodies, outlining the disciplined contours of their physiques. The snug fit accentuated their toned muscles, a testament to the rigorous training and conditioning they underwent daily. The fabric, though snug, allowed for ease of movement, tailored perfectly to their forms.

As they stood in the dim light of the corridor, the red uniforms seemed to radiate a subtle aura of authority.

The disciplined lines of their posture added an air of confidence, an unspoken declaration of their readiness for any challenge that might come their way. Their steps were purposeful, echoing with the cadence of discipline as they made their way to the formal dinner.

They still had not processed the events of the massage.

[mesu-senshi]

MHA One-Shot Fanfic: "Vixen's Confession"

OC: Danielle Bun

Alias: Vixen - Quirk: Kitsune

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Part 8. Final.

The hideout was unusually quiet, save for the faint sound of Toga humming in the next room and the muffled clink of Twice fumbling with his ever-growing stack of mugs. The League had just wrapped up another chaotic mission, and exhaustion hung heavy in the air. But for Dabi, it wasn’t the adrenaline crash keeping him up—it was her.

Vixen.

She was perched on the worn-out couch, legs curled beneath her, fiddling with one of her claw-like rings. The dim light caught in her pink hair, giving it a soft, otherworldly glow. She looked calm, even playful, but Dabi could see through her. Her lips were tugged up in that teasing little smirk she wore like armor, but her fingers twitched restlessly. She wasn’t as unaffected as she wanted to seem.

And damn it, neither was he.

It had been months since that night in the safe house. Months of stolen kisses, heated touches, and pretending they were still just “having fun.” Dabi wasn’t one to wax poetic, but every time she pressed her lips to his or gave him that rare, genuine smile, it felt like something was clawing its way out of his chest.

He couldn’t ignore it anymore.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low as he crossed the room.

She glanced up, one brow arching. “What’s with the broody tone? Did Shigaraki scowl at you too hard again?”

Dabi rolled his eyes but didn’t take the bait. He sank onto the couch beside her, close enough that their knees brushed. She didn’t move away. She never did.

“Cut the crap, Dani.” His voice was rougher than he intended, but he didn’t back down. “We need to talk.”

Her smirk faltered, and for a moment, he thought she’d slip into her playful deflections. Instead, she surprised him.

“I was wondering when you’d stop pretending,” she murmured, her voice softer than he’d ever heard it.

His breath caught. Of course, she’d known. She always knew.

“I’m not good at this,” he admitted, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “Feelings, talking… hell, any of it. But I know one thing.” He glanced at her, his blue eyes blazing with a rare vulnerability. “I’m done pretending you’re just a distraction. You’re not.”

Her lips parted, but no sound came out. For once, Vixen was speechless.

“And you,” he continued, his voice dropping, “you’re not as good at hiding it as you think. I see the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention. I feel it every time you touch me.”

Dani swallowed hard, her blue eyes locked on his. Her hand hovered in the space between them, as if she was afraid to reach out.

“I didn’t want to mess this up,” she whispered. “This… us. It’s the only thing that’s felt real in a long time.”

He caught her hand in his, threading his fingers through hers. “Then stop running from it.”

The tension broke like a dam.

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

She surged forward, crashing her lips against his, her hands tangling in his dark hair. Dabi groaned, pulling her onto his lap, his hands gripping her hips as if he was afraid she’d disappear.

It wasn’t slow or sweet—it was raw, desperate, and electric. Every kiss, every touch was an unspoken promise: I’m here. I’m not letting go.

By the time they broke apart, their foreheads pressed together, both of them were breathless. Dani cupped his face, her thumbs brushing the scarred skin he usually hid behind his nonchalant smirks.

“I love you,” she said, the words quiet but sure.

Dabi froze, his heart hammering against his ribs. Love wasn’t a word he used—or trusted. But with her… it didn’t feel like a weakness. It felt like freedom.

“I…” His voice cracked, but he didn’t look away. “I love you too.”

The words felt strange on his tongue, but they were real.

They didn’t need more words after that. Their actions spoke louder.

That night, as they lay tangled together in the dark, their bodies pressed close, Dabi traced the crescent tattoo on her wrist with his fingertips. Dani smiled, her head resting on his chest.

“You know,” she said, her voice drowsy but teasing, “you’re surprisingly good at this whole love thing.”

“Shut up,” he muttered, but the corner of his lips tugged up into a rare smile.

For the first time in years, Dabi didn’t feel like a weapon or a pawn. With her, he was just a man—flawed, scarred, but loved.

And for once, he let himself believe it.

[v1nylhead]

On a bench, bourbon's warmth in my grasp, my eyes red from restless nights, sativa's scent clinging to me. The weight of my struggles hung heavy, visible in the shadows beneath my eyes. A man, wandering with no direction, joined me, asking, 'Why do your eyes sag when there's still so much to lift them?' His question struck a chord, and he saw the sweat seeping through my tattered hoodie, a story of my wanderings. His hand would reach out, his voice a gentle breeze, 'Your youth is no match for the burdens you carry, the paths you wander.' And then, with a soft curiosity, he'd ask, 'What is it that you're trying to escape?' Unfurling from my slouch, I beheld the golden liquid's shadow embracing its own vessel, as errant strands of hair waltzed across my face, a tantalizing whisper from my eyes. A ragged cough burst forth, and I listened, for my voice had lost its lilt, leaving only silence in its wake. He uttered words that felt like sharp thorns, evoking the phantom that observes my passage through life's dark wilderness, counseling me to surrender what's irretrievable and preserve precious moments, immortalized in memory. A faint glow within me flickered, a funeral's shadow looming near, each moment a poignant verse in the eulogy I never spoke. Paralyzed, I sat, shaken to my core, words lost to the wind like withered petals torn from their stem.The steaming cup held the ghosts of Sunday mornings, a haunting reminder of laughter and screams that once shattered my world. Yet, in its misty veil, I saw her, our hands entwined in a gentle dance. I'd decline, choosing instead the bitter poison of my own surrender. He read the scars etched on my skin, deciphering the stories of my soulless gaze, and said, 'A heart full of wonder is forever inspired, its passion a madness that never fades.' And I remembered the secrets whispered in the night's dark embrace, the unspoken thoughts, the calloused skin that hid the depths of my pain. A prayer was whispered over me, that I might find the light when my body rests. May the secrets I've kept be reduced to dust, and the specters of my past take their leave, allowing me to find myself. He took the bourbon, his eyes locked on mine, and said, 'Alone, you'll find your strength.' With his guidance, I stood, my fragile form steadied on the sidewalk. The bottle, once a refuge for my sorrow, now poured out its contents, a golden stream that washed away the shadows. His farewell words dispelled my slumber, urging me to step into life's vibrant tapestry. As passion's flame danced within me, I understood that pain's presence is ephemeral, not indelible. With every breath, though my armor may weather, I kindle love's light, honoring the sacred balance of giving and receiving. Love is a sanctuary, a haven to treasure, and a whisper to the heart. May those who've journeyed on find love's eternal solace. In my journey's course, I stumbled upon a sweet surprise, a maiden fair, with eyes of shining gold. She painted blooms in my garden, and with each gentle stroke, my heart was ensnared. Her gaze, like Medusa's, held me spellbound, lost in time, as she soothed my anxious heart with love's pure chime. No bottle ever met my lips, only hers, my heart's refuge, in her love, I find poetic solace. Within my innermost essence, a quietude now reigns, supplanting the discord that once resided. I discovered a trembling self-reliance, an unshakeable passion, a fortitude as resilient as the earth's unyielding core. Those I hold dear, who perceive my deepest desires and darkest fears, have brought forth for me a life of enduring splendor.

- a poem written by lotus.